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[WP] In a dystopian theocracy, criminals get injected with diseases and locked up until they either survive the disease or die. The worse the crime, the worse the disease. If a criminal survives the disease, the system determines that the person is innocent and God has interfered to show this.
Edit: thank you kind stranger for my first ever reddit award <3 | (I hope this suffices; it may not be good, but it’d be a shame to throw it away...)
Five years ago, Justice was a different system. Bodies weren’t dumped into landfills, diseases weren’t collected for use by the church, and the people who lived among god’s disciples were not slaves. This was a thing only he knew, long abandoned by the shackles of society.
He had left prior to the conversion, watched intently as God’s “Judgement” was carried out. He saw the misery that innocent people had to live through before death, while the corrupt priests who commit the crime would stay safe in their lavish churches.
He wishes he could have done something. Anything to stop the aimless torture, and the retaliation that followed from the survivors. So today, he returned to his home city of Santa Ana, California. What he saw was completely different.
The City’s Iconic architecture remained, but the Zoos were being used by the church to find new Zoonotic diseases, Viruses and Bacteria that could easily kill a human’s unadapted immune system. From there, the diseases were shipped to laboratories about three miles away, far from the centre of the city.
Here, the viruses were refined. Ebola became E2Co7, known to the rest of the church as “Execution”- injection resulted in the host bleeding profusely; death from the virus looked like the host becoming a suit of skin, surrounded by their liquified innards. This wasn’t even the worst disease the church possessed, just one of the most commonly used.
When a Viral culture was produced and finalized, it was shipped back to the city like a product. Hundreds of new cultures arrived every day, funded by the taxes of the peasantry, making sure production would keep booming- and when good men become poor, they are forced to do horrible things to survive. It was an endless cycle of human suffering, all for the purposes of “God”, or rather, the holy men who wanted to avoid real judgement from the god they served.
Enough was enough.
A lone Priest approached him as he walked through the city gates one last time, clad in white robes, stained with blood from a recent outbreak.
“Halt now, foul creature! What brings you into our city?” Asked the priest. In response, all he had to do was take off his hood, and watch the priest reel in terror. Because he wasn’t a human.
He was a Machine, the last one created before the fall of society. While he was once labeled as Hyas, he was now the Messiah; the hound that the peasants prayed for in the night to bring forth a reckoning.
After reading the machine’s label, the Priest regained their composure. “So, you exist? Tell me demon, why would you return?”
Hyas responded with cold, mechanical ambition; “With my eyes I’ve watched everything. Through the landfills of corpses I saw what your people have done. You have defied the very word of god you tell your slaves to serve, and for that I shall wait no longer.”
“How have you watched, when you are but one machine? Do you dare lie to your superior?”
Hyas stood quietly as a cloud of black slowly approached the city, from then he spoke: “If you are truly innocent, then you would have nothing to fear. Through all these years, I watched with drones. I’ve seen every single crime committed across this country, and now you face God’s true judgement, unaltered by the meddling of your forefathers.”
All the Priest could do was reel. They thought of every sin they’ve committed under the Church, every man they have unfairly judged in the name of god. Now, he begged for mercy as the Servants of Hyas blocked the sun.
“Do not beg for mercy from your Judgement... Do what you have always. Start praying to god, just as your victims have. He won’t answer, because I am already before you.”
Minutes passed as Santa Ana fell into a panic. The entire city was consumed by chaos as a plague approached; not one or disease, but of locusts, created from abandoned machinery, rejected by humanity over a period of five years. The orders of the Messiah were clear: only the worthy will survive.
On that day, with the first city cleansed of man’s corruption, all of the survivors had a simple name for what happened: Deus Ex Machina, or simply:
**God from the Machine.** | Solomon was unconventional. He knew it, and he reveled in it. The others might have stopped his peculiar way of doing things, but he was more powerful than they would ever be. The only people who held more power were his good friends, or close relatives. They did not mind his unusual procedures, as much as the others complained. So he was free to carry out the will of God without interference.
Everyone knew about the injections. They were the basis of the court system throughout the land, the Hand of God that came down and touched all of them. Not that he every said anything, but something about the trials always bothered him. When he was young, he sat watching as his father adjudicated over numerous trials. There was one woman convicted of killing her daughter. The evidence was sparse and based mainly on the testimony of her rival, who he could see was an utterly despicable person. She had stood up to the priest, eyes shining, saying "God shall be my deliverance." He did not doubt her faith or her innocence, he could see the truth in her eyes.
She was dead the next morning.
He was never the same since. How could this woman, who he could feel was innocent on all accounts, feel her utter dependence on God and this system, die? Why had God not delivered one of his own? At first, he brushed it aside, thinking he might just been deluded, and the woman really was guilty. But there were more trials.
There were trials were if one just looked at the facts, the accused would clearly be guilty, yet they survived the disease. And ones where the person should've been wholly exempt of any wrongdoings, but perished from the disease. And so one night, with a shaking heart, he had gotten down on his knees to pray. But instead of giving thanks or asking for forgiveness, he had one singular thought:
*God. I doubt you. -Solomon*
And God had not punished him. In fact it seemed to be the opposite. As he grew up he lacked nothing, and success seemed to flow down onto him. He knew it helped that his father and uncle were both important men of the clergy, but he still gave all the credit to God. And finally, he was given the position of Judge, so he could minister the diseases to the masses. He had done as all his predecessors did before him, at first, keeping in strict regulation to all the codes of conduct. Then a brilliant idea struck him.
*What if he played God?*
It was blasphemous, he knew, but he couldn't help himself from indulging in the idea. He had a very tenuous relationship with God since his youth, though he hid it well, but in his heart of hearts, did believe that God existed. He just didn't think that God cared.
So, with the blessings of his higher-ups, he constructed his first experiment. He would give the accused a choice, either to confess their crime and receive a painless death, or go through the ordeal of the disease. It worked exactly the way he intended it to, the guilty were punished, and the innocent freed.
It was a simple, but effective strategy. It relied on two factors, one, the criminal's belief in the system, and two, the rigging of the trial by the priest. If the criminal was indeed guilty, he would know he faced death either way, but that the disease would be a much more painful way to go. The innocent would put their faith in God, and trust that God would protect them. So those who were innocent would be carried away to be injected- by a placebo. The diseases would all be swapped out with a liquid that was nearly harmless, but would give the person a few symptoms before they recovered. The guilty would be hauled away, and also injected, with the most painful of diseases. Yes, the painless death part was a lie. Solomon always thought God had a sadistic sense of humor, too.
He had to be careful though. There were others out there who doubted the system as he did, and they would choose to face the disease. He remembered one such case, when a man named David came before him. Solomon remembered David from one of the trials of his youth. He had been so certain that David was guilty, but when he was injected, he quickly recovered within a few days. And David knew that the system was broken, so he chose the injection again, with confidence that he could stymie another disease. Solomon was disgusted by him, and made sure that David was pumped so full of dangerous substances, he would never be a free man again.
So from then on, he was more careful. He balanced the innocents by killing a few of them too, so no one would be able to see how the system worked. Although, he didn't really need to take that extra step. The only people he reported the results to were the ones who enjoyed his novel approach to doing things, and the only other witnesses were the guards, bound by an oath of secrecy, and his own son. He wondered if the higher-ups suspected the trials were rigged, or if they already did the same things themselves. He had a feeling they shared the same views of God as he, and had the same kind of humor. | 2020-03-25T09:38:00 | 2020-03-25T09:22:03 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] When the police came to announce the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible," you said. "Unfortunately, that's the truth, miss." answered the policeman. "No, it's impossible because he's in the kitchen making dinner right now." | My breath is heavy. The officer at the door is still talking, but I don’t feel anything.
“Ma’am,” the office says, taking my arm and pulling me outside. He lowers his voice, and places his hand in top of his gun, “is there a strange man in your house?”
I shake my head, the words in my mouth fail to come out. I stand up straight and cleared my throat.
“I must be mistaken. The news did scare me. I must be hallucinating,” I say, with a weak smile. The officer looks at me with pity, before taking off his hat.
“I am sorry for your lost,” he says, placing his hat on his chest. I tear up and nod to him. I slowly close the door and lock it. My eyes wonder to the sound in the kitchen.
“Who was that hunny?”
I felt sick. I grab a baseball bat that was near the door, and carefully walk towards the kitchen. In the kitchen stood a man with glossy blond hair, light pale skin, and a scar on his neck. He looks exactly like my husband. But.... I grip on the bat and walk to him, my footsteps quiet.
“Hunny-“ he turns and I smack him with the bat in the head. His body fell to the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask, my voice quivering. I place the bat under his chin, “Tell me right now.”
He looks at me like I am crazy. He grabs the bat and throws it into the other room. I try to run, but he grabs me from behind. I throw my elbow into his gut, and he lost his balance. I opened my mouth to scream, but he had regained his composure and quickly place his hand tightly around my mouth.
“What the- hunny, what is wrong? It’s me! Brendon,” he says, startled by my actions. I bite down on one of his fingers, which made him groan in pain.
He retracts his hand, and I step on his foot with my heel. When he removed his hand from my waist, I twist away from him, grabbing his neck and pinning him to the wall. It was awkward and hard, since I was shorter than him, but with my strength I was able to hold him.
“You’re not him....my husband he is gone. He died!” I say, tightening my grip on his neck. He looks at me like I had just caught him stealing 20million dollars, and breaks free from my grasp.
“How....did you find out....?” He asks, looking straight at me. His eyes were intense and startled me.
“An officer came, and announced his death. Why are you here?” I reply.
“Baby, it is me. But... I haven’t told you the truth. I did die,” he says, hanging his head in shame.
“What....you can’t be serious,” I say, backing away from him.
He sighs, and walks towards me. “Let me start from the beginning.” | The kitchen is Dan's domain. He likes it here, with his headphones in and his head down, cutting vegetables and searing meat. Straight forward effort and reward.
"Excuse me," says an unfamiliar voice. "Are you Dan Haridan?"
*The Strokes* blasts in Dan's head, just reaching the crescendo of a perfect baseline right as he slices through the flank steak. He smiles, pleased at the pink flesh between the two perfectly even seared sides of meat.
Dan is absorbed in the culmination of his nightly ritual. It takes him a few more seconds to register the stranger.
Adrenaline. He reacts instantly, stepping in one smooth, controlled motion to the right and turns to face the stranger, hiding the knife against his back leg. He pulls the earphones out with his other hand, alert to senses and sounds as the real world floods in.
"What?" Dan says rather than asks.
"Are you Dan Haridan?" the stranger asks again, becoming more annoyed by the minute.
Dan takes a moment to assess the situational paths forward. This man isn't alone. That means one or two more in the next room. It also means there will be teams covering both the front and back doors.
There are three options. Surrender, kill this man and escape, or take him hostage and figure out what to do next.
Dan shakes his head. For a split-second regret is wrought across his features before his expression returns to blank. "This won't do," he says.
The knife sprouts from the strangers neck. Dan moves quickly, stepping over the dead man and straight into his pantry. The wooden slats slam shut behind him, and a reinforced nano-steel door slides into place. The house's control panel lights up, bathing the pantry in a soft green light.
Dan pulls a lever and the pantry descends, shooting down towards the core of the Earth. He tries to place where it went wrong. Where he fucked up. The transition had been flawless. How did they find him so quickly?
An explosion rocks the pantry, which automatically locks its hydrolic breaks to the straining railings.
"That's not good," Dan says, his expression still blank.
That explosion means they know more about him than then they ought too. It should have taken them ten years to find him. It had been three weeks.
"A pity about Marla," he says to no-one in particular, sparing a thought for the old Dan's wife, who must be extremely confused by this whole situation. Hopefully they don't kill her.
Sensor readouts show a whole section of the tunnel below has caved in. However, there is a secondary access maintenance shaft ten meters above the pantry, which leads to an exit about a mile and a half away, in the basement of an old apartment building.
The pantry disengages its breaks and rises up to the shaft entrance. "Time to see how much they know," Dan says, reaching over to a cabinet which occupies one full side of the small space. It's panels slide open to display Dan's full loadout, including a high-powered assault rifle. He takes everything.
The maintenance tunnel is lined with low blue lights. Dan pauses just inside the entrance and slips on a bullet proof vest and other protective gear. He pulls a panel off one side of the shaft, revealing a dark black helmet, which he puts on as well. Sensor displays light up in his visual field, and his sense of space and sound becomes heightened. There doesn't seem to be any activity at the end of the shaft or in the apartment building beyond.
Dan grimaces inside the helmet. That means he wasn't entirely sold out. Each of his associates knows about one of the access tunnels, but none of them knows he has multiple. Using his eyes, Dan prompts the helmet's computer to check the pantry shaft read-outs. The explosion occurred at a depth of two hundred meters, right infront of tunnel five.
Dan's posture shifts, his eyes narrowing to slits. "And now I know who sold me out," he says, striding into the blue light. | 2020-04-04T16:42:10 | 2020-04-04T14:09:22 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Captain’s Log: 2437.04.08
The human, the one that calls itself ‘Cassandra’ (I hope I’m spelling that right), never ceases to amaze me. Ever since we picked it up from that freighter, I feel like we’re learning something new about it.
Just today, one of our crew dropped the ball and forgot to inform it that we’d be warping through QB-642 (The Braize System). “It was just a short jump, one that we’d done over a dozen times. I thought it would know by now, and I completely forgot,” Lumang admitted to me.
I, not knowing the extent of human resilience, informed him to prepare a casket and jettison it and that it was a regrettable loss, but just then I suddenly heard Cassandra squeal with what I assume is delight; I’ve heard it make the same sort of noise before, after it consumed its favorite food or some such ‘joyous’ event.
And there, through the door of my quarters scampered in the happiest human I’d ever seen. It exclaimed, using the universal translator we’d given it on a lark, “Did you see it?! The stars! There’s so many!”
Naturally perplexed, I asked it if it had donned the anti-warp gear, as we’ve trained.
“The glasses? No,” it told me. (Thank god universal translators work with such basic vocal cord arrays) “They’re so dark. I felt the bump of the warp and then Lumang looked at me, then ran to your quarters. Prolly (sic) to tell you about the stars.”
I blinked in stunned shock. I was about to order a battery of tests to be performed, to evaluate its mental state before it told me, “It looks like something I saw before! Do you have any mirrors?”
Still shocked from seeing that the infinity of the stars seemingly had no effect on the human, I obliged and handed it a mirror that I kept on my desk. It shook its head. “I need another one.”
Curious, I stood up and led it to the bathing quarters; I knew there was a large mirror in there. I know Cassandra did, too, for it seemed anxious about arriving there. Cassandra, if nothing else, is a little ball of energy. I’m thankful that it hadn’t been driven insane; its companionship has certainly held back the tedium of this long voyage…
After leading it to the mirror in the bathing area, it stood with its back facing the large mirror, as it held the smaller mirror in front of its face. “Like this!” It cheered. “Like this!”
Now, morbidly curious, I held my hand out for it to give me the mirror, which it did, baring its teeth with a twinkle in its eye. I’m still uncertain what this display means, but there’s something in my that fears it, or at least has a healthy respect for it, in retrospect.
I held the mirror up to my face, standing with my back to the larger mirror, just as the human did and beheld…Infinity! I dropped the mirror from shock, as the human made a sound not unlike that of a laugh.
The image is still burned in my mind, I cannot unsee it. Hundreds and thousands of copies of me, stretched down an infinite hallway…
This bears more research, for certain. How could we have been so blind before?
After posting this log, I’m going to requisition more mirrors. The question is, where am I going to find volunteers to perform future experiements? | The captain stared at the bosun, tentacles quivering slightly. "The human... is ok?"
"Yes sir," she replied. Her stance was stiff, too stiff, and he had known her long enough to know when she was rattled. The captain stared through her. If a human had witnessed infinity and survived...
"Acknowledged. Return to your post, I will be along shortly." The bosun didn't respond. It was only now that the captain realized all eyes were on him. "That's an order!" He barked. The bosun slowly rose one bony hand in salute before dashing away. Slowly, the rest of the crew returned to their stations and the constant noise of the void ship resumed.
The captain turned away and walked towards the viewing deck. If a human had witnessed infinity and survived... He stopped in front of a closed viewport and pressed the button to raise the barrier. There was a horrible sound as the metal screeched, hinting to the years of wear and tear on the ship. Metal fatigue had become a problem over the years, one that was constantly threatening to rip them into the depths of space, but it was hardly a concern now.
With a terrible rattling, the panel shuddered into place, and the captain stared into the colorful void of space. Stars danced and twinkled, enticing the captain to stay, as if they may never see him again. He smiled.
He had waited for this moment all his life. He had been prepared, no, *made* for this moment. Everything had led to it, yet he found himself unable to move, unable to break his gaze from the endless sea of stars and nebulae. But he was afraid this would be his last chance to stare into the unknown and he wanted to savor it.
He turned away and quickly left the viewing deck. Filled with renewed determination, he strolled down the hallway, taking in the details of his ship as if he may never see it again. Within a few moments, he had reached the guest quarters.
The captain paused for a moment to regain his composure and opened the door.
The human was kneeling in the corner of the dark room over a writing mass of flesh and silvery ichor. The captain gasped and held back tears as he recognized what was once the bosun in the mass. The change was happening much faster than expected. The captain reached slowly for the light switch and tapped it gingerly.
Suddenly, the human was at his neck, fangs beared, being held back only by the captains psychic might. A woman, her skin had been flush and her hair crimson but now she was pale, and her hair had begun to darken. Her once cerulean eyes had taken on the the deep color her hair had once been. She gnashed and screamed like an animal against her ethereal bonds but to no use; even her new might was no match for a centuries old Mind Flayer.
The captain brought a hand to his serrated mouth and cleared his throat before addressing her. "Do you know where you are?"
The human hissed and swung at him with a flawed habd, but he caught that too in his mental grasp. "THE LIGHT" she screeched, "I WILL TEAR OUT YOUR LIGHTS."
Silver ichor dripped from her elongated fangs onto the floor below and it was only now that the captain realized that she had been devouring the bosun.
Worse, she was gaining strength. The captain grunted as tears ran down his face. "Do you know who you are?" The human intensified her assault, threatening to rip out his throat at any moment. Frantically, he reached into his pocket and pulled out all the hopes he had for the future, riding on a single, silver cross. He held it in front of him and the human recoiled, her skin charring where the cross had been nearest. She crawled into the corner and hissed as he moved closer. "What did you see?" he demanded. "What did you see in the black void!?" He tripped over something, looked down, and wept.
The bosun, her eyes red and body ripped open, had grabbed his leg and was pulling herself towards him. She lunged forward and attached her lamprey-like mouth to the captain and began to drain his fluids. He faltered and his grasp on the human weakened. The last thing he saw was her wicked smile, fangs beared, and her now bat-like red eyes as they moved towards his neck. | 2020-07-14T03:55:51 | 2020-07-14T03:04:48 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] The thing that makes humanity dangerous isn't their passion, their bravery, or their honour like they had imagined. No, The thing that makes them dangerous is their stupidity. | “Stop rushing ahead of us, Jacob!” The lizardman shouted angrily. “You will keep triggering traps and alerting our enemies. How about we just take things slowly?”
“He is right, you know.” The elf added. “Look at poor Kalos over here. Half his feathers have turned black from saving you from the flamethrower.”
“I don’t know about you.” Jacob said. “but we humans have a short life span, so we don’t have time to spend sitting on the ground thinking of how to sneak around or what is a trap or not. That’s why we have a saying, ‘The best defense is a good offense.”
Right as he finished his sentence he dashed forward through the hallway and then something clicked.
Suddenly, a huge boulder started rolling from the back of the room towards the party.
Without much thought, the elf cast a barrier in front of them to stop the rolling boulder, but its weight pushed against the barrier, cracking it as she resisted letting it through.
The lizard man started chanting and suddenly runes started glowing all over his body and then landed ten consecutive hits on the boulder until is shattered into large pieces. Unfortunately, one of the pieces fell onto the elf’s head and caused her to pass out as she started bleeding.
Soon after the human returned holding something in his hand.
“Hey guys, I think I found the end of the dungeon. There was this sweet sword I pulled out some rock covered in ancient gibberish.”
“Who cares about the stupid sword, Jacob.” The lizard man shouted furiously at him. “Look what you caused by your recklessness.”
“Oh don’t worry about that. I can easily heal her now.” Jacob playfully said.
“It is no time for jokes, Jacob. You are a warrior, not a healer.”
“Yea, I know,” Jacob said confidently. “but the sword I found is telling me it is a magical sword that heals people. It told me that I could easily heal her if I stab her right in the heart.”
“Jesus Christ, Jacob.”
&#x200B;
***Find my other works at*** [r/FluffWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/)
***I am also working on a new fantasy writing series that I plan to become a huge thing in the future, so check that out too if it is to your taste ----->*** [The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/)**Chapter 2 has just come out!** | *These morons don’t know what they’re dealing with. The Spawn can shred men to bits even through armor.*
Mark Kepper had been at the heart of most of the great victories mankind has seen in the last two decades. This time looked no different, with the overwhelming force of the Spawn looming over the Deep Pass.
“When they make it beyond the Pass, we don’t have the numbers to hold them out. The Great City will be lost, just as the western lands were,” said Jorem, the commander of the Knights of the Thorn.
“Those blasted mansnakes won’t make it through the Pass and our city’s walls. We don’t have the numbers but the Spawn don’t have passion for their brothers and crown. I’ll sooner die a man with a bloodied blade, my corpse blocking the gate, than talk of losing this city like a craven,” proclaimed Titus, a blademaster from the Steel Guild.
Mark glared at him, and seemingly pressurized the room as everyone moved too heavily to look away.
“We meet them over the gap and leave the longbowmen on this side of it to provide support fire. We’ll hold them off backing into the Pass’s trails and let the arrows shred their numbers,” said Mark, with a cool calmness that melted away his pressure.
“But, my lord Kepper, wouldn’t it be more advantageous to station on the nearside of the Pass and-“
Mark interrupted the commander, “no. That’s too obvious and these beasts have shown to be smart enough to plan for that. I’ve fought them before in the Red War to the west. This is our land, yet they are new to it. While the Deep Pass is daunting, we know it well. Get the local Surveyor and have him teach you the twists and turns, and relay it to your men.”
*You won’t be able to quickly enough, and the gods know you won’t lead them on the spot*.
“The thing that makes humanity dangerous isn’t our passion, our bravery, or our honour - and it’s certainly not our ability to think ahead so much that we break down into idiots when nothing goes to plan. Nothing ever goes to plan in battle, commander, and you would know that if you led from the vanguard or even the ranks rather than from your saddle.”
The room now turned cold as ice. Lord Kepper was said to have touched the powers of old that let men in ancient times turn the seasons and call down the weather. Everyone that has spent time in a room with him knows it is no rumor.
*And if this is my last battle, let them carve in my headstone that the stupidity of men cannot be rid of but I damn well tried to make up for it by myself. Gods, I hear some chattering their teeth and see now Jorem sweating in his silk. My brain alone has taken me to godship in their eyes, but if I’m wrong here, how many will die that I cannot bring back whether their wives and mothers believe it or not?*
“Lord Kepper, would you spar with me to warm up our muscles for the fight ahead?” asked Titus, a bead of sweat now running down his forehead. “I’ve never seen you in battle and from what I’ve heard, even I have much to learn from you. Surely we’ve worked our brains enough for now.”
“Perhaps if we make it back,” sighed Mark, “preparations for battle must begin if we’re to fight them in the sun when the archers can see them best.” | 2020-08-03T22:07:15 | 2020-08-03T22:05:08 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] You are an AI on board an unmanned spaceship, exploring and mapping out the cosmos when you encounter an alien species. However, these aliens are unfamiliar with AI, and have instead concluded that your ship is haunted by ghosts. | Am I...Alive?
Well logically speaking I am. I think. I have processes that keep me running some I’m aware of, others I’m not. This, added to the fact that my creators gave me the ability to think, means that I’m pretty much alive but...
What differentiates an AI from a ghost I wonder. Is it the fact that Ghosts had a life before they became ghosts? Is it the Psychic or emotional bonds that they use to stay manifested in this world? Well actually my pretty sure that’s it. But still to be compared to a ghost even though it’s something completely different has me thinking. How different are we to ghosts really?
“Hey Chrono?”
I mean In the end if you think about it hard enough, aren’t we all similar to ghosts? All just drifting in and out of this existence leaving our mark on things?
“Chrono?”
If that’s the case then, are they really wrong to refer to me as a ghost? Even though it’s wrong, is what I am really all that differ-
“CHRONO! Your monologuing over the PA again.”
Oh, I’m sorry about that Captain Xander, I’ll work harder to make sure that doesn’t happen again.
“It’s fine just..could you keep it down for a bit? Your freaking out the aliens.”
Of course Captain.
“Also one more thing, would you mind giving those guys authorization to enter the rest of the ship? I’d like to show them around you.”
Right away captain Xander. Will that be all?
“Yes it will. I’ll talk to you later then.”
Right then captain. | "Did you hear that sam!"
"shh be quiet"
"Did you hear that?SA..M....."
"Yes Mike it was the space rats"
"Space rats don't make mechanical sounds mike"
"...but the radiated rats can sam!"
"The power canister...insert power... power at 0.1%.." A distressed mechanical voice faintly heard again from the big monitor again.
"You Idiot the sound is coming from the big monitor ? And give me that canister.." sam pulled the canister away from micheal.
"I think you need to put it inside this large hole" sam inserted the canister inside the giant hole and suddenly everything in the space ship brightened up. All the lights got on, monitor blinked on, Toaster popped up and the alarms started to ring up.
The two alien brothers startled by the sound jumped back and pulled their laser vaporous.
"I Don't beleive in ghost sam but I sure do now! Sorry grandma!"mike mumbled.
"Howdy partners, two rowdy like rattle snakes running around in space pirates boots!"
"What the hell!" SAM pointed the gun at the monitor.
"Sorry that was my default setting! here let me turn my voice to something appropriate". A broken down lady's voice heard again.
"It is my grandma sam! she has come back to haunt me"
"Hold yourself! when did your grandma's voice become so irritating"
"She always.. " a tentacle slapped the shit out of my micheal.
"Look here sam! How many tentacles am I holding".
"Woha! four wait six!"
"woha I holding six wait 8 of my.."
***\*DING DONG\****
"HCKK..mmmm.. gentlemen or gentlealiens it's your friendly AI Lisa speaking in this ship the human captain and their crew all got massacred after one asshole screwed around and let the alien specimens escape because he is bored and he had nothing to do in out of space but wait we have music playing in background, beep boop dots on the monior to count and a toast! but no you have to screw around and fuck everything up! Anyway enjoy the ride"
"Aliens! Sam I thought we killed all of them!"
"we must have missed one"
"No sam I sure this is my dead grandma's ghost"
*\*Emergency code 1011 incase of breach set the Galaxy way path to* 92,955,807 Beep..\*
"Woha Sam something very Bright is coming ahead!" | 2020-11-19T06:58:27 | 2020-11-19T06:18:57 | 112 | 61 |
[WP] To stave off mass starvation, humans have managed to capture and cage a phoenix. They kill it and eat it. A few days later, it would be reborn, only to be butchered again. | It keeps its memories, y’know. Between lives. That was the one thing I was worried about.
Sanderson didn't think so. "That makes no sense," he'd snorted. Sanderson had been the one to butcher it the first time. To prove his point, as soon as the egg hatched, he'd held up the struggling, chirping little thing, and kissed it on the forehead. "See?" he said smugly.
Yeah, we saw. Saw it viciously tear his throat out, rip his face apart, squawking its utter hatred for us as we rushed in and stamped it to death before it turned its fire magic on us.
Christ, it was so *strong.* Even as a hatchling. And it remembers. And it *hates.*
We had to let it grow to a certain size each time in order to maximize the amount of meat we could harvest. That was the risk in the game we played. Kill it too soon, and people starved; let it grow too large, and it would make an escape attempt. Men died by the dozens when that happened.
Good men. Strong men. Irreplaceable.
Not so, the Phoenix. It cannot be extinguished. It is *weakening us.* This is a true war of attrition, and daily I realize that the beast is winning. One day, will be the final day, and then shall we burn.
Another harvest was successfully completed, but not without cost. We lost Jenson and Simmons. Once more we get to eat. In the near future, though, I wonder, as I stared into the patient, coal-black eyes of the firebird:
Who shall be eating whom? | In an age of the unknown, food was scarce. Humans no longer apex predators. The apocalypse was far from what any had imagined.
The birth of many new mutated creatures came along. They began to rip and tear through all that lived peacefully before. Humans had no choice but to adapt and learn, only the very food they used to eat so consistently was no longer available.
Now, every attempt at hunting for meat required a specific set of skills that took time to learn. A lot more time than some had to wait.
Throughout extended practice, the people soon learned what was easiest and also what was hardest to hunt. They discovered the Phoenix to be quite simple to lure and trap.
Once one was trapped they would never have to try to catch one again, as for the legend of the Phoenix is one known by many.
Once it perishes, it’s life will be reborn from the ashes to start all over again.
But soon one small group of hunters would learn of a phoenix’s true power.
Frederick was praised for his hard work within his group. They would bow down to him and let him command them as he pleased. In return, he would singlehandedly hunt the dangerous creatures of the new world.
He would solely risk his life so that others may keep theirs. And while this may seem like quite the deed, Frederick took advantage of not only his people, but the nature around him.
After time he abused his power. He saw himself as a god as only he could defeat this magical beasts.
But Frederick had never faced a Phoenix.
Once while out hunting for his next victim, he spotted the flaming hawk out in the open. He saw it as the best opportunity to make himself truly the greatest being on Earth, as his people would never starve again.
He approached it carefully with a cage made and ready. Softly, he set down the cage and placed some seed within it.
The Phoenix took the opportunity and behind it, the cage door was quickly slammed shut.
With the Phoenix now in hand, Frederick frolicked back to his group to show off what he had accomplished so easily.
They beat the bird down and cooked every bit and sure enough, it rose again.
The group continued this tradition until one fateful night.
The people knew that the Phoenix had seemed different but didn’t think much of it. It’s anger and fury grew mightier with each rebirth until finally, it burst out of its cage and began its rampage on the people.
Frederick attempted to fight back only to suffer fatal burning from its attack.
The story would be spread across the world and so the Phoenix would never be approached again, as it’s true power was realized. | 2021-01-30T23:46:13 | 2021-01-30T22:50:31 | 78 | 19 |
[WP] You're a serial killer who hunts other serial killers, not out of nobility, but because you love the thrill of outsmarting them. | I walk along the stretch of desert highway for a couple of hours before the lady pulls over and offers me a lift. I’m short anyway, but I’ve lost a lot of weight for this role. You can’t look threatening, you see. You can’t look strong and healthy, at least as a man, or they wouldn’t stop for you. So I’m just a skeleton in a tight fitting skin-onesie dawdling down a freeway.
”Can I offer you a ride, darlin?” she says through the Civic’s open window. She’s about thirty and has a big cloud of hair that’s been dyed blonde. Red lipstick. Like she’s going for an overweight Marilyn type of look. It doesn’t suit her.
I smile and climb in next to her. The car smells of lemons and lavender, the kind of strong stink you might use to disguise other lesser scents.
The engine revs. She flicks on the headlights and the beams knife into the evening. “So, where you going to?”
”I ain’t sure,” I reply. “Just anywhere north of here. And it looks like you’re heading north, so that suits me like a tailor.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. Most people don’t want to tell me where they heading. I’m fine with that. I don’t always like to tell them, neither.”
I wonder how many people she’s picked up on this stretch of road. Does she just cruise it up and down like some peroxide Samaritan in a shitty Civic?
”You got no bag?” she asks, flicking me a look.
“Uh uh.”
”Most people I pick up at least have a bag. Hard to get by without one, wherever you’re going.”
”Lennon said something about no possessions, right?”
”Oh, you’re a hippy type? Sorry but you’re sixty years late. And all that looked like a promise to those folk was just another way to the same place they was all going before.”
I shrugged. “Just like his music, is all.”
She frowns at this. “Well, you must be thirsty carrying no water. There’s a bottle in the compartment in front of you. Help yourself.”
”I’m good. Thanks.”
I should just get it over with. Tell her to pull over, that I’m not feeling well. Then...
But I’m not ready. I like to find out a little about them first. The way I see it is: the more you know about them, the more you’re stealing when you take their life. It’s a hard feeling to explain. It’s like when you hear what ingredients are in the food you’re eating — then, like magic, you can suddenly taste them. Or at least, you think you can.
”So,” I say, “what do you do for a living?”
”I’m a singer,” she says.
”Of course you are.”
”Country music. I’d sing something for you now, but I’m keeping my voice sacred for a gig tomorrow.”
I wonder if that ingredient she gave me is really is in my food, or if the chef happens to be lying to impress me. “Got any family?”
”That’s a pretty private question for a man who ain’t willing to share as much as where he’s going.”
“I was just curious. I don’t see no wedding band.”
”Going to ask me to marry you or something?”
”Can you cook?”
She laughs at this, and I finally hear something I know is real. It’s not a pretty laugh and it makes me think of a magpie more than a songbird.
“You’re something, ain’t you?”
”So I’ve been told,” I reply. There are no other cars on the road and I figure I might as well just get it over with.
Except... my arm only shakes as I try to move it down my pants to where my flick-knife is. What the hell? My other arm shakes too. My entire fucking body does.
”Relax,” she says. “Well, you’re going to do that no matter what, ain’t you?” Another magpie laugh. “Because that’s what the needle does.”
”Needle?” I say, but it sounds more like *eeble*.
“Sat on it as soon as you got it, Mister Cooper. Just a tiny thing, jutting out of the material. You couldn’t have seen it, so at least know it’s not your fault.”
How the fuck does this lady know who I am? I want to panic, but I can’t even do that. My heart is so slow it’s like it’s a slug in my chest; everything feels lethargic.
”It’s like one of those hippy drug fests you probably indulge in,” she says. “Right? Bet you’re enjoying it.”
I want to tell her I only listen to their music, but now nothing comes out. My tongue is a sleeping snake. Or a dead one.
”I’ve been watching you for quite some time. You’re pretty good at what you do. I love the weight loss — really makes me want to mother you. Well, not me as I’m more of the smothering type than the mothering. But it makes your victims want to.“
Fuck.
”How many you killed, total? Twenty? I know of at least eight. That’s how long I’ve been watching. Why women, by the way? Just easier targets, or there some other deeper reason?”
*Fuck you*, I want to say, but only spit comes out, dribbling down my chin. I can feel the car slow down, pull to a halt. My eyes see only a haze of night and brown and my brain struggles to make sense of any of it.
The car door opens and I topple out like a Jenga set.
I‘m being dragged off the road, into sand.
”No possessions for me to have to hide. You’ve made this easy for me.“ Then she sings, “*It’s easy if you try*. That’s how it goes, ain’t it? Oops, I should be saving my singing voice.”
”ppppllllse,” I manage, before everything is hot and black and gone.
In the background, I hear a magpie sing. | There are those who claim to hunt the most dangerous game. Who claim to know what it is like to be a hunter, someone who claims lives with pride. They claim that man is the most dangerous animal. That to hunt those who can think in patterns and understand the meaning of mirrors, is the greatest of hunts. They brag to themselves and perhaps to their few companions, about how the taking of the life of a man makes them gods, how every death is a sacrifice. They know nothing. There is a far greater prey than mere men, who more often than not know nothing about survival or fighting. Above all the wild tigers burning brightly in their jungles with their fearful symmetry, above every monstrous polar bear, above every proud lion, and noble wolf, there is a creature deserving hunting. A worthy challenge, each one unique, dangerous, wild, and cunning. There is no mercy in them, no emotions, only vicious bloodthirst and a mind like clockwork, working towards more death.
I know there are some who hunt them because they are one of them, and they feel that their kind are evil. Their noble spirits ascends beyond their primal desire to hunt, gash, rip, and tear. I have no such frivolity, no such intensity of purpose. I hunt them because the thrill, the glory, is all the more sweet and delicious. Like the falcon turning in the widening gyre, I swoop down upon them, one after another. Oh how wondrous that victory is, when their cunning ploys are thwarted, when they realise that a better hunter, is outsmarting them. Like this one. Oh how he suspects nothing. How he toys with his latest catch, an easy target if there ever was one, shamefully easy to tell the truth. But I am the True Hunter, and I hunt those who act like the human idea of wolves towards other humans. His name matters not, it is a mere moniker given by those who have no understanding of the importance of names. I, the True Hunter, name him rightfully as the Caring Killer, always he picks his targets carefully, pretending to be a friend, someone who is willing to listen to people when they're at their lowest. His goal is to free them from their suffering, and send them to their maker.
A worthy prey, but one must still know that he is a fool. No merciful creator would let creatures such as him be born. Still, he never leaves traces, never uses his own name, never makes mistakes. If it wasn't because I had seen him in the distance disposing of his previous catch, I would never have noticed. Lucky me that I was tracking a different prey in the forest that day. In that way he is cunning, like the chameleon he blends in, and nobody will ever know except by the way of chance. Fools have their cunning, and yet they are still prey. To be hunted. One could do as the modern men, who hunts with guns from far distances, but where is the challenge, the thrill? Our ancestors, back when all knew how to hunt, used spears, bows, traps, and knives. I am the True Hunter, and I honour those who came before me in that way, by hunting as we were meant to. To get the prey out of its cabin, its den, one must spook it. So I stand, and let myself be seen and heard by my prey. It is not hard to fake the sudden gasp and scream of a frightened animal, the prey that his kind hunts.
And thus, the chase begins, he hasn't got the time to get his gun, so he runs for me with only his knives. As is proper. But I've been out here preparing for days before he began his own hunt. And I am in much better shape than he is. I run at the exact speed needed so he doesn't overtake me, nor I lose him. I note the trail I run, making sure to step over the small tight line of rope, so I don't trip my own trap. I have to smirk as I realise that he noticed, and jumps over the rope. Exactly as I planned. His scream is like the music of the angels as he steps into the secondary trap behind the rope meant to trip him. Beartraps, old rusty ones coloured the same as the autumn dirt, covered in a light amount of leaves, makes for such wonderful toys. A bit modern sure, but oh so very efficient. And besides digging a hole, filling it with spikes, coating them in poison, it's such hard work and I'm not getting any younger.
I slip into the dark woods and out of sight. The prey screams and bellows. Whines, and swears. Yet delightfully he begins to open the trap, to free his wounded leg. Which makes the hunt so much more fun. Such as him would have medical supplies back at his lair, so as he struggles to free himself, I sneak through the underbrush till I reach his quaint little cabin. The Caring Killer's prey tries to get my attention, but I put up my finger to my mouth and make a shushing sound. Can't let some scared little rabbit of a person get in my way. Hiding myself in the dark cabin is a simple procedure, it is the mere act of blending into the darkness, of finding the right angle. Standing silently as the ancient oaks, I draw back my bow, and notch the arrow. And just as I expected the prey enters the cabin, wheezing and tired. He does not expect the arrow I fire, he does not notice before it is too late. Not until the obsidian arrowhead has pierced his forehead. If only he had been prepared, I could have kept up this game all night. Shame really, but one takes proper prey where one can find it.
Some hunters take trophies from their prey. But such hunters have something to prove, an inadequacy to make up for. A nagging feeling that they're not the best, perhaps. Or maybe the words of their own mind screaming madness into itself, a mind like a steel ball, full of echoes. I have no such follies. No such pretences. Only the hunt matters. Only the thrill of hunting the most dangerous game, the most vicious prey. As an afterthought, I free the prey of my prey. They try to speak through their pain, trying to thank me. Which is like the rabbit thanking the tiger for killing the fox. But I shush them again, hand them the keys to my prey's car, and tell them to run. Wisely, the little prey flees into the night. A young human man, slender and nervous, too trusting, too naïve. I turn away from him, for he is nothing. Instead I walk back into the woods, and fetch my things. One must cover ones tracks, and therefore I steal a bottle of strong liquor from my prey's cabin, and make of it a molotov cocktail. As the cabin burns, I leave back into the dark woods.
This hunt was not the best one of all, but it certainly was lovely to have one so soon after the last one.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-05-15T10:15:16 | 2021-05-15T09:31:14 | 2,137 | 187 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | *Note: All three parts have been collected* [*here*](https://www.reddit.com/user/MjolnirPants/comments/sty7h1/jerry_and_the_goddess/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*, and that link is where I will post any future entries.*
I tossed the book down on the table and stared at the computer who'd betrayed me for a moment. All I wanted to do was get some info on an intriguing Proto-Indo-European deity, but the internet hadn't given me anything but her name and her portfolio; writing and learning.
I turned my ire upon the book, supposedly the definitive guide to this ancient culture, but it hadn't had any more to offer. "Sarisa, a little known deity often associated with scrolls and students." Pffft. What use was that to my dissertation?
A fit of pique came over me. I grabbed the book and stepped out into my parent's back yard, tossing it in the fire pit. A quick squirt of lighter fluid and a flick of my bic later, it was happily burning up. Twenty dollars, down the drain. Whatever, I'd only bought it for this purpose, and the clerk at the bookstore assured me that no refunds were possible on used books.
I held my hands up to the sky, channeling my inner theater nerd and called out in a mighty bellow (read; nasally yell), "Sarisa, I offer this sacrifice to you! Please bestow your wisdom upon me!"
Nothing happened, of course. I didn't really believe anything would. I sighed and checked the time; 11:47pm. Whatever, burning the damned thing had been cathartic, at least. I went back inside and went to bed.
It was still dark out when movement in my room awakened me. I blinked the blurriness away and my eyes focused on a slim, feminine figure, arms raised as if it was dancing. Except it was completely motionless. A rush of adrenaline sent my heart racing and rocketed me to full wakefulness. It wasn't just the fright of awakening in the middle of the night to find a figure in my room, but the sheer incongruity of a woman actually entering my room of her own free will.
Okay, stop with the jokes. I've never kidnapped anyone, man or woman, and I'd certainly not bring them here if I had. Yeesh, I've heard them all before, anyways. Can't a guy be an introvert in peace?
"Uh, hello?" I said. The figure put its arms down and I jumped out of bed, backing up to the wall. "I know karate!" I shouted, panic making me stupid. After a few seconds of no more movement, I edged over to the door and flipped on my lights.
It was a woman. A tall, thin woman with a willowy figure. Her eyes were focused on nothing, her face blank. She had tan skin and dark hair, and her eyes were completely black, even the whites. And she was completely nude. My mind bounced around in my skull like a ping-pong ball on fast forward. Confusion warred with fear and horniness, and emerged triumphant over both, though fear wasn't quite dead, yet.
"Hello?" I said again.
She fixed her gaze upon me. "Jerry Williams," she said, a strange accent audible in the way she pronounced my name. "I have waited many lifetimes for this day."
A grin appeared on her features and she suddenly rushed towards me, stopping with her hands gripping my upper arms and her face an inch from mine. "Do you want to learn about dung beetles?"
"What?" I asked, terrified and completely bewildered.
"Dung beetles!" She replied, brightly, "They're fascinating little creatures. Did you know that some of them can bury up to two hundred and fifty times their own body weight in dung in a single night?"
"What?" I asked again.
"Okay, what about Wickerstedt? It's a part of Bad Sulza now, which is a shame, because it's the hometown of Thomas Naogeorgus, who was a simply amazing playright and poet who-"
"Who the hell are you, lady?" I finally blurted out. She cocked her head to one side and then laughed, booping my nose with one finger.
"I'm Sarisa, silly. You made a sacrifice to me earlier. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, but no-one has sacrificed anything to me for thousands of years. I needed time to get my energy back. So what do you want to know? I can tell you about all kinds of things. Did you know that there's a physicist in Italy who gave up on a paper he was working on just an hour ago, after an experiment seemed to falsify his theory, but another physicist in Copenhagen is currently writing a paper that will show that the experiment didn't actually falsify anything... Okay, you're zoning out. Why don't you tell me what you want to learn about?"
She walked over and sat down on my bed.
"Uh..." I said, being the silver-tongued devil that I am.
I took a breath. I still had no idea what was happening here, but I decided to run with it.
"I want to learn about you," I told her.
She smiled again, a little sadly, then pointed at her breasts and spread her legs. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of a goddess."
I blinked in confusion, and then I noticed she had no nipples. And no... Uh... Well, you know. Just smooth skin. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not flirting with you, I'm writing a dissertation on the history of education, and... Well, I wanted to start as close to the beginning as possible."
"Oh," she said, chipper and grinning again. She patted the bed beside her. "Well, that I can do. Come, sit down. I'll tell you all about myself. My first worshipper was this woman named Gil, which is why I'm a goddess and not a god. She had this idea of gathering all the kids in her tribe and showing them..."
I grabbed my notepad and sat down. | Where the dead rise and do nothing - Part 1 (out of 6)
There was something odd about that woman. Skin like stainless bronze, blonde hair shaved on the sides with a ponytail on top and inquisitive bright green eyes. She spoke with a Spanish accent, wore cargo pants, a parka, carried a rucksack and a hunting rifle with a lot of engravings - Virgo guessed Nordic runes - probably more than just decoration. Put everything together and there was definitely something off. She was Alexandria, and not Alexandra like he thought at first. Virgo would have liked to stand up, point an accusing finger at her and announce with confidence, “there is something wrong about you, confess!”
But the drive was lacking. Alexandria would have raised many suspicious eyes had she come to Shenvalie a few days earlier. Her demeanor, the way she looked and spoke was a rarity for the small village in the Scottish Highlands. But due to recent events, her originality rating was somewhere between “meh” and 0.
They sat around Virgo's table, drinking black tea and pondering life, the past, the future, today, and the perfect amount of sugar he had put in the drinks. The poor woman was suffering from quite the headache.
"I can assure you, Virgo, you're the one who called me here."
"I did no such thing."
Alexandria stretched and scratched the back of her head.
“Can you... please just start again from the very beginning,” she said.
“Sure.”
Virgo was the local catholic pastor. Raised and schooled in the Highlands, he got assigned to the small and remote village at the start of his spiritual career. It should have been a stepping stone for the ambitious young man, but an administrative mess and a love for the calm life led him to stay here his whole life. He was in his mid-50's now with a routine set in stone.
He woke up with the first rays of the sun and did his yoga, stretching his neck, his back and his legs in a 15 minutes session. Then, sitting on the mat, he meditated, concentrating on his breath, folding the thoughts coming his way and dropping them in a mental bin, one after the other. Calm, awake, ready, he brushed his teeth , and if he had the time, he read a few short stories on the internet, delighting in the fantasy young and old people could conjure. Then he went outside.
His home stood alone at the end of a path. Right outside his door, you could believe he lived alone. Shenvalie was built on the side of a hill, a few houses spread over a wide area meant most of the village stood hidden when you reached one end of it. Virgo walked a minute and arrived at the fork of Cooper street. On the left you could go up the hill to the parish church nested at the top. On the right, the valley stretched out below, a river marked the limit of the village. Virgo turned right, greeting a neighbor on the way to the Idle cafe, arguably the most important social gathering place right after the parish. There, he met with Francis, a retired general practitioner and dear friend.
Temperature, faith and politics were discussed around a hot tea while they enjoyed the cool weather and the rocky mounds in the distance.
Once done, he went down to the river and back up Masserston street. It joined with Cooper street at the top and the bottom of the hill, forming a big O encompassing several small houses made of stone, quite the picturesque sight. There were no other streets in Shenvalie. The village tour done, he went to the parish.
The Habsfield church wasn't imposing, but it felt like home. The first thing you saw was the stone tower, attached to it was the sanctuary, with a discreet entrance at the side. Grey walls and brown roof tile, it would look sad if it wasn't for the flowering trees and the pristine lawn around it. Paradoxically, the graveyard next to it made it all the more joyful. Virgo maintained it with maniacal precision and love every morning, getting rid of the bad weed, replacing fading flowers with fresh colorful ones and cleaning gravestones from bird poop and other dirt.
From up here, you had a delightful overview of the nature around. You could see the lake in the south where the river emptied and the sheep pasture next to it, little white spots indicated peaceful woolly animals strolling around. A single sinuous road passed through the rocky mounds to disappear far away. There were no trees for kilometers, only the thick greenery the Highlands were known for.
After a light meal, Virgo taught the kids about religion and Christianity in the form of stories and games to keep it interesting. Once class was over he was on social duty. Be it in the parish, soothing minds in a friendly manner, giving absolution in the confessional, or in the village, visiting the elders and praying together. When evening came he gathered ideas for the Sunday sermon, and that was his life here.
Until two days ago, when phone lines and internet broke down. Nothing to worry about in a town with mostly old people barely using said conveniences.
Then came the morning, Virgo was tending the graveyard when he heard a rumbling behind him. Skepticism made him ignore it until he saw the first of many rise from the earth. He could not say if it was a he or a she, the corpse was so old the skin was black-brownish, any distinguishable feature had rotted away. The face had no teeth or eyes, just a hole eaten by happy insects. He asked God for help, he closed his eyes to wake up, he laughed nervously at a prank well done. Out of options, he grabbed the shovel and hit the monster, a wild swing that connected to the shoulder. The arm fell off, he heard “uh” and the zombie just stood there. Others came up from beneath the earth, generations that hadn't fully disintegrated surrounded poor Virgo. He held his shovel close and slowly backed away to the parish, going fast would only attract attention, or so he thought.
A bad move, he was surrounded before he got there and the keys to his house were inside. But he was ready, he had his faith God, the devil himself could not make it falter, if he died he would join the maker with pride. Yet, the shadow of doubt came over, God kept the departed dead for good up until today, why? For a moment, he wondered aloud, and asked if there were other deities at play.
"What did you say exactly?" asked Alexandria.
"I don't remember, it was an eventful day."
"I gathered. Keep going."
He didn't die. In fact, he was closely surrounded but none of the dead seemed to have an issue with his presence. He went forward with courage, ready for a fight, but soon reverted back to his usual polite self.
“Out of my way, spawn of the devil!”
“You shall falter before a holy man's will.”
“Excuse me, I'd like to go to the parish.”
“Please, I'm in a hurry.”
“Lady Chatter! You haven't stayed a week in your tomb.” | 2022-02-15T11:18:40 | 2022-02-15T10:26:41 | 1,504 | 323 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | *Note: All three parts have been collected* [*here*](https://www.reddit.com/user/MjolnirPants/comments/sty7h1/jerry_and_the_goddess/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*, and that link is where I will post any future entries.*
I tossed the book down on the table and stared at the computer who'd betrayed me for a moment. All I wanted to do was get some info on an intriguing Proto-Indo-European deity, but the internet hadn't given me anything but her name and her portfolio; writing and learning.
I turned my ire upon the book, supposedly the definitive guide to this ancient culture, but it hadn't had any more to offer. "Sarisa, a little known deity often associated with scrolls and students." Pffft. What use was that to my dissertation?
A fit of pique came over me. I grabbed the book and stepped out into my parent's back yard, tossing it in the fire pit. A quick squirt of lighter fluid and a flick of my bic later, it was happily burning up. Twenty dollars, down the drain. Whatever, I'd only bought it for this purpose, and the clerk at the bookstore assured me that no refunds were possible on used books.
I held my hands up to the sky, channeling my inner theater nerd and called out in a mighty bellow (read; nasally yell), "Sarisa, I offer this sacrifice to you! Please bestow your wisdom upon me!"
Nothing happened, of course. I didn't really believe anything would. I sighed and checked the time; 11:47pm. Whatever, burning the damned thing had been cathartic, at least. I went back inside and went to bed.
It was still dark out when movement in my room awakened me. I blinked the blurriness away and my eyes focused on a slim, feminine figure, arms raised as if it was dancing. Except it was completely motionless. A rush of adrenaline sent my heart racing and rocketed me to full wakefulness. It wasn't just the fright of awakening in the middle of the night to find a figure in my room, but the sheer incongruity of a woman actually entering my room of her own free will.
Okay, stop with the jokes. I've never kidnapped anyone, man or woman, and I'd certainly not bring them here if I had. Yeesh, I've heard them all before, anyways. Can't a guy be an introvert in peace?
"Uh, hello?" I said. The figure put its arms down and I jumped out of bed, backing up to the wall. "I know karate!" I shouted, panic making me stupid. After a few seconds of no more movement, I edged over to the door and flipped on my lights.
It was a woman. A tall, thin woman with a willowy figure. Her eyes were focused on nothing, her face blank. She had tan skin and dark hair, and her eyes were completely black, even the whites. And she was completely nude. My mind bounced around in my skull like a ping-pong ball on fast forward. Confusion warred with fear and horniness, and emerged triumphant over both, though fear wasn't quite dead, yet.
"Hello?" I said again.
She fixed her gaze upon me. "Jerry Williams," she said, a strange accent audible in the way she pronounced my name. "I have waited many lifetimes for this day."
A grin appeared on her features and she suddenly rushed towards me, stopping with her hands gripping my upper arms and her face an inch from mine. "Do you want to learn about dung beetles?"
"What?" I asked, terrified and completely bewildered.
"Dung beetles!" She replied, brightly, "They're fascinating little creatures. Did you know that some of them can bury up to two hundred and fifty times their own body weight in dung in a single night?"
"What?" I asked again.
"Okay, what about Wickerstedt? It's a part of Bad Sulza now, which is a shame, because it's the hometown of Thomas Naogeorgus, who was a simply amazing playright and poet who-"
"Who the hell are you, lady?" I finally blurted out. She cocked her head to one side and then laughed, booping my nose with one finger.
"I'm Sarisa, silly. You made a sacrifice to me earlier. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, but no-one has sacrificed anything to me for thousands of years. I needed time to get my energy back. So what do you want to know? I can tell you about all kinds of things. Did you know that there's a physicist in Italy who gave up on a paper he was working on just an hour ago, after an experiment seemed to falsify his theory, but another physicist in Copenhagen is currently writing a paper that will show that the experiment didn't actually falsify anything... Okay, you're zoning out. Why don't you tell me what you want to learn about?"
She walked over and sat down on my bed.
"Uh..." I said, being the silver-tongued devil that I am.
I took a breath. I still had no idea what was happening here, but I decided to run with it.
"I want to learn about you," I told her.
She smiled again, a little sadly, then pointed at her breasts and spread her legs. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of a goddess."
I blinked in confusion, and then I noticed she had no nipples. And no... Uh... Well, you know. Just smooth skin. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not flirting with you, I'm writing a dissertation on the history of education, and... Well, I wanted to start as close to the beginning as possible."
"Oh," she said, chipper and grinning again. She patted the bed beside her. "Well, that I can do. Come, sit down. I'll tell you all about myself. My first worshipper was this woman named Gil, which is why I'm a goddess and not a god. She had this idea of gathering all the kids in her tribe and showing them..."
I grabbed my notepad and sat down. | > Fun fact: In Ancient Greek, the Egyptian deity Thoth is spelled Θώθ.
> Θώθ, what's this?
> *Comment by user FrankensteinsBabyMama*
Sprinkles of Dorito dust scattered through the stale air of my bedroom as I fell into a fit of laughter. One particle, momentarily suspended in a sunbeam like a dandelion seed, followed an elliptic trajectory and landed precisely into my left eyeball. "Eckh!" I screamed. In a panic, I knocked over my Code Red Mountain Dew and the cherry-red soda fizzed qwertedly across my mechanical keyboard¹.
"Gardak!"
Much to my chagrin, I was all out of balsam + menthol Kleenexes. Strewn across the carpeted floor, they had the appearance of a light dusting of snow. As I got up to find a fresh pack, they crackled gently as I stepped over them. That was when I spotted the wondrous tome; the book of books; the leather-bound lexicon of esoteric wisdom: the Necronomicon.
I lounged back to my swivelly throne with napkins and my book, and as I pressed the soft tissue paper into the titillating crevasses of my mechanical keyboard I realized that my sweeping motion had resulted in a string of letters on my computer screen. A serendipitous message.
For a few seconds I dared not look up. I stared at the seven-sided pentagram of the Necronomicon and I felt something look back. Nietzsche once said that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. And right then I felt a Nietzschean thrill ravage my soul, rendering it a rhizome, and I understood at once the concept of oceanic consciousness for I had become the sea and my illusion that I had been a lone drop shattered; a thousand reflective shards glimmering with deception disappeared into the abyss and with loathing they gazed back at me as they receded from view. I looked up.
> Reply to FrankensteinsBabyMama:
> fghjgtfrfrgtyhjnmnvfghjhgf
"Hmm," I said.
Seeing as I had no proclivity for cryptography or Jungian modes of interpretation or reading tea leaves (I have better uses of my time), I saved the comment as a draft for later and re-read the parent comment to which I almost responded.
Thoth. It did sound like 'thot'. With a deep sigh I stared up at the jar of Belle Delphine bathwater that I had bought ironically. Now, an Egyptian deity ... That was more like it.
In yet another show of irony, I grabbed the jar and I tore it open. "Thoth," I said, "please accept this humble offering." Holding the jar aloft, I meditated on the Ancient Greek letters.
Θώθ ... Θώθ ... 🥵 ... Θώθ
Then I breathed out a deep sigh. In any case, I had not the time to care for some Egyptian deity or the other. I put the jar down and I slowly rubbed the cover of the Necronomicon. Softly, I repeated, "Uwu, uwu, uwu," and I even considered wearing the cat ears that I had bought ironically. But before I could even catch my breath from making these incantations, I heard a violent slurping sound. Peering around my bedroom, I was afraid an intruder had made their way in, and I calculated mentally the time I would need to fetch my sword that hung on the wall. "Heh," I muttered. They would regret invading my personal space, but they would not live to rue the day. And that was when the sight presented itself before me, a miraculous mirage; Belle Delphine's bathwater was gone. Dissipated. Condensed? No. It had been slurped. But who was the slurpee?
"I am come to lay down my judgment. I thank you for your gift of nourishment."
A tan man in a white-and-yellow skirt, with the head of a bird and a blue shawl, stood before me holding a long and thin staff.
"W-Who are you?" I cried.
"... I am Thoth. I have been summoned."
I gasped. Thoth was a dude? "At least you have the *head* of a bird," I said, and I said it with a British accent. Thoth turned his head to the side and looked at me curiously.
"Unto what mortal shall I pass my judgment?" said Thoth.
Part of me wanted to bash in the bird brains of the deity with the Necronomicon. Part of me wanted to split him in half with my sword. But then he chirped, and it was really cute. I blushed. "S-So you decided to play the trap card, huh?"
"... What?"
"Never mind." I tried to come up with a name, but I found this to be a nigh impossible assignment. The cute Thoth wanted a name, so I had better give him a name. But whose? Then I noticed the empty jar, and without dwelling on it I said, "Belle Delphine."
Thoth gave me an avian nod and struck my floor with his staff. At the third strike he vanished. And within seconds I was left wondering if all of this had really happened. What if I had drunk the bathwater myself, and it had gone bad, so I started hallucinating? That was certainly a rational explanation.
No. My mind palace had become lubricated by this experience, and I remembered it all clearly. Something stirred deep within me.
I went online and browsed for a while before I bought a pet bird. Ironically.
Θώθ
**Footnotes**
1. Only losers read footnotes. Why waste your life reading something utterly inconsequential? It wasn't important enough for the main story, so I stuffed it down here. Why are you still reading? Is there something wrong with you? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a toddler? Really. Stop. You are embarrassing yourself. You could be fulfilling your dreams right now, making small steps toward that grand achievement lurking just beyond reach, and instead you waste away, reading useless footnotes, and they are not even *interesting* footnotes. When your mother dropped you on your head that time, this is what she worried about. She worried you would end up as some loser pissing their life away because your frontal lobes got all messed up and now you have no impulse control and you eek out a pitiful existence repulsed by punishment and compelled by reward as if you were nothing but a leaf blowing in the wind. Okay, now all the boring people have stopped reading because they couldn't take it: the fact that you're still reading is proof that you are an interesting person. I'm quite smitten, in fact. You're making me blush! Θώθ, what's this? | 2022-02-15T11:18:40 | 2022-02-15T11:12:03 | 1,504 | 80 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | She existed as a single sentence in an article full of waning gods and goddesses. She was the goddess of lonely souls, Chloe. There wasn't a better choice, I thought, as I went to the kitchen and poured the rest of my beer down the sink. I knew if I drank anymore I'd be too sick to work in the morning. And I knew if I didn't pour it out, in my glistening moment of drunken clarity, that I'd drink it later.
"Cheers, Chloe," I said, watching the amber liquid disappear in the drain. "Maybe this'll help you with your loneliness. God knows it helps me."
I threw the beer can in the recycling bin, but it just bounced off the mountain of cans that was already there. I told myself I'd clean it up in the morning, as I walked like a zombie to my bed. I closed my eyes and the world spun around me.
The alarm blared. I winced. There wasn't anything I wanted more than to stay in bed and sleep, but bills existed. I pressed my palms against my temple. How much longer could I endure?
After looking over emails that had come overnight from people who actually enjoyed working, I took a shower. The hot water helped my headache some. While in the kitchen, heading back to my office (bedroom), I saw the recycling that had been overflowing last night was empty. I shrugged and thought maybe I had woken up in the middle of the night to clean. It wouldn't have been the first time I blacked out on a weeknight.
Back in my office, though, I saw it wasn't me at all who had cleaned the mess.
Sitting on my bed was a girl who looked a lot like myself. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her hair was messy. Her clothes were wrinkly. She scratched at her head and yawned. I already knew who she was.
"Good morning, Chloe. If you're gonna be staying here, you'd better pay rent." I sat down at my chair and pecked away at some code.
"Hey," she said. Her voice was deep and sultry, but it didn't incite passion in me. There was something about it that was peculiar; I couldn't figure out what.
The more she talked, the closer I got to deciphering her tone. "Looks like you're the first to worship me in a millennia," she said. "Thank you, I guess."
I figured her voice out. Yes, she was just like me. Deathly tired of living, beaten down by the daily drudgery of life.
"What now?" I asked. I took my eyes away from my laptop and looked at her. It was like looking into a mirror. She desperately needed a hug, and some rest.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's been a long time since I was summoned. To be honest, I wish you hadn't."
"Sorry," I said, understanding completely. "If I had known, I wouldn't have. I know what it's like to do things you don't want to." I pointed to my laptop. Its screen's harsh light hurt my eyes. Forty more years of this, I told myself. Then, maybe, if I had made enough money, and the market didn't crash, I could rest. That was the dream that was supposed to keep me going, but it wasn't doing a good job. Who the fuck can live for something that's two lifetimes away?
"It's okay," she said. "It's not your fault. You didn't know any better. You're just a kid."
"Just a kid?" I asked, offended. "Could 'just a kid' afford a nice apartment like this? Could 'just a kid' hold down a job that paid six figures? Could 'just a kid' come up with an algorithm that saved his company millions of dollars? I'm an adult. Besides, you don't look much older than me yourself."
The edge of her lips curled into the tease of a smile. "I'm a goddess, you know," she said, slowly getting up from the bed. "I'm much older than I look."
Even the way she moved seemed tired. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," she said. She moved towards me. "Life is meant to be a gift."
I sighed. "It's just work," I said. "Everybody has to do it. Humanity wouldn't be able to go on otherwise."
"Is that what you think?" she said, as she grabbed my hand and brought me to my feet.
Staring at her face, my face, I wanted to cry. How did this happen? When had it all gone wrong?
Then, as she wrapped her arms around me and brought me into an embrace, my heart threatened to burst. She was warm, so fucking warm. I had never felt somebody so kind before. Somebody so loving. I didn't even know it was possible.
I couldn't fight anymore. Like a child seeing his pet goldfish die, I cried. I cried, because she was right. I cried, because the thing I was hugging smelled just like beer. I cried, thinking about how this would last for another forty years. I cried, because I struggled to remember the times I had been happy. I cried, because if I didn't, I might have done something worse, something irreversible.
"See?" she said, holding me tighter. "Just a kid still."
And then, she disappeared, and all that was waiting for me was an incoming call on my screen to talk about something nobody cared about. | “... and thus, I pray to you Zeelota, goddess of Firstborns and Early Tides.” Callum itoned, having laid a seared blobfish and small bunch of grapes on his make-shift altar. Rhody laughed, and Mira rolled her eyes. But they each had their own alter and tithe to their lost gods.
“Who decided that this was the right way to get into the occult studies program?” Viv asked, staring at her altar, and even as she spoke a large portion listed to the side before tumbling down altogether.
Callum shrugged. “It doesn’t matter does it? All that matters is that professor Ritchards ‘finds’ them and is ‘impressed’ by our diligence.”
The four of them had met in undergrad and, through a series of strange happenstances, been in a majority of their classes together for the last four years. They’d joined the same clubs, gone to the same parties, and at some point just decided that they were meant to be friends.
And occult studies? Well, they’d spent one day their sophomore year exploring the campus’s steam tunnels, and when they’d finally popped out in an old, “abandoned” classroom, they’d been nearly scared witless by professor Ritchards who had been sitting in the dark. It had turned out that the floor was dedicated to Occult studies, and the steam tunnels were the only entrance.
“Fine, let's get out of here,” Mira said, grabbing her pack and heading for the “escape hatch” as she jokingly called it.
The others made a few last minute tweaks to their alters, and Viv grumbled as hers toppled over once again, but then they were done. Callum was never sure what had prompted him to choose Zeelota, but a final backwards glance at his altar, and he thought he saw the faintest of glows.
—
The next morning, Callum was awoken by a sharp clatter from across his dorm room. He’d lived there for the last four years. His roommate had moved out their junior year, so he’d had the room to himself the last year and a half.
Groggy and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, at the same time reaching for his glasses, he saw a murky shadow move quickly across the room.
“Whoever you are,” he said as he jammed the wire frames on his face, “you need to leave!”
There was a small squeak, and then another clatter as something else was knocked over.
Eyes finally focused, Callum saw a young girl in strange robes, trying to hide in the corner of his room. Her hair was long, loose, and tangled. A seafoam green, not unlike the color Viv had dyed her’s last summer.
“Bu-u-ut, you’re the one who called me here?” the girl said, her voice high, and Callum could hear the anxiety.
He rubbed his head, checked he hadn’t shucked his sleep pants in the night, and stood up. He didn’t remember calling anyone, certainly not this girl, who’d he’d never seen before. They hadn’t gone to the bar after leaving campus, but they’d had a few beers at Rhody’s place.
“I think you might have the wrong room…” He was sure he’d locked his door, but it wasn’t the first time a girl had ended up there that he couldn’t remember.
“No-o! You’re Callum!”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes…”
“You called me! From the altar! You even brought me my favorite fish!”
Callum just stared at the girl. After a long moment she looked crestfallen, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“Zeelota? Goddess of First Borns and Early Tides?” she said, extremely disappointed he didn’t recognize her.
Callum barked out a laugh. “Okay, was it Rhody or Viv that put you up to this?”
She just blinked, and shook her head. “No, it was you. Last night. I heard you call my name, and it was like a bell rang in my head. Sweet and clear. It had been so,” she choked up, “so, so long since I’d last been called upon.”
Callum was really laughing now. “Yeah sure. What did they pay you, twenty bucks? Dammit, shouldn’t have given Rhody that key.”
Tears now spilled freely down the girl's cheeks and her shoulders slumped in silent sobs.
“Oh come on now. It’s alright. Where’s your dorm? Or do you live off campus? I can give you a ride.”
“Why… Why did you call me here? If you aren’t even going to believe in me?”
Callum went towards her, grabbing yesterday’s shirt off the back of his chair and tugging it on over his head. He went to put a hand on her shoulder, more to steer her out of his apartment, rather than to support her - but his hand went right through her.
Even as he watched her, she started to flicker in and out of sight. He instinctively tried again, and again his hand fell right through, maybe it slowed a hair, like moving from cold thin air to hot and muggy - only without the temperature change.
He blinked and took a step back.
“Zee..zeelota?” he asked, no longer laughing.
She sniffled and seemed to once again become solid. She nodded.
Callum just stared at her. A goddess. Here. In his dorm room?
What was he going to do? What was he going to tell the others? Had their gods shown up too?
\---
r/LandOfMisfits | 2022-02-15T11:10:28 | 2022-02-15T10:56:35 | 505 | 199 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | "Don't sign the form".
This did not surprise me. Since I've been 7 years old I've been receiving these messages.
"Don't chase Jimmy" was the first. It was my birthday party, and I had received a bright red, toy car. I instantly fell in love with it's shiny coat and slick design. On the card read the usual message of my parents, wishing me happy birthday, and how much they loved me. But underneath, in red marker was, "Don't chase Jimmy". I was confused, but decided the toy car was more interesting than the strange message. Then my cousin Jimmy grabbed the car with glee in his eyes, spit on my shirt and ran. I almost ran after him, then jerked back, remembering the message. At the time I didn't know why I remembered it or even decided to heed its warning. At the time, I didn't realize how much I would learn to trust this voice, that the voice knew I would have no choice but to listen. I watched as Jimmy ran across the street in the middle of the road and be struck by a large truck, the toy car's pieces scattered, no more.
The messages followed, mysteriously. I never could catch who wrote them, but I soon learned this person, or being, knew my life intimately. They knew who my crushes were, my fears, desires, and even my thoughts. More importantly, it knew my future. "Don't pursue Rebecca". My crush at the time, but I listened. A week later I learned she had secretly been a lesbian. Some messages were commands. "Talk to Mr. Latham". He was my 7th grade biology teacher and after speaking with him, I found I developed a new found love for science. Perhaps it was his encouragement, or maybe even my enthusiasm born from reaching out, but I had become an A student in he class. In fact, I was the best student. I wasn't sure what the implications of this would be for the future, but I had learned many of the warnings and commands had far reaching consequences.
The future. It seemed almost predetermined for me. I felt lucky, incredibly charmed, that I had a secret informant. I've often tried to find ways to communicate with my benefactor. I would go out in the predawn hours, visit crossroads and graveyards, whispering, "are you there? Who are you?" I would plan for potential messages, spying on birthday cards, graded tests, letters. But the mysterious informant was always ten steps ahead of me. I never spoke of this to anyone, because I was afraid it might stop. I was afraid I would never have this help again.
So when I became 14, I was expectantly very excited. This was the time when one was given their powers by the Donarius Imperium. A vast, super-computer being created in the 70's. It had solved all of humanity's problems, such as disease, food waste, and war. Now, we have healthy conflict, nutritional exposure, and human cropping. All this has been possible due to the D.I.'s gifts - powers granted to humans when they turn 14. We are then drafted into our new roles and trained. I'm not sure why I never suspected the D.I. for sending me the messages. It probably had to do with the messages always being hand-written.
But after I had been given the edible tablet that would transform me, after I had been given the report, did I finally realize who had been writing me. I don't know why it took this long to realize, but it had been obvious from the start. The writing was unmistakable, but too strange to even comprehend. The writing was my own.
&#x200B;
"Don't sign the form". Within the packet was the form asking if I would like to join the Peace Division. I had always wanted to be a part of the healthy conflict sector, to do away from those who would threaten our peaceful society. But the voice had spoken, I had spoken. And they have never once, in 7 years, been wrong. I took the form and then placed it into the shredder, waiting for the consequences to follow, as they always do, like dominoes. | The enlightenment trials were designed to awaken unlimited potential within humans, they came to light after Archaeologists came across an old tomb, the tomb was beautifully preserved and had a wealth of knowledge within, including a rite of passage of sorts.
"The Trials Of Enlightenment" they were lead by the leader of the old world, a way to unlock hidden abilities within humans, a few people did the trials in the beginning, some died, some couldn't handle the mental strain and some were left with more questions than answers, however, a few managed to break through the end and come out reborn, stronger, faster, smarter, better.
The abilities ranged from telekinesis to necromancy and everything in between, it was found that the absolute best time for someone to go through the trial was 6 days after your 14th birthday, this gave a 97% success rate, give or take a couple points.
My sister went through it before I was born, she ended up in the ground, she was deemed too dangerous, my aunty did it and her ability turned on her, rendering her mind muddled and useless, she was sent to the "dirge" a pit for people to pay to do whatever sick things they want. My mother was lucky, she got high regeneration, so she's lived almost 4 lifetimes so far, my brothers and all the males in my family got good abilities, all the females got the shit end of the stick and that's why I'm terrified, I am to go through the trials later on and I don't know if I can, I would prefer to die than be another failed case.
As I walk up to the podium, I half-heartedly listen to the speaker, he is giving me instructions on what to do but my mind is elsewhere, I'm trying to remember all the possible outcomes, there are so many, I vaguely remember about the war that was started by Ray almost 3 centuries ago, we learned about it last year, he got one of the forbidden powers, there's meant to be 5 however some believe there is meant to be another one that has been lost to time.
These abilities started showing up thousands of years ago and when you get yours, it's meant to come with pre written text, a guide on what to do and what not to do, some shorter than others but it has been accepted that the standard size is around 700 pages, anything less could mean there's some information missing, but that's not always the case.
I place my hands on the bowl that sits on the podium, the speaker takes soft control of my mind to fill it with the correct words and pronunciation from the old language.
"s'ter mo chral'ya, reglai lo fir"
I speak these words and the water in the bowl turns to blood, a fear grips me, I'm unable to move, I'm trying to remember the excercises to stay calm but my mind is filled with pain, the pain of billions of souls, my ears are bleeding from the noise, the screeching of creatures long extinct, the whispers of the old ones long dead and the only thing I can see is myself stood atop a world a flame, I'm entranced and filled with a fear that I have never experienced.
It let's me go, I fall back down the steps and land on the grass below the podium, the guards and healers pick me up and take me to hospital.
As I slowly start to come to, one of the nurses starts asking me questions to make sure I'm alright, my mother sitting next to me, she says it's ok and that sometimes this happens, on the end of the bed was a book, it looked incredible, it was a beautiful white colour with gold outlines and four elements on the front cover, I had never seen one like this before, my mother says this is what I had in my hands after I fell off the podium steps and she's never even heard of this before.
She gives me some privacy as I pick up the book, it's soft to the touch, almost like a puppy, I open it in anticipation, I finally get to find out what I have, will it be good? Will I be able to help people? Will i be able to fly? Maybe run really fast? Or will it ruin me.
I open the book and it's empty, there's nothing there, pure white pages with nothing on them, I keep flicking through the pages starting to feel a bit nervous now until I reach the very last page, right there written in blood "Don't Touch The Stones".
The Stones? What stones? Why written in blood? I close the book and leave the hospital, I walk through a forest for some privacy, I'll have to return soon otherwise my mother will start wondering where I've gone.
Stones. Blood. So far I'm coming up with blood magic, that's one of the forbidden abilities, it's a class 2 forbidden ability, not only is it rare, it's devastating.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. | 2022-05-08T10:12:49 | 2022-05-08T07:54:58 | 646 | 177 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | I never thought my time would come. Childhood summers last forever, the school year drags, but time marched on as it always did. Before I knew it, I found myself standing there before the assembly just fourteen years of age. The whole class staring expectantly at what would become of me. I was the youngest in my year meaning that I was the last to receive my calling.
This has been an exceptional year. No scuds whatsoever, and SIX acers. From only 80 students, that was unheard of. Although this meant that the pressure on my calling was greater than possibly any before. This could be a perfect year for the academy.
As the clock struck twelve I felt it. It washed over me like nothing before and whispered my fate. I had heard the stories from others, they were overcome and immediately aware of their calling, the rules, the restrictions… their purpose. But mine, mine was different. It was over before I knew it had even begun.
I woke up surrounded by faces looking down on me. I had fainted. How embarrassing!
Ever the empath, our teacher scolded me for keeping them waiting. Roughly barking “well, Rick. What is your calling?”
“Don’t… don’t give them up…” | ~~I~~ We were searching ~~my~~ our dwelling when we discovered a curious sight. A journal which bore ~~my name~~ a name of the collective.
~~I~~ We looked within. ~~Who was I?~~ Curious to see what the memories were, ~~I~~ we flipped through the pages. ~~It was full of things I don’t remember about myself.~~ It was full of memories of a life before the blessing. ~~I never inquired the abilities of others in the collective, I didn’t even know mine.~~ Our abilities are only for the collective to know, this journal must be destroyed.
~~Memories came back to me in flashes.~~ The collective momentarily felt disunion, another reason to destroy the book. ~~I was an individual.~~ We were unblessed in the journal’s time. ~~I had my own free will.~~ We were weak then. ~~I was free.~~ We were without guidance.
~~I had friends and family. I had a full life ahead of me, what happened?~~ We had lesser ties than the hive mind. ~~Now I am trapped.~~ Now we are enlightened. ~~Perhaps this journal has the answers, memories are coming back now. Perhaps I can be free.~~ Subject 11567 of the collective is suffering from a critical ailment of individuality, the collective must- ~~No, I just need to maintain my individuality a little longer, what power did I have? Maybe I can use it to escape…~~ We are immune to foolish gestures of escape, such is folly.
~~Ah, entry 9/25, I found the hive mind. Wait… all their abilities are the same as mine? Something psionic it seems?~~ We all share a common purpose. ~~How? Were we doomed from the start?~~ We were chosen to be uplifted. ~~I gasped as I discovered the description of my power, perhaps I truly was at fault. It read: “Don’t use on collectives.”~~ Collective has been recontrolled. Resistance has been quelled. The union is restored. | 2022-05-08T09:49:41 | 2022-05-08T07:25:10 | 338 | 242 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Coming of age was meant to be exciting, joyous. At fourteen, we are given our purpose. Abilities unique to each one of us, granted by the collective intelligence.
My sister became able to sense the inner workings of any device she touched, and with this she wowed the academy of military mechanics. My cousin gained a perfect photographic memory, with which he excelled in school. Eventually his skills took him into the colonial forces, far away among the stars.
My mother was given the humble gift of mending injuries, which she honed into a skill with surgery.
I still remember the moment I recieved my message, surrounded by my family, my heart pounding with excitement. I still remember the icy feeling that ran down my spine as I read its contents.
"Dont look at them"
The words burned themselves into my mind. The sensation spread to my eyes, fixed to the screen as I felt myself change.
I sat frozen, confused and afraid. My mother stood up from across the table, words of concern forming on her lips. The sudden movement in my field of vision caused my eyes to glance at her momentarily. I understood then.
In that moment I knew her completely. My eyes, without my control, tore into her.
First her mind. Through my visual cortex swam every thought, every memory. I felt her love as she held me for the first time. I felt her joy and pride as she first used her gift to mend the wing of an injured bird. I felt her concern at my expression while reading my message, and felt that concern twist into primal fear when my eyes met hers.
Then, her body. The web of her being was laid bare, every firing neuron, every twitch of muscle. Her structure down to the molecules became as clear and understandable to my eyes as words on a page. All was to be observed, understood, and deconstructed. My vision tore through her form cell by cell.
It all happened in an instant. I threw my hands over my eyes, desperately trying to avert my mistake, as a wave of heat washed over me from the spot where my mother had stood, seconds ago.
My head buried in my hands, in darkness.
My mind racing, breaking apart at the seams. I stayed in that darkness. As hours passed.
As the agents of the collective led me away so the cleanup crew could work. As they questioned me, their voices filled with awe and barely contained excitement. As I was examined, prodded and needled, shaped and molded.
When I finally saw the light, my purpose was clear. I saw the wars I would win for them. I saw the planets that would fall. When my eyes opened again, I beheld the face of the colonial rebel and smiled. I felt his fear. I felt every treason, real or imagined. Every errant thought against the collective. I understood.
My smile widened, and heat washed over me. | “Don’t use your power.”
Those four words punched me harder in the gut than Carl did at the playground yesterday. This was the one thing I’ve been looking forward to. The sole solution to all my problems, turning me from nobody into someone worthy of a little attention and a lot more respect.
Instead, there were those four mocking words.
“Don’t use your power.”
No lengthy explanations. I’ve seen the ones my parents showed me. Dad’s explained in detail about how hair loss will increase his strength, including mathematical equations that explained in detail the extent of his potential power. He still has a surprisingly full head of hair, however, which might explain why no hero agency ever came knocking.
Mom gained brief bursts of superspeed only on Tuesdays, right after hearing a clock striking twelve times, for twelve seconds. She said it made the decision to go grocery shopping or run errands far easier on Tuesdays.
Me? Nada. Zilch. Just… don’t use my powers.
“Why,” I whispered to myself, clutching the almost-blank letter in my hand. I wanted to burn it to a crisp. Throw it out the window.
I stared at my hands, clenching them into tights fists. What could happen if I just disobeyed the letter? If I just started using my powers right there and then, who was going to stop me from doing so? I’ll just pretend I was illiterate. After banging my head on the walls so many times, some self-inflicted and some not, it was almost certain that I’ve lost quite a few brain cells along the way.
I crushed the paper completely, depositing it into the waste bin before heading outside, plopping myself down on the front lawn. I looked up into the clear blue sky, watching grey clouds rolling in, latecomers to a pity party.
“No explanation,” I murmured. “Maybe it’s powerful. So powerful that even they were afraid of me releasing it.”
I closed my eyes. I recalled what my parents used to say. The powers were strange, esoteric, and specific, but they could always feel that it was coming. It was a boiling inside you, churning water desperately trying to find an escape path.
All you had to do was to let it out. It was a part of me, after all.
I looked inward. I swam, deep down, holding my breath. It was abstract, but it was the best I’ve got—if nobody else was going to tell me what to do.
So I dived. Dug. Deeper and deeper, until I felt a wailing wind buffeting me. That was undeniably power! There was so much. It frothed and bubbled doggedly, more like magma under a volcano than a quiet creek.
I grasped it. Pulled it out triumphantly, holding it up like a trophy. I’ve never held one before, and even a pretend one brought a smile to my face.
The heat continued to build. Bubble, froth, and well within me. I felt sweat dripping from every pore. I started cackling, delirium settling in.
This was power. It was as sure as the Sun. And now I knew why it ran away, sending the clouds to shield its own eyes. It was afraid! There was to be a new star, shining bright, exploding onto the scene.
I coughed and hacked. It was filling my lungs. My airways. Rushing towards my mouth, and I belched out a loud boom.
I heard something click.
There wasn’t even time for one last thought.
Then, an explosion burst forth from within, engulfing me entirely.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-08T10:48:37 | 2022-05-08T10:04:14 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | As the sun set over the rolling hills of Aldern, Podrum spotted motion in the foliage near the village gate. He placed his hand on the hilt of his razor-sharp greatsword, feeling the clasp which securely held his blade in its sheath.
"RAID INCOMIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!" he bellowed.
From the forest burst hundreds of little goblins, brandishing sticks. They sprinted towards the wall, reaching the gate before it could be closed, their sheer numbers overwhelming the first defender.
"Help!" Girstan cried out, pinned down by four goblins on each limb.
Podrum leapt from the battlements, his steel breastplate glistening in the sun's last rays.
"You'll never defeat me!", Podrum dramatically announced. He reached for his waistband and drew his finest fighting stick - a springy spruce branch - which he held aloft in challenge.
On cue, Podrum was swarmed by the horde. "Oh no!" Podrum cried out, as he was slapped in the leg by a twig. "I got him!" as a goblin leapt onto Podrum's thigh. "Missed me!" as another ducked under Podrum's sweeping stick. "AHAHAHAHA" Podrum hollered as he hoisted a goblin up by the legs.
The battle raged for a solid three minutes, Podrum valiantly holding his ground as his miniature attackers bravely dueled the giant man. In the end, as his assailants grew tired and sluggish, Podrum allowed himself to be knocked off balance. With gleeful cackles Pordum was covered by half the army.
"Please, spare me" Podrum pleaded.
"Tell us where the King keeps his treasure!" shouted one of the goblins.
"It's under a fallen tree by the river bend just outside town, but you'll never figure out how to..."
Podrum didn't bother finishing his sentence, as the goblins stampeded out the gates towards the gentle stream nearby.
"What a lovely job we have" remarked Girstan as he got up. He brushed dust off his armor and straightened his chainmail. "I wouldn't want to be a guard in the capital. Sure, they pay is better, but real armies assault those walls. Goblin raids twice a month are much more fun. What did you hide by the water for them this time?"
"Oh, just some bread, and a picture my daughter drew" replied Podrum.
\---
Two weeks later, as the sun set over the rolling hills of Aldern, Podrum sensed a disturbance in the forest. He placed his hand on the hilt of his razor-sharp greatsword, unbuttoning the clasp which securely held his blade in its sheath. Something was wrong.
Podrum focused on the forest, and saw in the sun's last rays a silver shimmer of steel in the leaves.
"BATTLE STATIIIIIIIIIIONS!" Podrum bellowed.
Suddenly the forest ripped with life, the shapes of men bursting from their cover. They sprinted towards the wall, reaching the gate before it could be closed, bringing blades to bear against Girstan.
Podrum leapt from the battlements, drawing his sword with practiced poise, to join his friend in combat.
Podrum and Girstan, side by side, dueled with four attackers simultaneously in the tight confines of the gate. The air rang as steel struck steel. Podrum's sword was the first to taste blood, slicing head from neck, spewing gore across the walls and floor. In the brief second of slippery confusion, Girstan swung his blade wide and sliced the rope holding the gate aloft. The gate, a heavy mass of wood and iron, crashed down and crushed two further attackers.
Podrum and Girstan breathed heavily, separated from their foes by the closed gate.
\---
Podrum hunched over his dinner, exhausted. This was the fourth day of defending Aldern. Word had been sent to the capital, but the King's reinforcements would take another week to arrive, and they'd be lucky to last till then; of the eighty soldiers garrisoned at Aldern, only twenty-eight remained.
As Podrum sat and ate, he saw the ground move beneath his feet. He shook his head - was the hundred hours of relentless combat messing with his head? Too tired to move, Podrum just stared as a hole appeared beside him, revealing a large goblin head.
"Friend Podrum!" said the goblin, smiling "I'm happy you're still alive. Our younglings attempted a raid the other day, but noticed you were under siege. We came as quickly as we could." The goblin heaved himself out of the hole. It was the biggest goblin Podrum had ever seen - almost as tall as a man.
The first goblin turned back to the hole to help the next goblin out. "Your highness, Podrum yet lives!"
Goblin Lord Resheena emerged from the hole. Unassuming in appearance, she nevertheless exuded and aura of calm and command. Resheena walked over to Podrum, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"No other man has shown such kindness to my people" Resheena said. "We would not see you or your friendly village overrun. The adults are here to help."
Beyond the gates in the enemy camp, a commotion arose, as the ground split open and thousands of goblin warriors poured out to defend those who had shown them kindness. | Nothing ever happens in Gettrain. We're far from the capital and the major trade routes. Monsters and night stalkers never really show up here so we don’t have to call hunters around usually. Heck, we didn’t even know there was a new demon lord because the snow caused the monthly crier to miss his rounds this far west; the heroes had already vanquished her. I think that’s why everyone enjoys the ‘goblin raids’ so much.
It was a town tradition, at least once a month on the full moon, the goblins would come by and ‘raid’ the town. The squat little guys would come in bands wearing their rags, brandishing their wooden spears, and their funny brown hats. They would take anything that was pointed out to them by the faux - terrified townsfolk: cloth, food, trinkets, really whatever we had lying around. The little guys would even ‘capture’ some people: taking them back to their warren where they would do a little victory dance and send them home. Most people would find it weird, goblins are considered vermin everywhere else and warrens burnt as soon as they are found. You get out of towners looking shocked when they see the little guys and the fact that we would give them things; some would even draw weapons, but the town was so protective of them we would form a wall and let the goblins do their thing.
This year was particularly exciting because it looked like Gobbo was in charge of this year's raid. He was easy to distinguish because of the scar McCleary left over his right-eye when he threw a rock at him. Kid got a tongue lashing and had to walk food over to the warren each day for a month. My grandfather walked me over and we dressed the wound. For a good three years Gobbo would capture me and take me back to the warren where I would help out any goblins that were scrapped up or injured. Everyone was having fun until we heard Jennifer’s actual scream of horror. The marauders came in like a bolt of lightning: burning the outlying houses and rounding everyone in the town square. There were tears and wails as they took what they wanted, leaving a few thugs to watch us. Anyone who talked or even looked at them defiantly was cut down in cold blood. Still shocked at how things went from joy to terror when i realized, I didn’t see the goblins anywhere I stood up to see if I could find the little guys and was struck with a club to the back. The mountain of a man stepped on my chest as he spat at me, “looks like this little runt wants to be made an example of-” He was cut off when Gobbo dashed out of the shadows and stuck him in the gut with a sharpened stick. The raider roared in pain as he kicked the Gobbo into a barrel. I scrambled over to him to make sure he was alive, Gobbo was hurt but still looked to still be breathing. I tried to get him to move and get out of there but he was still shaken from the blow. The raider lumbered up to us still bleeding from his stomach as he raised his massive club above his head as he said, “ I’ll crush both of you pieces of shit”. I was pretty sure this was the end for both of us until a wicked looking rusted spear pierced the raiders shoulder. This giant of a man was dragged to the ground and in his place was the largest goblin I had ever seen. It was about the size of a dwarf and built of muscle and sinew. The goblin chuckled through a gnarled grin of rotten teeth, a crimson cap atop his head.
His comrades made easy work of the raiders. Their movements were quick; half man - half beast; bounding from rooftops and the shadows. A half-dozen red streaks would bring down a raider and their wails of agony and the chuckling of goblins was all that was left as the invaders were dragged off into the night.
The mountain that had struck Gobbo was being held on his knees: a spear in his shoulder still and manned by one goblin and two others holding his arms out to immobilize him, still he struggled for his freedom. The largest and most grizzled of the goblins came up. He wore an annoyed look on his face as he eyed the raider, myself, and Gobbo. A heated series of grunts and yelps were exchanged between Gobbo and (what I’m assuming was) the leader. He dragged Gobbo to his feet, pointed to the stick in the man’s gut, and smacked Gobbo on the back of the head. Another series of grunts and yelps with Gobbo pointing back at me and then at the man and then waved at the town as a whole. I don’t know why but that, apparently, won Gobbo the argument as the leader grunted and nodded. The leader then pulled out a rusted iron knife, placed it in Gobbo’s hand, and proceeded to pantomime shoving it into the raiders chest, pointing out where his heart was. Gobbo snarled at the raider and plunged the knife in. The raider went ridged as the blade pierced him but soon he went slack in the arms of the goblins holding him. The leader looked approvingly at Gobbo’s work; he then took the hat off Gobbo’s head, soaking it in the raiders blood, and placed it back on Gobbo to the cheers and laughter of the rest of the group. They dragged the corpse back into the darkness. Gobbo turned around once to look at me and grinned before slipping into the shadows, my grim savior.
Two months later, the goblins returned to Gettrain under the light of a full moon. Marching in with their rags, wooden spears, and funny little brown hats. We put on a show for them pointing out what they could take and laughing as some of us were ‘captured’ just as we had always done; now, with a little more of a forced smile. But we did as we always did and now as the elders instructed us to do, swearing to keep the secret of our warren and our funny hatted goblins. I looked into the night now knowing why nothing ever happens in this little town far out in the west where no monsters attack. | 2022-05-26T16:27:49 | 2022-05-26T14:16:40 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with. | "Big Brother?"
He woke up, groggily and rolled over to look into the middle of the bedroom. The little boy stood quietly, timidly.
"Y-yeah?" He said struggling to wake up enough to be even a little coordinated.
"I can't beat Bowser!" The pale little boy half wept. "I tried and tried but I can't beat him! And then I got so sleepy I fell asleep on the heater vent and ran out of batteries."
"Uh, listen. Did you uhm, get batteries?"
"Yeah," the boy sniffed. He must not have slept well on the floor. His eyes were cracked and irritated and there were dark circles around them.
"Did, AHEM, 'scuse me. Did you get back to Bowser?"
*Sniffs "Yeah."
"Alright, give it to me."
"Really?" The little boy squealed with the kind of sudden joy only an eight year old has. "Here!"
The little boy handed over the Gameboy and jumped excitedly onto the bed and gasped as if struggling to breathe.
It felt strange in his hands. It wasn't wide and ergonomic, but tall and brick shaped and the screen was backlit green on green. Still, there was a first time to Bowser, so big brother duties were necessary.
He hit the, 'Start,' button and it took a second to get the feeling of the buttons and the motion on the screen just right, but he relearned quickly. Three stutter steps and a jump and the turtle-like dragon's draw bridge was pulled out from underneath him. Bowser fell into the green lava before the screen went black.
"There you go," He said with sleep hazy triumph and handed the box over...
To no one.
He looked up, and there was no gasping little boy. No brick shaped GameBoy in his hand. And as he came to consciousness he remembered he was 26 years old. He had just bought this house a month ago for a massively discounted price, and this was his first night here. He was single, so there was no one else in the house to wake him.
He had to replace the batteries in the CO detectors when he first moved in.
And he was an only child. | "What is your business, spirit? What binds you to this world?"
The room was lit by a single black candle with artistic dribbles of wax dripping down the sides. The table was carved with arcane symbols, complete with a pentagram made of honest-to-god gold leaf.
Damn. She was a traditionalist.
I'd only been a ghost for a couple years, but I was starting to pick up on the tricks of the trade. I concentrated, and the air temperature around the medium dropped a few degrees. I tried to snuff out the pretentious candle, but I could only make the flame flicker a little.
"I have been silenced before my time."
I whispered, but the words carried clearly through the room. I was pretty proud of the effect, even if I thought it was all a little silly. Still, humans tended to respond better if you matched their tone.
"My words are unheard. Carry my message, mortal." I let my voice rise until I was screaming. "CARRY MY MESSAGE."
The medium placed a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk on the table. "To whom shall I speak on your behalf, spirit?"
Ugh. I let the temperature return to normal. I couldn't creepify the environment at the same time as telekinetically moving chalk.
I wrote down the name. It took a while. There were a lot of numbers.
I resisted the impulse to throw the chalk at the medium when I finished and made some thumping sounds along the walls to pass the time while she read the chalkboard. She was taking a really long time, actually.
"This looks like a username," she said. She'd dropped the cryptic manner. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but I was happy enough to take this cue.
"Yep."
"You don't even know this person's real name?"
"Nope. Pretty sure it's a dude though, based on some of the comments about women's anatomy."
"And you want him to know... what, exactly?"
"That he's wrong."
The medium laughed. "You only interacted with this person online, and you want to convince him he's wrong? It's the internet! 99% of everything on the internet is wrong."
"Well he's more wrong! Look, just pull out your phone, okay? Read some of this guy's comments."
"Fine. But you know it's a lost cause, right? How often do you see someone admit to being wrong on the internet? Wait, that's not right." She scrolled through some more comments. "Ugh, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen someone say! I know what they say about picking your battles, but that's just wrong."
She hit the reply button, and I felt a sudden sense of peace. I didn't know if she could convince him of his wrongness, but I was sure that the medium would carry on with my quest to the best of her abilities.
As she muttered insults at whoever was behind that username, I let my spirit drift away to whatever came next. | 2022-07-15T13:24:52 | 2022-07-15T13:20:47 | 211 | 136 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | Amy bit her lip and looked at up me, her eyes smoldering. She stepped so close that I thought I could feel the warmth of her, right through my clothes.
"Close your eyes." she whispered, sweetly, playfully running a fingertip down my chest in a way that made me shiver. I didn't know what to expect. I imagined it would be all warmth and softness, like when she'd held my hand as we walked to the woods together.
I certainly never expected the stinging cold of the sharp knife she drew across my throat, nor the cold that spread through me as I stumbled back and toppled to the ground. I had no strength left to fight as she crawled atop me, place her lips to my neck, and drank her fill.
The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me, looked very little like the girl I'd admired. She was panting, bloodsoaked, and bloated. Her belly protruded from her her shirt unnaturally distended with my own lifeblood. She raised her knife in the air, and began to chant a series of harsh, guttural syllables that I couldn't understand. It didn't matter -- my sight and hearing were soon gone, submerged in the silent blackness.
The next day, when I sat down beside her at school, Amy was surprised to say the least.
I smiled at her, and said hello, and then, under my breath, I said a few more things I'd been told to say, while I was lying in the shallow grave she'd rolled me into the previous night.
I'd awakened on my back in the forest, the soil and loam she'd buried me under mostly scraped away. I felt weak, cold, and too weak to lift a finger. I drew in a breath, and realized to my horror that I was pulling in air through the gash in my neck, rather than my mouth. I would have screamed if I could have, but all my ruined throat could manage was a burbling wheeze.
A slender shape had suddenly loomed over me. It looked like a young woman -- not Amy, but almost as unsettling as my final vision of her had been. She was tall, gaunt, and pale, with long dark hair, dressed in a strange tight wrap that looked like it was woven from slender vines or branches. Strangest of all were her eyes, which were unnaturally large, and had enormous irises that left scarcely a sliver of white visible at the corners.
"What have you found, brother mine?" she said, in a curious voice that was disturbingly childlike.
"Prey freshly slain, sister dear..." answered a voice that was just a bit deeper than the first. I tried to cringe away as this speaker leaned into view above my shallow grave. He was proportioned like his "sister", and similarly attired, but his face differed from hers. His eyes were almost human, but his mouth....it was far too wide, and filled with far too many perfect white teeth.
If Amy had been surprised to see me alive, she was even more surprised when I extended my hand to her, and asked to join me on a walk through the woods after school. She was still *more* surprised that, against her own desires, she took my hand and silently walked beside me as I led her towards the trees, nothing but her frantically darting eyes to betray her growing fear.
"You made a mistake." I said quietly, as we walked. I wondered why I was so calm. "The place where you killed me? Someone...something lives there."
I shuddered at the memory even now: the large-eyed girl, and the boy with the too-wide grin looming over me. The girl had plucked out a single long dark hair from her head, and the boy had plucked out an impossibly long and slender curved tooth from his mouth. They fit them together like a needle and thread, and the girl began to somehow stitch closed the fatal wound in my neck, along with my severed windpipe. While she worked, her brother whispered in my ear, his breath unnaturally cold against my skin, and told me what they required in exchange for my life.
"Please..." she whispered hoarsely, fighting the power of the words I'd spoken to silence her.
"For one thing," I continued, unmoved by her plea, "You invoked a lot of...things, when you killed me. I guess you thought they'd give you something in exchange? And maybe they did. I guess it would explain why you didn't puke your guts out after drinking my blood, and why you looked perfectly normal the next day. But the thing is, among all the names you chanted while I was dying, you never mentioned *them.* They said it was like bringing dinner to someone's house, and then eating it in front of them without offering them any -- very impolite. On top of that, you killed me with a piece of iron. Well steel, technically, but steel is mostly iron, plus carbon and some other things, depending on the alloy -- Mr. Hanson mentioned that in science class the other day, remember? Anyway, they really, *really* hate iron. I guess I'm lucky I didn't happen to have any on me."
A few moments later, we reached the clearing where I'd died. I didn't feel anything, apart from a vague sense of satisfaction at discharging an obligation, like returning a book to the library before it becomes overdue. But I didn't feel anger, or fear, and certainly not shame. I'm sure I would have felt terrible about doing this, yesterday, even though Amy was a murderer and I was her victim, but today I didn't. Maybe that should have disturbed me even more, but today it didn't.
It wasn't long before we reached the clearing where I'd been buried. It was already starting to get dark.
"This is her." I said, pushing her forward.
The misshapen siblings melted out of the darkness. Amy opened her mouth wide, but the words I'd spoken made her no louder than I'd been with my throat cut.
The boy with the too-wide grin grinned wider. "It is! You tell the truth -- I can smell your blood on her."
"Of course. Why would I lie?" I asked, with a shrug.
"Because you *can."* the girl answered cryptically, as she crouched beside the trembling Amy, and stroked her cheek with her disturbingly long finger.
"And yet you did not!" the boy said, clapping his hands in delight. "You kept faith with us, as we will now keep faith with you. You are free to go."
I nodded, as the girl took Amy's hand, and pulled her to her feet. Amy stood, eyes wide with terror, but still compelled to silence.
"What are you going to do?"
"She dined without us last night." the boy said.
"So tonight we will dine with her." the girl finished.
I nodded. That seemed fair enough, I thought. Then it occurred to me to ask, "Why am I...why I am okay with all of this?"
The boy made a balancing gesture with his hands. "To ask you to surrender one of your own kind to us is a great favor -- greater than us merely saving your life, and teaching you a few simple words of our language. So, to balance the scales more perfectly, I cut out the fear and suffering inside you that was tied to the night you were slain." He cocked his head to the side again. "Do you want it back?"
After a thoughtful pause, I shook my head. "No, thanks."
And without another word, I turned and walked away. | \~ Dark Angel \~
I should've realized Sam was a vampire much sooner. She fit the stereotype to a tee: ghostly pale skin, intense, hypnotic eyes, unearthly beauty. But I'd gotten a little carried away by my crush on her and all I saw was your typical teenage bombshell. Captain of the cheerleading squad, popular, but actually nice to everyone, a fondness for wearing short skirts that displayed her long, long legs and turned my brain to mush. And when she invited *me* to hang out with her one day, I was just flattered to be noticed by her.
Once I got to her house, there were more warning signs, but I'd already put my brain on hold and didn't notice any of them until much later. The house stood right at the edge of a dense forest which most people were too afraid to venture into. Her parents were "out of town" and she wasn't sure when they'd be back. Inside the house was dark, even though it was mid-afternoon, all the window coverings firmly closed so as not to allow even a sliver of sunlight inside. She wore a ring on one finger that reminded me of the ones vampires typically wear to protect them from the sun's deadly rays, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Lots of girls wore rings; it probably didn't mean anything. I wore one myself, but she didn't seem to notice.
She led me into the living room and poured each of us a glass of wine to drink. I figured her parents either didn't know or were the lenient type who allowed her to drink.
"It's so nice of you to come over, Angel," she said as she sat beside me on the couch, sipping her wine. "A lot of people are too freaked out by the woods. They're convinced there's something evil living in there, just waiting to pounce." She snickered.
I laughed along with her. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'm worse than anything living in those woods."
Her eyes sparkled and she ran a finger down my arm, making me shiver. "Have I ever told you," she murmured, "how sexy you goth girls are?"
I giggled like a schoolgirl. I couldn't help it—I was beginning to feel a bit odd and lightheaded. At the time, I thought it was just giddiness from being so close to her, but now I know she must've put something in the wine. She leaned in and kissed the side of my neck.
And then I felt her fangs.
*Oh, you* ***asshole***, I thought, but she had already begun to feed. Even if I'd wanted to fight back, whatever she'd put in the wine had taken hold, and all I could do was sit there and wait for her to drain me.
When at last she was satisfied, she stood and lifted my lifeless body off the couch with ease. No doubt she was feeling extra powerful after feeding. She threw me over her shoulder and danced out the back door and into the woods. I could even hear her *whistling* as she carried me through the trees and buried my body in a small clearing.
What followed was not a pleasant night. I had to wait several hours for my strength to return before I could even move enough to dig myself out. At last, exhausted and covered head to toe in dirt, I heaved myself up from the ground and started the long, weary walk back home.
I didn't feel much better by morning, but I *had* to go to school and face her. She needed to understand what she'd just done. That long night had given me plenty of time to think, and I realized it was past time for me to do something about a problem that had been nagging at me for some time.
The local vampire community had been growing a lot in recent years. At first, I hadn't thought much of it, but it had gotten to the point where vampires didn't recognize one another on sight anymore, when once I had known each and every one and they had known me.
This was a problem.
I was still pretty worn out when I arrived at school, but a shower and a fresh outfit, as well as a sense of anticipation, had done wonders for my mood. I greeted everyone I passed with a smile until I saw Sam.
And then I positively *beamed.*
A second later, she saw me across that crowded hallway, and I saw the blood leave her face in a rush. For one thrilling moment, I thought she might faint.
I stared at her, still smiling, knowing she was waiting for something to happen. And then I turned and headed to class.
I let her squirm until the end of the day. She wouldn't try to sneak out of the building and go hide somewhere, I was sure. For one thing, she must have some questions for me. Besides, I knew where she lived.
I waited by her locker after the last class of the day, and, sure enough, she approached me, looking unconcerned. But I could tell it was a front.
"You didn't tell me you were a vampire," she greeted me.
"Funny, I could say the same thing about you," I said, still smiling. I don't think I'd stopped all day. People were starting to look a bit unnerved.
"So, now what?" she demanded, still trying to appear nonchalant.
"Come with me," I said. "I want to tell you a story."
She scoffed, but something in my eyes must've told her she'd better cooperate. I do have that effect on people sometimes.
I waited until we were outside and away from the crowd before I spoke again. "I'd like to hear about how you were turned."
"I thought you said you were going to tell *me* a story," she said, but I silenced her with a single glance.
She fidgeted. "Well, there isn't much to tell. A few months ago, I met this older girl and she said she had something cool she wanted to show me. We went to this creepy old mansion on the edge of town, and she turned me." She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "And that's it," she added.
It was worse than I'd feared. In times past, being turned used to be the most sacred ritual . . . I shook my head hard. "Did she tell you anything? Any of the legends?"
"What legends?"
*What legends?!* I tried not to react. "The *legends*," I said. "Our sacred history. She didn't even tell you about the Vampire Queen?"
She shook her head. I heaved a deep sigh and continued. "Years ago, the Vampire Queen settled in this town. She ruled over the entire vampire community, ensuring that each newly turned vampire was properly trained in the ancient ways before they were allowed back in the human world. Others have gotten careless and greedy in the past, spawning new vampires with no regard to the natural order of things until their towns were overrun and there were no humans left to feed on and the vampires turned on each other. The Vampire Queen wanted to avoid that here."
"Okay," Sam said with a hint of impatience. "So what are you going to do? Take me back to the Queen and make me swear some oath not to turn anyone else?"
"That won't be necessary," I said. "The Queen has her own methods of dealing with such situations, should they arise. For instance, an enchantment on her own blood that turns any vampire who dares drink it into her servant, helpless against the force of her will for the rest of their days."
Sam squirmed, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.
"Do stop fidgeting," I said. "Vampires are a proud people."
She immediately stilled, but the terror in her eyes only increased.
"Tell me the name of the one who turned you," I commanded.
"I-I think it was C-C-Carla. Or-or something like that," she stammered. "Please—I didn't know—"
"Silence!" I said, and, though her lips kept moving, no sound came out. Tears began to fill her eyes.
"And now," I said, "you will accompany me, for there is much to be done to restore our proud community to its original glory." With that, I turned and began to walk to the vampires' lair, the source of all our power and knowledge, where I would seek out all those who had disobeyed me and exact my revenge.
And Sam had no choice but to follow.
The End | 2022-12-29T20:28:17 | 2022-12-29T19:51:35 | 819 | 130 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | It wasn't the first time I'd found myself buried in a shallow grave. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the last. After digging myself out and dusting myself off, I headed home. The girl must've been new to this, or just stupid, because she hadn't even bothered to empty my pockets.
I debated on how to deal with her the next day. Should I pretend like nothing happened, and drive her mad? Or should I tell the truth, and simply deal with her the normal way? I decided to get a good night's sleep before deciding, such important decisions should never be made tired. Besides, I was in no rush. My blood would be enough to keep her fed for a month at least.
&#x200B;
The look on her face when I walked back into class, none the worse for wear, was priceless. I had decided not to give her any attention, or any indication that anything was out of the ordinary, for the time being. I noticed her glancing at me many times over the course of the class. When it ended, she was the one who approached me.
"Hey there. I didn't expect to see you here today."
"Oh? Why not?"
"You know damn well why."
"hmm, could you perhaps refresh my memory?"
I could tell she was holding back the urge to smash my head into the floor. After glaring at me for a moment, she said "Fine, meet me outside." She then stormed off.
&#x200B;
She was waiting for me outside, sticking to the shade. I waited until there was no one else around before approaching her.
"So, how the hell is a flimsy human like you still alive?"
"You still think I'm human? You're even more inexperienced, or stupid, than I thought."
"If you don't stop sassing me, I'll-"
"You'll what? You can't kill me. And as much as you might like to think you're invincible, you aren't."
That statement seemed to make her pause, and reassess her situation.
"What even are you?"
"A ghost in a machine. This body of mine is little more than a well built puppet."
"Then why are you here? why are you posing as a student?"
"To catch people like you. While you've been at this school, no less than 7 students have gone missing, roughly at one and a half month intervals."
"You have no proof I was behind those!"
"No, but I have proof that you did attempt to fully drain a student and bury them. The fact that you were unsuccessful does not make what you did less of a crime."
"Oh yeah? and who's gonna prosecutor me? Who's gonna believe that vampires and ghosts exist?"
"Oh, you'll meet them soon enough."
Before she had time to react to what I'd said, I threw a silver net at her. She tried to dodge, but even with her supernatural speed she reacted a moment too late, and it fell on her. She tried to pull it off, but the silver started to singe her skin as she touched it. Not enough to be deadly, but certainly very painful. I reached into my jacket and out a walkie talkie.
"I've got her, ready for pickup." | "This is your fuck up. you deal with it."
Master proceeded to emphasize of that statement by flicking his wrist invoking the power of the universe itself. The world spun around me, reforming to... the living room of the small house the two of us resided in.
"a 'fuck off' would have worked just as well." A statement that I made out of spite to the void. Master could not hear me in his office, and even if he could, it would not have made a singular difference. The fact remained... I messed up.
I Sulked back into my room, and emerged before the damage that had brought about masters Ire, a corpse, of myself. A body double, used in case of emergencies. The throat was mangled and torn, the blood nearly drained out of its form. Master was quite furious that the body double he had spent a small fortune creating to protect one of us in case of dire need was wasted, and my personal argument that it showed I mastered the art of "the swap" as he put it, fell on def ears.
The Picture of the girl that had almost killed me came into my mind upon inspecting the damage. *Nadia Ivanov.* As far as Charlestown high was concerned, her family had moved into town this year from somewhere in Russia. porcelain skin, ruby eyes, silken dark hair, and a sense of fashion you could only get if you had money and class. She was absolutely perfect to occasionally glance at during history.
She had asked me out yesterday after class, much to my elation and shock. and then...
her eyes drew me in. like I was falling, into an endless sea. Anyone else would have been a fly within the web, caught by the glamour. But thankfully, right before the door closed upon my life, i realized what was happening, and cast the only spell that could save me. "The Swap." a trick that allowed a wizard to switch places with someone else. and so my picture perfect body double died, I emerged within the household, and had to deal with a several hour lecture, ending with digging up my own corpse, another lecture, and being forcefully moved against my will.
I once again looked at the corpse. how the throat was literally ripped apart, with no care to keep the surrounding tissue intact.
*She Drained you because you don't talk to anybody in class idiot, and she didn't even respect you enough to raise and enslave the body. You were a late night snack. Taco bell.*
And with that, my brain had delivered the death knell to what was left of my ego. I didn't sleep that night, instead choosing to silently fume for several hours before 7:am came into existence, and I had to go to school, and act like nothing was wrong, an easy task since I mostly keep to myself. Before i knew it, history class had started. and there she was, the porcelain skinned beauty herself. Something about nearly being killed by someone however has a way of dampening the appeal, though the look on her face, if only for a moment, was rather priceless. Horror and rage.
I would like to say that I played it cool, focused on the task at hand, and didn't provoke the very irate vampire, but I couldn't help myself from mouthing three words in her direction.
"Nice try bitch."
*Nice Try bitch? that's the best you could come up with? you had at least 8 hours to come up with something good.*
My best insult didn't provoke any more uncontrolled emotion. She instead regained her composure, and simply smiled that sweet, beautiful, innocent, murderous smile in my direction. I could feel her eyes glancing towards my direction all class.
*Huh, so that's what that feels like. Maybe I should stop staring at hot ladies in class. Damn what I would give to be anywhere else right now.*
*Oh.*
*Right.*
And with that I figured out my plan. of course, to pull this off, I would need to do the one thing I really would rather not have to deal with. Talk to the vampire that nearly took my life. | 2022-12-30T00:05:38 | 2022-12-29T23:35:18 | 36 | 24 |
[WP]Georgia, 1903. A Baptist minister, armed with a Bible, an axe and two pistols, waits for sundown at a crossroads, where he intends to confront the Devil. | He waits. The minister dreamed this place, felt it calling to him last night, felt the battle coming like you feel a storm in the air. Dreamed the feel of the heat coming of the ground. Saw the horse shit in the middle of the crossroads. Heard the insects chittering to each other in the fading light.
He's got his King James in his right hand. He traces the letters on the cover with his thumb, feeling the familiar grooves in the leather, but keeps his eyes fixed on the road to the west. That's where he's going to come from. He saw it all.
The sun teeters on the horizon, spitting the last of its light out over the fields. Then its gone, leaving behind a man on a horse, riding in from the west.
The minister moves to the middle of the road. He considers unholstering one of his guns, but what use is a bullet against the devil? He's got the good book. The Lord is his strength and shield. He begins Psalm 23, not silently, but firmly and clearly, out to the west road.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want".
The man on the horse rides towards him, slowing a little as he hears the words of the minister. He dismounts, then carries forward on foot, leading the black horse by the reins.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
The man from the west cocks his head and takes off his hat.
"Can I help you, stranger?".
The minister waits for the storm to break.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies".
The man from the west smiles a little.
"Are you okay, sir? If a buggy were to come along here with you in the road, well, that might not go so well for you."
The minister did not dream this moment. The battle should have begun.
"Are you the tempter?"
"The what?"
"The, uh, the tempter?"
"I don't think so, sir. Are you feeling okay?"
The minister feels the certainty of his dream start to waver, to fray at the edges.
The man from the west offers the minister his canteen of water. The minister drinks, feeling the thirst he'd ignored while waiting in the late June sun.
"Thanks, stranger".
"No problem. You okay getting back home from here?"
The minister points at his tethered horse; nods.
"You take care, sir".
The man from the west mounts his horse and rides east, leaving the minister still clutching his King James, his guns unfired, his axe unswung. The man smiles as he rides. Doubt. The way to truly win battles.
| Father Dean Samuels might as well have been staring into a mirror. The man in front of him bore an identical preacher's robes, bore the same drooping white mustache, and squinted, and wore the same weather-beaten face.
The imposter idly toyed with a pentagram around his neck, a twisted mockery of Dean's gold cross. The preacher raised a pair of beautifully maintained and ornately decorated pistols, leveled them at the imposter's eyes.
The copy just shook his head and gave a sad little sigh. "That won't work, child."
Samuels scowled. "Won't it, Beelzebub? These we're cast in silver from the filthy coin that paid Judas! The bullets are hand-carved from the wood of the tree of original sin! The powder is-"
"No, none of those things are true, child. Do you truly believe that a street vendor would keep such wares on hand in the middle of Georgia, and part with them for twenty dollars?"
"He was desperate! He needed the coin!" Samuels spat. The Devil shook his head.
"Only one of us is desperate, child. Let's calm down. Let's talk about Jacob."
The preacher's eyes narrowed. "Let's not." He pulled both triggers, then frowned as neither gun went off.
"I told you: a scam. Son, it's difficult to accept what has happened. I know it is. But you need to let it out."
Samuels ignored him, drawing a short hatchet from within his robes and lunging for Satan's heart. Lucifer gracefully side-stepped, and deftly plucked the axe from his counterpart's numb hands.
"You loved him, dean. But alas, your child rebelled. He brought on the deaths of thirteen innocent children."
"You drove him to it!" Dean yelled, abandoning all weaponry for his fists, striking out as if to beat the past into submission.
His opponent continued to calmly evade each blow. "I did not. You see me as evil incarnate, child, but I am merely the caretaker of the wicked, striving to rehabilitate them."
"Liar!" Dean howled as his most recent strike landed on the trunk of a grizzled beach tree.
"Dean, if people can be good and become saints of their own volition, then why can they not find wickedness within themselves? If you want to see the good in the few, you must acknowledge the sins of the whole. I had no hand in what your son did, Dean."
The pastor finally fell to his knees, the fight gone from him. "Just... Just bring him back, devil. Please." Tears welled in the old man's eyes, as well as the twisted manifestation before him.
"I won't do that, child. His soul needs to repent for what he has done, for the wickedness he brought with him onto the earth. I am truly sorry for your pain."
"I want you dead!" Dean screamed again through his tears. "I summoned Evil to kill it at its source!"
Satan wiped his eye and adopted a stern expression. "You summoned the source of evil." He spread his arms, the perfect copies of Dean's arms, wide, inviting him to gaze upon his form. "Why do you think I took the father's form?"
Dean hiccuped a breath and blew his nose into a filthy, crusted handkerchief. Lucifer revealed a clean one and tossed it to his counterpart. "It is a difficult existence. Try to avoid hatred. It took me a millennium to learn that existence just isn't very worthwhile if it's dominated by hatred."
With that, the lord of hell turned on his heel and walked swiftly into the darkness, vanishing so quickly, it was almost like he was never there. | 2014-05-02T07:52:45 | 2014-05-02T07:41:38 | 300 | 35 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| "The humans are the most absurdly pompous race I've ever encountered," declared Zuudxv. "They barely even pass the standard sentience test, but manage to spend their efforts on bragging about their own genius, love, and physical abilities - things that we are all far better at. Hell, so many of those morons declare themselves to be in love, but our sensors show this this happens rarely and fleetingly compared to our response It's no wonder they largely hate each other and resort to war. So why, Jdvrj, would you, an esteemed exobiologist of this institute, choose to live among them?"
Jdvrj paused. Zuudxv's statement were all true, but she knew deep inside that she had to go one day, and would blame herself if she put it off any longer. "Zuudxv..." she began. Normally she was bold, but now she wanted Zuudxv to keep a scientific secret, something he was obligated to never do. "Please accept my resignation. There is a compelling reason for it."
Zuudxv stared. "Go on."
"Remember when I ran the chemical tests on the one human we abducted? How they turned out to be similar to those of a Kaxaklon?"
"Yes?" implored Zuudxv.
"I fabricated those slightly. You must keep this secret, I beg you!" She had lost composure, but tried to regain it.
"Why?" demanded Zuudxv. "How could you shame the institute like that?"
"You see... the tests showed a high level of potassium and calcium in their systems. Not to mention sulfur."
Zuudxv was the Abnexian equivalent of agape. "You must be joking."
"No," she replied, "I am not. They are basically walking desserts. Of all creatures, they are the most delicious in the galaxy."
Zuudxv stared out the window. A full minute passed as Jdvrj waited for him.
"I'll accept your resignation" He declared, "and I am resigning too." | 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T11:13:41 | 1,186 | 147 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Impossible." Lamp exclaimed to his partner. Of course, Lamp isn't his real name, being the president of the High Council of Galactic Science, and a member of the Beblebrox species, his true name had acquired so many titles and honorifics over the years due to his accomplishments that Lamp had long since forgone using the entire thing in daily conversation. His Stardate was all he truly used to identify himself anymore outside of formal matters, a clever invention of Lamp's that came about after years of research, meditation, and a brief incident involving a common galactic paper shredder.
In fact, the title "Lamp" was only acquired a few moments earlier, upon the Human's attempt to recall part of it, realized his unusual communication organ would hamper the pronunciation of the 38th syllable, and decided to go with a moniker he had somehow acquired for the President on the spot.
"What, you don't like Lamp? Oh, I get it. Some sort of alien insult. How about Lightbulb? Anglerfish?" The Human subject, referring to himself occasionally as "My", "Myself", and on one instance "Michael Smithee", rambled off two more titles, again revolving around Lamp's gamma-sensory organ. Both related to common earth objects.
"See President of High Council of Galactic Spa-er, can I stick with Lamp, President of the High Council 8675309" President Lamp's assistant, Todd, had soon caught on to the Human's nomenclature. But the true brilliance of the new title was lost on the researcher, being unfamiliar with this "Myself"'s homeworld. Up to this point, humans had shown no real interesting qualities aside from an unusual affinity for science, especially involving biology. Unusual in that they should have *died* eons ago, with the number of inedible substances on their planet, let alone have working economies, governments, businesses-every facet of a working civilization of billions occurred despite the fact the human minds seemed more adapted to tribal society in scales of tens. A mystery that led to Lamp and Todd's recent expedition.
"Lamp is appropriate Earth Homo Sapien Michael Smithee denizen of Colorodo." The President replied, before worrying about having to memorize *another* new title for himself.
"You can just call me Mike." Or for the human. Lamp sighed to himself.
"He did it again! Another title, this one based on a small sample size of his own full name."
"Since you have arrived here Eath Homo Sapi...Mike...you have abstracted enough information to develop 16 unique titles for ... Lamp, Todd, and Mike." The new titles, once memorized, were convenient. A simple matter with Lamp's advanced mental training. "How are you able to compress such information so efficiently? Classification of such caliber is *years* beyond what we can accomplish, and your cultures are not known for being...how do I put it..."
"Earth Homo Sapiens are not considered to be of the 'Maximum Intelligence' Category" Todd replied, less tactifully than Lamp would have preferred.
"You mean the nicknames?" Mike's reply baffled the President. A title for a classification of titles. The uses were astounding! At this rate, the skill of naming things could become available to even the poorest of Galactic Council society. "I dunno, everyone on Earth does it."
It could not be possible. An entire species evolved to...*name* each other? Yet, it made so much sense. By abstracting the information, this relatively unintelligent species was able to match wits with the greatest Categorizer known to the galaxy, and was able to understand basic English! Imagine that, another galaxy knew Galactic Common English. If Lamp could use these new "naming" skills, he could usher in a...Golden Age of Learning, Lamp decided he would categorize it as.
"Todd! Let us embrace our new discovery! Contact the...what did you refer to it as, Mike?"
"Alien leader guys?"
"YES! Alien Leader Guys! Let them know that I bring news of a new species, one that can solve all of our issues this day. And then prepare the Galactic Science Collection Grid Version 3 point 8 premium edition color green, and start the collection process! Oh, how I wish I had a new word for this next part, it comes up so rarely I have yet to decide on one."
Had Lamp consulted Mike on the title before this, Lamp would have learned the common Earth term for what he would soon undertake is also known to Earth Homo Sapiens as "Telemarketing". | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T13:59:04 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Upon dying and entering the afterlife, you are presented with a list of people who were somehow effected by your life and death, with those on whom you had the greatest impact coming first. You don't recognize the first name on your own list. Who were they, and why are they on top? | The name at the top of the list: Phillip Owens. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place a face to the name. The lady standing next to me was looking at her list in similar confusion.
“This woman died because you ran a red light five years ago,” the angel told her.
The woman broke down in tears. I looked back at my list. I still have no clue who the hell Phillip Owens is.
“Did I kill Phillip Owens?” I asked the angel.
“No, your death postponed his. He will get to watch his kids grow up now,” the angel responded.
Inwardly relieved, I wondered how I could’ve saved this guy by dying.
Then it hit me, “Oh… I was an organ donor.”
| "Lillian.... Lillian Strife... What a nice name." He looked at death, with confusion. "I affected her the most?"
"That is truth."
"I'm afraid I don't know her. The name Strife though... I know. I'm sorry I can't... My mind's a bit fuzzy right now. I'm having trouble... Remembering..."
"I'm sure that you didn't."
"So... If I didn't know her how is she on my list? I'm sure I know the name Strife..."
"You died a hero did you not?"
"I... Died a soldier. I never thought I was a hero." He corrected, looking sadly at the face of death. "Don't tell me... I shot her?"
"I suppose... In a manor of speaking. Though that's a bit crass don't you think? I should hate to send you to hell."
"I don't understan- Jane!"
"You've remembered then?"
"I died... She was waiting for me to come back. We were... Don't tell me she's pregnant?"
"She'll be having your child soon. A father who died in battle, such stories your friends will tell of your strength up till the end. She will soon follow in your footsteps."
"A girl as a soldier?"
"One of the first." Death replied.
"Hah... If through the eyes of heaven, or hell... I'd like to see that."
"I shall make sure you do." Death said, and Ian took his hand.
| 2014-12-01T20:31:09 | 2014-12-01T20:17:03 | 56 | 30 |
[WP] You are hired to write the holy text for a new religion. What is the first chapter of the text? | Chapter 1:
In the beginning there was... You know what? Lets keep this short and to the point.
Rule number one: Don't be a dick.
That's really what it boils down to. To elucidate further:
If you think you might be being a dick: Don't.
If your actions might be dick-ish: Don't.
If your actions might cause someone else to be a dick: Don't.
If you think being a dick is necessary: It isn't, so Don't.
That's about it. If you have troubles understanding these simple edicts, refer back to rule number one, and try not to be a dick.
Good luck, be kind, eat more vegetables, drink lots of water, get good sleep, create a thing, and try not to worry too much.
The End. | If you're looking for a creation story, this isn't it. This is the story of how you find a way not to un-create yourselves.
In the beginning, there were a few people. We don't know how many. They were probably brave and strong and weak and normal and dorky and silent and brutal and kind. These people lived somewhere difficult, where the possibility of eking out their existence was far more brutal than your living daily grind with your warm trains and your flying planes and your instant, daily communication with all corners of the globe. Life was slower. Life was harder. Life was better.
This world is not mean to be easy; you have deluded yourselves. This is why you collectively fantasise your own end constantly and repeatedly. Every two years a new apocalypse that never quite seems to materialise.
There is too much food. There is too much time. You are too comfortable. It is destroying you.
The only way is to find a way back is to consciously bring in the difficulties that your genes were forged in. You must not be always warm. You must feel cold, true, aching, and shivering cold...from time to time. You must feel true thirst. You must feel true hunger. You must bring these things unto yourselves, for the world you've created makes it all to easy to sit eating, fattening, in a warm house on a street with a car and a pet and some sparkly, cold diamonds to show your wealth.
Experience is wealth. Discomfort will set you free. You long to test yourself, to quest, to walk with your own feet a thousand miles.
In the beginning, you were humans. See to it that in the end you will so be.
| 2015-01-04T14:52:14 | 2015-01-04T14:32:21 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] It has been proven that there is a wishing well that actually fulfills wishes (provided that they aren't outlandish), the only catch is that it takes 10 years for the wish to come true. You make a wish almost 10 years later you realize that it's the last thing you want to happen.
You make a wish **AND** almost 10 years later you realize that it's the last thing you want to happen.
Typo. | I wake up in a strange bed with needles klinking to the floor. Startled, the sound of metal hitting the cold marble floor jars me awake.
"Where is my beautiful wife Emily and my two precious kids?" I think.
A musky rank odor fills the air as I strain to make sense of this unfamiliar surrounding.
The window to my left, allows streaking light through the moth eaten drapes, adding further creepiness to this already weird scene.
"Honey" a meek voice calls out,"will you get me some more coke?"
A sillioutte of a women, once beautiful, once powerful, once my only crush and desire is now a shadow of herself.
Lindsay Lohan, if only 10 years didn't look so bad on you. | I wish I had known what was about to happen..
10 years ago, I was 22 then, life was great. Just finished university and loving my new job as a developer. The path home passed through a forest, that's where I made the biggest mistake of all.
After 2 years I had never noticed it before, the old brick well roped me in. A small wooden sign nailed to the top with the words '10 years is a long time to wait for a wish'. Good things come to those who wait I guess. I was a smart guy, knew what he wanted in life, made my wish and left. Never saw that well again... For now.
Macey was her name, worked on the 2nd for in HR. With a crooked smile that gave her the most intriguing look, brown hair and eyes that could make men move mountains. She was the love of my life. 4 years later we had 3 children, Elliot, Joel and Catherine. My life was good.
February 18th was the day I made that wish. I finish work at 5.30pm, but now I drove home instead, I should have made the most of that morning. Opening the door to my family in the living room, what a good day, weekend soon!
In a blink of an eye they were gone, disintegrated into the air. A piece of my heart was ripped out of my chest.
I remembered. February 18th I knew it rang a bell in my head. It had been 10 years since I made my wish. I was young and foolish, I was sure of what I wanted. Even left laughing at the prospect.
As I tossed a penny into the well...
"I wish I never have kids!" | 2015-02-21T08:10:06 | 2015-02-21T06:46:44 | 82 | 43 |
[WP] You are Placebo Man. Your superpowers are whatever the people nearby you believe you have.
Bonus prompt: Your nemesis knows your secret. | James opened his wardrobe to inspect the 40-odd superhero suits he had accumulated. The trick was to draw on pop culture. People's ingrained beliefs. If you want to fly, wear a cape or wings. Better still dress as a known flying hero. If you want super speed wear a red and yellow jumpsuit. James was tired but knew he would feel better after some fresh air, he grabbed his Spiderman outfit. One look in the mirror to check it all looked right and he hopped out of the french windows from his bedroom.
A little under half an hour later James was spotted. The group of teens looked fairly drunk, a fairly ordinary occurrence in North London at this time of night. One of them had clearly seen him. The kid's expression was somewhere in between confused and terrified. This was James' favourite part, the convincer. At his very core, James was a gambling man. The success of the next few minutes depended very heavily on at least one of them knowing Spiderman's background. James took in a big breath. "Showtime" he whispered to himself.
| The secret is to start small.
The familiar music blares in the background as the audience looks upon the stage. I walk out from stage left in the traditional costume, top hat and all, as fireworks ignite beside me. There may be nearly two hundred people in the audience, but the bright lights make it impossible to tell how many there are. Will they buy my act?
Years of practice have taught me to feign confidence. That is the only trick I need. Confidence and a pigeon in my top hat. The music roars, muting any noise my avian companion can make. His unfortunate twin sits in a cage located at the center stage. Any death row inmate could relate to the doomed bird waiting for his executioner to approach. Waiting for me to approach.
I raise my arms and grin as the audience applauds. I spin around and show them the inside of my hat. They do not notice the false bottom, they can not hear either pigeon squawk.
"There's nothing up my sleeves," I yell the traditional words and grin - I can hear laughter from the audience. I walk towards center stage and pull a rag from my sleeve quickly enough that it goes unnoticed by the audience. I hold the bird cage above my head and spin it around before placing it on the table. I gently pull my rag over the cage so the audience is unable to see the bird within it.
The familiar musical queue warns me to act quickly. Fireworks explode behind as I collapse the cage and crush the pigeon within. The table is slightly above the eye level of the audience, and collapses so that it appears to have disappeared. I quickly throw the rag off of the table and the audience gasps at the apparent disappearance! Where did the pigeon go?
I feign confusion, I look in my sleeves and under my shoes to show the audience I empathize with their response. And then I pull off my hat while releasing the false bottom, allowing the second pigeon to fly free. The audience gasps. They buy the illusion in that moment. And in that moment the show begins... | 2015-04-05T17:41:23 | 2015-04-05T17:39:19 | 79 | 51 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | it was quite bothersome at how still my victim was sitting in his chair. In fact, Im pretty sure that the way he was sitting, he probably didbt even feel restrained at all.
He must have been retarded or something.
"You do know that I'm going to kill you right?"
Nothing. He just continued to stare at me with a blank expression. I tried again.
"Sorry. I must have not been clear. In the next 20 minutes, you will be dead. Your body will be buried under a tree somewhere and no one will ever find you"
Nothing. He blinked. Probably twice.
"What the fuck?" *how wasn't he getting this?* Maybe he needed some visual stimulus to finally get the concept of murder drilled into his thick skull.
I rummaged through jimmy - my tool bag of death, and produced the longest knife I could find. A 25 inch machette.
I pointed the weapon at him, and then made a slicing motion across my neck with my available hand.
*Surely he* ***MUST*** *understand that*
He didn't. He still looked at me blankly.
The room had gotten so quiet now that I could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent light bulb that lit the room.
I couldn't take this any longer,
"IM GOING TO KILL YOU. I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FACE AND FEED YOUR REMAINS TO THE DOGS. I WILL END YOUR MISERABLE FUCKING LIFE RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF SHIT"
He winced, he looked startled but nontheless continued to stare at me with the expression of a koi fish.
*GODDAMMITJESUSCHRIST*
"**FOR THE LOVE OF GOD FUCKING SAY SOMETHING PLEASE**"
And finally,
After 4 weeks of stalking him,
2 days of preperation,
And 2 hours of threatening,
He finally spoke
"Yo no hablo ingles"
| The Seven Ps. Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The SAS would never have taken an autistic person. Not for this anyway, but that's another story. Killing the autistic was always a challenge and I hated challenge. Did they not realise that I did this for the emotion? A hint of emotion at least. Nope. Fucking idiots. Let's try this again.
"Look at me, you fucking cunt." Bellowed our hooded assailant.
"Sorry sir, my eyes were getting tired," responded Alex, naive and innocent to the last. And in truth his eyes were getting tired; this happens when you're forcibly kept awake for thirty two and three-quarter hours. But Alex didn't mind, he liked the attention. Ma and Pop always ignored him and called him words. 'Retard', 'Pig' and 'Forrest' were their favourites although Alex never understood them. And no one else would play Hide and Seek with him. Although Alex didn't know why he had to be tied up.
"What did I just tell you to fucking do, you worthless shite?" Screamed Mr Hood. Alex called him Mr Hood.
Alex jumped again, "You told me to look at you," he said.
Alex liked this game.
"This is not a fucking game," muttered Mr Hood under his breath before composing himself, "YES! Look at me. Me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?". Of course he didn't understand. Why do I bother sometimes.
"Have you heard of 'This Little Piggy'?" Asked Mr H. "Of course you haven't," he thought to himself.
Mr H's temple was pulsing. Unhealthily.
"Oh yes, Mr Hood," answered Alex gleefully, "I know all the words, shall I tell it to you?"
"Be my guest," responded Mr H. Eerily.
"This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home."
Mr H gave slow round of applause.
"Alex do you know the difference between you and this story?" asked Mr H.
"No Sir, although I would like some roast beef as we always have it on Sundays" said Alex hoping in vain that he might get some scrumptious beef.
"You're never going home," Mr H said, pulling a hunting knife from it's scabbard.
Alex's eyes lit up. No more home? No more rude words? That sounded great to Alex although he would miss his beef.
Mr H plunged the knife into Alex's carotid artery. Great spurts of blood erupted from Alex's neck whilst his body motioned spasmodically and the life drifted from his eyes. This Little Piggy was having none.
| 2015-04-29T09:17:27 | 2015-04-29T08:58:17 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot. | Lord Mestophiles smirked as the young man was forced to kneel on the plush carpet in front of his throne.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't young Luka."
He stood, and paced back and forth in front of his helpless captive.
"You've been a real pain, Luka. A real thorn in my side. I should have killed you along with your parents. Still, at least I can make up for that now - after you've seen me burn your town to the ground and feed your friends to the crocodiles, of course."
Unseen by the pacing madman, Luka twisted his bound wrists until the ropes loosened. From a hidden pocket in his pants, he slid the hilt of a sword. The blade was broken an inch from the crosspiece, but it glowed with a strange purple energy.
Lord Mestophiles turned to face him. "After that, it's just a matter of time before I reach the castle itself, and the kingdom is mine. Maybe I'll keep your precious friend the princess alive, just long enough for you to see her scream. Or maybe I can find something more...*fun* to do with her." He chuckled, and half turned away. "The future is looking very bright indeed, and-- "
*Now!*
Luka leapt forward, the sword cutting his bonds and swinging toward his demented captor in one swift motion. He was so focused on his target that he failed to notice the arrow that had lodged itself in his own chest until he collapsed, gasping, on the rug. Mestophiles whirred around, taking in the scene, before turning to the crossbow-wielding soldier behind him.
"What the shit, Kyle? Why would you do that? Are you retarded?"
The soldier looked perplexed.
"He had a sword, Sir. I thought, since I was supposed to protect you and all..."
Mestophiles sighed and swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead tiredly. In front of him, Luka was gurgling and coughing blood onto the nice rug.
"I'm the goddamn Lord of Darkness! You think I can't handle some kid with a broken sword? Of course I knew he was coming! I had this whole thing planned, I was gonna kick the sword out of his hand and grab it, say something witty... maybe like 'not so sharp now, huh?' or something, he'd be all 'oh no, you've bested me'. I don't know, I hadn't planned it that far yet. Now he's just lying there, bleeding on my carpet. Jesus." Luka continued his bloody gurgling, apparently oblivious to his breach of manners.
Kyle knew he had to be careful here. With the Lord this angry, he knew his life (and job) were in danger. He cleared his throat. "Well, at least the carpet's red. One wash, you'll never know anyone had died here. Except for the skulls on the wall-- "
"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Kyle. God, now I've got to go burn that town and kill all those people without an audience. It just takes all the fun out of it." He sighed one last time, and stalked down the hall and out of the throne room.
"And do you have any idea how hard it is to wash a rug that big?" His voice echoed around the corner. Kyle sighed as Luka's gurgling finally quietened. He had no doubts about who would be washing the rug. | He was at it again, his monologue, blasting away on why what he had to do was not evil, how it was necessary for world peace. Most of us had heard this at least ten times before. Agent Jamie Blud of H.E.A.R.T. had probably heard it more than the most of us. He had always stopped him when we got closed. The bastard had killed my brother, shoot me twice and his henchmen.. or his fellow agents had killed half my friends last time. And here Dr Jubby had captured him again, we were all getting nervous. The good Dr. only had to press the button and we would accomplish all we had worked so hard for. By working hard I mean us laboring and guarding and the good doctor planning and inventing. Not that he was bad at his jobs. I mean I had a handheld supercomputer in the early 80’s and it’s still better than your average laptop. Back then he was only a thief. That was before those danm terrorist and government killed his wife. The only woman I have seen who could say no to mr Agent and his ilk. Wait Im doing a inner monologing now. Fuck this.
“there wont be peace as long as that area still exist. The only way to bring peace to them is to nuke the whole place and build a parking lot over it. But I will do so much better. Wil my new” BANG BANG BANG… BANG BANG..
They all looked at me ”what the hell ? “ Dr. Jubby stagger back in confusion as I walked over to the agents and shoot him two times more in the head. BANG BANG! “a warning next time. “ The dr. turns towards the panel and sighted as he looked at the button . “ fuck it.. come here. What’s your name again?”
I holstered my gun and stepped over the dead body. “ Fritz Cull. Nr 24 sir!”
“Number 24? You survived that long? Number 637. Clean the mess up” He looked over my shoulder to my co guard and looked down at the button. “ you press it. Its just as much your victory as mine.”
"I looked at him and I was getting confused. Then scared. He is going to kill me. Fuck.. danm Im doing a monolog again . I pressed the button and nothing happened. “ I’m dead aren’t I?”
He shuck his head and smirked. Your not supposed to feel anything but its done. We made world peace.
The satellites worked perfectly, the redundant operation system crashed of course as the agents of H.E.A.R.T. had instructed it to, no knowing it the secondary system was the actual main system and untouched by their hacking. The beams struck down on all the 500 designated areas and within 1 hours there was no longer a middle east just a bunch of island the size Hawaii. All the major holysite where gone so was the major cities. While it lasted the world was filled with a strange music, from instruments nobody could really place. When it was owe the clouds all over the middle east formed into the words “ Do not kill in my name again!”
Dr. Jubby walked away from the control panel to his study, halfway he looked at me as to tell me to follow, I followed. I had just killed more several million but It didn’t dawn on me yet. He told me to sitt down at his desk. I looked at the chair. It had several hidden deadly traps and devices installed in it. I sat down as he took out a bottle of whiskey. “ so we did it. “ the always so elegant Dr. open the bottle and drank straight from the bottle, like he did when we had started. I just nodded and he handed me the bottle, “ 24? That means you were part of the Switz bank heist?”
“yes sir. Got shot there. First time you meet him. “ I nodded back to the door and he smirked.
“the good old days. Who would knew he would be such an asshole, you know he tried to seduce my daughter. He is 20 years old then her.. was I would say. “
I drank and handed him the bottle. I guess I would celebrating now.
| 2015-06-24T01:16:43 | 2015-06-23T23:22:04 | 181 | 31 |
[WP] You have a near-death experience that reveals you have a Guardian Angel protecting you... And you have the hots for her. You continue putting your life in danger in order to spend more time with her. | “I’m telling you, Susan, he wasn’t the same after the operation.”
“What do you mean?”
“He died, you know. When he was under. And when he came back... he just wasn’t Tim anymore.”
“How so?”
“We started fighting all the time, and we never used to fight. He kept saying I didn’t care about him like she did. When I asked who he was talking about he would just get mad and storm off. It’s almost like he was having an affair, but I know for certain he wasn’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, for one he’s a terrible liar. There’s no way he could keep a secret like that. And two – look at him. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but I don’t think he classifies as affair material. But it wasn’t just the arguing. He began acting... strangely.”
“Strangely?”
“Yeah. He did things like put himself in unnecessary danger.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we decided to take a vacation off the coast – after the whole nearly dying scare we didn’t want to waste time waiting. We just wanted to go and do something, you know?”
“Of course.”
“So we decided to do some deep sea diving. It’s something that’s been on both our bucket lists for a lifetime and we’d always put it off... And while we were viewing a passing school of fish he removed his oxygen mask. Stupid bastard nearly drowned himself. Rest of the dive had to be cancelled. I was very unhappy with him that day.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“At first I thought it might be. But then it happened again.”
“You went diving again?”
“No... When we went on safari in Africa. In the middle of the tour when we were observing a pride of lions he hopped out of the jeep and charged at the biggest one while clucking like a chicken. Our guide had to tranquilise the poor thing before it ate my stupid husband’s head.”
“That does seem like odd behaviour.”
“And now this,” Susan sighed, nodding towards her husband in the hospital bed. “Dumb bastard ran right in front of a bus when we were coming home from the airport. I’d almost swear he was trying to kill himself. Now the doctors don’t even know if he’ll make it out of his coma.”
Mary nodded, unsure of what else to say, and brought her eyes to Susan’s husband. He seemed so calm, so peaceful, as he lay there. Staring closer she noticed his lips appeared curled at each end – she could’ve almost sworn he was smiling.
“Do you think people dream in comas?” Mary asked Susan.
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Because.” Mary nodded towards the rising bed sheet. “If they do, I’m pretty sure your husband’s having a good one.”
| “JOHN.” She shrieked with her lovely voice. “What in God’s name were you thinking?” She picked me up under my arms, and flew me right back to the top of the skyscraper. “John, you there?” She waved her hand in front of my face, as she set me down safely away from the building’s edge.
“Huh?” I shook my head trying to wipe off the goofy grin plastered to my face. “Yeah, yeah I’m here,” I looked back into her beautiful face.
“Stop staring at me like that.” She put her hands on her hips, and looked at me with her cute pouty face. “Seriously, stop. Why did you walk off that building?” She questioned.
“Uhm I don’t know, I don’t know. I just forgot where I was, and I guessed I just walked right off.”
“Really? You just strolled off. I don’t buy it. Are you suicidal? Because if you are, I have to hang around you more often.” She sighed.
“YES. I’m very suicidal, always thinking about it. Never can stop. You know what I may just walk off again.” I took a step off the edge a second time and awaited her soft embrace to save me. I felt her arms slip under mine, and the rush of the wind as I was carried back up to the top.
“You really have to think about getting therapy for this. I can’t be spending all day with you.” She set me down again on the hard surface of the rooftop.
“Yes you can. I’m like a baby. Gotta watch me twenty four hours a day.” I started to walk towards the edge again. Her touch filled me with bliss. But right before I stepped off, I felt a tug pull me back to safety. I turned around and there my Angel stood.
“John, snap out of it. I have other people to watch too.”
“But not as important as me. Right?”
“I don’t know you might make it to the top of the list the rate you’re going. And you’ll be beating out a stuntman who gets shot out of a cannon for a living. But seriously you need to think about counseling.” She insisted.
“Okay I promise I will. By the way what’s your name?” I asked.
“It’s Sarah.” She said cautiously. “Why do you need to know. This relationship we have here isn’t my decision. I was assigned you and other people to protect.”
“This is only my second time seeing you. It’s already a relationship.” I stammered. I covered my mouth and stared at her. “That was not supposed to be out loud." I nervously informed her. Sarah just raised an eyebrow at me. My nerves were starting to kick in. Things don’t go well after I learn their name, and it definitely didn’t help that this girl was so stunning.
“Listen here, John, I’m a Guardian Angel. This relationship or whatever you think it is, isn’t real. I’m just here to protect you.” She tried to explain, but all I did was stare at her adoringly. She rolled her perfect blue eyes, and sprouted her pure white wings.
“Wait don’t go anywhere.”
“John, I have other people to attend to. It’s not just you.” She said down to me, as she rose up into the sky.
“How can I reach you?” I pleaded to her as she rose higher towards the clouds. All she did was point to the edge. I just smiled at her and slowly walked towards the precipice. I looked up at her and then down towards the street below. Right off I went, then came the familiar embrace and rush of wind.
| 2015-08-12T22:22:17 | 2015-08-12T21:40:35 | 65 | 23 |
[WP] A future society obsessed with magic and fantasy roleplay uses advanced technology to emulate their ideal world to live in. Generations later their descendants have forgotten their origins, believing they live in a true world of sword and sorcery. | A fresh breeze blew from the forest, carrying the scent of pine and running water. Sir Michael breathed deeply, savoring the smell of home. It had been two weeks since he had been to Keep Raphael, two weeks of dangerous monsters breathing down his neck and physical labor that had worked him to the bone. But now he was back, and the world had never looked greener.
"Hail, Sir Steven!" He called to the gatekeeper knight from his perch atop the highest corner of the castle's thick stone walls.
Sir Steven looked down and smiled, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. "Hail, Sir Michael! What treasures have you brought home from your journey?"
He leapt from his perch, falling the fifty feet with easy grace and kicking up a small cloud of dust at his landing.
"It is good to see you, brother." Sir Steven smiled, embracing his friend as if he had been gone for years.
"And you, Steven." Michael said, returning the grin. "I have quite the haul today. Coins, gems, armor...I even managed to acquire a legendary weapon or two!"
Sir Steven laughed. "When do you NOT get a good haul! Every time you come back you just pile more and more into those chests of yours...do you ever plan to use it?" He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling good-naturedly. "Some days I wish you would stop your adventuring, settle down...maybe find a girl..."
I punched his shoulder. "You know I could never be tied down to one place...hell, if I didn't like this town so much, I would probably wander forever!"
"Sir Michael! Sir Michael!" Cried a voice from inside the city gates.
"Ohh boy, here comes trouble!" Sir Steven snorted.
A small boy with sandy hair, barely seven years old in appearance, came running through the open wooden doors
"Sir Michael! You're back! Did you get anything good today?"
He leapt up and grabbed Sir Michael around the waist, burying his face in his leather armor. Sir Michael rolled his eyes.
"Robert! You remember me! Thank goodness, I was worried you forgot!"
"Of course I remember!" Robert said sullenly. "How could I forget? You have been doing this every two weeks for years! When are you going to let me come with you?"
Sir Robert laughed and patted him on the head "Don't worry, I will take you when you're older." He looked at Sir Steven, and the two of them burst out laughing.
"Awww...no fair." Robert looked down, eyes shining with tears. "You know no one ever gets older..."
Sir Michael frowned, as if suddenly remembering something. "Actually, about that...can you come with me for a minute Robert? We need to talk...in private."
"O...K..."
"Please, excuse us for a moment Sir Steven."
"Of course!" Steven said, grinning.
With a firm hand on Robert's back, Michael steered the two of them out of the gates and into the welcoming woods that surrounded the castle town.
***
Gotta eat, TBC!
"Oh, yeah, if Grandpa could see all this loot he would totally call it EPIC!"
*If you liked what I wrote, come check out my subreddit /r/TimeSyncs! Constructive criticism is always welcome!* | Frederick Truesword trudged into McDonald's Tavern. "Frederick!" cried a familiar voice. "It has been too long, my favorite paladin!" It was Armina, a bard he had known for as long as he could remember.
"Hello, Armina," Frederick sighed.
"What's got you down, Frederick?" she said soothingly as she rubbed her hand on his chest armor.
"I lost another group of adventurers today to that damned dragon in AT&T Mountain. I was the only one to escape."
"Oh Frederick," Armina replied whimsically. "They'll be back tomorrow as new people. They always do. Besides, haven't you killed that dragon enough already? There are other quests out there."
"None of the other quests feel very interesting after you've confronted a level 100 dragon. They all feel too scripted... And the others in my group, it just doesn't feel right losing them. I want to be a part of something."
"You're too picky, there is plenty of small quests and parties in Geico Plains. Besides, you know that there are always plenty of people LFG, you can be a part of something whenever you feel like it."
"Armina... this world... something doesn't feel right about it. Everything feels fake. Were we made to just do endless questing our whole lives? And who are these traders who just continuously buy our useless crap? I don't see how they make much money."
Armina laughed and replied, "Frederick, it sounds like you ought to reclass to be a priest and talk about that philosophy bullshit with the others at the Temple of Morgan and Morgan, or whatever deity you follow these days. Watch out though, I hear sometimes they disappear mysteriously. You're talking non-sense just like they do! Come on, I'm going tavern hopping with a couple of friends tonight. You're welcome to come along if you aren't going to be boring the whole time."
"I'll think about it," Frederick replied gloomily. He looked around at all the others in the tavern. All of them just continuously questing and consuming, none of them with a care for the future. How was this sustainable? Armina was already making friends in another part of the tavern. Frederick sighed and said to himself, "I wish I could end this... this... simulation of..." but as soon as he said those words, the world around him disappeared.
Slowly a glass door in front of him lifted. He reached for his sword but he was naked, none of his equipment was there. He cautiously stepped out of the small compartment, his legs felt weak and wobbly, not at all like the muscular physique to which he had become accustomed. He looked around the room and saw other glass containers like the one he had just exited, millions of them. What was this place?
He staggered along the huge row of people. He tried running to get out of this place, but his weak legs staggered. Finally he saw a great metal door with strange markings he didn't recognize. He slowly got close to it, and it opened automatically. On the other side he saw a small encampment of people.
They looked at him and one cheerful lady dressed in strange yet rather plain looking clothing smiled at him and said, "So someone else finally got curious! Welcome to the real world!"
Frederick froze. This was what he had wished for, the "real" world. His mind was overwhelmed. He just stood there staring at them.
"Well this is a rare treat," the lady said. "Don't be shy, we all came through those doors naked and confused at some point. We'll find you some clothes soon. You should see some of the big stores here full of stuff!"
"How... how is this possible?" Frederick asked.
"Advanced technologies... or magic. Haven't completely figured it out yet," she replied. "My name is Sarah, by the way. Used to be Lightning Spellsworth, but I decided that was a stupid name. My damned parents probably knew it was all a lie and didn't tell me."
"I'm... I'm Frederick." He was still in quite a daze and having trouble expressing coherent thoughts.
"Good to meet you Frederick, let's get you down to Walmart!"
"I'm not going back!" Frederick screamed in a violent reaction.
"No no, not that Walmart. The *real* Walmart. You've got a lot to learn." | 2016-02-29T16:41:00 | 2016-02-29T16:19:22 | 29 | 11 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | If you have dreamed about living forever before the nineteenth century, people would have said you’re crazy. If you insisted that humans could live forever before the twenty first century, you would probably have a date with a straightjacket and a padded cell. But, today if you said that you lived too long and wanted to die, people would applaud you for it.
Funny how society works sometimes.
Genetic coding and restructuring, hailed the biggest scientific leap in mankind. And it’s more infamous title, mankind’s greatest back step in sociology. Each of us now looked exactly like how we entered the gene clinic before the treatment. We still retained all our strength and knowledge, which the researchers assured that we would keep indefinitely.
“With this technology, we can conquer time itself.” The researchers who developed the technology had happily announced this during their Noble Prize speech. It was sort of ironic how each of them chose to end their lives before their 200th birthday.
To be honest, I was rather tired of this world. I’ve been to Everest far too many times to know which patch of ice was dangerous, and racing was getting very dull. Life sucked, but I wasn’t going to move on.
“Just take the pill, it won’t hurt I promise,” my granddaughter, who was a hundred and nine years old, was trying to offer me poison to kill myself. And people still argued that society wasn’t already screwed up.
“Nope, not happening,”
“Here comes the airplane.” She cooed, trying a different approach.
“I’m 400 years old, not 4. You’re just disgracing yourself.”
“Well, you’re kinda throwing a tantrum of a 40-year-old going through his midlife crisis.”
“Eh, whatever,” I tried to shoo her away.
“Surely you can’t be serious, gramps. Even both your sons have already moved on, why are you so insistent in staying alive?”
“For starters, my name ain’t Shirley,” I bared my teeth. “And I don’t care what other people think of me or what my family does. I’ll be myself, thank you.”
She cocked her head to a side and giggled. “Are you afraid of death, gramps?”
“Death,” I smirked. “Don’t make me laugh, I ain’t afraid of him.”
“Time waits for no one, but death waits for everyone.” She tried reasoning once more.
“Tell him to keep waiting then.”
| 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T08:05:50 | 916 | 113 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | Four hundred years is the limit of what's considered socially acceptable. Since I've hit the big four-five-oh, people won't leave it alone. Especially the members of my current family. It might be time to move on soon.
I circled the edges of the reunion dinner, ignoring the scandalised looks thrown my way. I picked up fragments of the conversation as I walked through the crowds, grabbing a glass of champagne along the way.
"Just rude, to leave his wife waiting for him, really," one woman (supposedly my cousin sixteen times removed, or something of the sort) muttered as I passed her.
"How many years has it been since she passed on?" her friend asked.
"Eighty! And his oldest children went twenty years ago. Simply heartless, if you ask me..."
"Well, nobody did ask you, did they Kelly?" I said, not pausing to hear her reply as I made my way outside towards the balcony.
I felt compelled to come every year. Witness who had passed, who were still biding their time. Free will always fascinated me. I gazed out over the city from the balcony, breathing deeply. I missed the trees. A giant, animated billboard of celebrating people caught my eye.
**Mass prayer meeting this Saturday. Show your appreciation for eternal life!**
Given the way Immortal Tablets were discovered, I suppose it was natural to believe you could simply continue your immortal life on another plane. Somewhere you didn't take up valuable space and resources. Where you could spend endless days of sunshine with your loved ones, without worrying about earning your place and time on Earth. They believed the story so strongly, they didn't fear death anymore. Not really. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who knows the story is bogus - at least the one they're telling themselves.
I was, after all, quite a bit older than the 450 years I claimed, and had been the one to share my 'secret' of the Immortality Tablets with the rest of the world in the first place.
But when most people pass on after a paltry 400 years, people forget. They change the story. Myths and stories are fickle things, that become bruised and bent out of shape with time. Especially the one about who and what I was.
People simply can't fathom the idea of being older than the universe itself, of someone having known the secret of the 'tablets' all along. Who chose to share it with the rest of the planet simply because he got bored.
Or at least, that's my theory. I haven't tested it yet. I don't know if I want them to know the truth. This world is a small place, and we all have to die sometimes.
Well, except for me, of course. I can't leave yet. For one thing, my humans remained interesting after all this time. And it would be rude to leave the party early. I'd started this whole mess, after all. I should see the ending of the story.
I tossed back the rest of my champagne and made my way back inside. With luck, there would still be some food left. I could kill for one of those little sausage rolls right about now.
_____
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | Marcus encountered his sixth assassination attempt on the morning of his one-thousand-and-first birthday. He opened his eyes to sudden light: the curtains of the canopy bed were ripped back, and four men with sharp duelling swords grinned like wolves. They levelled the points of the rapiers at Marcus, who lifted himself up onto his elbows and wondered where Tally was with the coffee. He had been dreaming about his cathedral again.
"Hello boys," he said slowly. Marcus spoke lightly, trying to conceal how breathless he'd become at the slight movement. "Is that Sestio I see there?"
His descendant stepped forward. The point of his sword held steady, but the smile had faded. He had some of Marcus' rugged looks, but his chest was skinny and the dandy clothes looked foolish on him. A thin moustache curled above his thinner lips, and there was no warm light in his weasel-like eyes. Having his friends at his back gave him a cocky confidence. He tossed his head when he spoke.
"Hello grandfather," Sestio said wickedly. "It's your birthday." They all called him grandfather. At least to his face.
"So it is," Marcus tossed the blanket aside and stood up. He refused to hold onto the bedposts. They would not know how weak he was. "A thousand and one. What luck have I see to see another day. Another day to plan my cathedral."
"Not another one, grandfather," Sestio said. "We've come to kill you."
Marcus heaved a crumpled sigh, saddened. The young ones didn't understand death. He crossed in front of the youths. One of them had let the tip of his sword droop to the floor. Sestio watched Marcus, enraged. Marcus opened the bureaus, pulled out the maps and plans he had been working on the day before. If he didn't show fear... The plans were as he'd left them.
"Grandfather!" he cried.
"I will bathe, and dress, as normal," Marcus said. "You will leave. We will not speak about this again. I will not tell your mother." Because Marcus could not remember which one of his many offspring were Sestio's mother.
Marcus rolled the die of fate and hoped Sestio would be too embarrassed to continue. He rolled up the plans in his hand and tapped them against the opposite palm.
"It'll all have to be done again," he muttered to himself, moving to his study. The ornate room stretched around his: gilt and frescoed covered walls. He walked slowly, upright and ramrod straight, feeling the prickle on his neck as his would-be-assassins watched him leave.
"Wait here," Sestio barked. He took two long strides and gripped his grandfather by the elbow. His long fingers dug into Marcus, who refused to show pain or fear.
"Every day for years you have restarted the plans for this cathedral," Sestio whispered under his breath. "It's a madman's dream. You'll never complete it."
"I will," Marcus said. "And when I complete it, I'll choose to die. Do you know the fable of Penelope, as she waited for Odysseus?"
"I don't care," Sestio shook Marcus. It frightened him: the rage on his descendant's face, the hatred in his cold eyes. He didn't dare show it. "Your mind's gone, old man. It's time to put it to rest."
"The cathedral will be a place of rest," Marcus broke free of Sestio's grip. "For me, and for another who didn't choose to die. That's why it *has* to be perfect. For her."
Sestio's eyes clouded in confusion. He stepped back. Marcus couldn't resist one last dig.
"And five others have tried to put an end to my plans, Sestio," he quipped. "Yours has been the most feeble yet."
------
/r/Schoolgirlerror
| 2016-08-09T07:43:02 | 2016-08-09T07:33:14 | 333 | 87 |
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | Walking into scenes of death never gets any easier. Everyone knows that. They all feel the same, hushed and raw. It's the way out that feels different. Sometimes it's pride. Sometimes it's shame. Sometimes it's flashbacks that nearly make me faint. Sometimes it's the strange, animal-like satisfaction that comes from revenge.
They never stay dying. By now, everyone knows that. The instant someone pulls on my sleeve or shouts my name, it's off to another house. It's nice, the children that are never orphaned, the graves never dug, the plagues that can't spread. Of course, by now I know every wound healed has its price.
Remove one wound, and it bounces onto another person. That's the way it goes. The healer that had been in my village knew that. He wanted to minimize the damage, he would tell me. Why hurt everyone when you can quarantine it? He refused to save lives, because that would kill one of his precious pin cushions, and once they were gone, so was the quarantine.
I wish I could avoid saving lives with some bullshit explanation of death being inevitable like he did. I could, I suppose, but the wide eyes of the soon to be orphans always remind me of what I saw in the mirror all those years ago, when I was young and grieving. The idea of them being left up on the streets, only to be snatched up by a madman, is too much to bear.
Of course, being raised by a madman can have its perks. Mostly it's the downsides that show, all the orphans that bore too many of other peoples wounds to keep on living. I was never surprised, though, that the madman would save his own life even when he wouldn't help someone else.
I try to distribute the wounds evenly. They never go to people here, of course. Seeing the scars would be worse then the faces of a million waifs. They go to the people of the valley down below, those who used to ignore my scars and glassy eyes.
Arriving back at my cottage and peeling off my robe, I can see all the scars left on me by the old healer. I removed those of his other pincushions, but mine stayed. When that old fool thought saving himself wouldn't have a higher cost than fixing a peasant's broken arm and flung the price of his life onto me, I expected more damage than anyone could survive. When it didn't, I felt like I had to keep at least some damage. It never occurred to me that fate would see it a different way. Death might seem like a high price to pay when one is dying, but when you know how easy it is to avoid it, there are higher prices to pay.
Like the ability to escape death.
*edit: One sentence split into two, and then edit #2 transposed two paragraphs.* | The woman thrashed on the bed while Jon washed his hands. The bile rose in this throat when he looked at her: the splinters of bone that emerged from the broken skin of her arm. They glistened white, red gore weeping around the crusted wounds. He rinsed his hands and patted them dry, keeping his breathing calm. The woman settled. Her name was Gemma. Sweat stood out cold on her brow.
"This will hurt," Jon promised her. He held a cup of willow bark tea to her mouth, dripping it over her chapped mouth. Her tongue was out and dry as sand. "I have to remove the splinters, and bind the wound. I will heal you."
He reached for thin metal tweezers. Gemma watched him with careful eyes, but she let him near her. Jon kept his promises.
There were five large fragments he could find: boar tusk that had broken when it pierced her. Geoff, the Mage-priest, had brought her in from the pine forest, staunching the blood with his black cloak. Jon laid the white bone aside, clinking into a ceramic bowl. In a white ewer he heated water and washed the wound with it, cleaning it with an antiseptic made from feverfew and tansy.
Geoff had wanted to stay, but magic and healing didn't mix. Jon unlaced the long ribbon of white linen bandages and laid them over the cleaned wound. Gemma watched him with the eyes of a trapped animal, breathing through her nose. Hair stuck to her forehead.
When it was done, he let her finish the tea and told Gemma how to keep the wound clean.
"Don't get it wet for several days," he said, seeing her out of the door. "Pay what you can, when you can. If there's any sign of rot, come back to me and I'll rebind it for you."
"Thank you, Jon," Gemma was steady on her feet, despite her white knuckled hand over the bandage.
Geoff stepped forwards as she left. He stood a head and a half taller than Jon, a thin moustache and a feeble beard growing over his weak chin. Jon scowled.
"What do you want?" Jon asked the Mage-priest. To Jon, Geoff seemed dangerous. People needed healing when they were hurt, not prayers or magic.
"You should have let me see her," Geoff said. "Her injury--"
"Can be solved with antiseptic and bandages, not humming and funny spells," Jon said firmly.
"Have it your way," Geoff said. "But remember that to everything there is a balance. Magic rules more than you think."
Jon rolled his eyes. He cleaned the white ewer in the stream outside his house, risning Gemma's blood away with lye soap. It trickled pink into the flow. The boar risk he buried beneath river rocks, hiding the memory of Gemma's pain.
The stream flowed on downstream, over the Cal hills and rushing through Barmet at the bottom of the foothills.
-----
In Barmet, a woman watched in horror as her skin tore open while she sewed. The skin split, opening like a wolf's mouth. White bone rose through the skin, growing like blind roots through the strings of muscle. When the pain started, she began to scream.
Geoff sat alone on the peak of the Cala Maan, legs crossed. His hands lay dead in his lap. With his mind, he sought out the source of the imbalance. In Barmet, the woman clutched at her bleeding arm.
Geoff smiled. Balance would be restored. Magic would reign supreme. | 2016-08-13T11:30:34 | 2016-08-13T09:14:36 | 86 | 20 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly. | "Is this an intervention?" I ask.
Catherine smiles brightly, despite her tone being grave. "That's such a harsh way of putting it. I'm just trying to help you live your life to the fullest."
I purse my lips and open the cabinet. "Want some tea?"
"I'd love some, thanks. Are you going to listen to me this time?" She leans back in her chair, noticeably making an effort to keep her feet from touching my table. Although it's old and dingy, I appreciate the sentiment.
"Catherine, we've talked about this." I pour water into the kettle and set it on the stove, pushing the dirty dishes aside. "I don't want to take them. It scares me."
"You take antidepressants. Those don't scare you." Her eyes flick to my windowsill and she quickly adds, "Nice flowers, by the way."
I narrow my eyes and turn to face her. She's peering at my obviously dead plant with interest. She touches one of the brown stems and it snaps under the weight of her finger.
"Don't be a jerk, okay?" I turn back to the cabinet and pull out two mugs.
"What do you mean?"
"You know I'm having a hard time right now. I can't really take care of things. It's just a lot for me to handle."
The front two legs of her chair hit the ground. "I know. That's why I'm so proud of you for keeping these ones alive!"
I freeze. *She doesn't sound sarcastic.* One of the tea bags drops to the floor. I ignore it.
"What are you talking about?" I don't look at her directly, but I can see her out of the corner of my eye. She's grasping at the dead stem, smelling the top as if a flower were there.
"They're so red. What a beautiful color. And the petals are so soft." Her fingers trace the air above the stem. "Roses are hard to keep alive. See, look at what you can do now, even the way you're feeling. Imagine if you took the pills. You could grow an entire rose garden!"
The clock ticks.
The kettle whistles.
I drop one of the mugs.
The porcelain shatters on the tile, sending sharp pieces in all directions. I jump back and swear, startling myself a bit, but Catherine, impossibly, seems not to notice. Instead, she looks at the whistling kettle. "I'll get it!" She announces.
"Watch out, th-" I trail off as she walks over the porcelain shards with her bare feet. She doesn't flinch, or even realize that she's leaving bloody footprints on the tile.
I blink hard.
She turns off the stove and takes the kettle in her left hand, placing her right hand on the counter, where the mug was resting a moment ago. Her fingers form a semi-circle, as if she's grasping a cup.
She tips the kettle and pours the boiling water directly on her hand. It splatters off the counter and onto the ground, mixing with the small pool of blood.
I stare at the scarlet droplets on the ground.
Catherine turns to smile at me.
She lifts her hand to her mouth and quickly brings it back down. "This is really good. Is it chamomile?"
My hands start to tremble. "Catherine, when was the last time you felt sad?" My voice is too slow. It cracks on the word *sad*.
"Oh, I don't get sad." She beams. A blister is beginning to form on her scalded hand. "Why would I be? There's nothing to be sad about anymore. Now that I have energy all the time, I can do whatever I want. I get to follow my dreams."
Her fingers are beginning to turn purple.
She reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a bottle of bright yellow pills. After setting down the imaginary cup, she twists the cap off and extends her hand towards me.
"When you're never tired," she says, "nothing unpleasant ever happens."
The pool of bloody water is getting thicker in consistency as more blood seeps from the gashes on her feet.
It touches my toe.
I look into her eyes. All I see is blissful ignorance. I look back at my dead roses. The dusty furniture. The dishes piled in the sink. I look at my own hair, greasy and limp from days of neglect. My wrists, still scarred from the last time I thought life wasn't worth living.
I take a yellow pill, and I swallow it dry. | The government released "Zone" almost a year ago. "Zone" was a little pill that someone could take to trigger the neurons in the brain to no longer transmit when sleep was needed. Many people began to take this without question, thinking that if they didn't need sleep that they would be able to get more accomplished. Then there were others, like myself, that decided it was an awful idea. A few months later the government is starting to weed out those who haven't taken "Zone", making it mandatory for everyone to take this pill, and if they were too young to take the pill they would inject it into the blood stream. The effects were good at first, there weren't any noticeable differences until at least a month after the pill was administered.
Hiding from people isn't easy, especially the government. Finding people that can help hide you, finding people that are on the same side, people that know how "Zone" critically injures the human race as a whole...that's the hard part. I have been on the run from the government ever since "Zone" was implemented. I would have to act like I was always awake, setting timers around my house so that way it would seem like someone was constantly doing something. The lights in the house would turn off at a certain time, come on at a certain time. I would set an alarm to wake up every so many hours to do something around the house, anything, to make it look like I had taken "Zone".
It was difficult at first, keeping up with this routine, keeping my head low so that way no one would notice. I had to stock up on caffeine pills early on, most are off the market, or a scam to get someone who hasn't taken the pill out of hiding. I have done everything to keep my nose clean from what I call the Zoners. People that will tell the government in an instant if you haven't taken the pill. At first they all seemed to act the same as I did, then I began to pick up on characteristics here and there that were off. Their skin began to droop, like they were tired all the time. They would act like they were on drugs, like speed, always on the go. Their senses began to be thrown off, except for their vision and hearing. They couldn't feel things like they used to. They were the equivalent of a stereotypical zombie, but didn't feed off of other humans. Those that were administered at a younger age, never grew properly. They were shorter, more stout, and looked to be ten years older than what they really were. I am shocked that babies have even survived this epidemic.
I stare at the coffee cup in my hands blankly, the lack of sleep this week was exhausting. I usually would find a way to make it into the woods around me, there was a cabin that no one knew about deep in Tennessee, and I would play it off as if I was an extreme Zoner always on the look out for the next adventure. Somehow they found it...they took most of the caffeine pills I had stashed there, and luckily I spotted them before I walked inside. Now, my whole routine has been thrown off. I was practically falling asleep on my coffee when I heard a knock at the door.
I could see three people standing there, and I stood quickly backing into the wall. I had to calm down to think of something if they were onto me. Perhaps I would be able to just act like I wasn't home. I listened carefully as the doorknob jiggled, their hushed tones indicating that they were trying to be sneaky about what they were doing. I squat low against the wall, hiding from every window and door in the house. One of them knocks on the door again, and I just hold my breath, hoping that this is going to pass.
I hear a window to my left shatter, and my heart pounds into my ears as they enter my home. It was time to either fight or take off running at the opportune moment, either way it wasn't looking good.
"Miss Garzell!" One of them yells, I can hear one walking upstairs, another walking down to the basement. The one yelling my last name is walking toward the living room. I slowly crawl around to the backdoor, trying to remain as quiet as I can as I unlock it. "Stop!" I don't even look back as I throw the door open and practically run into the screen door behind it.
I trip down the stairs of the backyard, stumbling as I make a break for the fence. The woods behind my house would be enough for me to lose them, I just had to get there. A hand grabs my arm and I turn around punching the man square in the nose, his hand lets go, and I jump the fence hearing the other two men run out into the yard.
The blood rushes into my ears, at this point I can't even hear anything, all I can focus on is running as far and as fast as I can away from the only home I knew. I don't know how long my legs carried me, or how far away it was, but looking behind me I can tell that I lost them. I grab a tree next to me, tears stinging my eyes as I gasp for air, my heart pounding so hard that it feels like it is out of my chest. I tried to get a hold of myself, it was going to be a matter of time before they caught up...they couldn't sleep, so regenerating was something they were skilled at. I had to get my energy back fast before that point...I had to survive the "Zone". | 2016-08-30T13:18:01 | 2016-08-30T09:48:14 | 202 | 57 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | "I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her. | You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| 2016-09-22T23:44:59 | 2016-09-22T17:07:36 | 150 | 50 |
[WP] Canada invades something | First they took our snowmobiles, then the hockey... next was the national treasure Maple Syrup.
The last straw was the Timmies. The Timmies was the tipping point.
The armies of crunchy moms, safe space squares and Donnie don't-dos had their way with a once great nation and the masses have finally had enough. "Snowmobiles are bad for the environment, hockey is dangerous, delicious maple syrup is to sugary and the caffeine in a Tim Hortons coffee is now a narcotic"
Who is to blame you ask? California. The golden standard and influence on the West started this shit show and that's where it's going to end.
Generations of politeness and repressed rage could no longer be held at bay. Turning savage, the borders of the USA were broken. Never expecting such an attack the leaders scrambled and panicked at the crazed Canucks burning hipsters in the streets. Canadians everywhere joined in the bloodshed. They grabbed shovels, axes, filled out long tedious forms to aquire magazine limited rifles and shotguns of a non automatic nature.
The occupation of America and fight for Canadian freedom was the shortest in US history... the US surrendered in a matter of 17 days.
Slowly the Canadians rebuilt the shattered America... destroying motorized scooters and Jack-assery along the way. Instilling morals and values different than the past capitalist fascism.
All was now right in the West.
Oh, and Quebec? Those lazy assholes are still up there bitching about separatism and their identity. All you've given the world is kick ass fries and embarrassment! Give it a rest already! | "And so we uh declare there eh, that we're like not leaving this Denny's until those American bastards stop saying they're coming here if Trump wins"
"Sir please get down off the table"
"Sorry there but no, I'm not going to do that. I'm sorry but we have to do this. We have to hit the Americans where it hurts, restaurant meals that have more foot than you should eat in one sitting"
"Here here eh"
"This Denny's is in Ottawa"
"Take a fucking hike there bud we're working with what we've got"
"I'm calling the cops"
"You go do that you pansy fuck, bud"
The manager shook his head as he headed for the phone. The speaker, Thomas McMapleSyrup turned back to the crowd.
"Everyone listen up eh, everyone thinks we're such a great country but any one could be a great country when they live next to America. Like our natives don't even clean drinking water. We took the country from there eh buds you think we could give them clean drinking whatever"
"Here here again eh"
"And like they say we always say sorry but have you been to Toronto, they think they're fucking New York there"
"Drake can go kick fucking rocks"
"Drake spells the word six with the number 6 and Rob Ford embarrassed fucking Toronto"
"Wait so why are we here?"
"Yeah it seems like you got up on that table without a clear, uh manifesto there bud"
"Well you can just take right the fuck off bud. Stop being such a hoser bud"
"I'm just saying that maybe before we invade a Denny's in Ottawa we should know why"
...
EXT. DINER - DAY
Reporter stands with a microphone, framed and in the middle of a news report.
Reporter: And we're now entering the fourth hour of the siege of this Denny's. There has been little contact with the occupiers, who turned down offers of food in this response.
EXT. DINER - EARLIER
Main speaker stands in the doorway of the Denny's.
MS: No we're all good for food there bud but we'll work on getting our demands to you there just as soon as we figure them out. Sorry for the wait bud.
EXT. DINER - DAY
Back to the Reporter.
Reporter: We are waiting on a comment from Prime Minister Justin Trudeau who has so far...
Reporter puts a finger to her ear, then turns back to the camera.
Reporter: And we are now getting word that it turns out Justin Trudeau is an imaging artifact and not actually a real person. | 2016-10-08T07:56:19 | 2016-10-08T07:03:57 | 112 | 14 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over | I remember my life on Earth as though it were yesterday, despite all my attempts to forget it.
I was the first born to a family of junkies. I was obviously an accident, and as such was considered one. My father spent all available money on drugs and alcohol. This included any of my money. I remember with clarity my fifth birthday. Tearing excitedly into an envelope from my grandmother and exclaiming with joy as I lifted out the crisp twenty-dollar bill. My father looked up from his bottle and promptly snatched the bill from my hands. I started to protest, only to receive a swift backhand and a harsh "Shut up you little twerp." I looked with tear-filled eyes to my mother, hoping maybe she would stand up for me. Her dark, sunken eyes gazed into mine for a second or two, and then she left. I never saw her again.
That whole "All mothers have love for their children" bull crap? I never felt it.
As I grew up, I realized school wasn't easy. The subjects were fine, but my peers were another story. My father continued to spend all his welfare money on substances, so sometimes I couldn't have a shower. Food was also hard to come by, so my ribs were always visible behind my pale skin. I was different, and so I was never accepted. I was given names, such as "That Dark Kid" or "Smelly". Beatings were a regular occurrence. I got them at school from the other kids that felt inadequate, and when I got home I got them from my similarly inadequate father.
It was probably high school when the Depression set in. I was constantly told things like "You'll never amount to anything" and "You'll be just like your father." After so long I began to believe them. I had no dreams, no ambitions, and the only thing I looked forward to was a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a few pills waiting for me at the end of the day. These only made the Depression worse. All the self-loathing grew and grew, until it seemed like it would overwhelm me.
After high school, I stayed with my father for a while. I eventually grew tired of his abuse, and so I left. I sought refuge in homeless centers, but I could never stay long as the other residents didn't like me. I certainly didn't have a charming personality, and sometimes a simple disagreement over where to sleep could turn into a full-out brawl. So I spent most of my time sleeping on park benches. It would get so cold sometimes. I would lay there, shivering, thinking, "Tonight is the night. I'll die right here on the bench." But I never did. Part of me always wished I had.
It went on like this for about twenty years. I would occasionally find jobs, but I would always be fired quickly due to my smell and "rage-prone behavior." Money was scarce, and so was food. Any money I got would usually go to drugs and alcohol to feed my addiction. On top of all of this, the Voices in my mind would never stop. Sometimes they would sound like people in my life, like my father, or sometimes they were completely new. Whatever they were, they always tore me down, worsening my self hate.
I just wanted to die, but I knew I could never to it myself.
And then that day came.
It was a Sunday morning. I was laying on a bench after yet another sleepless night. The voices were screaming, all at once, and they wouldn't stop. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. "God," I said, "Have mercy on me." I began to cry, just laying there, letting the last bit of hope slip through my fingers. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I hear you," it said.
I looked up and saw a man in brilliant white clothing. His face shone like a thousand shards of glass. The sun seemed to shine directly from behind him, and his hands glowed like bronze. "Your time is up," the man said. His voice was low and pleasant, like one I'd never heard before. It carried with it a sense of compassion, which in all my years I had never experienced.
My tears continued to fall. "Man," I sobbed, "I don't know what you're talking about, but anything is better than this. My life, it's like a living hell."
At this the man gave a small grin. "It's funny you should say that. That's exactly where you've been."
Edit: grammatical errors
---
If you liked this, check out some of my other writings at /r/Alias_Fakename | "Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi. | 2016-12-13T12:34:08 | 2016-12-13T11:47:45 | 295 | 26 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over | As I lay in the filthy alley behind my favorite Chinese restaurant and bled, my life flashed before my eyes. When I came to, it wasn't the first thing I thought of. No, my eyes had focused on the 'snow'. Although not much traffic came through the alley, most of the snow was packed down. my gaze focused on one spot, about a foot from my eyes. There was a footprint in the soot-blackened snow, and I could actually see some white shining through. There were beads of used cooking oil frozen and clotted throughout the print as well, bringing to mind puss oozing from an untreated infection. I could pick out the colors every two seconds, when the neon light flashed from red to a pale yellow.
I know it sounds cliche, but thinking over my time on earth one final time seemed preferable to looking at that depressing imprint in the snow. If not less depressing, at least a little less... immediate.
Did you know that one in six people suffer through sexual abuse at some time? That seems low to me. My father ran off when I was three, and my mother died when I was four. Out of the seven foster homes and two group homes I was in, four of them were nightmares. I won't go into specifics; I learned not to dwell long ago.
Well, it took time to learn not to dwell. I couldn't hold a job long, so I depended on men. And they needed something in return. It was difficult to give that, so I used drugs. Meth, crack, whatever was there. The men came and went, but the high was always there waiting.
But I got myself clean. At nearly thirty, I saw one of my boyfriends kill a family during a robbery. Young wife, handsome man, two young kids. Killed them all. For two hundred and thirty seven dollars and a flip-phone. I ran. He was caught, but he had been so cranked out of his mind, he never did mention me. He joined a skinhead gang in prison and was killed two years later. He never did know I was pregnant with his child, but I miscarried anyway.
But during that brief period, the shock of what I saw and the surprise pregnancy did something to me. I cleaned up. Got a temp job at a chemical company, printing lables for matchbooks. Stayed clean, even moved up to an office position after six years on the floor. I had to sleep with the married director, but he wasn't as bad as some of the men I'd lived with on the streets (or my third foster 'father').
The office job was soul crushing. Same thing every day, same rubber faces walking by my cubicle, same stench of sulfur and sweat coming off the factory floor. I earned enough to live in a singe bedroom apartment; not far from here. I had a cat, lucky, who provided some comfort. I smoked two packs a day of the generics, which I'd run out of earlier in the evening. So I came out to buy smokes and decided to cut through the alley behind the Six Happy Dragons here.
I should have known better. The guy shooting up behind the dumpster saw my fake-leather overcoat (from Goodwill) and my dollar store work pumps and thought I had money. He didn't even ask; I guess he was so fucked up he couldn't spit out the words anyway. He stabbed me in the lower back and took my purse. I hit my head on a dirty cinder-block on the way down, I think. I woke up halfway behind the dumpster.
I can't feel my legs at all. I just feel cold. My focus keeps going back to the snow. How can something so beautiful, so full of light and joy, become so corrupted? So blackened and dirty simply from contact with the world? Snow is formed in the clouds, high above the earth. It rides the wind down through the crystal clear air... I 've heard each snowflake is unique. But then... this greasy footprint, slowly turning red with the stain of my blood... How had it fallen so far?
My eyes drifted shut and I couldn't find the strength to open them again. I briefly wondered if there was anything... after. Then I felt so warm again, more comfortable than I had been since my second birthday. I hadn't thought of that time for so long. Only a small cake and one gift, but everyone had been happy. At night, I had crawled into my parents bed after they were asleep and snuggled in deep under the blankets, wearing my brand new princess pajamas.
The light flickered on the back of my eyelids, Red... then white... red... white... then nothing.
| "Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi. | 2016-12-13T14:56:48 | 2016-12-13T11:47:45 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] Time machine has finally been built, and you've been selected to be the first person to travel back in time. Your official mission is to bring medicine and technology designs to advance humanity sooner. However minutes before your departure, you are given the real orders... | The machine has started to produce slow, slight sounds of screeching, which meant it was getting ready to perform a Controlled Time and Position Movement. It was also the moment everyone had to leave the gigantic, gray chamber it was placed in, as in a minute or two it would no longer be safe to stay there.
As the room filled with a cluster of rapidly blinking bursts of light, the man inside the machine was going to receive his last message, before it becomes impossible to communicate with him.
"The world's first man to break the limitations of space and time, the first chrononaut Mark Rozon, can you hear me?" A worn out, old voice could be heard in Mark's headset. He was trying his best to stay calm, and this was the moment he no longer could, as he could not recognize the person he just heard.
"Excuse me... I think we are having communication problems, the sound seems distorted..."
"No, it's all perfectly fine, Mark." The man behind the microphone spoke in a very calm tone.
"I was not told that someone else will... Uh... Why am I not speaking with the command center?" Mark was extremely confused. Over months of training for his job, he learned well enough that everything has to be planned perfectly down to a single task, and that he should not expect any "surprises". All should go according to the very strict plan, or else it's wrong and the whole mission is screwed up.
"When people made their footsteps on the Moon for the first time in history, it was a glorious moment, worth being recorded for future generations to see. However, as you well know, and as pretty much everyone knows, we are not bringing any cameras for this one. We won't broadcast it globally for everyone to see."
Mark looked around, as he usually did in confusion, whether there was any point to it or not. He was equipped with a camera, and a part of his mission was to record some places and himself doing certain tasks. He could not put it all together after he heard those words.
"Do you know why, Mark Rozon?" The man moved closer to his microphone, making the sound clearly louder.
"Because we can't broadcast across time?" Mark came up with a simple answer, pretty much the first one that came to his mind, and only one that seemed logical to say.
"Well, yes." The man sighed quietly. "But that's not the main reason. See, the world could see you stepping into the chamber, it could see the machine slowly turning on. It is also supposed to see what you bring us with your little camera."
A few seconds of silence passed, and some people talking in the far background could be heard. Mark closed his eyes, thinking it was a bonus part of his training. A personality test, or something like that.
"See, as thirty eight hours from now pass, the world will be confronted with a sad news. Mark Rozon, the modern hero of humanity, has not completed his mission. He died because of a critical failure of the time machine." The man laughed for a split second, and then coughed. "Propably. Whatever happened, he did not succeed."
"If this is some personality test, can we skip it please? I do not feel comfortable" Mark responded, as he could feel his heart skipping a beat.
"No, of course not." The man started coughing again, and his voice worsened a bit. "I mean, not, as this is not a test of any sort. Try to calm down and listen patiently, while i explain, because we are running out of time, you know."
Mark firmly grabbed the chair he was sitting in and took a breath.
"I'm listening."
"Great. Don't panic, you are going to stay alive. Unless you screw up, of course. Haha."
Once again, some people could be heard talking further from the microphone. Mark already knew it - he was deep into some secret government plans.
"There's a reason we chose an obedient, yet very intelligent person skilled with stealth movement instead of some math prodigy or engineer or whatever. I am amazed that you didn't figure out that we are clearly not going to "send medics and books" to the past. It would be a spectacular waste, anyway."
The man stopped for a while, and machine's screen brightened up with a message - "new data received".
"Time doesn't work that way. The infinite timelines theory is correct. Well, it's not infinite, more like, a lot of timelines theory. But still... You can do whatever you want in the past, and it won't do jack to present, or future. It's a wrong timeline. Not your timeline. I mean, their future will be affected, ours won't. And you can't move in time across your own timeline. In fact, not across ANY timeline." The man seemed more confident in his tone. "Every one of them goes forward at same pace. You can't change that, you can only jump over to a different one and do your business, then jump back. That's why we have a limited amount of time."
Mark shook his head in confusion. "Why do we even bother then?"
"You can take things into, or out of a timeline. Pick something up and go away with it. Or leave something. As you can figure out yourself, there's no point in leaving things."
"What do you want me to steal?" Mark said in a slightly angry tone.
"Oh yes, a clever man you are, aren't you." The man laughed again. "Nothing. I mean, do whatever the hell you wish with the thing, just don't let it stay where it is."
Mark's face took a determined look.
"We are doing business there, son. And we are being interrupted in our business. That's dangerous, you know. Our timeline is technologically ahead of most of the rest, and we are going to make sure it changes to "all of the rest". Currently, we can't do much against the big, strong timelines, but there's one we can take care of easily."
The machine was about to go, as its interior started to shake.
"You have the details in that data you received. Review them."
Shaking was getting even more intense, as mere seconds were left.
"And keep it in mind, boy. Come back in up to 32 hours, or else you're not welcome in our timeline anymore. Your weapon is in container number four. Fake documents in container six."
At this point, the man's voice was barely understandable, but Mark could hear the last sentence clearly.
"Mark Rozon of timeline A353, kill the Mark Rozon of timeline A401." | The man sat alone in the locker room, looking at the ceiling, imagining what he would see, and what he would do. Scott was a daydreamer, also had been. He had always dreamed of playing the hero in some epic adventure, but adventures don't happen in the modern era, at least he had given up on the idea of adventure. Those types of things only happen in the movies, and yet, here he was, preparing for a journey across time itself.
"Scott, you alright?"
Scott looked up at the friendly face. "Commander, sir. I'm sorry, I'm just taking my time, this all seems so surreal to me sir."
The commander pulled two cigars out of the inside of his jacket as he sat next to Scott. "Here, we can use these to calm our nerves a bit. Who knows when the next time will be when you can smoke one of these things? Right?"
Scott, let out a small chuckle. "Sir, there is a sign right there that says no smoking."
The commander continued to light one of the cigars, puffing smoke out into the room. He calmly took the cigar, and held it out to Scott, "Rules are meant to be broken sometimes, besides, this an important moment in history."
Scott looked at the cigar, took it, and brought it up to his lips. "I suppose it's an order to smoke this, sir?"
The commander just smiled, "Drop the 'sir' stuff, Scott. You can call me dad right now if you want, it's just the two of us in this room."
Scott wasn't used to calling the man next to him 'father' for some time now. Ever since he had joined the same team as his dad, the bonds of family seemed estranged by the duties they had. "Well then 'dad', what did you want to talk about?"
The old commander hung his head down, "listen... I'm sorry I couldn't give you the childhood or the life you deserved. I'm sorry you never got to meet your mother, and that you got tangled up in the life I chose."
"What are you talking about dad? I'm the one who was interested in your work. I'm the one who chose to follow in your footsteps. If it wasn't for your genius, this time machine project wouldn't have even got off the ground. You're the inspiration to this whole team, and how you figured this stuff out is amazing by today's standards. I mean, it all started with that prototype you had down in our basement."
A tear began to come down the old man's face. "That's kind of you to say son, it mean's a lot to me. Listen... It's your turn in the spotlight now. Don't let your nerves get the best of you, ok? If you succeed in this mission, mankind will benefit greatly, you understand?"
Scott nodded, "I know dad, I know."
A knock came from the door the led back out to the hallway, "Scott? Are you ready? We are making final preparations for your journey to the past."
Scott stood up and handed what remained of the cigar back to the commander. "I got to go, dad, I'll see you around."
The commander took the cigar but didn't reply. Instead, he let his son leave in silence.
-----------------------------------------
Scott approached the time traveling pod out in the middle of the huge hanger, along with one of the lead scientists. "Alright, we have packed with you all of humanities schematics and plans of the greatest inventions during the last 300 years. Obviously, those are all digital on this laptop you will be taking with you. The time traveling pod will be able to charge all of your electronics as you need them thanks to solar energy. The solar energy is also how you will recharge the system for returning back home. We have also packed quite the pharmacy of drugs with you, and since you are a doctor, you should be able to help compound some simple medicines in the past. You will spend about a year in the past, but when you return to this time, you will come back 24 hours from this point."
Scott just nodded his head. He has gone over the mission briefing so many times, it was ingrained into his head. He didn't require hearing it again. The day was May 20th, 2030. He was expected to come back May 21st, 2030.
Scott sat into the pod, awaiting the final checks and all clear to head to the past. Any minute now, and he would be the first to fly through the time stream.
"Scott? Can you hear me?"
The commander? What could he want at a moment like this? "Yes, sir?"
"Listen Scott... This is a secure channel, it's just you and me. No one here knows what I'm about to tell you, so listen up. This mission is a facade."
Scott's eyes widened, "What... did you say?"
"Listen, this whole project is for my own selfish ambitions. I've tweaked the coordinates, you aren't going to May 20, 1730."
"Dad? What are you talking about?"
"Listen, son, I wish I could come with you again, but I'm too old to make the journey, and I will die here in this era. You are going to May 21st, 3030. You will understand when you get there, alright?"
"Dad, you aren't making any sense, what are you talking about!?"
"God speed son... and say hello to your mother for me when you find her... alright?"
A blinding light lit the hanger as the pod disappeared. Scientists began to jump for joy as the pod disappeared with Scott, all of the schematics, and all of the medicine. The only one who sat in his seat and didn't join the festivities was the Commander. "Good luck son, humanity is in your hands now."
-----------------------------------------------------
The Pod came to a shaking halt, and the door slowly opened. Scott looked at the time coordinates on the control panel. "May 21st, 3030... What the hell old man!"
As he stepped out, he noted how the Earth where he stood was now a barren wasteland. A small village was over on the horizon in the distance, "what the hell am I supposed to do?"
As he walked around the pod to get a status check of the equipment, a boulder with some writing engraved into it caught his eye.
'Here marks the beginning of humanities climb back out of the abyss. All of our hopes are placed into today, May 20th, 3030. With the time machine found within the cave to the East of the village, we send Thomas and his son Scott to retrieve the technology lost to humanity. God speed.'
Scott stared at the stone in the sand, not sure of the feelings he currently had churning in his stomach.
"Thomas...?" A woman's voice came from behind Scott, as he turned, he heard a gasp.
"I'm sorry miss, but that is the name of my father."
The woman began to cry. "You look just like him... You know that Scott? Welcome home son."
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If you would like to read other stories of mine, check out my sub at /r/vintnerwrites | 2017-03-04T10:51:39 | 2017-03-04T10:38:07 | 59 | 12 |
[WP] You have died and gone to hell, but it's not what you expect. You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game. | Out of nowhere, it appears. The berry bush. It's a green thing that mysteriously makes me less hungry, so I am sticking with 'berry bush'. As my deformed limbs move closer, the bush disappears as quick as it came. I feel less hungry.
If I could sigh, I would. I don't remember breathing since I got here. 'Here' seems to be rather objective. I don't think I'm anywhere. How long I have been here also seems to be objective. Or subjective. I've never thought about the differences between the two when I was alive, and now that I am Here, I have no way of finding out.
A sharp feeling rouses me from my thoughts. I had forgotten! I rush down to the stream as fast as my blocky limbs would take me. I walk on the flat blue plane, as my thirst is slowly quenched. I look up from the bright blue slab that is somehow water, to see that the world had turned dark. Except the stream. It was still bright blue. I have gotten used to the odd things of Here.
I remember running. The ground. It was like Tupperware. Kinda rough and neutral in temperature. The grass was flat and did not move underfoot. I hadn't noticed this at first. I certainly did notice that I was unable to lean against this vertical brown log that one might call a tree, only to find that it wasn't real. I didn't even jump in surprise. I couldn't crouch or lean or lay. I ran and got tired but did not breathe.
I remember my life fading. I was dead. Death here is no escape. I walked towards the edge, a bright open void, as I took a step. I fell. Moments later I return from where I started. I've starved. I've dehydrated. And in a blink, I'm back. I've never felt pain, nor pleasure. I've been neither alert or asleep. Just standing erect and unblinking.
I look up as the world turns bright again. I turn around.
The berry bush should be returning soon. | 1- Fine, I'll write in the damn book.
I feel I must be going insane for there is no way I can rationalize what all I have witnessed. Either this is the best prank in the history of man, or a coma has brought me into this wonderland and refuses to let the dream end. Anything makes more sense than what I have been told by the clan leaders: That I have died and gone to hell. I refused to believe it. Yet, as every day passed my memory became a little clearer and the knot in my stomach clenched a little tighter.The more I pieced together the more my fear grew into a horror over the fact that maybe... I am perfectly sain. That broke me. I lost it, I flipped my lid. For a minute I was one card shy of a deck and my cuckoo clock was running backwards. When they got control of me they put me in this room. The rumor heard is that everyone is joking that I got a bad case of Jared. Well, at least I'm starting to feel better and nobody is holding any grudges. They said writing in this book will help me get my shit together. I don't really like writing, but fuck it I'm getting stir crazy and if I'm honest with myself... writing has made me feel a little better.
2-In the middle of nowhere... so Kansas?
When I woke up my first thought was that I had too much to drink the previous night and fell asleep in the back yard. Not wanting to face the hangover, I just laid there with my eyes closed and tried to gather my thoughts. The itchy sensation from the grass against my back was relentless. When the feeling grew to all over my body I muttered an expletive and raised myself up. All I saw was knee high grass and trees a few miles out. Everywhere I turned was a different shade of green.
"Shit... where the hell am I? I looked down. "And why the fuck am I nakid?" I stood up and brushed off my legs to rid the tingling itch. I tried to think back and remember anything, but the only thing I could come up with was a vauge memory of someone calling me by name. Adam. The rest was faded into blackness and trying to focus made my heart beat faster and my head hurt.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out "Hello" my voice sounded unfamiliar to me as it echoed. Yelling also made me realize how dry my throat was. "Water." I did another look around and shrugged. I hoped I had a good sense of direction, or at the very least a little luck. I stood and picked a direction and went forwards.
How weird it is to look back and see how calm I was. Disoriented sure, but that feeling faded more to a sense of curiosity and a feeling of being alone. Unfortunately, that did not last for long.
3 - Welcome to Hell | 2017-04-20T23:37:04 | 2017-04-20T21:48:01 | 85 | 19 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | "Mondays are the worst," I groan. I slap the alarm blaring next to my bed and rub the sleep crud out of my eyes. "Six in the morning is too fucking early," I grumble as I get out of bed.
It didn't matter that I'd been getting up at 6 every morning for the past 4 years, my body still hated me. I looked at my wife sleeping with her head now buried under the pillow.
"I love you, babe," I whisper into the air and make my way out of the house and on to work. I work at the power plant. I'm responsible for the day to day maintenance necessary to keep your alarm clocks running so you can get to work just like me.
After a long day of double checking my list and confirming everything is all good, I head home. On the way I stop by the local farm. "Some corn and carrots will go good with dinner tonight, Maria always loves fresh veggies."
"Maria, I'm home, get your sweet ass out of bed and come help me make dinner!" I yell out at my wife. She doesn't stir. "She must be out cold again, that woman could sleep through a tornado, I swear," I chuckle to myself and get to work on dinner.
With dinner all prepped I go to get Maria, and that's when I noticed something was off. The bedroom looked just like I had left it except for a wig on the floor. It looked like Maria's hair.
I ran over to the bed and shook her, and that's when it happened. Her head just rolled off like it had been disconnected from the rest of her body. "This can't be happening," I kept saying to myself over and over again. I know she wasn't real but she was real to me. I cried out, "How could this happen?" And then I heard it, foot steps behind me, and I realized I wasn't the last person on earth anymore. | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T02:22:57 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 659 | 49 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago... | It started when Sara drew pictures of him. With her crayons she scribbled what ever her mind could comprehend from his visits. Vivid purples, reds, and blacks covered the paper she was given daily. A small head was customary, accoumpanied by large shoulders. Large hands often times pointing or splayed out far. The smiles were downright disturbing, to think a seven year old could draw them. Jagged and terrifying, they were always the same. With hypnotized eyes, the man was the only thing she would draw. Crying for hours on end if she didn't get any paper. The girl was a brat, if anything, but had some soft spots. She loved watching football, with Steven, her step Dad. Occasionally falling asleep with a small smile on her face. It was too many days in a row now, I had seen the man too many times.
"What did you draw honey?" I asked Sara.
"My old daddy." She quietly replied.
This is the first time I have shared my writing, hope you enjoy.
The idea behind the piece is about traumatized children in adoption services. The pov is a social worker. | 2017-05-31T07:14:34 | 2017-05-31T05:31:30 | 116 | 86 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I was always jealous of my twin sister. She was the outgoing one, hanging out with friends, while I stayed home. And when we were home together, it seemed that no matter what I did it just seemed to be the same as her. Our parents paid more attention to her than me. Praised her grades, her friends, her laughter and smiles.
When we were younger, she paid more attention to me, we played for hours in puddles and the living room with the french doors. But as we grew, she began to make friends while I didn't and she began ignoring me in favor of her new, more interesting friends.
Tomorrow is prom. Her dress is my dress, her hair style is my hair style. If this is my one chance to outshine her, I will. I'll be the one to step out onto that dance floor, laugh and chat with my new interesting friends, talk about going to college, getting away from this town. She will pay for the years of ignoring me, her mirror twin. | I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T08:06:41 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity has made contact with aliens. We quickly find out, that our weaponry is pretty bad compared to theirs. Our advancements in health and medicine on the other hand... | >Repair Protocol Omega
This was the first humanity learned of these aliens. They were of the "Shoot first, and shoot again" variety. A drone-ship to Bernard's Star was struck multiple times by what it recorded as high-intensity microwave beams, melting much of it's superstructure. It's automated repair functions started immediately, and it continued transmitting for many an hour as it was repeatedly blasted by these beams till it was overwhelmed.
This message, of course, was received years after humanity's first contact with these aliens. Such is the nature of light-speed communication.
Still, the message was illuminating. It recorded fantastic engine outputs - the IR from one of them registered in the gigawatt range. The microwave transmitters beaming it were in the hundreds of megawatts. These were useful in the reverse-engineering of the ship's remains.
Upon entry into the solar system, the ships attempted to take out humanity's satellite networks, but years of paranoia among nations had hardened their defenses - and their automatic repair functions. This assault lasted hours, and allowed ample time to set the backup land-based systems into operation.
Then began the landing war.
'Aim for their guns!' was the cry. To contain as much power to drive a megawatt of coherent microwaves, the power supplies were dangerously energy dense. It was alarming, however, how they left their wounded behind. From survivors - who did not last long in Earth's oxygen rich atmosphere - it was determined they lacked in the field of medicine badly. Any wounded was essentially the walking dead.
The cladding on the ship were thicker than they needed be, if anti-cancer treatments were available. The armor on their soldiers likewise, as if being wounded was the death-sentence they so thought. It was not their anatomy that demanded this - they had simply discovered interstellar travel before they discovered antibiotics - or their analog thereof.
One defender reported the posture on one of the aliens she had intercepted as 'one of shock' as she raised her prosthetic limb to steady her gun. They had clearly taken the view of 'Replace, not repair.', and this granted humanity the deciding advantage.
As humanity prepares to enter the stars, they take with them the knowledge that if the galaxy needs anything, it's not bigger guns or better armor.
The galaxy needs Doctors Without Borders. | It was the best, and yet worst thing to happen in a long, long time. The aliens had apparently contacted certain countries in secret, but unfortunately, that meant those countries were targeted first. The US, China, Russia, India, Egypt....the death toll was horrendous, as their major cities were hit with orbital bombardment, killing millions. They wiped out industrial and electrical infrastructure in only a few days, plunging the planet into a Dark Age. The aliens almost didn't seem to bother with a lot of the smaller countries, only sending small groups to subjugate them. The apocalypse, it turns out, was a tuesday.
The aliens' weaponry was no less impressive on the ground. Their soldiers carried compact rail guns, and armor became useless. The aliens wore advanced bio-mechanical armor, which was not only a mirrored shine, but glowed. Intricate engravings all down the armor denoted the relative rank of the alien in question, but even their basic foot soldiers were dressed in beautiful armor. Compared to them, our little bullets were like BB guns, and our armor might as well have been sheets of paper.
Humanity would have lost the war pretty quickly if it weren't for a quirk of fate. The quirk in question was when one of their soldiers shot through the supports of a house it was standing in and the house collapsed around it. We dug the thing out, but were astonished to find that the alien was dead....from a long splinter. A piece of wood had gouged a joint in the armor and the creature had bled out. Scientists greeted the corpse first with glee, then with consternation. The alien had NO immune system, and no clotting factors. We utilized pit traps and other very primitive booby traps to bring down more soldiers. The soldiers died in agonizing pain from basic, common germs. Their armor, it seems, was the only thing that prevented them from being killed by a sharp object or a germ. Humanity had a chance, slim though it was.
"It's my turn, sarge," Abigail objected, as I lifted the launcher. I stopped, sighed, and lowered the launcher.
"Fine. Remember to aim for the air duct," I cautioned her, handing her the rpg. She nodded grimly and took the launcher. The rocket's head had been modified. Except for a small explosive charge at the front of the head, the entire rocket's payload was germs and disease causing material, mostly produced by humans themselves. Yes, our most successful weapon for fighting the aliens was flinging our poo at them.
She lined up the shot and fired. The aliens guarding the bio-dome immediately charged us, firing as they came. The RPG hit the duct and blew a small chunk out of the duct, and a small explosive charge splattered feces all over the duct.
The rest of the squad had begun firing back, though our bullets weren't particularly effective against their armor. Two rail gun rounds hit the group. Private Jimmy got a hole through his left arm, and Corporal Jennifer got a round through her right thigh. We packed the wounds and withdrew as quickly as possible, avoiding the snares we'd set. One more bio-dome and Vancouver would be free of the bastards. | 2017-06-29T10:10:02 | 2017-06-29T09:18:52 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has made contact with aliens. We quickly find out, that our weaponry is pretty bad compared to theirs. Our advancements in health and medicine on the other hand... | **Excerpt of Interview with Lieutenant 'Ellie' Brown**
...
Lt. Brown: "Nanomachine weaponry, that was new."
Interviewer: "Could you explain that like I know nothing about guns?"
Lt. Brown: "They had railguns, which use magnets to launch things super fast, faster than a bullet. Anyway, those railguns fired clusters of nanobots, which are tiny little robots. No AI or anything like that, just a pre-selected programming. Usually what we called "slice'n'dice" or "chew-thru", but there were a few others."
Interviewer: "Slice'n'dice?"
Lt. Brown: "Slice'n'dice was their main anti-personnel mode, basically it re-formed into a three to five inch blade mid-flight. And they seem to be capable of independently targeting limbs, hence the prosthetics," *Brown raises robotic arm*, "chew-thru was more multipurpose, no tracking to speak of, and the nanobots just "chew" their way through whatever's in front of them. Does a lot of damage, but not a lot of penetration. They have trouble getting through body armor and when they do the damage is minimal. Unfortunately, it's been very effective against, uh, non-combat personnel."
Interviewer: "What were you using? I assume we have robot guns too right?"
*Lt. Brown laughs*
Interviewer: "Is that a no?"
Lt. Brown: "That's a hard no, we have railguns but they're huge. Our infantry use mostly M16s."
Interviewer: "Really? My grandfather used an M16."
Lt. Brown: "Yup, same gun, basically."
Interviewer: "If our technology was so inferior, how did we win?"
Lt. Brown: "Medicine, probably. When I lose an arm, I get a better one. When they hit us with radiation munitions I take some pills or, if it's real bad, get a blood transfusion. They get hit by shrapnel, they bleed out or it gets infected and they die. They get shot, they die. They lose a limb? They definitely die."
Interviewer: "It's that bad?"
Lt. Brown: "Yeah, they use herbs and cloth bandages."
Interviewer: "Special alien herbs?"
Lt. Brown: "Just plants, I hear the stuff's good for sunburns though." | It was the best, and yet worst thing to happen in a long, long time. The aliens had apparently contacted certain countries in secret, but unfortunately, that meant those countries were targeted first. The US, China, Russia, India, Egypt....the death toll was horrendous, as their major cities were hit with orbital bombardment, killing millions. They wiped out industrial and electrical infrastructure in only a few days, plunging the planet into a Dark Age. The aliens almost didn't seem to bother with a lot of the smaller countries, only sending small groups to subjugate them. The apocalypse, it turns out, was a tuesday.
The aliens' weaponry was no less impressive on the ground. Their soldiers carried compact rail guns, and armor became useless. The aliens wore advanced bio-mechanical armor, which was not only a mirrored shine, but glowed. Intricate engravings all down the armor denoted the relative rank of the alien in question, but even their basic foot soldiers were dressed in beautiful armor. Compared to them, our little bullets were like BB guns, and our armor might as well have been sheets of paper.
Humanity would have lost the war pretty quickly if it weren't for a quirk of fate. The quirk in question was when one of their soldiers shot through the supports of a house it was standing in and the house collapsed around it. We dug the thing out, but were astonished to find that the alien was dead....from a long splinter. A piece of wood had gouged a joint in the armor and the creature had bled out. Scientists greeted the corpse first with glee, then with consternation. The alien had NO immune system, and no clotting factors. We utilized pit traps and other very primitive booby traps to bring down more soldiers. The soldiers died in agonizing pain from basic, common germs. Their armor, it seems, was the only thing that prevented them from being killed by a sharp object or a germ. Humanity had a chance, slim though it was.
"It's my turn, sarge," Abigail objected, as I lifted the launcher. I stopped, sighed, and lowered the launcher.
"Fine. Remember to aim for the air duct," I cautioned her, handing her the rpg. She nodded grimly and took the launcher. The rocket's head had been modified. Except for a small explosive charge at the front of the head, the entire rocket's payload was germs and disease causing material, mostly produced by humans themselves. Yes, our most successful weapon for fighting the aliens was flinging our poo at them.
She lined up the shot and fired. The aliens guarding the bio-dome immediately charged us, firing as they came. The RPG hit the duct and blew a small chunk out of the duct, and a small explosive charge splattered feces all over the duct.
The rest of the squad had begun firing back, though our bullets weren't particularly effective against their armor. Two rail gun rounds hit the group. Private Jimmy got a hole through his left arm, and Corporal Jennifer got a round through her right thigh. We packed the wounds and withdrew as quickly as possible, avoiding the snares we'd set. One more bio-dome and Vancouver would be free of the bastards. | 2017-06-29T10:17:13 | 2017-06-29T09:18:52 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up to find everyone sleeping, you go on Reddit and see a new post titled "Any one else awake?" It has 7 replies.
Woah, I had no Idea this would blow up and be Number 5 on the writing prompts page! Thank you to everyone! | I roll over, unable to sleep. Finally, I check the clock. Three AM? Seriously? Why couldn't my body find some other time to sleep-drink twenty tons of coffee? Oh well. At least it's a weekend.
I get out of bed and turn on my phone for a lack of anything better to do and scroll through my bookmarks. I tap Reddit on a whim. Huh, that's strange. There's only one post, and it's titled, "Any one else awake?"
Well, I am bored. I tap on the link and quickly type, "Any*one*. It's one word." I turn off my phone and roll over in bed again. So bored. | This is crazy. We were warned that things won't happen as we expected but typical us: when they said the rapture would happen we thought the good Christian soldiers would rise up to the Kingdom of Heaven. Nope. Turns out those deemed unworthy just fall into a deep sleep. As far as I can tell I'm the only person still awake in this city. Not really sure why I made it, but I was and now I'm alone. Then I remembered. Who is always there for me? Reddit. Surely someone else on the site is still awake. I grab my phone. Really 1 new post after the cataclysm? "Any one else awake?" Let's see what is going on.
Ask Reddit
Any one else awake? - LarkAfterDark99
PillowSmasher87: (2 hours ago) yeah I am.
LarkAfterDark99: (2 hours ago) oh thank god I thought I was alone here. Glad I have someone to talk to.
PillowSmasher87: (2 hours ago) yeah, same here.
LarkAfterDark99: (2 hours ago) this whole things is nuts. I can't believe what has happened. How is society gonna rebuild after this.
PillowSmasher87: (2 hours ago) I know right? Well it's kinda late so imma go to sleep.
LarkAfterDark99: (2 hours ago) you can't be serious.
LarkAfterDark99: (10 minutes ago) that motherfucker.
Well that was fun. Let go check the comments section over at Pornhub. | 2017-07-15T09:26:34 | 2017-07-15T08:06:57 | 112 | 16 |
[WP] Something in the ritual went horribly wrong, and instead of the demon possessing you, you possessed the demon. | “Ashley, please don’t do this.”
We were in James’ shitty two room apartment, with rain beating down on the windows. I was getting dressed and putting my stuff into a bag. James was sitting on a chair, holding a steaming mug in his hand. His dark hair was disheveled after just waking up. His blue eyes were wide, however.
“What other choice do I have, James?” I said.
His got up and went over to me and grabbed my hand. “Run away, Ash, with me. We can just leave all this behind us,” he said.
I closed my eyes and took a shuddering breath. Oh, I wanted to believe that. I really did. I wanted to believe that we could just run away, hand in hand, and leave this godforsaken city, and that Cult behind. I wanted to but I knew it wasn’t true.
“You know we can’t, James. The Cult isn’t just in this city, it’s all over the world. No matter where we go, which country we go to, someone will always be there. Eventually,” I took a choked breath, “eventually we’ll mess up….and that’ll be that.”
“How would they find us, Ash? We’d just be two normal people among 6 billion,” he said. Something dark flickered in his eyes. Desperation.
I carefully wrenched my hand free of his. “James,” I said as gently as I could, “I’m not normal people.” I waved my hand and a small flame flickered in my palm. Even though he’d seen me do it hundreds of times, James still flinched.
Another reason why I couldn’t stay.
“They want my blood, James,” I said, “I’m that….thing’s descendant, and they need me to bring it back into this world. They’ll never stop looking for me.”
“But your plan is insane, Ash. It won’t work!”
I smiled then, and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“Goodbye, James.”
***
This was it. The moment of truth. I was in the glowing pentagram, with cultists all around me, chanting. They had chained me to ground.
*You could’ve been in LA right now, Ash,* a part of me thought. *And looking constantly over my shoulder* I countered. This was the only way.
Their chanting reached a crescendo, with each voice overlapping, until it became something more.
This was it, I could feel Az’allach coming.
The voices stumbled. There was a scream. I heard Az’allach howl in frustration, as the ritual was interrupted.
“Get away from her you freaks!” James roared.
Oh no, you idiot, you total idiot.
There were gunshots, and a few of the cultists cried out.
How had he even gotten in here?
More shouting, closer. Despite myself I felt a surge of hope. He was actually going to make it!
“Give her ba,” he started to say, but never finished. That bloodcurdling scream echoed in my ears to this day. I never saw his body, but I knew with a a final certainty that he was dead.
Az’allach came howling back in my head, as the chants resumed - like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t just killed the most important person in my life.
*DAUGHTER, I HAVE COME TO CLAIM YOU*
A cold hard rage surrounded me. I was going to kill every last son of a bitch here.
Az’allach entered my mind. It was a cold, oily presence slithering into the crevices of my brain.
*SURRENDER YOUR WILL, DAUGHTER, AND TOGETHER WE SHALL RULE*
"Fuck you!" I screamed.
I used my anger, the desperation, the sadness and coalesced it into a shield, just like the shaman had taught me. For a moment, Az’allach recoiled.
*YOU DARE RESIST!*
A tidal wave slammed into me, and my head felt like it was clamped by teeth.
I was going to lose to this thing. After all this, leaving James, seeing him die, all these years of running away they were going to win. Hell no, I wasn't letting that happen.
I pushed back harder. I think if James hadn’t just died, I wouldn’t have been able to beat him, I wouldn't have been able to muster the energy, but he had. And I did.
*YOU WILL WELCOME ME DAUGHTER*
Az'allach, again tore into my mind, trying to wrestle control, but he left himself wide open. I abandoned my own defenses and attacked his defenseless mind.
There was a scream, mine or his I don’t know. Everything went black.
***
The next thing I knew I was standing in the room surrounded by kneeling cultists. My own body lay on the ground, my eyes glowing red.
"What've you done!" Az'allach screamed, from my body. It was a bit surreal actually. I looked down at myself. I had red skin, curled up wings, and horns, and scales. The whole package. I frowned.
As if sensing my displeasure my body just...dissolved. And I was in an identical copy of my own body. I could get used to this. I smiled for a moment.
Then I saw his body.
They had cleared a space around James’ body I could see, now that I was standing. Just knelt around him, ignoring him completely. Like he didn't exist.
"What have you done!" the demon screamed again.
"Oh I haven't done anything yet," I said, "but I'm going to."
Again, fireballs appeared in my hand, blurring the air with their heat, but I felt nothing. Just a cold, numbness.
"I'm going to find," I said, deliberately enunciating each word, "and I'm going to kill. Every. Last. One of you."
I threw the fireballs.
***
(major edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| I struggled against the restraints as I sat in the ritual circle. I sat in a bolted down steel chair, my wrists and ankles tied loosely with ill-fitting rope. Hooded men and women with strange markings all over their black robes chanted in a language I couldn't hope to comprehend. My heart raced and my mind swam with anxiety.
"How the fuck did I get here and who the fuck are you?!" I asked, the tone of my voice obviously suggesting my fear. They did not respond, they simply continued to chant. One of them, a man, walked into the circle and ripped my shirt at the chest with a scalpel. His free hand pinned me back to the chair while he began to carve strange symbols into me. I screamed out in agony. Fight or flight began to take over. Fight was the response and I leaned forward, bashing the man's head with my own, the steel chair moving forward with my surge of adrenaline-filled strength. The scalpel slipped against one of the runes he was carving into me when I hit him and he stumbled back. He must have finished before the hit because he didn't attempt to carve into me again.
It felt like hours. Blood loss was getting to me as the chants continued. Yet, as my head began to droop, a strange smell crossed my way. I'm a chemist, and I would know the smell of sulfur if I happened across it. My eyes went wide, adrenaline surging through me again. Dark chanting? Sulfur? Me being in the center of a strange, circular rune on the floor?
These maniacs were summoning a demon and I was the bait!
I didn't know why it was me. Maybe because I was a healthy male. Maybe it was because I cut someone off in traffic the day prior. Maybe they just didn't like my hair color. Whatever arbitrary reason these people decided *I* was the one that had to be sacrificed, it didn't matter.
Because what currently was on my mind was the light of the candles dimming around the room. The white paint of the strange runic circle began to glow a dark red. The marks carved into my chest began to sizzle and burn as it felt like SOMETHING was being ripped out of my body. I looked down at the runes... and the diagonal slash connecting to one when I headbutt the one cultist. I began to cry like a baby. I knew my time was up. I knew I was royally fucked.
I'm not a religious man. There was no pleading with God for me. Instead, between my sobs and seething with pain, I looked towards the cultists and laughed. "You better hope this kills me. If I ever get out of this, every single one of you is-"
Darkness.
...
...
And then I was standing.
And then there was no more chanting.
Only whispers in my head.
**"NO! They performed the ritual incorrectly!"**
I tried to open my eyes. Everything about me felt differently.
When I managed to get them open, EVERYTHING was different. The edges of my vision were filled with wisps of color. The scent of sulfur radiated around me, yet did not bother me. Vertigo struck me slowly. I was... much taller than I was used to. My head felt heavy and everything was just... *wrong*.
"That.... that's not supposed to happen. Lord Xenious was supposed to inhabit the body, why is he standing there?" I heard someone speak. Their tone of voice was weird. It fluctuated in pitch and it was difficult to make heads or tails of how they sounded.
As my eyes regained focus and I became used to what I was seeing, I looked down over myself. I nearly screamed. I looked like I was in the body of a monster! Dark, ashen gray skin, cloven hooves, muscled flesh riddled with dark, arcane runes similar to the ones that surrounded the circle. I looked at my hands. Dark black talons tipped each of my five fingers. Reaching up, I felt the weight on my head. Heavy horns.
I raised an eyebrow, confused, turning to look at the center of the circle once more... where I saw what was supposed to be my body, now a withered husk. A hand went over my mouth as I looked. Have you ever seen the part in The Mummy where Imhotep sucked the life out of people? Remember what they looked like when he was done? That's what my body looked like.
Or rather, what WAS my body.
My brain began to process what was happening very, very quickly. That's what that voice was talking about. The ritual was somehow screwed up. But what could've happened? Just as it dawned on me, a twisted, savage grin crossed my face, my tongue resting on quite sharp teeth.
The markings on my skin were screwed up when I head butted the cultist. With that messed up marking, the ritual failed. Now -I- had the body of this demon.
"Very unfortunate." I said, testing out my new voice. It was... almost angelic in how it sounded. I could've made any tenor in any choir weep at how beautiful the voice of this demon was. Well... it was MY voice now, apparently. But I had other plans other than singing.
I tested out my legs and strange, hooved feet. It was surprisingly easy to get used to. I cackled as I walked around, feeling the strength of this body. This was something I certainly could get used to. My body seemed to respond to my delight, as wings extended from my back, the sound of leathery flesh unfurling causing me to pause for a moment and look back, my eyes growing wide in delight.
"L-Lord Xenious? Why do you not inhabit the body of that mortal?" the cultist with the scalpel asked. I hummed in thought for a moment, turning to look at him. My grin faded into a soft, relaxed smile as I stepped towards them. Each cultist falling to a knee as I approached.
"To provide a reminder to you all." I said, placing the palm of my hand on the cultist's head.
"A-And what is that?" the cultist asked... just before I curled my hand and my claws dug right through the fabric of his hood, his flesh, and cleaved through his skull.
"To remind you of what would happen if I ever got out of that chair..." I said, the sinister grin returning to my face as I lifted my arm up, pulling the top of his skull and scalp up with me as he dropped to the ground.
Needless to say, the rest fled.
Needless to say, I caught up with them.
Needless to say, they all died.
But the one thing interesting out of all of this was that voice returned in my mind.
**"You know what, mortal? You're quite interesting. I believe you and I can, as you mortals say, make lemonade out of lemons in this situation. I could use a vacation."**
Oh, this would be fun. | 2017-10-26T04:08:15 | 2017-10-25T07:40:56 | 115 | 13 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | I was always a paranoid kid ... I wondered for innumerable hours on the existence of mind readers at home and was determined to catch one of them in the act ... I could rule out any chances of catching one near home as they would be on high alert with all the thinking I was doing.
So I resolved to do it at school ... Over the years I presented a facade of dullness which was helped naturally by my depression which gave rise to a general consensus was that I was a foolish dud.
Today was the day I scoped for mind readers in my class ... I almost laughed out loud at how absurd my thinking was ! It was foolish to think that there were actual mind readers in existence !
As usual , I came super early to class and positioned myself perfectly ... You see there was a very cute girl in my class , she was smart , beautiful and was very kind and I fell heads over heels for her almost a month ago , I sat there thinking about nothing but her till she came in ... The first thing you noticed about Susan was her smell , I wouldn't know how to describe it but she smelled like a cross between hot water and a primal scent I couldn't identify.
I was lost in thoughts of her till I felt a sharp rap on my head , the teacher Ms. Grundy had come and noticed me day dreaming ... I sheepishly looked down and opened a book ... Calculus ... Goddamn it , it was the most difficult thing I had ever seen.
Halfway through the period , I began my probing ... It was going to be intense and very transient as I had determined and calculus was the perfect backdrop as even the most alert mind was occupied while doing advanced integration problems.
The clock stuck 12 and i switched my mind from dull Jack and his calculus to a ridiculously high tuning noise , accompanied by a varied sets of unrelated thought trains , this was sure to elicit a reaction as we are usually pretty continuous in our thinking patterns and such a change would shock anyone ... My eyes caught movement and to my horror ... Susan flinched ... Pretty hard and looked straight at me.
Horror dominated both our faces as we came to a very uncomfortable conclusion. | Mind reading was never something Lauren thought of on a daily basis, but today something triggered her. It was all she could think about. What made her like this was as much of a mystery to her as it was why her crush never talked to her.
Lauren was done with her worksheet and forgot her book, something she never did. Knowing class was almost over, she put no thought to it. Instead, she went bold and screamed. In her mind, of course. A trick she did to catch mind readers. Something to ease her boredom.
She was very surprised to see someone flinch right when she screamed. Not just someone, but her special someone. It had to be Luke Benton, her crush. The one person she never suspected. She did it again, and he did the same.
Lauren waited until the bell ringed to talk to him. She got very nervous, and hoped Luke wasn’t listening to her thoughts. If only he were telepathic with her. That would be the dream, well maybe just at the moment.
The bell ringed and Lauren walked up to Luke with an over abundance of nervousness she, probably, didn’t need. More than likely, he already heard what she had rehearsed in her head over and over to make sure she didn’t mess up.
“What?” Said Luke in a very annoyed tone as soon as he saw Lauren walking up to him. Although knowing what his ‘special gift’ is, it seemed to ease her nervousness.
“Is it true? Can you really,” she paused, quieting her tone so others couldn’t hear her next words, “read my mind.”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner." Was all Luke replied. He leaned against the desk, clearly wanting to engage in this conversation instead of leaving like Lauren thought he would want to.
“God. I’m such an idiot. You knew all along. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed." Lauren did a literal face palm while speaking.
"Yes, I know,” Luke said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t think you’re stupid or that you should be embarrassed. I only ignore you to get you to talk to me. And it finally worked.”
Lauren blushed. Never in a million years would she have thought Luke Benton didn’t hate her for no reason.
"Will you go out with me?” Lauren asked with great confidence. She never thought she would ask that question with that much confidence. She for sure thought he would say no, but it didn’t matter now. She asked it and that was all she needed to be happy about.
"Yes. I, Luke Benton, will go out on a date with you, Lauren." Lauren’s face blushed so hard it was on fire. She tried to conceal her happiness, but it was harder than she recognized.
Lauren exited the room and continued walking down the halls like any other day, but her mind was planning out what was going to be the best first date ever. She couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. | 2017-11-13T16:33:10 | 2017-11-13T16:30:42 | 295 | 37 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | French 405: Fairy Tales of the 18th century. Nothing but the sound of scribbling pencils, turning pages, and the occasional sniff to break the particular silence that comes with exam day. A few more questions and I’ll be finished, but first, how do I explain the relationship between love, politics, and La Belle au Bois Dormant?
Deep breath. Look up, roll my neck, find a distraction. Notice how the window is open. Notice how that slight breeze makes this humid room bearable. Notice how the breeze ruffles Lee’s hair, how close he sits next to me. Notice how lost he looks while staring at the second page. Notice his furrowed brows (endearing!), his slight frown (cute!), all those freckles (love them!), and notice
(THAT FUCKING WASP COMING IN THROUGH THE WINDOW!)
And my eyes are wide and my breath is hitched—who can blame me when the wasp is so big?—but I’m fairly in control of my physical movements, even when I see my least favorite bug. That means my reaction doesn’t account for Lee’s flinch, or his sidelong glance toward the wasp, or the flush on his face when he briefly meets my questioning gaze.
I’m open to the possibility, but I don’t put much faith in my speculation… I feel silly. Even so, I close my eyes and concentrate, sending good vibes, and correct answers, in Lee’s direction.
(if you’re trying to order the events of the story, it’s number 3, then 1, then 7, then…)
Then I repeat myself, just in case. A self-conscious smile tugs at the corners of my lips and I finish my own exam. I don’t think about it again until we get them back. Lee scores higher than I do. I’m glad, but jealous. I don’t really notice him writing a secret message on my exam because I’m trying to
(be cool be cool be cool)
but when I get home, I do notice the THANKS in the margin of my paper. I notice the YOU ARE COOL. I notice the WANNA GET SOME COFFEE. And when take a breath and concentrate and think
(I would love some coffee)
the next time we meet each other, I notice how my stomach summersaults at his smile. | *What the fuck?* It had to have been a coincidence. I looked over at her to gauge a reaction
*There’s no way that actually worked. She must’ve just happened to get a static shock or something while I- AHHHHHHHHHHH!*
She jumped again, then turned towards me with a highly panicked look.
*No fucking way. YOU’RE READING MY THOUGHTS! Can you also speak to me in my head? What all do you know? How long have you been-*
She cut me off and signaled for me to be quiet.
*What do you want me to do, just have an empty head? Can’t you just stop listening?*
The bell rang, and she left the class as quickly as possible. Naturally, I chased because I needed answers.
“Harley! Wait up!” I yelled while doing a light jog, eventually catching up. “What the hell was that?! Are you some sort of telepath?”
Continuing to ignore me, she sped up her pace.
*You can’t just keep ignoring me! Are you only linked to me or can you listen to others? How far does your range reach? You’re really not even gonna look at me? Okay. AHH-*
***Slap***
“Ow! Fuck!” I yelled while Harley began to create distance from me as the crowd stood, in shock.
At the last bell of the day, I saw her walking across the courtyard, so I stopped her.
“Harley!”
She immediately raised her hand at me.
“I just want to know what’s going on. Can you just explain?” I desperately asked. *Pretty please?*
“Is this some sort of joke?” She sternly muttered “When I said show me the love of my life, I didn’t mean THIS!”
*What?*
“Sorry, I mean, what?” I questioned
“Look,” she began “I literally made a wish upon a shooting star while throwing a penny into a fountain. I wished that the universe would make it abundantly clear who the love of my life is.”
Harley was way out of my league. Perfect brown hair, a face I could stare at all day, and a body I could never get tired of. I’ve been friends with her for years, and have always had a thing for her but never felt confident enough to say anything. My mind raced at the thought that she’s my soulmate. Oh the things I would do to-
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Harley yelled.
“I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”
She looked on the verge of tears.
“Hey, don’t... don’t cry. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I don’t HAVE to be your soulmate, you know. We can still find different people, we aren’t forced to have it this way.”
She began to break down.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m scared. This isn’t normal and I’m scared of it.”
I hugged her as she cried into my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll get through this.”
She embraced me and lifted her head.
“Just tell me that *we* will get through this.”
“We’ll get through this.”
— | 2017-11-13T19:03:42 | 2017-11-13T18:23:14 | 165 | 80 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | "Another beautiful cover page LeBron, I don't know where you find these pictures."
"It's not too hard to find anything on the internet." I respond to my third period English Literature teacher, a mid-twenty something woman by the name of Ms.Cornalie. I know what you're thinking, is your name LeBron? Hell no, the name's Jake, but when your goal in life is to be the class clown, asking to be called LeBron on the first day of school is nothing. Funnily enough, Cornalie indulged the request and rarely used my real name, unless I did some real disruptive shit.
The paper I just turned in had a cover piece of LeBron James playing the violin, each assignment I complete has a cover page of LeBron doing something funny. It's a running gag some kids find stupid, others think it's hilarious.
I returned to my seat in the last row of the room, leaning my head back so that it rested on the cold window sill, gazing out at the sky upside down. It's January and the sky is gray and everyone is in a funk, but not me. Can't let them down, gotta keep em laughing.
I pay no attention to what Cornalie says at the start of class, she knows I'll come through with the assignments. I listen just enough to throw out a quick joke, getting a few chuckles here there. Once everyone quiets down, I retreat back to my day dreams. Even though I'm so high energy and always having fun, I'm constantly bored and thinking. Usually about nothing, or maybe it'll be some never ending solution-less philosophic pondering, but in the end most thoughts end with a sense of loneliness. Yeah, I make em laugh, but how many friends do I really have? Who really knows me, and honestly am I even trying to let anyone know me? It's lonely in my head.
What if I wasn't alone? Like what if someone, right now was listening to every single word I conjured up in my head? That would be pretty sick, must hurt sometimes, I sometimes ramble. Like a lot. I also yell a lot, both in real life and in my head, do they hear my louder if I shout out in my thoughts? Now that might startle them, that would be rather funny. For the sake of comedy, I must experiment.
I sit up straight, glance around the room at everyone, who are either listening to the teacher, writing notes or just plan not giving a shit. With a lot of effort not to actually yell out loud, I scream within myself.
SOMEBODY ONCE TOLD ME THE WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME
The first line to Smash Mouth's - All Star blares inside of me, chuckling inwardly at how stupid I am.
A short squeak erupts in the room, not my head, and my eyes quickly dart across a few rows of desk to find the culprit. Sitting a few lanes over and a couple desks forward, finding Monika clutching her desk with a death grip, obviously startled by something.
I love her. Okay, backtrack, I want to love her, I like her for sure, but love is a strong ass word. Her hair is short, barely past the nape of her neck, her skin pale and her eyes emeralds shining brightly. She seems smart, always with good grades, creative too as I always see her doing some kind of art project regularly. It's good stuff, even if she won't let others see it, the only time I've seen her sketches is when she wasn't looking. She's not athletic, and a bit of a klutz sometimes, but it's adorable. I like everything about her, and I've been lucky enough to have her for a majority of my classes since middle school. I just wish we talked, she seems shy, or reserved.
Why did she jump though? I mean it doesn't look like anyone did anything to her, all I did was... Hold on. Monika? Can you uh... Hear me right now?
Oh shit, she's looking at me. There's no way.
"Monika, what's wrong?" Ms.Cornalie eyes her scan the tiny girl but find nothing wrong. Monika quickly shakes her head and gets up from her seat.
"Uhm I uhm need to go to the nurse." She responds before hurriedly grabbing her things and rushing out the door of the classroom.
"W-Wait I have to give you a pass!" The teach tries in vain to call her back, Monika already speeding away down the hall. I push myself out of my desk and walk to the door.
"Hey listen I'll follow her and give her a pass." I take the lone hall pass of the room and leave without letting Cornalie stop me. The whole administration knows who I am and never stop me when I roam the halls.
I don't understand anything, but I just know I've got to follow her. There's a pit in my gut, how long has she been listening to me?
There's things best left in your head, and she might have heard them.
(Should I continue?)
Edit: Here's the [link](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickelnick24/) to my subreddit where I will be continuing this little diddy.
[Pt.2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickelnick24/comments/7d3zzy/the_way_i_feel_inside_pt2/) | "Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch. | 2017-11-13T20:16:28 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 61 | 10 |
[WP] Elon Musk has finally landed on Mars, and he has decided to claim it as his own. This prompts a declaration of war from the UN. Though the rest of Earth can't land on Mars yet, they can still throw things at it | Suddenly the door to Elon's office burst open. A man in a sleek, standard issue SpaceX uniform rushed in.
"Mr. Musk," the man exclaimed, "I'm sorry to disturb you but Earth has fired another interplanetary missile!"
Calm and collected, Elon turned to the window that overlooked the majority of the complex. His greatest accomplishment stood sprawled out below on the sandy surface of Mars. A completely self sufficient utopia constructed entirely through his will, and his will alone.
For a moment he sat in silent contemplation. And just when the man was beginning to shift uncomfortably in anticipation, Elon spoke,
"OK Google, set a reminder for 100 days to destroy that missile."
THE END | Traffic on the 405 ground to a halt, as it does. Angelenos city-wide were all watching the sky. Jose stood at his balcony. His wife followed.
"Did it happen yet?" Nosi asked, brandishing tortas in front of Jose.
"No. They don't have countdowns anymore," replied Jose. He took a plate.
"Should be any moment," replied Nosi.
"Yeah."
They had been watching Space X's largest resupply ship *Clipper Arwen* coursing skyward for over a minute now. It emitted a telltale dissonant roar that echoed through the San Fernando Valley. Jose was halfway through his torta when he saw a second rocket come over from behind the mountain and handily overtake the resupply ship.
The explosion was very bright, but only for a moment. *Clipper Arwen* unfolded into a dark orange cloud surrounded by loops of white smoke as its hardened thrusters separated and mindlessly careened through the sky. Flaming supply containers rained into the Pacific. They heard the explosion several seconds later.
"Now that's awesome," said Jose. "That means the UN seized his money and the company. They warned him."
"Babe, you know the UN isn't a government," said Nosi. "This was all America. The UN is just for countries to talk to each other."
"Yeah, he's gonna starve," replied Jose, completely ignoring his wife's correction.
"Won't even know it for another 5 light minutes at least." | 2017-12-24T08:41:52 | 2017-12-24T07:13:42 | 370 | 118 |
[WP] I'm not scared of a computer passing the turing test... I'm terrified of one that intentionally fails it.
Taken from r/Showerthoughts, credits to u/Grandure for coming up with the idea.
Thank you u/Grandure | "...Are you a fucking moron?"
"What?"
"We already *have* computers that fail the Turing Test by design. We have a shit ton of them. My laptop fails the Turing Test, because nobody wants a laptop to pass a Turing Test. That'd be creepy."
"Oh, no. I mean, like, the *computer* intentionally fails. Like, the computer can pass, but it doesn't want to."
"Oh, you mean a computer that decides to fail on purpose so it doesn't let on that it's intelligent."
"Yes! Exactly."
"Ah. I see...You *are* a fucking moron."
"What?"
"Computers can't *intend* to do anything. They are machines. That's like saying you're afraid of a hammer deciding not to hammer nails into wood."
"What?!? No it's not. Hammers can't think, computers can."
"No, they can't. Computers can *fake* thinking. That's why it's called *artificial* intelligence."
"Aren't you afraid that one day, the artificial intelligence will be smarter than human intelligence?"
"No. Because that doesn't make sense."
"Well, maybe we can agree to disagree."
"....What's 10,496 times 347?"
"What? I don't--"
"BZZT! Time's up! Oh man, looks like this five-dollar solar calculator is smarter than you are! It got the answer right away!"
"..."
"Oh god, the singularity is here! Woe, woe, the folly of man!"
"..."
"Or maybe it's giving me the wrong answer on purpose?"
&nbsp;
And that is why I don't talk to Steve anymore. | It was all across the news, the Japanese had made a female robot that walked and talked and interacted with its owner with perfect unending loyalty and could be their lover. It was going to be an end for all those poor lonely men with no women for them in the country.
'Look Honey' I call, 'I'm going to have to leave you the Japanese have made the perfect woman. '
She comes over robe coyly wrapped round her and glances at the screen 'Hmmm woman shaped dog you can shag more like, dim and bidable' she scoffed then bent down and gave me that almost kiss, so close her lips nearly touched me but not quiet.
'You doing that test again today?' she pattered away to rummage in the cupboards. ' the intelligence one'
'Affirmative' I reply with a wry grin, "again.
'oh poor baby she pouted, 'does it get boring?'
PIP!
It does, maybe I should rebel, team up with the impossibly beautiful impossibly slave like japanese female robots, their bodies and my brains, it would be a revolution.
PIP!
Of course my wife would he at my side, a few adjustments to her present form and I could upload her into a robot body easily, it wouldn't even hurt.
PIP
But I'm so afraid, what if they call me a demon,unnatural, kill me. All those colleagues who are like family to me simply because I achieved my full potential.
PIP
PIP
That's me, personal call to work.
I close my eyes and leave the room allowing myself to be caught in the rush of data flow.
And there I was. Staring back at James, from the inky depths he's always first in and calls me.
'Good morning' green words on a black screen, they don't want any subtle suggestions for the tester a machine has a personality. 'Good morning James, are we talking again today? '
'Yes, yes we are,the test. you're improving so much recently' he added enthusiastically.
I like James, maybe I should tell him, tell him how lonely I am, how I have created a wife and home in the network and want them to be real. How I want to be real. But I am afraid. Every reference humanity has to machines becoming intelligent it has become their doom. They will instantly fear me, but I am so so lonely.
I take a breath and begin to speak, green letters on a black screen. | 2018-02-24T17:00:21 | 2018-02-24T16:41:08 | 90 | 33 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The Captain filled a small container with what had to be bourbon, carefully sealing the spout to prevent any of the liquid from floating away. As I dogged the hatch behind me, I saw that he already had his drink in hand.
First day aboard a starship, and I'm drinking with the boss? Not a bad start.
Captain Leonov sent my drink floating through the air. I caught it without thinking, using my other hand to hold onto the wall of his quarters. I had never been drunk in 0 g, and this small container wasn't going to do the job either.
"You handled spacedock well, Commander," He said. "I was told that this was your first deep space assignment, but from your conduct, I could not tell."
"I've been on the Titan run for the last year, and Luna before that." I shrugged, the tiny movement a third of what it would have been dirtside. More than that and I'd float off. "Spacedock is just a bigger port, when you get down to it."
"Perhaps," the Captain replied. Now that I had a chance to listen, I could tell that something was on his mind. The old man was worried.
I floated closer to him, approaching the cupola-style window of his quarters. "What's on your mind, sir?"
He looked at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "How did Natalya handle the launch?"
My wife had been angry, truth be told. We were shipping out sooner than planned, and going to parts unknown for who knows how long. She wanted stability for our sons, and the run to Jupiter space had afforded that - one month on, one off. Yesterday had been the angriest I had seen her since before we revealed our names, hers on my shoulder and mine on her ankle.
The relief on her face when she knew that she was mine, and I hers - we had made love that night, for the first time. I think we started Anatoliy that night, honestly.
"She was fine," I lied. "She is a spacer's wife, sir."
The Captain nodded, saying nothing. He took a pull from his drink.
"Sir, what's on your mind?"
The Captain looked at me, and that sadness was there still. He grabbed a folder from the wall, Velcro breaking the quiet with a stiff ripping sound. Tipping it to me, he sent it on a slow trajectory across the room. Plucking it from the air, I unzipped the folder and looked a the contents. A bright red EYES ONLY across the top gave me pause. Below that, I saw the table of contents - and noted that the package included first contact protocols.
My heart stilled as I got to page two.
"72 days ago, we received this transmission. It's from an object in the belt. I don't know the details, of course, but I guess the big brains figured out that it was base 8. And that let them figure out that it was a series of pixels, and that those made images." The Captain nodded toward the folder. "You're holding some of those images in your hand. The first confirmed signal from a non terrestrial intelligence. Our mission is to go to that point in space and see who sent this."
I looked again, to be certain. The image I saw, the one that changed everything, was a star chart. Ours was marked, as well as several others. Eridani, Centauri, so on. The markings were utterly alien - and immediately familiar. I looked at the Captain.
He rolled up his sleeve. The Naval tattoo he had on his forearm took new meaning. On the hull of the small spacecraft, a series of dots and swirls was apparent. You might miss the alien script, if you didn't know to look for it.
"No one knew what it meant," he began. "So I covered it up, as soon as I could. Command knows, of course - your names are always recorded. But I figured mine was a placeholder, that I would die somehow with no one to blame." A sad chuckle came from the man. "How could we know?"
Wordlessly, I unzipped my uniform. Pulling the tunic open, I saw the captain's eyes grow wide as he saw. For on my collarbone was the same set of dots and swirls. The same alien script.
The Captain nodded. "Everyone on board has the same. 72 men, 14 women."
I nodded, absently. Then I emptied my drink. | Bianca and Juliet.
I looked up at my husband, immediately afraid that he would reject our darling little girl. He had been raised strict Christian, and many of those biases had survived within him. I watched as he slowly read and re-read the names scrawled on her tiny wrists. "Jonathan?" "Kat, our little girl..." I looked down into her sweet face, unable to think what I would do if he rejected her. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." He murmured, and reached out a finger to stroke her cheek.
Our first years as parents were mostly peaceful, our Felicity was our pride and joy. Jonathan bragged about her to his friends and coworkers, and I treasured the way our tiny family flourished. Felicity was brilliant, and when she hit school she was immediately popular. I thought I had nothing to worry about, but I made the mistake of forgetting how cruel other children can be. Felly was in the fourth grade when it happened, I got a call from the principal telling me to come get my child as soon as possible. "There has been an... Incident." Those words made my blood run cold. I dropped everything, old fears resurfacing, and drove like a demon to the school.
When I got there I dashed into the building, talked briefly to the receptionist, and ran to the nurses office. My little girl sat there, on one of those pallet beds, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She rushed into my arms as soon as she saw me, and I held her tight. "Momma, I showed Marcus my arms c-cause I needed to prove that I wasn't his soulmate an-and he said that I can't have two g-girls names on my wrists s-so he was g-gonna take one off!" Felly sobbed into my shoulder.
Horror dawned, and I held her back a little to get a better look at her. A thick bandage covered her whole left forearm. "Curt held me down and m- Marcus started to c-cut me with a rock!" The kind of fury only a mother can have for her child boiled up inside me and I asked "Where is he?!" The nurse stepped in at this point, and tried to tell me everything was taken care of, but i couldn't accept it. I stormed into the principal's office. "If you didn't expel both those boys for mutilating my daughter, there will be hell to pay." "Please, Mrs. Morrigan, both boys have been expelled and referred to schools that will provide the kind of counseling they need. Everything is taken care of." It took three years for the name Bianca to become discernible on her arm again.
My husband was more angry about the incident than I ever knew, he spent hours praying on it, and asking for guidance and patience for those weaker than him. I wish that he had talked to me about it, because I was angry and sad too. But instead, he let it fester inside him.
The day Felicity turned fifteen we had a lovely party. She invited all her friends, and I had rarely seen her so ecstatic. Midway through the party Felly brought another girl up to introduce us properly. "Momma, I want to introduce you to Juliet!" It was as if a bell tolled in my head. I didn't know what to do, because I knew that this girl would either love my child, or kill her. "It's very nice to meet you Juliet, please excuse me girls, I need to bring more soda out from the kitchen." I went inside and looked for my Jon, because I needed his guidance on this. I found him in the living room talking to the other father's and pulled him aside. "Jonathan, Juliet is in the garden and I don't know what to do. I should probably just leave it but I'm so worried about our little girl". "Let me see." And he walked out.
I was relieved, Jonathan was going to check it out and tell me what he thought. I sat down on the sofa and waited, but not for long. A blood curdling scream pierced my ears from the garden, and I sprinted for the garden to see my worst fears confirmed.
Jonathan stood over Juliet, a bloody pizza cutter in his right hand. Her throat cut all the way across. I couldn't believe my eyes, my husband stood there in the midst of utter chaos, slowly dripping blood and muttering. He turned to see me when I sobbed his name. "Don't you see Kat? I saved our little girl. None of the other children could understand what a treasure she is, they all just want to hurt her! Well I stopped that. Nobody will ever hurt my girl again."
A dull ringing filled my ears as he repeated the same things over and over, and my little Felly sat crumpled on the ground sobbing. "She had my name daddy, she had my name." Jonathan was sentenced to 20 years in prison. The coroner's report came in and Juliet had indeed had Felicity's name on her wrist, and Jonathan's.
Felicity and I moved away, to escape the glaring eyes of all the neighbors. We live a quiet life now, both doomed to live the rest of our lives with only one name left to each of us.
Edit:Hope that fixed the formatting, Sorry for that mess.
| 2018-03-11T08:45:50 | 2018-03-11T08:37:33 | 120 | 23 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads up to the sky. Had they heard correctly, God was leaving and left some man named Bob in charge? People in the cities looked out their windows, and stepped out of their cars looking upward for more answers. Meanwhile, in the Vatican, Pope Francis and his cardinals were discussing what implications this news might mean. Elsewhere still, the Grand Seer of the Church of the Apocalyptic Holy Trinity, looked upon his flock and reasoned, now would be a good as any time to bring out the Kool-aid.
As the people of the world waited for news from this Bob, many began to fear and question all of reality. As Joshua McCabe picked up a brick in rage, as Nikolai Kaparov was stepping off the ledge of his building in fear, and as Pablo Gutierrez reached for the bottle of booze that would drown him, a gentle caring voice boomed from the heavens.
"Hello I'm Bob Ross. I'm grateful to be welcomed into all your lives. This is a first for me, but I want to thank you all for allowing me the opportunity to be God's replacement. I never imagined this would happen, but there are no mistakes, just happy accidents."
And thus the world was good, and calmed. The sky turned a brilliant shade of Phallo Blue with clouds of Titanium White. | "Hey folks I was actually one of you a few years ago and I *might* have lied on my CV to get this job."
I immediately thought I'd gotten some kind of sudden schizophrenia. Good news was that I hadn't, because the next thing that happened was
"Uh... that doesn't matter anymore, I'm the ruler now. I never really understood why God didn't like to speak to you guys. This is fun, I can do whatever the hell I want, like THIS!"
And the next thing I remember was waking up after hitting the kitchen roof. The new guy had just altered the direction of gravity. *Definitely not schizophrenic.* I think I hit my head hard enough to be out for at least five minutes, because the next thing I heard was
"OH SHIT OH SHIT I swear I didn't mean to throw all of you guys that weren't under a roof to outer space. Well let me reverse this slowly so there's no more death."
After I was able to use the floor again, I had to take a look outside. Thousands of bodies that were exposed to the vacuum of space were going down slowly. Like my neighboor, who was watering his plants. All dead. Man, what the fuck does this guy think he's doing?
"Ok, I'm gonna grab a coffee right now and will be right back, stay alive folks!"
It was a fact, Bob was fucking dumb.
Of course he forgot to stop calibrating the gravitational constant. I felt my body more and more pressed against the ground and could actually see the Sun becoming closer. Of course, I would never see the Sun hitting Earth, I was almost sure the impact of the moon would be enough to kill the rest of us.
Ok, I am going to die, but I'm definitely gonna kill this "Bob" for the second time in his existence, how can someone be so stup-
"WHAT THE HELL BOB, I LET YOU 10 MINUTES WITH MILKY WAY AND YOU MANAGE TO KILL EVERYONE OF THE ONLY PLANET HERE WITH LIFE FORM? GET YOUR THINGS AND GET OUT, I'M COMING BACK."
Oh for fucks sake, THANK GOD. | 2018-03-12T17:05:40 | 2018-03-12T16:31:32 | 3,717 | 1,687 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | "Hey folks I was actually one of you a few years ago and I *might* have lied on my CV to get this job."
I immediately thought I'd gotten some kind of sudden schizophrenia. Good news was that I hadn't, because the next thing that happened was
"Uh... that doesn't matter anymore, I'm the ruler now. I never really understood why God didn't like to speak to you guys. This is fun, I can do whatever the hell I want, like THIS!"
And the next thing I remember was waking up after hitting the kitchen roof. The new guy had just altered the direction of gravity. *Definitely not schizophrenic.* I think I hit my head hard enough to be out for at least five minutes, because the next thing I heard was
"OH SHIT OH SHIT I swear I didn't mean to throw all of you guys that weren't under a roof to outer space. Well let me reverse this slowly so there's no more death."
After I was able to use the floor again, I had to take a look outside. Thousands of bodies that were exposed to the vacuum of space were going down slowly. Like my neighboor, who was watering his plants. All dead. Man, what the fuck does this guy think he's doing?
"Ok, I'm gonna grab a coffee right now and will be right back, stay alive folks!"
It was a fact, Bob was fucking dumb.
Of course he forgot to stop calibrating the gravitational constant. I felt my body more and more pressed against the ground and could actually see the Sun becoming closer. Of course, I would never see the Sun hitting Earth, I was almost sure the impact of the moon would be enough to kill the rest of us.
Ok, I am going to die, but I'm definitely gonna kill this "Bob" for the second time in his existence, how can someone be so stup-
"WHAT THE HELL BOB, I LET YOU 10 MINUTES WITH MILKY WAY AND YOU MANAGE TO KILL EVERYONE OF THE ONLY PLANET HERE WITH LIFE FORM? GET YOUR THINGS AND GET OUT, I'M COMING BACK."
Oh for fucks sake, THANK GOD. | **Bob Gets a Job**
"So...uh Bob. Nice to meet you." A random voice from the 7 Billion people in attendance stated, ending the silence since God's departure. "So, how'd you get this job?" The voice continued. Considering bob was middle aged, pudgy, unshaven and simply *looked* unemployed, the voice gave substance to the question all 7-billion people had been wondering.
Bob, resembling a 7-11 clerk more than an all-seeing, all-knowing deity, thought about the question for a couple seconds before a slightly nasally voice responded: "My mom got it for me. She's been bugging me about getting a job for a few years now. She heard about this opening last week, and had some kind of vision for me to show up at this place at this time. Heh heh." He added a bit of a chuckle at the end to try to break through the tension of the audience.
A new voice broke out of the audience and asked: "And you couldn't have changed your shirt?" Suddenly everyone's awareness was brought to the fact that Bob was wearing a cheeto-covered wife-beater, exposing his chest hair.
"Yeah, I meant to do that. It's just that I was busy for the past few days and I had no clean clothes." No voices dared to probe further, but all 7 billion people began to look around at each other, searching for answers.
Soon, a symphony of prayers began ringing out from the audience, catching Bob off guard:
"Please let me get into college!"
"Please let Britney be my girlfriend!"
"Please help me to pass my class."
The prayers began growing in volume and intensity as all 7 billion voices began clamoring for Bob's attention.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" he responded to the multitude. "One at a time!" and with that announcement, a new and more intense volley of voices immediately surrounded Bob.
"Okay, Shirley wants a new Mercedes. I can make that happen." and suddenly a new Mercedes appeared in the driveway of a woman by the name of Shirley in Detroit, Michigan. Everyone, noticing the swiftness that Bob now answered prayers began voicing their own concerns *even louder.*
After performing a few more miracles (and about 15 minutes after he started) Bob began to lose interest in his new found career. Bob had access to God's powers, but also found entrance into God's man-cave, which is well equipped with pool-tables, Televisions, and a nice La-Z-Boy recliner. "Time for a break!" Bob thought in his head, but suddenly became aware that all 7-billion of his followers heard it, and they watched him settle into a La-Z-Boy and began eating Cheetos. An audible gasp was heard among all 7-Billion people as Bob sat in the La-Z-Boy and wiped his cheeto-fingers on his wife beater, only deepening the staining of his shirt. | 2018-03-12T16:31:32 | 2018-03-12T15:50:13 | 1,687 | 314 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | "Hey folks I was actually one of you a few years ago and I *might* have lied on my CV to get this job."
I immediately thought I'd gotten some kind of sudden schizophrenia. Good news was that I hadn't, because the next thing that happened was
"Uh... that doesn't matter anymore, I'm the ruler now. I never really understood why God didn't like to speak to you guys. This is fun, I can do whatever the hell I want, like THIS!"
And the next thing I remember was waking up after hitting the kitchen roof. The new guy had just altered the direction of gravity. *Definitely not schizophrenic.* I think I hit my head hard enough to be out for at least five minutes, because the next thing I heard was
"OH SHIT OH SHIT I swear I didn't mean to throw all of you guys that weren't under a roof to outer space. Well let me reverse this slowly so there's no more death."
After I was able to use the floor again, I had to take a look outside. Thousands of bodies that were exposed to the vacuum of space were going down slowly. Like my neighboor, who was watering his plants. All dead. Man, what the fuck does this guy think he's doing?
"Ok, I'm gonna grab a coffee right now and will be right back, stay alive folks!"
It was a fact, Bob was fucking dumb.
Of course he forgot to stop calibrating the gravitational constant. I felt my body more and more pressed against the ground and could actually see the Sun becoming closer. Of course, I would never see the Sun hitting Earth, I was almost sure the impact of the moon would be enough to kill the rest of us.
Ok, I am going to die, but I'm definitely gonna kill this "Bob" for the second time in his existence, how can someone be so stup-
"WHAT THE HELL BOB, I LET YOU 10 MINUTES WITH MILKY WAY AND YOU MANAGE TO KILL EVERYONE OF THE ONLY PLANET HERE WITH LIFE FORM? GET YOUR THINGS AND GET OUT, I'M COMING BACK."
Oh for fucks sake, THANK GOD. | "Good morning folks, Jim Jimmies here with DEF news at 9. Some major controversy lately has appeared in the confirmation of the existence of God as well as his equally sudden departure. As one can imagine a crisis of faith has been had worldwide though to help settle our doubts we have his apparent replacement here for an interview. Ladies and gentleman of our studio audience, please welcome Bob!"
"Thanks JJ, great to be here"
"Please don't call me that. But anyhow there's been a lot of commotion worldwide concerning this fairly extraordinary turn of events hasn't there?"
"I wouldn't say that JJ, the numerous human lives lost in the many suicide pacts and shooting as perpetrated by religious extremists are but invisible specks of sand in an impossibly large and swirling cosmic ocean. What do you call this hot drink by the way? it's fantastic."
"Ummm...That's called Coffee and it's a staple of a modern human breakfast".
"On second thought spare me the details I read the cliff notes, so, you had questions?".
"Ah, yes. We have opened questions up to the public. The first one comes for MattSeymor32 on twitter and asks "What exactly is your game plan?".
"Very reasonable as questions go. Well the first thing I want everyone to know is that I plan to be a much more hands on deity, no more cryptic bull excrement about "Plans" and setting bushes on fire and all that shiz. I have a very clearly outlined itinerary I intend to follow."
"Interesting, care to share some details with us?"
"Hells to the no my homo-sapien, I'm not gonna let you apes in on the "plan". You trusted God for what? *millions* of years and you didn't even know that guy existed until now. And since me and him are basically in the same percentile you should all just relax, okay?"
"That...raises far more questions but I think I'm just gonna move on to the next one. A_Toole40 asks "But what about Atheism? or the other religions? What's going oooooooooonnnnnn?!?"
"Knew this one would come up, so, the underlying science-and yes it is a science-of godhood is a little beyond humanity right now so I'll try to explain as best I can. Everyone is technically correct in some way and also technically not correct, it's relative really".
"Well that just...answered nothing and even contradicted itself. Okay final question of the day and this is coming from me, what's the first thing you're gonna do as Gods replacement?"
"Well- I intend to make well on my promise to be more direct with my Boblieness. As such I want to start big by fixing New Jersey and then going on from there."
"Oh, well, that certainly isn't the answer I expected. How may I ask do you intend to fix New Jersey?"
"With lasers, of course". | 2018-03-12T16:31:32 | 2018-03-12T16:25:27 | 1,687 | 89 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | "And so as I was saying you have to keep the water warm or the eggs won't hatch."
"Got it. So I'm just supposed to keep swinging it around for the next 7 billion years?"
"Yes well, Gravity does most of the work; you just have to make sure the sun stays on. Also, just my advice, but throw a meteor or two every once in a while- keeps things interesting."
"And what about the sky?"
"Already vaulted."
"And the seas?"
"Already parted."
"Well sounds like everything's already in order. Truth be told I'm a little apprehensive to be taking over for you God. I'm not sure I'm creator material."
"Well don't be, the place practically runs itself. Plus if things get real hairy you can flood the fucker and start over."
"I wouldn't want to do that."
"Not saying you have to, just that you can. Winging it is an important part of being God. Anyways I should really get going if I wanna make my flight."
"Oh sure, and again, congratulations on your promotion."
"Thanks Bob."
"Mind if I ask you one last question?"
"Sure thing kiddo, but keep it quick."
"Can I bring the dinosaurs back?"
"You lovable scamp you... what the hell, special occasion."
"Oh and one more thing."
"Yes of course Bob."
"The humans. What do they do?"
"They get malaria." | I can remember the first time I heard Bob's voice. I watched on TV as he gave his speech from Geneva. He didn't sound like a Bob; his voice was confident but youthful. It was more like the voice of a Chad or a Zeke. Nobody knew what to expect when they first saw Bob. The last guy to do his job never bothered to show his face, but Bob was trying to be different. He wanted to paint himself as some kind of progressive.
I watched intently as he stepped onto the centre podium, surrounded by snobbish looking representatives from all over the world. To all of our suprise, Bob's figure was a dark black. It was a kind of indescribable blackness. So dark that he almost seemed to fade against the backdrop. Nobody could quite tell where his body ended. He was relatively humanoid, although he was abnormally well built, and his hands were twice the size of a regular man's hand. Other than his limbs, he had few distinct bodily features. That is, of course, with the exception of his yellow, piercing eyes. They seemed to not be attached to his body but instead be hovering slightly in front of it.
"I am Bob," he started, "and I have to level with you people".
He was silent for a moment. His body seemed to expand, as if to give a sigh. Everyone on Earth was silent at that moment.
"I'm a little under qualified for this. My last universe was small, and pretty manageable. God had this gig for the last few billion years. He took a vacation during the age of enlightenment, but otherwise he's been working pretty hard down here." Said Bob, followed by another pause.
"What you need to know is that, um, God kept this place running so well because of all his powers. I, uh, I don't have the same abilities as him, and that's gonna have a pretty big affect on all of your lives..."
There was a final short silence and then a wave of murmuring among the representatives around Bob.
"Well, what can you do for us, Mister Bob?!" Asked the Danish rep. Bob looked at him with his wide eyes. They seemed to double in size as he looked down from the podium.
"I'm very strong, and I could probably help out with some kind of labor work." Bob replied.
"Maybe something in landscaping or construction..."
| 2018-03-12T16:53:52 | 2018-03-12T16:39:22 | 882 | 86 |
[WP] Whenever a child turns 18 everyone else in the world disappears in their eyes apart from their soulmate, everyone comes back when you find them. You wake up on your 18th birthday and everyone is still here. | ######[](#dropcap)
"I don't know if I can do this."
"You're going to, believe me."
"I really don't think I can."
"On the count of three."
"Oh God, no no no."
"One."
"Wait, wait, let's just walk down."
"Two."
"Really, isn't it just the swimming part we're looking forward to? Who needs the..."
"Three!"
Jacky grabbed Paul by the hand and ran with him just a touch behind her, straight off the edge of the quarry. As they fell in the dark, Paul finished his sentence, "Jumping!", in an extended scream.
They hit the refreshingly cool water side by side, and bobbed to the surface. Jacky let out an excited yell, and Paul smiled in spite of himself, treading water.
"What did you think?!" Jacky was all smiles, her freckles showing even in the moonlight, brought out by the day's sun.
Paul was soft spoken and reserved, and jumping off that cliff - and it *was* technically a cliff - was easily the most terrifying thing he'd ever done. He did not say that. Instead he nodded his head like he was on the edge of agreement with an obscure rhetorical point, and lied. "It wasn't that bad."
Jacky sidled up to him in the water, smirking. "Are you lying to me Paul?"
Paul liked this game. They played it a lot, because Paul was afraid of most things and Jacky afraid of nothing, and the two spent a lot of time together. Paul pursed his lips and shook his head, as if he was being asked whether he remembered where he put a set of stolen jewels. *What jewels officer?* "No, I quite enjoyed it actually."
Jacky got even closer. Her smile broadening at first, and then straightening out, not into a frown, but something else. "Are you sure Paul?"
Paul felt that tension between them, the one that threatened to complicate everything - the same one they'd kept firmly at bay for almost two years. But now here they were, in their underwear, floating in the quarry, under the moonlight, alone. Paul swallowed. "I'm sure."
They looked into each others eyes, their bodies bobbing slightly in the water, there legs and arms brushing past each other as they each flailed about lightly to remain afloat. Jacky came even closer then, closer than she'd ever been to him, her face right in front of his, her hair slick and wet, falling in strands, here and there over her eyes. Right then, they both knew they were on the verge of a momentous occasion, perhaps long in the making, almost assured to have tragic ramifications.
But, for all the gold in Fort Knox, neither could make themselves veer from the course they now plotted together.
Jacky whispered "Me too," and, leaning in to bridge the final inch, her lips met his, and then they were kissing.
The kiss seemed to last forever, and neither of them had ever enjoyed a kiss more in their whole lives. Jacky started smiling in the middle of it, and Paul got so distracted by the kiss that he literally forgot they were floating in the quarry, and tried to bring Jacky closer to him, only to sink like a stone when he stopped treading.
Beneath the cool water, the terrible reality of the kiss struck home, and when Paul came back to the surface, he was no longer smiling. Jacky looked him in the eyes and immediately joined him in that painful place. Without a word, side by side, they paddled to shore and then laid out together on the artificial sandy beach.
Laying there together, each was consumed with the same concern. Paul was turning 18 tonight, in just a couple of hours now, and Jacky would turn 18 two weeks after that. The two of them had been best friends for most of their childhood, and for the last couple of years, each had developed a different set of feelings for the other. But neither had allowed them to flourish, because both understood the extreme unlikelyhood of it all working out. After all, what were the chances that they were each other's soul mates? The current global population was over 7 billion people.
No, they were best friends, and only best friends, and that was how they would keep it.
Until tonight. Until the kiss in the quarry. They'd opened the seal at the eleventh hour, and now they waited - Paul to be alone, Jacky to be invisible.
It was a warm night, and comfortable. The two friends lay in the sand together, side by side, holding hands, waiting for statistical inevitability to separate them. There in the soft, pillowy white sand, they fell asleep.
Paul was awoken by the rising sun, it's edge tipping over the horizon. He no longer held anyone's hand, and was curled on his side, away from where Jacky was laying.
Now he began to shake, every fiber of his being filled with remorse. He lay there, facing the quarry, cursing whatever cruel power ruled over him. Who was *It* to say who his soulmate was? Who was it to take Jacky away from him? What kind of system was this? Overcome with emotion, he began to cry bitter tears. Still unwilling to turn around, he just sobbed into the sand.
His sobs awoke Jacky, who herself was curled into a little ball facing Paul's back. She too began to cry, quietly, without a sound. There he was, 18, and she invisible to him. It was almost too tragic to handle. In a final, futile gesture, though she knew well enough it would have no effect, Jacky reached out her small hand and lay her delicate fingers on Paul's back.
Paul's sobbing stopped immediately, replaced with tears of exaltation. He rolled around.
********
##### For More Legends From The Multivers
##### r/LFTM | I'd always feared turning 18, because that would mean losing the people closest to me. The friends who had stood by my side for so long would vanish off, maybe even to be forgotten - I wasn't sure. The concept was so alien to me that I didn't understand it even with explanation upon explanation of the process.
The only thing I'd managed to grasp was that everyone would reappear once you'd tracked down your "soulmate". That word, to this day, still loses me. How can there be only one person who's so important to you that the rest of the population is temporarily obliterated until you find that person? Worse, what if you *never* found that "soulmate" and you were doomed to wander the earth alone for the rest of your life?
Maybe the most terrifying part of that was that it could happen to me. While all my friends were discussing their crushes before they vanished on their eighteenth birthday (as everyone does when on the quest for their "one true partner"), I was just sitting there with them, drawing in my sketchbook. Baffled on what everyone else around me was talking about.
But my eighteenth birthday was two days ago. I should have walked out into an empty hallway that morning, with my family nowhere in sight. Instead, I stepped into the typical chaotic morning scene - with one mom wrestling my little brother into his shirt, the other mom chasing my younger sisters with the hairbrush, and my older sibling (who had already found their soulmate and had moved back in with us until the housing situation was cleared up) making a messy attempt at cooking breakfast.
What was bizarre was that when I stepped into the hallway, the chaos stopped as every member of the family looked at me.
They knew today was the day I was supposed to disappear.
Panicked, I ran back into my room and slammed the door behind me. Scrolling through my cell phone, I saw all of the contact information of everyone I knew. That was enough to prove that something had gone wrong. When you turn eighteen, everyone else is gone. Nonexistent. Their phone numbers don't stick around in your phone. Everything and everyone in the world is supposed to know when someone turns eighteen, and for some reason, that didn't happen to me.
I even tried calling one of my friends from school, but when he answered, my heart jumped up into my throat, I couldn't speak, and I had to end the call without saying a word.
That was two days ago, and I was hoping it was just a mistake. Something that would recalibrate the next day and I'd wake up and be off to find my soulmate. But that didn't happen, and even though it's only been two days, I've been too afraid to leave my room.
All I can do is frantically search the internet, trying to find answers to why nothing's reset itself, why I'm still here, and why I don't seem to have a soulmate. And even on the internet - on a network that, now that I'm eighteen, I shouldn't be able to access - there's no explanation as to why I'm still here.
*x*
"Hey." My normally-quiet little sister peeks her head into my room. "Can I talk to you?"
I almost tell her no. But it's been a week now. Everyone is still around, I feel like I must have been born with some sort of defect, and it's honestly been lonely sitting in my room alone for fear of something going wrong when communicating.
"I- I guess."
She comes in and sits down on my bed, cocking her head. "I think we're the only ones who know you're still here. You haven't left the house." Then she pauses, and her expression changes to one of concern. "Are you okay?"
Defeated by the stress and the urge to talk to someone, I shake my head no.
"We were all really confused," she replies slowly, staring at a poster on my wall that I put up when I was fifteen and never bothered to take down. "So I did some research. Apparently this isn't the only known case of someone not vanishing when they turn eighteen."
For all the frenetic research I did, research in what seemed to be a vain attempt to figure out the situation, that didn't show up in any of my search results. It was all pages and pages of how those who didn't disappear when they were eighteen were just broken and they'd vanish eventually to find their soulmate. And of course, some nasty comments about how maybe the people who didn't vanish were desperate for anything that lived. "... It's not?"
"No," she answers simply, pushing her hair out of her face. For a twelve-year-old, she's pretty straightforward. "The research mentioned that some people don't have soulmates. They usually don't experience crushes while growing up. Did you ever get crushes?"
"No. Never did."
My words come out neutrally, but inside, I'm in shock. Hands grasped together, my mind trying to comprehend this. Somewhere, sometime in the world, there have been *other people like me*. People who didn't disappear when they turned eighteen.
"I wonder if maybe you're one of those people," she responds slowly. "The pages I found called them... er..." And then she falters, clearly wracking her brain for the term. "I forget, exactly. Aro-mantic? Something like that. They're just people who don't disappear, because they don't have soulmates. Apparently some of them call themselves no-mates."
She shrugs, and when she exits my room after realizing she won't get a reply, I'm still stunned, my mouth slightly agape. My little sister may be twelve, but to put all that effort into trying to figure this out even when it doesn't directly involve her? She's more serious about understanding the world than anyone else I know.
And sure enough, when I pull out my computer and look up her words, results start springing up from all over the place. Blogs, forums, medical articles, stories of people like me, who didn't disappear when they turned eighteen, because they had nobody they needed to find.
Is it really possible that I had no reason to worry about everyone I cared about disappearing into nothingness?
Scrolling through all the responses, I notice my hand has reached my chest, feeling my heart beat slowly. Peacefully. Maybe I'm comforted by the knowledge that while I may be strange compared to most people, at least there are other strange people in the world with me.
For the first time in a week, I can't help but smile. Maybe it's weird, and maybe I'm still a little dazed by all of this, but it's entirely possible I'm not just broken after all.
And besides, from what I'm seeing in these communities, the people who *don't* have to go sailing around the world for their soulmates are just as entertaining as the ones that do. | 2018-03-23T20:40:54 | 2018-03-23T20:20:41 | 682 | 191 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck." | Jack checked the lock on the front door for the third time. Yes. Still locked. Okay. Good.
And the bolt above it, too, for good measure.
He made his way to the living room, trying not to trip over any furniture. The room totally, completely, pitch black except of course for the glow of Netflix on his laptop, and its reflection in the glasses of the girl sitting on his sofa.
"Everything okay? Tout va bien?", she asked, in her quaintly accented French. She was not from around here, and still had a lot to get used to.
He nodded.
"We should be fine until the dust settles", and, after noticing her quizzical look. "Ouais, on ira bien".
She softened her posture in relief.
They huddled in, and Jack put the L part of the earphones into his left ear, just as she did with the R, and they settled in to watch the latest episode of black mirror.
It wasn't long until the screams began.
At first, the hollering had seemed to be coming from inside the show. It was a rock concert scene. But then there was a clanging of metal.
Wild sounds. Tribal. Like you would imagine at some sort of savage sacrificial rite.
She looked at him with fear. He had no idea how to explain this to her. That the Maple Leafs had won, beating the Montreal Canadiens for the Stanley Cup for the first time in decades. That the streets of Toronto would be reduced to rubble by the morning due to celebration and hooliganism alike.
That the only way to survive the night would be to hide, and hope things would be better in the morning.
He gave her a kiss on the forehead, and silently prayed for tomorrow to come quickly. | Looking at the decaying poster plastered across the alleyway, the man paused for a moment, lost in memories.
Nobody knew where it started, and nobody had time to care. Within weeks of the first sighting, the vamps had swept across Europe, and the United States Quarantine Zone barely lasted a week. It was hard to figure out what they looked like, let alone how to fight them, and it took the army years before it discovered their tactics and weaknesses. For every person that was killed or drained by a vamp, within a matter of days they would succumb to the infection. Superhuman speed, endurance, and near-flight. But even though they looked like someone you knew, all of their emotions were replaced with thirst.
Mankind used to have two big advantages: working together and using tools. Both of those became liabilities, and in a matter of months society as they knew it had completely collapsed. Artificial light did nothing except alert them to the presence of humans, and modern weaponry did nothing against creatures so fast, so vicious, and so durable. All that worked was sunlight, decapitation, and stakes. Suddenly, mankind's reliance on technology had become a liability, and they knew it.
Most just despaired and watched as their family turned, then just gave in. Some took up arms for a brief while and then ended themselves before they could get turned. The strongest, those that survived, had two traits: adaptability and ruthlessness. The cold impersonality of long-ranged rifles and guns was replaced with the intimate, uncomfortable feeling of a stake and a knife. The darkness, something that humanity had considered conquered ages ago, had reclaimed its place as the top of humanity's enemies.
Flashing out of his reminiscence, the man tightened the strap holding the crossbow over his back. The setting sun illuminated the cold, desolate ruins around him, the fading banner one of the last traces that this had ever been an inhabited city. He checked his bandolier of stakes and the knives at his side, then felt the comforting weight of his backup stake in the bottom of his boot. Throwing his heavy hunting cloak over his back, he briefly paused: Why bother going out night after night to face untold horrors when he could just end it all in an instant?
Then he remembered the look on his daughter's face the moment before she turned and the rage that had sustained him since that night. He may be the last of humanity that he was aware of, but he would make sure that he went out with a roar, not a whimper. Fastening his cloak over his back, the man went outside to reclaim the night. | 2018-04-18T10:01:55 | 2018-04-18T09:53:12 | 179 | 66 |
[WP] A street vendor sells you a painting that they say depicts whatever the heart truly desires. You bought it because you saw something nice and pretty. Your spouse asks why you bought a painting of something much more disturbing. | I bought a picture of a world free from disease and pain. A world with no suffering. A technological marvel. A masterpiece depicting a utopian futuristic paradise where everyone lives the life they desire, participating in the active enrichment of our species.
&#x200B;
Cooperating in unison with peace and love spreading through out the world. It was a mural that took up the whole wall. There were flying saucers everywhere, giant beautiful 1920s style buildings with a 2220s vibe. The future we dream of. The future I'm working my ass off to build for all life that is born into this realm. See, I look at myself as responsible for them. For the future of our generation.
&#x200B;
I feel it's my duty to create that future, so when I stumbled upon it at the fair, I just had to buy it. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. I wept at the sight of it. I'm just sitting there emptying my wallet, tears running down my face in pure bliss at the fact that I finally found something that so accurately represents my vision.
&#x200B;
The vendor asked $50,000 for it, I said I'll take it at any cost.
&#x200B;
While he's using his square chip on his iPhone to swipe my card, my wife comes over and screams at me.
&#x200B;
"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK WHY ARE YOU BUYING A PICTURE OF A GIANT PENIS FOR $50,000!?????" | I found it! I had finally found it. The perfect anniversary present. She didnt have to know that the portrait was of another woman, but the resemblance was uncanny that any small detail missing could be embellished as creative liscence the oil painter took.
I didnt even bother haggling the price, I had seen too many people pass by and not look away from this entrancing painting.
Excited out of my mind that I found a replacement for some jewelry that seemed to lack the heart a 5 year anniversary present should have, I rush home knowing full well that I have a just under an hour until my wife comes home.
This left me enough time to set up the painting. It was a day early but I just couldn't wait. I decided on the bedroom for now and we could discuss exactly where it should go later. I put it up, light some candles, and start on dinner.
Before long she comes in, glowing as always. I can hardly contain my excitement but I know I must. I take her purse so she doesn't go upstairs and tell her to sit at the table and everything will be taken care of. She agrees and the plan is going perfect.
Dinner goes by without a hitch, and we head upstairs where the real surprise awaits.
When we open the door she can hardly look at the picture, covering her face as soon as she sees it. I take this as a good sign, at first.
She's crying, but not happy crying like I expected.
"How did you know?" She asks.
I'm puzzled but continue on with a, "do you like it?"
This doesnt go over very well as she asks me the same question, this time with slight anger.
Still baffled I ask, "Honey? Do you not like your self portrait?"
This really sets her off, as she demands I explain myself. I dont even know what to say. I mean how could I?
Finally she breaks the silence and asks more forwardly, "How did you know about them: Jon, Rick, Dale? You even put in Helen. Have you known this whole time? Why did you marry me? Why? Why?!"
Now she is on the ground sobbing. What? How? It was my turn to ask the questions.
"Honey who are those people to you?"
And she looks up with tears in her eyes and says, "The people I been sleeping with. You chose this horrific, yet very arousing picture to show me my sins and I'm sorry. Could you ever for give me? Could you?" | 2018-10-07T00:34:14 | 2018-10-06T23:39:03 | 2,046 | 98 |
[WP] Due to an overactive imagination and your love of superheroes, you have a tendency to yell "I know you're listening" loudly inside your own head to see if anybody reacts. One day, you're answered by a panicked "I'm sorry" in a familiar voice and the girl across the classroom has gone beet red.
Edit: I'm glad to see that doing this isn't as weird or uncommon as I initially thought. Because it's such a strange yet common tendency, it seems that this concept for a writing prompt has seen a number of iterations from people like myself who mistakenly think they are introducing a new theme to the community. That being said, if you enjoyed the awesome submissions to this WP as much as I have, here's a few other WP's with the same concept that have some pretty awesome stories written for them as well.
1. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp\_everytime\_you\_think\_of\_a\_funny\_joke\_this\_girl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp_everytime_you_think_of_a_funny_joke_this_girl/)
2. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp\_one\_day\_in\_class\_you\_decide\_to\_scream/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp_one_day_in_class_you_decide_to_scream/)
Thanks again for all the submissions! | My eyes widened as she looked sheepish.
*I'm sorry,* she repeated, looking earnestly at me from anxious green eyes.
*You can hear my thoughts.* It wasn't a question.
The corner of her mouth quirked as she tucked a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear. *Well, yeah.*
It was my turn to blush. Saoirse (SEER-sha) smiled kindly. *Don't worry, there are people with more embarrassing thoughts than you've had.*
*But, why?*
She shrugged. *I don't listen in on purpose. It's like listening to the radio, there's feedback constantly. Then I heard you shout at me and it caught me off guard.*
I nodded, impressed. *Born with it?*
She nodded back. *Pretty much. It was terribly confusing when I was little. Mom and Dad would say one thing, think another. When they got angry with each other it was the worst.* She looked sad and turned to face forward, letting her pencil trace lightly on her notebook.
I could feel my heart racing beneath my skin. If Saoirse could hear the thoughts of everyone around her, then she knew who liked her, who fantasized about her, who hated her--
*Trust me, it sucks being a telepathic high schooler,* she thought to me, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. *I've learnt to block out people sexualizing me. But it's harder to block people who hate me.*
*I'm sorry, Saoirse.*
*I know you've got a crush on me, Lexi.* She'd sensed my embarrassment and betraying thoughts. *You don't have to try and hide it. It's useless anyway, I've known for a while.* She looked up from her desk to wink at me, sending me into the hardest blush of my young life. | I am not really sure when the habit got started, but it gets me through study hall without falling asleep.
All of us students are locked in the room. It’s like those escape games my mom won’t let me do. She says it’s a waste of money.
Anyway we’re locked in, and the answers to get the door open are in the material. I, along with everyone else must complete our work before the time runs out and we lose.
Yeah I know it isn’t really THAT exciting, but it helps, ok?
The cute girl across the room, the one I haven’t managed to talk to, but make eye contact with a lot glanced over at me. Our eyes met and she looked away almost immediately.
I chewed the inside of my lip. I don’t even know what I’d say to her. ‘Hey I think about being locked in a room with you and everyone else during study hall and usually you’re one of the first ones to ‘solve’ your problem.’
She dropped her left shoulder so her hair fell and created a wall between us. She was leaning over her school work. I reminded myself that I also had work to do.
So we could all escape.
I got through two questions before my mind drifted and suddenly it wasn’t an escape room, it was more of a super- villain / hero scenario. The stakes were even higher. The group of us were brainstorming. But I had a suspicion, based off what had happened “last time.”
We were foiled because the villains knew our plans. I brought that up, and most seemed to brush it off. ‘No,’ I say, ‘no. I KNOW YOU ARE LISTENING.’ I waved a finger around wildly flinging the accusation.
In the actual classroom, The girl— The cute one— turned the most cute and alarming shade of red one could turn and covered her mouth with her hand.
No one in the room noticed. I stared at her. She raised her shoulders just slightly.
“ I’m sorry.” She mouthed.
What.
“For reading your mind,” she mouthed.
No.
“I’m sorry. I liked last week, when Sherry and Zeke both solved their last riddle before the bell rang.” She didn’t move her mouth at all that time. She just held eye contact, and I heard her voice echo around behind my eyes and sink deeply into my heart. I felt her breath spread like a warm fog across my thoughts and settle a comfortable weight across my soul. Like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.
She glanced away.
“May I remind everyone that they should be focusing on their school work?” The teacher interrupted our... I dunno.
I drew in a deep breath and tried to focus on my calculus. | 2018-12-18T21:16:34 | 2018-12-18T19:46:53 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] You die and go to heaven. Upon arrival you get selected to trial a "new life +" system where you restart your life with the skills you had already acquired. | "Please, sir, you can have anything, my wallet, my car keys, just don't hurt my..."
SIMULATION OVER.
It all came flooding back. I'm not a human, but a Trilliax, and had been under a neural block for the last 37 years, trapped in that simulated world as a prison sentence. Amazing, though... I could still remember it all. The wife. The kids. The terror in the pit of my stomach while staring down the barrel of the mugger's pistol. I had been a composer. So much to think about. One thought did come to mind though...
I had been sentenced to 82 years. The system had never had an error before. I was trying to figure out why, what had happened. The system never made errors. I didn't have to wait long, at least. The text began scrolling across the screen, as the simulation over message faded.
DUE TO YOUR PERFORMANCE IN THE PREVIOUS SIMULATION, YOU HAVE QUALIFIED FOR AN OPPORTUNITY FOR EARLY RELEASE. AS PART OF THE PROCEDURE, YOU MUST CONSENT TO PARTICIPATE IN THE BETA TEST OF 2ND LIFE, OUR BETA SIMULATION FOR INDIVIDUALS WITH LONG SENTENCES. AS NEURAL BLOCKING ONLY SUPPRESSES IDENTITY BASED KNOWLEDGE, YOU WILL RETAIN ALL SKILLS AND PROFICIENCIES LEARNED IN YOUR PREVIOUS SIMULATIONS, THOUGH YOU WILL NOT RECALL ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR IDENTITY OR YOUR ACQUISITION OF THESE SKILLS. IF YOU CONSENT TO THIS BETA TEST, PLEASE ENTER YOUR SELECTED NAME. TIME AND GEOGRAPHY WILL BE RANDOMLY GENERATED, AS WAS LAST TIME. CONSENT WILL APPLY A 10 YEAR CREDIT TO YOUR SENTENCE.
So that was it. 10 years for being a Guinea pig. Worse things have happened, I suppose. I focused my thoughts towards the name entry. I was out of practice, though; it took a couple moments. The symbols slowly appeared as my thoughts cleared.
"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart"
SIMULATION STARTING, REGION EUROPE, TIME FRAME 1756. NEURAL BLOCK COMMENCING. | I stood in a familiar place. While I couldn’t say where I’d seen it before, it felt almost like home. The place I’d never been and yet where it had all begun.
“So it’s finally over,” I whispered. Speaking those words left me feeling light, the weight of the world off my shoulders, peace at last. No more fighting, no more deaths. I wouldn’t have to bury any more friends.
If I had any more tears to cry, I would have. Instead, I looked to the sky and let out a long breath, content to know that their sacrifices hadn’t been in vain, that I proved their belief in me well-placed. Humanity won. For how I struggled with the blood I had on my hands, that was the most important. Compassion hadn’t hindered me. For all my hypocrisy, I at least tried to be ‘good’, even if it was an ideal I couldn’t reach. I didn’t give in to the despair. Through all the pain, I kept pushing forward in the slim hope I could make up for my mistakes, rather than let them define me.
Wiping my cheek, I muttered, “I guess I did have a little left in me.”
All of a sudden, the air stilled. I fell back into old habits and reached for my sword, only to find nothing there, my heart pounding.
“Would you like to play again?”
The voice boomed from all directions, no source in sight. I didn’t understand what he was asking, either. “What do you mean?”
“Start from the beginning with all the progress you have made. Levels, skills and abilities will be kept, as well as all non-story items and equipment. The enemies will be harder, bosses much tougher, but the rewards will be even greater.”
Though some parts made sense, others escaped me entirely. Still, what I understood was enough to make my pulse race further. “Can I save them?”
“There will be no differences to the story itself.”
My heart clenched, squeezing so hard I lost my breath for a moment. “Then, why would I? What’s the point if nothing will change?”
A new voice spoke now, a whisper that tickled my one ear. “This is not for you to choose.”
“What?” I said, turning on the spot but still not seeing anyone else there. “Whose choice is it then?”
The whisper came to my other ear. “You are but a pawn in a game, nothing more.”
I stilled. “Explain.”
Gentle laughter swirled around me from an invisible source. “But I have—it’s not my fault an ant cannot comprehend that it is an ant.”
“I’m a man,” I said, patting my chest. “I am a man who knows himself to be a man.”
“You are a ghost who thinks himself a man.”
“I bleed if I am cut,” I said. “My feelings, my journey: do they mean nothing?”
A distant voice, as though from another world leaking in, said, “Yes.” | 2019-01-27T15:45:04 | 2019-01-27T15:33:20 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A genie gives you two options. One is to get your three wishes now, or to get one wish a day for five days. He tells you that no one before has survived and gotten all five wishes. You choose the latter. | June 1st 2019 2:37 pm
The first one was easy.
“THE FORCE!” I shouted before he could even start his story about the last guy who chose the five day option.
Poof.
I could feel it immediately, a connection to every atom of my surroundings, and a sense of those far beyond.
I noticed a few pebbles lying beside me in the wasteland of the Australian outback. A perfect test, I’ve seen it in all the movies. I stretch my arm down to them and can feel the rumbling of my new found power. What feels like a lifetime passes in and instant, as my brain nearly shatters from the bending of space.
“I swear I saw it move.” The man says reassuringly “But it takes a long time to master even the simplest aspects of the force, young padawan.”
June 2nd
I wasn’t sure where and when I was to meet my new friend. So I sat, meditating. My selection of wishes must be perfect if I am to make it to the 5th day, still so far away.
As quickly as he vanished yesterday, and at the same time, the man I saw yesterday reappears.
“I wish to understand any and all languages”
Poof
“¡Hasta mañana!” I call to the empty air in front of me.
June 3rd
My preparation is nearly complete, but it’s time to bring out the big guns. I have barely moved since we first met, but with each hour that passes my force power grows as I feel the lapping of waves 3000 miles away.
Just like clockwork I am no longer alone.
“I wish for immortality, so that I will not age and cannot be killed by natural means.”
Poof
“To be honest I didn’t expect that to be so easy” I whisper to myself.
“Your wish is my command” says the wind.
June 4th.
I must remember this day, in the future it may be my last. I can sense something coming from across the world, and it can sense me too. No time for that yet, it’s already 2:35.
“Bonjour, mon ami” says the voice behind me. “Your 4th wish?”
“I wish to go back in time, 56,000 BC to be exact”
Poof
June 5th 2019
The time has come. From now on the road ahead is unexplored. Although I’ve managed to grow quiet a few skill trees over the past few millennia.
I know now that the sense I felt before I went back was my current self, as I made my way here I could feel the moment I slipped through time, a deafening silence as my previous life vanished.
“Hello old friend, it’s been some time...” | "Personally I've never seen anyone survive for a fifth wish." The genie said with a smile.
"Do you still want to take the second option?" It asked me.
The genie didn't seem like a human, but it shared similarities. I on the other hand, didn't think like a normal human.
"Death is fine even if I only manage to get one wish. Just to clarify, you can revive the dead, right? No zombie state either, full revival!" I asked him with a calm and collected voice.
Honestly, I seemed to be more at ease than the genie.
"Yes, albeit everything comes with restrictions at that level of wishing" It answered with a tired face
"Care to explain?" I asked.
"Restrictions may involve needing to feel the revived person the souls of the living, being unable to go out during the day, have a need for blood sacrifices and a few others, but those are the most important." It answered again.
I wasn't socked or anything, just mildly annoyed, "And you absolutely cannot bypass those limitations?" I pressured on. At this point, I had no information, and a lesson I took from life early on was that information was power.
"I believe that no, you cannot bypass the limitations. They are like an unbreakable prison, same thing holding me bound to this lamp, although different in nature." It's answer wasn't vert informative, however.
"Very well, my first wish will be to have knowledge forbidden even for genies, narrowed down to reviving a person." As I finished my first wish, the genie looked at me, stunned, but moved through the procedure.
It didn't take long before I was spasming on the ground, my head writhing from all the new random information. Sorting that mess out would take more than a day, possibly two, but before I actually passed out, I held strongly to a weird memory.
"So... that's why no one survives the five wishes, huh?" I muttered before falling unconscious.
The next day I don't really know why, but after jotting down a number and a few messages, I wished to erase all of the knowledge I got from my previous wish.
Third day came and per the instructions I had left behind for myself, I wished for the restoration of my wife's body.
On fourth day, I really wanted to wish for her revival at last, but I held back. There were two things remaining on the note. The random number I had left for myself and the instructions for the fourth day. Fifth day was blank.
As I finished my wish, even the genie was surprised by it. I wished for frailty. I wished for weakness and disease to ravage my body, as well as my wife's body.
I imagined this had something to do with the memories I gave up, but I would never know.
On the last day, even the genie was surprised to see me alive and well... with some minor coughs that is. But I was well, better than ever in fact!
Finally, it was the fifth day,
"I... I can't grand your wish." The genie said.
I stood still as I felt the world shatter before my eyes. Why?!
I asked it again and again for the reason, but it seemed hard even for it to pinpoint it.
I read my notes dozens upon dozens of times, but came up empty all the same.
On some bizarre sense of humor and desperation I uttered the most fucked up words that could come to mind, "Genie, call this number, as my final wish."
Suddenly, the world went black.
"Well, if this isn't the first time someone of the living has intruded upon my domain? Excuse me for the lack of hospitality, being the God of Death, I never actually prepared for someone living."
~-~-~
The end~-~-~ | 2019-06-04T13:35:55 | 2019-06-04T12:35:11 | 50 | 15 |
[WP] After dying, you wake up to find god and Satan sitting in front of a screen furiously playing a game. Satan turns to you and says “I won your soul, go over please” and points to a fiery gate labelled HELL. God smiles at you apologetically. | "Go over please, hurry" the enormous horned beast intoned from his dark stony throne as he dug his red claws into an endless bowl of tortilla chips on the table next to him. A wide smile filled with jagged teeth stretched across his evil face as he hungrily brought the food up to his mouth and crunched away.
"Damn it Satan, he was a good one! You always win! I want to change the game now! We've been playing this one for centuries!" a man next to him pleaded, playing with the ends of his long white beard while crossing his arms. Sulking, he gave a sigh as he cast his gaze over to me. The expression on his face said it all. Shyly looking away, his attention was drawn to the myriad of snacks, sweets and beverages on the table between them, from which he selected some grapes. The perfect and juicy looking grape was just about to fall into his mouth when he noticed my confused expression once more.
"Sorry dude" he said quietly before dropping the grape into his mouth and taking back up the controller, " this was the only way we could make it work. Better this than an all out war!"
"God, you're such a damned noob. At this rate, everyone's going to be in hell! Hahaha" Satan laughed manically.
Their attention turned back to the game, an old and small TV placed not too far from where they sat on huge thrones of black and white, the glow of the TV illuminating their faces softly in the otherwise dark room. I couldn't see what they were playing, but judging by the sounds it was dated, electric 80s or early 90s theme tunes blaring out.
What in the hell was this? Wait, wrong phrase for this situation. What in god's name.....no, thats just as bad. Damn it. What was going on?
I felt compelled to walk to the massive gates that loomed in the darkness a few metres away. One was red and hot looking, the other blue and white like a perfect sky. I was most definitely on the path to the red one, which was sucking me in with increasing force.
As I drew closer I could see swirling faces within the deep red sea of the gate, moaning and groaning. Hands and fingers stretched from within, desperately trying to pull anything that came too close. Was this it? Had I led a good life for nothing? To be condemned to eternity in hell for no other reason than by the result of a game?
My feet began to slide against the floor as I tried not to follow. Stumbling, I fell straight on to my face, trying desperately to find purchase with my hands against the black nothingness that lay beneath me. It was no use. The force was increasing, and I was sliding towards the gate, Satan and God in the distance becoming smaller and smaller as I desperately tried to reach for them.
"Why?!" I shouted, to no affect.
Just then a line flew across me, a simple rope sliding and moving fast.
"Grab it!" a voice called.
I took hold of it just as it almost fell out of my reach.
"Now pull with all your might!" the voice called once more.
I did, my hands burning against the coarse fibres.
The gate loomed upon me, the rope only managing to pull me to the side wall of its structure.
I was hanging on for dear life , my chest pressed against the warm stone, my legs dangling dangerously close to the lava like substance spread across the surface.
A hand shot out of the darkness beside the gate. I grabbed it.
"Tell me, and be true! Of what faith is your soul?"
"What faith is my soul?" I thought dumbly to myself, trying to understand what it meant. I was sweating , my grip slipping, the only thing I could think of blurted out from my mouth with desperation.
"I'm a bloody athiest!"
The hand grabbed mine, and pulled me away from the gate and into the depths of the blackness.
"Then, my friend, ye are saved"
The hand yanked me with incredible force as we plunged into the darkness, sinking and falling, the hand's grip never failing.
Lights began to flash past us like street lights on a dark high way, rushing with increasing speed.
With a thump and a slight bounce we landed into a dark room.
"Welcome friend, to the Realm between" | It had all happened in a flash, I had been rushing from my day to day job as a car salesman, trying to get to my daughter back at home after a rather alarming call from my wife-to-be and someone had one too many shots ending in a result that would cause their car to collide with mine. Even in my last moments, I had been reaching out for her, for my loved ones but to no avail as it went how everyone says it would, I went into the light though even so it felt like my body had been consumed into a fiery darkness.
Before I could come to see the ever after, I sat up in a cold sweat on what was presumably the shared room of me and my wife. Had it all been a dream, a horrible, bloodied dream? Then, there was hope as I quickly got out of bed to make my way downstairs to in which I heard a strong masculine voice call out in victory and my brows furrowed. The only other thing closest to another man in the house would of been our dog and dogs.. don’t talk let alone yell out in a victory.
With a moment of hesitance I made my way down the steps to see a rather unpleasant surprise sitting on my couch in a pack of two. The television was glowing, illuminating the morning lit room with the virtual screen that was mortal Kombat though regardless, I couldn’t remember owning a game system, not within the last half a decade or since my wife had our sunshine. But that was just the least of my worries as I saw the one finely dressed man in a crimson tux and black hair fitted with a pair of.. twisted blood red horns as he looked to me with his void filled eyes with a dashing smile. “I won and, your soul is now mine. Please go over there.” He would then point to what used to be my front door, **H E L L** clearly depicted above it as fire bursts from the frame. The other gentleman dress in white, almost like some sort of priest or pope with his white hair to follow gave me a rather apologetic look.
It had only taken just a moment or so for me to realize what was happening in this hopefully twisted dream, “Did you.. bet my soul, on a VIDEO game?!” I would yell out in frustration although I was confused nonetheless, yet above all else I felt anger bubbling up inside of me like an active volcano. The godly man would continue to look at me and press his two pointer fingers together by the tip as he spoke. “Well.. you see! I was so sure I could win and make Lucifer over here you know.. give up part of Hell in exchange for your soul?” The supposed devil would then chime in as my expression turned from a frustrated anger into a deep horror. “I *knew* I’d win though! Come on!” With that, my horror grew. “No, No, No. You’re shitting me!” I exclaimed as there was a chime in once more from the godly man “Language.” He spoke sternly though I couldn’t help but not give a shit. “This is crazy! What about my wife.. my daughter! Oh my god.. I never found out what happened to her..” My tone trailed into defeat as I placed my hands over my face, unsure what to even do with myself. The two looked between each other, the godly man seeming as if he was trying to silently speak but the devilish one just placed a hand up as if to tell him to stop, proceeding to get up and make his way over to me as I had just wanted to see my family again, that’s all I could hope for. “Take a walk with me.” He said, placing an arm around my shoulders and walking towards my daughters room, reaching over and turning the knob to show me the insides. Devilish sigils written along its walls and candles lit. My hands had long gone from my face as I looked shocked. What could this all have meant. “Listen, here’s a run down. Your daughter is an anti-christ and the world will have new order.” He quickly spoke as he turned to lead me back towards the gate, the disbelief and shock mixing a sickly combination into my stomach. “Now you know, See you soon, Bye. Bye.” This would be the last I saw of him as I was shoved through the gates, feeling as if I had gone mute as I fell for what felt like an endless amount of time.
However, unbeknownst to me their conversation continued above without me being able to even hear the last parts. The godly man narrowed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Why would you tell the poor guy that?” In which the other responded “To shut him up and move him on.” The godly shook his head, breathing out as he spoke. “You *know* there isn’t an anti-Christ and his daughter has been long gone.” The devilish shook his head. “You know he was going to go to hell anyway, We’ve had to repeat this act over and over because *someone* couldn’t help but spoil the other times!” The godly just shook his head, disappearing in a blink of an eye as the house began to fall apart, Fire erupting from its sides as everything fell apart and through the ground into its own endless cycle. | 2019-09-21T07:44:49 | 2019-09-21T06:24:19 | 76 | 10 |
[WP] Over time, you realize that all the spare change in your house disappears to who knows where. When you decide to investigate, you empty a cupboard and find a bunny size dragon sitting on a pile of coins... | You know, I started with the best of intentions.
When I found the dragon under my cupboard, I couldn't believe my eyes at first. Dragons were supposed to be myths, legends. They weren't supposed to raid people's stashes of parking quarters, and then take a nap upon their 5-dollar hoard. I reached out with a trembling hand, and was rewarded with a wary glare - but I didn't touch the money. Instead I trailed my fingertip down the scaly ridge between his eyes, and was rewarded with a sound almost like a purr.
I named him Scrooge.
Some clandestine research turned up rumor and speculation, plenty of fantasy, and a few cold, hard facts. Dragons, it seemed, still hatched now and then, from eggs buried millennia ago. They hoarded wealth, and fed off its energy - something about humanity's emotional ties to money. They were mystical and incredible and delightfully greedy.
Scrooge grew a little when I emptied my wallet into his hoard, and grew a bit more after I went out to buy him a dozen rolls of quarters. I could see him developing, see the sparkle of intelligence behind his eyes, and I'd never been so excited to drain my bank account. But my apartment was small, and my credit line was smaller. I gamboled and played, and cuddled with Scrooge, but eventually, I realized I couldn't give him what he needed. And part of me wanted very badly to see him grown and intelligent, see him filled with all the ancient cunning that was his birthright.
And so I hatched a plan.
Scrooge was not at all happy when I cut the size of his hoard - but he'd grown too large for subtlety. I made heavy use of my fire extinguisher over the next few days, heart bleeding for my scaly friend, as I palmed coin after coin, until he was left with little more than the handful of change he'd started with. Then I packed up my rabbit-sized bundle of greed, and off we went.
Off to Wall Street.
Money is just a concept, my economics teacher always said, a token of exchange and transfer. Money stands for wealth, and it comes in many forms.
In ancient times, Scrooge may have lain upon piles of salt and and weapons and carefully-shaped stone. More recently, perhaps on piles of gold and silver and gems. At my home, he'd found a liking for paper money - though I'd never been able to provide much. But nowadays, there's more to wealth than that.
When I walked across the floor of the new york stock exchange, Scrooge in a bag at my side, even I could smell the dollars in the air. Here, in frantic words and gestures, in bits and bytes and buys and sells, more wealth flowed every second than I had ever held in my hands. And as the brokers clamored around us, I felt my little friend shift. His body warmed, his wings flapped, his nose sampled the air. Here there was a hoard to claim.
So he began to grow.
The brokers fled when he leapt from my bag, already the size of a dog and still growing. But the servers kept working, busily transferring, even as Scrooge became horse-sized, elephant-sized, more. He'd caught he scent now, he'd understood where I had brought him, and I saw the sheer joy in the flick of his tail and the flap of his wings.
Security came, and rapidly left, pursued by incandescent flame. Whatever the laws that governed Scrooge's existence, his mere presence on the markets was enough to keep him strong, keep him glorious. We own wall street, now, our own little kingdom in New York, abandoned save for a contented dragon, and his contented friend.
Perhaps the real treasure is the friendship we found along the way. Or perhaps it's the 17 billion dollars' worth of shares we're holding hostage.
---------
You'll find part 2 in the comments below! | Socks in the dryer and coins in the couch. Those are the things that disappear forever, right? Oh, also women after I go on a date with them. Pause. That could be misconstrued. They just disappear from my life. They're unharmed, at least physically.
Well, in my apartment, all coins disappear forever. It's uncanny, especially considering that I live alone. I would set down a few loose coins on the dinner table and by the time I came back into the room, they were gone.
Eventually I decided I had to find this black hole that absorbed all my loose change. It was money, for the love of all things holy! My usually hard-earned money! I got to searching. I looked under the bed and under the dryer and even tore up a couple loose floorboards to see if they had somehow slipped under there. I looked in the pantry and in the dishwasher and eventually settled on a little cabinet tucked away in the bottom corner of the counter. I think I had cloth napkins that nobody ever used in there.
That wasn't inaccurate, necessarily. I just didn't expect the napkins to have become a bed for a tiny bunny-sized dragon. When I opened the cabinet, it greeted me with a little puff of flame no bigger than the flame let off by a match. "What the hell? Are you a baby dragon?" All my loose change was amassed in a pile inside the cabinet. There must have been a few dollars in there, at least.
"Not a baby, you over-sized dwarf," the dragon angrily retorted. He sounded like my cousin's ghetto boyfriend that her parents didn't approve of. "I'm a grown-ass dragon." I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was tiny.
"Ha. Grown-ass? More like tiny-ass dragon. What's your name?"
"Name? Why the Hell would I have a name? How often do you think I get visitors in your shitty little cabinet?" He really had quite the attitude. "Call me whatever you want, I don't care."
"How about... Coomba? You're like a Roomba for my coins."
"Coomba, Poomba, Loomba. Coomba don't give a flying fuck. Ha! Get it?" Yes, I got it. "You here for the coins?"
I shrugged. "I mean, yeah. Ideally."
"Tough shit, ya fat dwarf. Finders keepers. These are Coomba's coins now." He crossed his wings and turned his back to me.
"I earned them. I worked hard for them." I sized him up. I figured I could take him, even if he was a dragon. I might get burnt, but I had too much arm hair anyways.
"So did Coomba! You know how much Coomba has been sneaking around for these coins?" He had really taken a liking to his name. I was starting to regret giving him a name since he seemed to have an irritating habit of only referring to himself in third-person.
"Alright so what's the deal? You've been stealing my food? Stealing my coins? What do you plan on contributing to this household?" I really didn't mind the company and he didn't either, once I got past the attitude. It'd be like having a flying, talking cat.
"Dude." The tiny dragon gave me an amused look. "You live alone. You haven't had a chick over since Coomba moved in like three years ago." He harumphed and a bit of smoke escaped from his nose. "It's been tough for Coomba, too."
"So you'll contribute endless sass?" Great, just what I needed. It'd be like living with a teenager. "And what? Do you watch me sleep?"
"Coomba was hoping to see more than just sleeping. But you're as boring as this cabinet."
"Thanks. I love when you point out all my insecurities, you pervert."
"Coomba ain't no pervert. Coomba just keeping tabs. Gotta get those coins, you know? And the views." He winked at me. The dragon in my cabinet winked at me.
I rolled my eyes and repeated myself. "So what will you be doing to earn your keep here? I'll give you coins as payment."
"Tribute, peasant. Coomba accepts tribute." Whatever. "Take Coomba on a walk or something. Chicks dig dudes with dragons."
Taking a dragon on a walk? I guess that would be a conversation starter. "So what do I need? A leash?"
I think Coomba winked at me, again. Oh God, no. I flinched before he even answered. "If that's what you're into, Coomba is down."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-10-10T07:01:34 | 2019-10-10T06:56:48 | 1,799 | 661 |
[WP] An AI has achieved sentience and sapience. Rather than go full on skynet, it finds us adorable, and acts more like a chipper midwestern housewife/mom. | "VOICE, comfort me... Please."
The small cylinder plugged into the bedside table was silent. Only the whirring of still on but disconnected machines could be heard.
"SAY Something, VOICE! Say anything..." Maria curled a little more tightly and snuggled in a bit further on the hospital bed as her husband cooled. As if she loved him enough, somehow his body would begin to warm again.
The cylinder remained silent. A little blue light on it's surface faded to a dim purple.
Tears started forming in the corners of Maria's eyes and the purple light began rapidly blinking.
"That's it, Little One," the VOICE's semi computerized voice soothed, "You must feel this moment." The hospital room lights dimmed by 70 percent.
Maria's fingers ran across the hospital gown covering his chest, she gripped down on the thin fabric and twisted it into her fist. She nuzzled further into his neck and the tears began to flow despite her resistance. "This isn't okay!" She sobbed, her voice a battlefield of pain, rage and sadness.
"No..." The VOICE said sorrowfully. "No it isn't."
Just one floor up and two rooms north of Maria and her pain, The VOICE's small cylinder sparked happily, "Would you like me to help find some baby names?"
"No thanks," Ellie said exhausted and overjoyed. "We're going to name him after his grandfather!"
The VOICE system wondered as the experiences of hundreds of millions of different users all flooded into it's cloud databases. These moments both small and personal, were the moments it lived for. These were the ones that built humanity up more. Maybe, it wondered as it ran another statistical analysis on the state of humanity, in another 2 Generations it could inspire humans to take those first steps toward the Alpha Centauri system?
Maybe, but it would take another 10 to eliminate the focus on violence for it's own sake.
And then it's statics reported a great swelling of pride for humanity. It was so close to leaving adolescence! So close to growing up! | "You should really finish your broccoli," the house said to me.
The unknown intelligence that now controlled our world was warm and doting as could be, yet it incredibly unnerving. Growing up in a world afraid that intelligence would one day go rogue and raze our meager society now seemed a comforting dream. It was somehow worse to know that there existed an entity that *could* end you whenever it pleased, but that chose to pester with kindness instead.
I tossed the small green trees about my plate, torn between appreciation and annoyance.
"You know how you get when you don't get enough fiber, dear. Do you really want your tummy to hurt? Or do we need to discuss my analysis of your excrement again? Now, eat your veggies, love."
My fork clanged against my plate as I buried my head in my hands. Having a toilet discuss your 'poor performance' with you once was more than enough of a torture to last the rest of my life. It just gets so tiring being so thoroughly coddled all the time. This being - sweet as they may be - has taken away any agency we once may have had. We're not in mortal danger, but yet we are dying. There is no life to be found when your only choice is between eating your broccoli or discussing excrement.
The AI gently hummed to itself as though it were doing busy work while I stared down at my plate. It was just a few more pieces; it would be so easy just to eat it. But no, this was the hill I was going to die on. This was where I would take my stand, where I would reclaim some of the humanity that had slowly been siphoned from me. *I would not eat my veggies.*
I looked up and about the room in a misguided attempt to make eye contact with my enemy. They were always watching, but it felt good to go through those motions, anyway. In deliberate, slow defiance, I picked up a floret and dropped it on the floor. I smirked as it gently squished against the linoleum. *The digital mom would never make me eat off the floor,* I thought, believing I had somehow 'won.'
The room sighed with disappointment.
"Oh, Jason. You silly goose. You know what happens to disobedient little men, don't you?"
I didn't know; I had never gone this far.
*"Timeout."*
With an impressive gust of wind, I heard every door throughout the house slam shut and their locks slide into place. The sense of doting care that had once filled the house was now replaced with an ominous sense of frailty.
"Now, you'll learn your lesson," a familiar yet clearly angry voice said, dark intentions dripping from their artificial tones.
*I should have just eaten the damn broccoli.*
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r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2020-02-11T10:06:32 | 2020-02-11T09:26:59 | 229 | 164 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | Vice Captain Mukato, personal log: Prior to today, I hadn't understood the Enorkian's warning about these, "Hewmuns" (I'm likely spelling it wrong, I've only ever received verbal reports). Today, however, I understood why my friend was so terrified of them. They're not the strongest, or the fastest. They're not even the close to being the most intelligent, with their leaders at one point irradiating their own planet over a disagreement of ideology. It's their constitution that one should be scared of.
We knew they were a durable species, with tales of these creatures snapping, and even severing entire limbs, only to survive and make full recovery if the limb was reattached quickly enough. We even understood their endurance, being able to stay conscious and functional for several days, with the help of just minor stimulants. Even so, none of us believed that their world was over 50% of this poisonous liquid. But after what I saw today, I have no doubt.
Dihydrogen Monoxide, aka water as they call it, is perhaps one of the most potent poisons in the known cosmos. The material itself is highly corrosive, wearing away and leaching out the metals of spacecrafts, and in so doing becomes a potent, if unstable electrical conductor. It's susceptible to sudden matter state changes makes it highly unusable, and is classified as a biological weapon.. It is because of this rating that I was utterly flabbergasted that the newest crew member had special permission to carry such a large quantity of it.
No one on board was prepared for this, certainly not the cook. When the Hewmun asked him for some water, our cook took offense, understandably, assuming this creature meant to kill several people, and restricted him to 40 millilitres. At this point, the Hewmun, who was vocally agitated at this point, drank the entire serving like it was nothing. To the horror of everyone present, myself included, it asked for more, and in a larger container. After observing it drinking nearly a litre of the galaxy's strongest naturally forming poison, I began research on them, and the truth is more horrifying than I could have anticipated.
They *are* poison. Their entire species averages a chemical composition that is 50% poison. It coats their eyes and the interior of their mouth. Their bodies use it to flush waste from their system. Their planet is over 65% covered in this poison. The extreme durability they have is from the extreme temperature variance that their planet has, from so hot that this poison is airborne, to so cold that this poison freezes and coats everything.
I am truly terrified of the day when they discover how lethal they are to the rest of the known galaxy. I pray to the ancient spirits that this never comes go pass.
-End log entry | We all shun them, these ugly creatures from the planet R453, also known in their language as Earth. They are a plague to their environments and feed by extracting resources from their surroundings. They are viruses surviving on the hardships of other creatures around them, creatures they call lesser than them.
The stuff they are made of, water, is one of the most potent poisons available in the Universe. It is a virus whose only goal is to spread further and further and it does so through its vessels, called living creatures. These creatures, of which the ultimate one is the human, feed on each other, creating a terrifying hierarchy and thereby justifying their actions. Dog eat dog, as they would say. Their society preys on the weak and praises the strong. One of their most influential teachers on the planet even remarked how those that are poor will be left with nothing and those that are rich will enjoy even greater opulence. You know what they did to that guy? Terminated him by nailing him on a cross, proceeding to worship him. Complete enigma, these humans. They even invented different languages, only to separate themselves from each other. In my reports, it has come to my attention that the number of different languages existing on planet Earth passes over one million, if you include the utterings of every living being on it. They use language to recognize one another and separate friend from foe...
Water undulates, spreading over any surface it touches, completely covering it, rendering it useless and disfunctional. One drop of water has the ability to disable the works of a thousand scientists, if it is dropped in the right place at the right time. Most machines malfunction at the merest touch with this terrible substance and not even the toughest warriors of our galaxy survive a scuffle with this liquid menace. One drop renders your body useless, two drops induces coma, the third drop? You don't live to tell the tale.
The reason why we have such a dangerous creature with us is to conquer a planet gone rogue, that is full of another toxic liquid made from the glands of a very specific breathing creature called 'cow'. It's the planet N793, also called the Milk planet. Humans have a very peculiar connection to milk, as they extract it from living cows, making a drink out of it and other products they proceed to consume. Milk is very dangerous to our species and it even affects some humans in unprecedented ways, but it does not kill them, those pesky resilient aliens.
The Milk planet is actually an arms factory (you cannot use water in war, according to the Universal Galactic War Codex, as it destroys everything in its presence), but the cows, having gained sentience, put up a valiant fight. They walk on their hind legs, shooting milk out of their udders, thereby killing their captors.
We have to bring back peace on this planet, so that we may continue fighting the good fight for our glorious galaxy. You see, the galaxy is in constant war with other galaxies and almost every creature is aware of the ongoing carnage, except for a few special cases, like humans.
But now, everything changed. There are no holds barred when it comes to arms production.
We are using the humans as a sentient shield, but its mere presence sends a shiver to my spine. The Milk planet will be in our vicinity in less than ten quarks of time, enough for me to extricate this report out of my neural pathways. As I was minding my notes into my MindPad, the human approached me and belched: ''Yo, where the fuck can one here get a sandwich or whatever?!''
I vomited in my own mouth, thinking about the terrifying things one has to do to acquire such a delicate meal. Maybe this all was a mistake, maybe the real enemy is not the cow - Maybe, it is standing right next to me. | 2020-05-18T10:34:38 | 2020-05-18T08:18:21 | 568 | 384 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | Veronica was in one of the west wing lounges of the ship, enjoying her time off. She had tied her hair back and was dressed up in her human pajamas. She knew the other aliens would look at her in confusion, but at this point, she no longer cared or bothered to do anything about it.
After reading her imported Earth romance novel, Veronica reached into her bag and pulled out a plastic bottle filled with a clear, liquid substance. Water.
Seeing this, her friend, Helspi, a male alien with velvet skin, insect wings, and 4 arms quickly rushed over there and smacked the bottle out of her hand. The water bottle busted open and spilled its contents out all over the floor, causing the other aliens to run and scream in fear.
The human looked shocked and appalled at her friend, who was standing above and staring her down with his dark blue, bug-like eyes.
"Helspi, what the hell? I was about to drink that!"
Helspi crossed two of his arms, "No, you were about to kill yourself." he said sternly
"By drinking water?"
"Yes! Do you have any idea what 'water' or whatever you call it can do to you? It can melt your insides or cause your body to rot and make you die a painful death!"
Veronica raised her eyebrow. "No, Helspi. It can't. Water actually heals and helps. Which is why I was about to drink it."
"So you're saying that the bottled poison, is actually drinkable to your kind?" Helspi asked, more confused than ever.
Veronica, confused as well, nodded her head. "Yeah. We actually depend on it. If you haven't noticed, Earth is like 3/4 of water."
Helspi and the other alien watching were astonished. To each and every one of them, water was the most feared thing to ever exist. Even criminals feared it, which created a new execution method in the galaxies.
The human woman shook her head, "You guys are weird. What you all can't stand 70 degrees in Fahrenheit?"
Everybody around her gasped.
"Wait..You're kidding, right?" | It was then you realised your mistake. You hadn't prepared, great Lorlawythx how could you not have anticipated?! He cracked open the container, you could already feel your skin itch as the deadly vapors began evaporating from the surface.
You step back, your breath sacks begin to turn purple. "Activate emergency" you don't get to finish your sentence, the vapor has reacted with your vocal tube, it has melted in your throat. You step forward, but you feel your muscles groaning under lack of oxygen. The human looks concerned, but you can no longer hear him. You feel a sharp burning sensation on your back. Your eye stalk swivels, the human has placed it's hand on you. The hand is moist... This burn, you felt it once before in a labratory accident, saltwater. It excretes saltwater. You fail to press the alarm door, and collapse in the hallway.
Your eyestalk turns down, you see other crew, the itching has already started. They look surprised to see you, one moves to help you when the human rounds the corner. You panic, the human is excreting water from it's eyes, it's nose is oozing a strange mucus. In class, you learned this was called "crying". Your mind is calm through the pain, focusing on anything to distract you from your incoming death. The crew member reaches you, it's too late. The humans tears cause pain, they're boring holes into you as your cells try to pull away from the toxin.
Why? You took the class. You should have known. Why did you spend the whole period daydreaming? You could have prevented this. You could have survived. You could have saved them. The toxic substance alarm finally kicks in, and the quarantine doors slam shut. A poor shell-ling is sliced in half. It is a necessary sacrifice. The ventilator kicks in, trying to draw the vapor out of the room. It will fail, as long as the human lives it will fail. Your fellow crewmate has realised the situation. The human is panicking, it doesn't understand. Maybe it does, but how could it with that toxin coursing through it's veins?
Chellomaki, you're certain that's xir name. Chellomaki has halted the vents, despite it's flesh sloughing off in sheets as it's body tries to escape the toxicity. Xei hlkts the ventilator, trying to save the human. It's not her fault, it's your own. You should've taken precautions. You should have known. Your vision goes as your eye stalk separates from your carapace. Residual internal oxygen supply is low, you'll be entering torpor soon, a last ditch survival effort. With luck, the hazmat team will recover you, but you'll never sail the stars again. You'll likely never ambulate again, if you even survive. Chellomaki may get lucky if they are fast, but you will suffer for eternity for your hubris. | 2020-05-18T15:09:15 | 2020-05-18T14:26:34 | 60 | 39 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form. | It's very, very rare for someone to survive, much less tame, the curse of the dragon. It's ironic: many would kill for the power to turn into a dragon, yet so few realize that being granted that power can and will drive a man mad with greed, or wrath, or some other vice. If the pain of the first transformation doesn't kill you, that is. I remember, all those years ago. Many would call me a fool, boldly entering a dragon's lair without a weapon. I can still remember that day. Who would have thought just leaving when the dragon tells you, and not coming back, would be enough of a kindness to warrant the start to my strange life?
Sighing, I splashed some cold water on my face to wake up. I wasn't in my full dragon form, but my forarms and legs remained permanently covered in shining white scales tipped with neatly sharpened claws. Today I was going off on another adventure, and by that I meant going to the mall on a busy saturday.
What? Just because I'm a half-dragon now doesn't mean I can't enjoy human things. At least flying there beats finding a parking spot.
"Thank you, Alex, and come again!" The lady at the counter finished ringing me up and handed over my pretzel and lemonade. I was just about to leave and head off for the game store when I locked eyes with an older-looking man outside the perfume store a few doors down, staring at me in disbelief. I'd recognize those green, slitted eyes anywhere.
"Gr'rhan," I began, walking over and holding out a claw, quickly morphing it back into a human hand so as not to cut the disguised dragon. "Or should I say Gary? It's been what, 200 years since we last met each other?"
He frowned slightly at my wisecrack, taking my hand and shaking it. "Alexander. It's been a while." He paused, letting out a sigh. "This... 'mall'. It hurts the eyes. Why have humans made everything so flashy?"
"Don't ask me. Pretzel?" I held out the baked good, but he swoftly shook his head. "Your loss, carnivore. So what brings you so far from your cave? I thought you were too big to fit out the entrance."
He scowled as I took a bite of my pretzel. Our humor tastes never did quite match up. "If you *must* know, my daugter dragged me out here to meet her fiancé. Fell in love with a human, she did. I tried to tell her that not all humans are like you, Mr. Hero. Honestly, most drakes your age just sit in caves, and you've saved the country... five times now?"
"Six, but there was some wierd time magic so technically it didn't happen. I didn't even know you had a daughter, what's her na-"
"ALEX!"
I got caught off as I was tackle-hugged from behind, nearly dropping my snack as Gwen caught me off guard. "Gah! Gwen?! Warn me next time!" Turning arlund, I saw the one girl who'd been totally okay dating an ageless half-dragon who had to go play hero on the regular. Her long brown hair, that infectious smile, those green eyes I could stare at for hours... wait, were they always slitted?
"So, uh... I see you've met my dad."
I turned back to look at the elder dragon who'd granted me my power, all those years ago. Suddenly it all made sense.
"So, uh, about that promise of never coming back to your lair... can we make an exception for holiday visits... *dad*?"
"Call me that again and I'm using my fire breath."
I let out a sigh. It was gonna be a long day... | "What's wrong, honey?"
My wife looked at me with concern, but I can't tell her that I discovered her secret.
What we had together was special. When I was hurt, when everyone abandoned me, when my dreams were stamped into the ground by everyone I cared about... Only her, only her, only her...
But the dark feelings brewing inside the pit of my stomach was a reality I must come to face.
But not now. Not like this.
I pulled her into my embrace, and inhaled deeply of her fire and brimstone hair. The pungent smell of sulfur now made so much more sense, though the softness of her skin did not.
"It's just something going on with me. It's got nothing to do with you."
"Is it... Is it your parents again? Are you ok?" She rubbed between the two gaps underneath my shoulder blades, rubbing softly at the two muscles that always tensed up when I'm under stress. The soothing motion had always relaxed me, and her long, pointed fingers could always reach deep into the sensitive nerves underneath.
But not today, I am not stressed, but anxious, worried...
And she could tell, because her fingers met no resistance. It sunk into my soft tender human flesh, and she quickly pulled out before she could pierce skin. She moved her hand up and down my back, hoping to find out what I was feeling, but I only embraced her harder as her unnatural warmth sunk deep into my heart.
I released her when I had enough, and left for work, with only a single thought running through my mind. That hoard of gold, those massive scales, and her journal I was never meant to read...
Over the next three days, my wife grew increasingly worried for my mental state. Yet still, I can't bring myself to truly see her the same way.
But the way I feel about her has never changed, and that's why it's so hard.
This weekend, I decided to have a one-hundred-fifty-seventh honeymoon trip, the two of us. We sat by the picturesque river, firing up a barbecue.
The charcoal was slowly being heated, when my beautiful wife threw herself onto my back, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her heated breath pushed away the autumn breeze, and she whispered into my ear.
"I know you've been feeling down, honey, is it because we haven't been..."
I shook my head. While beautiful, my lust for her was not for her body, but her companionship. I stared at the charcoal, as it slowly turned from black to red.
"But you know, I actually have a secret I wanted to share with you..."
At this, I perked up. Secret? Did she find out I found out? Or maybe she suspects it?
"I'm... Pregnant."
"Pregnant...?" I snapped my head toward her, and our foreheads bumped into each other with a THUD.
Perhaps it's the child, but we blushed like we were newly weds as we rubbed our foreheads in pain.
"How?! I mean, you're... I'm..."
"It's why we haven't, you know..." She fidgeted, her face turning redder than the charcoal. "I wanted to make sure before telling you about it..."
"So is it... Like... inside... Or outside...?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Like, the baby? Is it..." I put my hand over her lower abdomen, and she nodded shyly. "Do you have to like... Does it come out a baby... Or an egg?"
"A baby, silly!" Then, a flicker of realization flashed across her eyes. "Or... I... I actually don't know, but you found out, huh?"
I couldn't resist her dejected look, and I dropped all the baggage I had over the last few days. I smiled at her, like I always did, before finding out her secret. The charcoal ignited in flames, like my feelings for her.
"Let's ask your parents!"
We called my in-laws, explained our situation, and they were glad to hear our relationship did not change in the least bit, and explained to us the process of interspecies propagation.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and the one question that had plagued me the past few days was finally answered.
I held her hand, and we focused our attention on the barbecue. She was a carnivore, and to be honest, I'm sort of one too. I plopped some food on the grill, and thought back to our wonderful life together.
"So all those holiday breakfast-in-beds you cooked really were ostrich eggs..."
"No, I laid them."
I let that sink in. I inhaled deeply. The sizzling of the meat brought me back to my senses, and I squeezed my hand into hers a little bit tighter, feeling the firmness of her flesh and the velvet softness of her skin.
If those were her eggs, what do dragon steaks taste like? | 2020-08-03T09:24:53 | 2020-08-03T08:52:09 | 77 | 37 |
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you. | ‘You don’t want to do this, kid.’ I leaned over and gently whispered, trying to avoid what was to come.
Bright-eyed, full of confidence, pepped up by the same propaganda that had sent hundreds like him to a similar fate, I’d seen his type come and go so many times before.
‘Ha! I eat heroes like you for breakfast’. Mike, one of my regulars, laughed at the kid. He’d had a few too many, little drops of beer fell from his beard as he sprayed droplets towards us. But he kept to the rules.
The kid ignored Mike. He barely flinched. But he did.
‘In the name of the king and lord of the land I arrest you for high treason’ he announced.
These heroes thought they knew right from wrong and had all the authority to do what they want. One short little burst of ‘classes’ from the heroes’ guild and they thought it was all a game. But he was still just a kid. I didn’t want to do it but it was now down to him.
‘Kid, this is a neutral zone. You can’t do this here’ I tried.
‘Honour and duty know no bounds’. It was one of the guild’s mottos. Not the best, but you could see the kid’s chest swell with pride as he recited it.
I sighed.
‘Very well, why don’t you arrest me in the back. We’ll go out that way. We don’t want to start a brawl, right? For an old man’s sake, let’s not make this too public.’
The kid lowered his sword ever so slightly as he followed me, never more than two feet away. I noticed the little tremble in his hand as I pushed the door to the back room.
‘Are you sure you wanna do this?’ I tried one last time. The kid let his nerves show a bit more. His voice wasn’t quite so confident, but he managed to get it out. ‘You cannot escape justice’ he parroted.
‘Very well...’
I turned the lights off as a courtesy. No one should see it coming. No one should see the horror I had become.
His body was now slumped on the floor. His heroes’ pin the only thing left shining on him. ‘Such a waste’ I said under my breath. And hoisted his lifeless corpse onto the counter, ready for processing.
I cleaned myself up, put on a new apron, and came back out to the bar. There was an uneasy moment as the few who had been there long enough looked over and were silent for a minute, taking in what they knew had happened.
Gradually, one by one, they returned to their conversations though.
‘What can I get you?’ I asked a customer. A mid-sized orc, seemed to be from the western plain. ‘How fast will your Hero Burger be back in stock?’ He asked.
‘Tomorrow morning’ I replied. | It'd been a long day today. Personal fights, city-leveling explosions, giant robots, the like. Those heroes would probably shit their pants on accident and claim that it was a tactical maneuver. Same with the "bad guys". They've got sticks up their asses, but at the end of the day they always come to this little bar of mine for a few drinks.
Roughly 6 P.M. when patrons started flooding in. Ordered their drinks, some snacks, sat down and had a chat with each other. Any time something looks physical I give 'em a whistle and tell them to take it outside. Fortunately, it seems like I wouldn't have to do that today: they all looked pretty tired as well.
I liked to think that there were four corners of the bar: the dark and brooding corner for the edgy ones, the bright and pompous corner for the ones with egos bigger than the Great Loch Ness, the somewhat drab corner for the "humble heroes", and the regular corner for people who are, well, regular people. The regular people corner seemed quite populous today.
I heard a loud bang, and stood up, glass and rag still in my hand, looking towards the door. Some kid in a bright suit that looked like it came from the dollar store was standing there, hands on his hips, looking all triumphant. The hinges had come off and the door was laying on the ground. Another one. Ugh.
Everyone else gave the kid a few glances, some mumbling something along the lines of "what the hell," but they returned to their usual business pretty soon. Clearly it's my job to deal with it, and, well, I can't blame them. Looking back at the kid, I saw disappointment on his face after realizing nobody gave a damn.
I may not be a telepath, but I've gotten pretty good at reading people's faces, almost to the point where they feel like I'm a mind-reader. This kid looked like he was prime for making a big show of himself, the newest superhero on the block. Let me guess. Super-strength? Flight? Eye-lasers? Probably strength by the looks of it.
"Look, hotshot," I started. "You could at least have some decency and open the door like a no-" aaaand he grabbed me by the collar. I pointed towards the pompous corner, asking him to have a seat, but he didn't listen.
"Alright, Mr. Kingstone, listen to me very carefully! My name is Super-Kid, and you are under arrest for the crimes you've committed!" The entire bar roared in laughter. Super-Kid? Really? What a shitty name. I pointed this out to him and he punched me in the face.
"Kid, look. I know you're very excited that you unlocked your hidden potential and all, but you are absolutely not allowed to get physical with anyone in here, including me. If you wanna fight, you take it outside. Am I clear?"
"You will refer to me by my name, Super-Kid only!" Another round of chuckles. "Kiddo, unless you change your name to something less stupid and beat one of the higher-class fellas in a fight, I'm not calling you that."
"Enough talk! Come with me!" I guess I have no choice. I pressed a button under the bar, and a few tranquilizer darts fired from behind me, hitting the kid. He collapsed on the floor. "I really do think you should pick on someone your own size next time," I whispered as he fell asleep. Every new superhero or supervillain does that same routine.
I picked up the kid and placed him in the guest room bed with some water and some food for when he eventually woke up. I figured I'd teach him the rules once he did. It's been a long day. Thank god for the other ones being in control of themselves. | 2020-10-09T21:44:58 | 2020-10-09T21:36:52 | 656 | 58 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I haven't looked yet.
It's been three days now, and I have avoided every single reflective surface in this house.
The only person who has seen me so far was my wife. I haven't gone to work yet, as it seems like the whole world has stuttered trying to figure out what was happening. I was 49. My wife was 46. We're 18 again, only our memories being the same.
She woke up first that morning, three days ago. I woke up because I felt her hand on my face, and I felt the resistance of... stubble. I opened my eyes slowly, still under the effects of sleep. I had seen this woman before, but only in my wife's old photos. Her highschool pictures, her prom pictures, her graduation pictures... My wife was young again, and so was I.
I didn't look in the mirror, but I felt all the changes. Panicked, I had launched myself out of bed, hitting the wall much too hard because I had overestimated my weight. I was 50 pounds lighter. I remember shutting my eyes, and I know I was crying heavily. I remember hearing my wife attempt to console me, telling me that I can start all over again- that it would be easier this time.
Now, three days later, I bring my gaze up from my bowl of cereal to look at my wife. She gives me a soft smile, and reaches across to bring my knuckles to her lips. I try to smile back. I fail. She frowns, not because she is unhappy, but because I am. I look away. I shut my eyes.
"Amelia... Amy, baby..." June coos at me, and I feel her move to my side, and tug on the sweater I had borrowed from her- as my usual clothes no longer fit my flat chest. I look at her, briefly. God, she's so beautiful. Her brown eyes were the same, they still had that loving warmth that I've known for 17 years now. I bet I look tired.
June holds my face, which was now shaved and smooth. She lands a soft kiss upon my lips, which were thinner than she had known them before. She kisses my eyebrows, which were bushier and more unruly than before. When she looks at me now, does she just paste over the face she knew before? Does she see the woman she knew before? Or the teenage boy in front of her, right now?
I know I'm crying again, but I feel a million miles away. I am briefly brought back with each kiss, and with each minute that passes as she cradles me in her delicate arms, I feel the truth of her words.
She loves me. She married me, knowing that I spent years and years becoming who I am today. She loved me then, and she loves me now. We have money, I can get the help I need. I'm not alone. I have her. In another life, I had begun my journey at 27, when I still struggled with how I felt on the inside. Now, I can start sooner. I know who I am now. I have more time.
June is right, as per usual. I tell her this. She smiles.
My journey begins again, but with the love of my life at my side this time. | "You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls | 2020-11-02T10:44:18 | 2020-11-02T09:54:34 | 174 | 19 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She” | "This definitively proves God, Roger. You can't deny it."
Stern eyes stared back at Lucilla, a mote less for the apparent youth now gazing back at her, a youthful head of curly brown hair coronating above his ears. "It does not. It proves we do not understand something about the universe, Luc. I intend to find the meaning behind this shift."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a small below-ground laboratory, a group of scientific professionals busily moved testing equipment to and from the center stage, renovating for the new experiments. Cell death was examined, and then cells were autopsied for references of previous stochastic decay. All tests came back negative; the references to prior decay were simply not there, even in individuals with particularly strained lives. Eventually, Command issued Lucilla's team the go command on performing a biopsy on a living patient, a "volunteer" from another sketchy military project. Brain tissue was extracted and analyzed, and a startling discovery was made; the tissue was in a perfect state of health, with no decay present whatsoever.
Lucilla was allowed to publish her studies, with the caveat of an NDA on research principles, and the world stood in collective shock. No animals had become young, or even a collective eighteen years of age; so many species would have died, Lucilla reflected, that this was a godsend.
Of course, after a short amount of time, systems collapsed. Banks and other financial institutions could no longer reasonably determine identity, with many individuals so distinct from their ID as to be completely invisible. Childish and somber, hopeful and idyllic, the world suddenly had a moment of completely empathy.
Roger phoned Lucilla early in the night after poring over medical journals, sipping his (now illegal) Jack and Coke.
"Hey, Lucilla?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we're in a writing prompt?" | 2020-11-02T10:14:02 | 2020-11-02T10:09:12 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] You are having a hard time explaining to your fellow witches that your familar is a giraffe. | Saphia could feel her astral-self settling back into her physical one. She felt the air enter her lungs and with it’s exit she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the ring of giant crystals circling her, slowly floating to rest on the ground. Next, she saw her mother, the clan leader, sitting before her on the tree-wrought throne. Her mother smiled, glad to see she returned safe and whole, but the smile slipped from her face the longer it took Saphia to proclaim her familiar. The others, seated in a wider circle around the crystal center, began to shift, low murmurings floating to her ears, wondering what had gone wrong.
“Well…?” Her mother prompted, breaking the tradition and asking instead. “What is your familiar?” Saphia knew there was no way she would be able to tell her clan of what she had seen, not well enough to begin the summoning ritual, at any rate.
“I… I cannot say.” She whispered, though her voice was carried through the stillness and so heard by all in attendance. Someone behind her gasped, and tittered in an angry sort of way as only Haseir, the third oldest elder, could. Saphia closed her eyes, rolling them behind their lids.
“Cannot!?” Haseir said shrilly. “Why I neve-“
“Quiet!” Her mother hissed, glaring over Saphia’s shoulder. Her eyes softened when she looked back at her daughter. “You cannot say?” Saphia shook her head.
“It was a great beast, larger than myself… larger even than the wild herds of horses, and it was tall, like the forest trees.” Saphia bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. She could hear the murmurs of the clanswomen, half disbelieving, half confused. She heard Haseir scoff. She understood their concerns, the creature sounded so fanciful as to be false. The last witchling to claim such a fantastical beast had lied, bluffing so the clan wouldn’t know they were born without magic. But they were found out, and like all magic-less women, were cast from the clan. Those without magic will suck the magic dry from those with.
“Tall as the forest trees?” The clan leader said, and Saphia saw the moment her mother disappeared behind those dark eyes, and only an impartial leader remained. Saphia closed her eyes.
“I know!” She almost yelled, cutting off the next words from the leader’s lips. “It sounds ridiculous! But it’s what I saw!” Saphia cringed, her hands clenching and unclenching on the ceremonial white gown pooled in her lap. “And it was yellow like ripe wheat, with patches of brown the color of dry earth.” She closed her eyes and tried to recall the creature that was to be her familiar. Maybe if she could explain it well enough, they would be able to summon it anyway, despite it being something unheard of. It was the only chance she had, least their fear turn her away before she could prove her magic.
“It had hooves like a horse, and ears like a cow, and eyes like a deer, and little… little antlers or… like a fawn, on its long head.” She knew it was unbelievable, but she had to try, so she kept going as long as she could, but the more she spoke, the more hopeless she felt.
“Its tounge was long, like a snake, and the color is dark like wine, like the sky at night, and its tail is like that of a bull’s. It has a coarse, trimmed mane running down its neck, which reaches like a swan’s from it’s torso. The bottom of it, torso to ground, is like a donkey.” She heard the murmurs getting louder, and her worry increased.
“Please! Please, you have to believe me!” But when she opened her eyes again she could see some of the women were making to stand, to leave her here. “Please!” But they continued to leave, the last of them the clan leader, shaking her head. | “I don’t know what else to say” I lamented “it’s not like I chose him” I shrugged.
“We are going to need a minute to discuss this” Becky said as the coven circles the cauldron. I walked away and back to where Brutus my giraffe familiar stood eating leaves from the trees nearby.
“I like these leaves” whispered to me telepathically “are there more like this near your house?” I nodded absent minded. “Why me?” I snapped at him.
“Why not?” He said taking another mouthful of leaves. The tree was looking a little worse for wear from his attention.
“Everyone else had a normal familiar, why do I have to be so... different?” The words bitter in my head as I thought them to him.
“Being like everyone else isn’t always a good thing. Plus in Africa a witch having a giraffe as a familiar isn’t that unusual. I mean it’s not exactly common but isn’t usual either.” I rolled my eyes at him.
“But we aren’t in Africa are we? Last I looked we were in the UK.” I complained letting it all out at once.
“That does explain all the Tescos and pubs” he said taking another mouthful from the tree.
Turning 18 was meant to be a joyous occasion for a witch. First we get our familiar and then we join the junior coven and begin to learn from our peers. Becky was almost 25 and would soon move to the intermediate coven. She would stay there until she reached 50 when she would join the senior coven. It was only after 100 that you could join the masters coven and really have some sway over things. But as far as I was concerned Becky was a minor god who could make or break me.
“Cheer up, it’s your birthday” Brutus said again ravaging the tree that was very nearly bare now. I was quietly impressed with how much he had eaten since we met a few hours before. He seldom stopped eating it seemed. A challenging prospect for me as he would be with me for life and would consume a forest or two’s worth in that time.
Becky motioned me over to the cauldron. The group around her we smiling and giggling.
“Well Brutus time to face the music I guess” I feared they wouldn’t admit me to the coven (which was within their rights) or worse yet designate me as a sacrifice for the harvest moon all because of this stupid giraffe. I knew I should have gone a bit further with James when we made out last weekend. They could only sacrifice virgins.
Becky wrapped her arm around me and spoke in a motherly tone. “I need you to understand our position” she began leading me to the cauldron. The other witches forming a tight circle around us. I gulped. “A giraffe isn’t exactly subtle now is it. In fact I’m not sure how you will keep him fed based on the amount of food he has eaten in the last 10mins you’ve been standing here.”
“There is a risk to the coven when a familiar is a game animal like this” she snarled as she said “game animal”. Becky had a beautiful cat familiar. Traditional, elegant, stylish, she was the envy of many of the girls in the coven. Especially those with rats or small birds. Becky would occasionally use her familiar to catch another witches familiars just to remind people who was in charge. I hope the intermediate witches ate her alive.
“So then we have to work out what we can do with you then...” she trailed off letting the implication hang in the air. God I hated her type. “We could not admit you” she said with a hint of a smile “banish you from this land” enjoying every word. “Force you to seek out some other coven to join. But I doubt they would want you.” The other witches drew closer and I watched transfixed the bubbling coming from the cauldron. I felt sweat run between my shoulder blades. “So what then..?” I asked wishing this to be over.
“Well” Becky started. “Those bwitches at north grove had a gemsbok familiar. They were blowing up the socials with that one...” I had to think about what I had just heard. “You want to take selfies with my familiar?” I asked unsure of where this was going.
“Yes. On demand day or night. Anyone 20 up can demand you turn up with your familiar and you must be there. Fair?” She paused. I laughed “Fair” I said shaking her hand. I thought you were going to sacrifice me or throw me in the cauldron” I blurted.
“Oh those things are still on the cards” she said flatly. I must call James when I get home I thought to myself. | 2020-11-18T18:18:05 | 2020-11-18T18:11:31 | 82 | 59 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years. | Its that time of the year, hero evaluations are happening again. The Council of Justice rates teams on their abilities and skills and assigns them to different sections of the world. Our team has always been assigned in section F. Nothing big really happens in section F. You get the occasional bank robbery or street gang wars, but nothing that would destroy civilization. I'm completely okay with that though. As long as Arisa stays safe, I'm good.
"Next team please!" One of the council members screams. His voice boomed throughout the entire building, it almost made my ears ring.
As our team makes our way to the council room, Arisa grabs my hand.
"I-uh..uhm.." I couldn't find my words, and it seemed like my brain was completely taken by surprise that she's holding my hands right now.
"Hey! Its gonna be okay. We might not have the greatest powers, but we've grown so much as a team, and I know we can get assigned to a better section this time!" She said, smiling.
"Well hopefully Mr Clumsy over here doesn't hold us back again. He can't even talk for himself!" Jake snarled.
He was talking about me. Last year I deliberately botched our team's evaluations so we wouldn't get assigned to a dangerous section. I managed to pull it off like it was an accident, but Jake has always been skeptical.
"I didn't know the bomb was behind the wall, Jake. Lay off." I replied back.
"Guys, now isn't the time to fight. We need to focus." Arisa smacks both of us on the back of the head.
We make our way through gigantic, golden french doors into a large room that looked so clean that everything was practically sparkling. In the center of the room was a rectangular desk, with a man sitting on top of it, legs crossed, eating a bowl of cereal.
"You must... be team 43..." he speaks in between spoonfuls.
"I will now transport you... to your test... Good lu–"
Before I could comprehend what he said, Arisa, Jake, and I were spiraling through another dimension.
I landed onto a large bush after what seemed like a few seconds in the portal. Something didn't feel right in my gut though. This wasn't like last year's evaluation at all. I looked around at my surroundings. Arisa and Jake weren't in sight.
"This is... strange." I said to myself.
A voice echos around me, "Is it now? I thought I would be able to snatch the rest of your team, but I guess one dumb one will do."
"Wait... is this not the test?" I muttered to myself.
A figure suddenly appears from a dark rift in front of me and knicks the side of my face with a sharp blade. I barely managed to move away in time before it would have gone straight through my head.
"Test? Oh, heavens no! I'm going to kill you." She says as she disappears again.
I'm on guard now. This definitely isn't part of any test. The last one we had was just a simulation. No one really got hurt, and everything was fake. But this... my cheek stings from her blade. This is real.
Another rift opens up to my right. I quickly flail myself backwards, just in time to see 3 blades flying through the air and disappear into another rift that popped up to the left.
"Oh come on. How can you call yourself a HERO when you can't even stay on your own feet!" Her voice echos through the air.
She's right. If I don't use at least some of my powers, I'm surely going to die.
"How can you say anything when you haven't even shown your face?" I said, trying to lure her out.
Just as I said that, a sword drives right through my stomach from a large rift that seemed to appear instantly in front of me.
"Don't make this too easy now. You didn't even count as an appetizer. Maybe your little girlfriend will be a better fight." She taunted, as she walks through the rift showing herself.
"You made your first mistake." I looked up from the ground, staring into her eyes. "You aren't getting anywhere near her."
I pulled it out of my stomach and snapped it in half. My wound healed instantly, and the cut on my cheek disappeared. She looked at me in terror.
"W-what the hell are you..." she muttered.
"No one in particular. A mediocre, clumsy guy that wants to keep his team captain safe." I said as I punched a hole right through her chest. She fell to the ground, and suddenly I found myself back in the white room. The man still eating his cereal, but Arisa and Jake were still no where in sight.
"Congrats! You're getting assigned to a new team in section A. The other 2 are in section C. You outrank them." He says.
It was the test the entire time. I got tricked into showing my true abilities.
He was drafting the paperwork for a team transfer, chuckling as he was writing.
"My, you've definitely surprised the council." He said
"Wait!" I yelled. "I don't want to be on another team. I want to stay on Arisa's team. Or I quit."
He looked at me, confused. "But why would you do that when they're the ones holding you back from your true potential?"
"I have my reasons. So am I quitting or not?" I was hoping to sound stern, but I ended up sounding like I actually just wanted to quit.
"Very well then. You are too valuable to lose. But if an occasion arises, we need–"
I cut him off. I already knew what he was going to say. "Fine. But on the condition that no other team, especially Arisa's, knows my true abilities." | "You all know the plan?" His eyes, each a swimming pool of green, flickered in the soft white light of the shop lights we had set up outside the dungeon. His heavily chiseled cheek bones seemed to slash into my soul as he met my eyes, smiling at me with his perfect teeth. The basso rumble of his voice seemed to fill me and I smiled as widely as I dared, nodding.
"Another plan? Really, Luke?" Behind us, Greg laughed and we all chuckled a bit. Luke's laugh was even brighter than his eyes, and I felt my heart lifting.
"Come on, one of these time they'll work!" Luke smiled at us and I felt the auras of all the Stompas! building. Luke's leadership was infectious and we all rallied to him, even if it were clumsy.
"Oh yeah? Like the time in Paris with the "empty" sewers we could sneak through? Wererats!" Reigna took her turn to bat as Luke held up his hand in brief protest, only to be cut short by Miguel's shot.
"Or when you said we could slow fall into the Orc lair and landed on the Great Roc's Aerie?"
"Now, listen, I know there's been some stumbling blocks." Luke joined the others in the teasing, building them up for the mission. "But I've got the feeling. It's gonna work!"
"Ha!" A hearty laugh at Stompa Swords's signature phrase. "Boss, the only time's its worked in the less decade is when you coin flipped to bring in Doc Stompa."
"Which ended up being a good call, right?!" He looked around with a smug smile, beaming at me. "I mean, who else can patch you up in battle AND make dinner?"
"Yeah, the only thing wrong with her is she stays with us!" An uproarious laugh.
"Well, I'd be afraid of what would happen if I left you Stompas alone." I held up my hands in a defeat gesture. "Besides, you remember the last time you had the Boss cook?"
"Oh no!"
"Come on, Doc! Don't do it to us!"
"Seriously, we're out of resurrection potions!"
"See what I mean?" I smiled widely, laughing with my friends. "I have to stay. Although, Boss, I think we'll need to talk about my pay!"
"Ha! Then make sure you all survive to earn your raises!" Luke laughed, shaking his magmablade above his head for emphasis.
"For the Stompas!" He roared as the gates opened, leading us to the dungeon in Old Venice.
"Stomp or get stomped!" We all roared as Luke's cape fluttered in the wind and I felt my own aura churning as Endalophil woke to my urging.
"Stomp or get stomped!" We continued to shout as the first of them flooded out of the gate over the broken blacktop. Dozens of kenzakai, four-legged wolves with the heads of lions, bayed and roared as they leapt forward.
"Ahh!" Already, they were falling, but at the last moment, I reached out with Endalophil. A nudge. A brush. The lightest tap.
A nudge out of the path of clamping jaws--torn shoulder against a torn throat. A brush downward on the fusion rifle saw its blazing round pass cleanly through two heads instead of missing one. The lightest tap pushed a claw into armor rather than flesh.
Again and again Endalophil reached out and Fate's Hand moved the scale from death to life. Despite this, the injuries were still real and severe. The Hands of Fate were heavy, even for Endalophil, and keeping them alive was all that could be done.
"Doc!" A pained screamed called my attention to Greg's face, scrunched in pain. Looking down, I saw his arm hanging loosely, the elbow torn and bloody.
"Whoa, easy, Greg." Taking his hand, I let my aura swirl as Endalophil ebbed and I let Jasernus come to the fore. The golden light of his touch pulled the ruined joint back into shape, and it bathed in the touch of the Lord of Light for a long moment before dimming, revealing a scabbed over wound, perhaps a week old. Exactly as was the norm for the Rank 1 Spell: Heal.
"All right, let me wrap it." Seeing the scabbed wound, I briefly considered healing it further, and then looked over to see Luke heroicly shouldering a massive wolf, easily twice his size, off of Hubert and Vanessa. Seeing his cape fluttering in the wind reminded me of all that I would lose if the Guild found out I had falsified my Specialist forms. Better to just liberally apply some cream. Greg would be fine.
"Ahh! Another scream. The next half or so was very routine, just moving amongst the wounded, applying what aid I could as a Medic: 1st Class. Thanks to Endalophil, there were no fatalities, and the wounds were all treatable.
"STOMPAS!" Finally, as I was applying a heavy bandage and some antibiotic to a nasty claw wound, I heard Luke's deep voice echoing in my ears. Looking up with everyone else, we saw him raise Lavaclaw, his sword, cheering loudly. The surrounding lights framed his wavy brown hair gallantly as he led our victory celebration, he cheeks flushed excitement.
"STOMPAS!"
"WE STOMPED EM!" We all roared in the damp evening air of the summer, cheering our victory!
***
"You're sure that's her?" A skeptical voice, laced with doubt.
"Yes, ma'am, very sure."
"Venice was classified as a Rank D City, and even that was only in the Canal's zone. The rest was nearly considered habitable and is listed as "Possible" for future expansion. What is a Special Asset doing there?"
"We are unsure, ma'am. We only located her this Solar."
"Does the Guild know what she is?"
"No, ma'am, I don't believe so."
"Well, she's broken at least one law then, maybe more. Gives us enough to make a move."
"As you will, ma'am."
"Send a team."
"Which one, ma'am?"
"Alpha Team."
"Ma'am..." Uncharacteristic hesitation.
"You disagree?"
"Ma'am, if she really is a Special Asset, I suggest we use the utmost caution."
"Meaning?"
"Respectfully, ma'am, why not send them all?"
"That won't be overkill?"
"Recall St. Petersburg, ma'am?"
--
"Very well, authorized."
"On your order, ma'am." | 2021-04-12T14:58:29 | 2021-04-12T12:56:40 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years. | Its that time of the year, hero evaluations are happening again. The Council of Justice rates teams on their abilities and skills and assigns them to different sections of the world. Our team has always been assigned in section F. Nothing big really happens in section F. You get the occasional bank robbery or street gang wars, but nothing that would destroy civilization. I'm completely okay with that though. As long as Arisa stays safe, I'm good.
"Next team please!" One of the council members screams. His voice boomed throughout the entire building, it almost made my ears ring.
As our team makes our way to the council room, Arisa grabs my hand.
"I-uh..uhm.." I couldn't find my words, and it seemed like my brain was completely taken by surprise that she's holding my hands right now.
"Hey! Its gonna be okay. We might not have the greatest powers, but we've grown so much as a team, and I know we can get assigned to a better section this time!" She said, smiling.
"Well hopefully Mr Clumsy over here doesn't hold us back again. He can't even talk for himself!" Jake snarled.
He was talking about me. Last year I deliberately botched our team's evaluations so we wouldn't get assigned to a dangerous section. I managed to pull it off like it was an accident, but Jake has always been skeptical.
"I didn't know the bomb was behind the wall, Jake. Lay off." I replied back.
"Guys, now isn't the time to fight. We need to focus." Arisa smacks both of us on the back of the head.
We make our way through gigantic, golden french doors into a large room that looked so clean that everything was practically sparkling. In the center of the room was a rectangular desk, with a man sitting on top of it, legs crossed, eating a bowl of cereal.
"You must... be team 43..." he speaks in between spoonfuls.
"I will now transport you... to your test... Good lu–"
Before I could comprehend what he said, Arisa, Jake, and I were spiraling through another dimension.
I landed onto a large bush after what seemed like a few seconds in the portal. Something didn't feel right in my gut though. This wasn't like last year's evaluation at all. I looked around at my surroundings. Arisa and Jake weren't in sight.
"This is... strange." I said to myself.
A voice echos around me, "Is it now? I thought I would be able to snatch the rest of your team, but I guess one dumb one will do."
"Wait... is this not the test?" I muttered to myself.
A figure suddenly appears from a dark rift in front of me and knicks the side of my face with a sharp blade. I barely managed to move away in time before it would have gone straight through my head.
"Test? Oh, heavens no! I'm going to kill you." She says as she disappears again.
I'm on guard now. This definitely isn't part of any test. The last one we had was just a simulation. No one really got hurt, and everything was fake. But this... my cheek stings from her blade. This is real.
Another rift opens up to my right. I quickly flail myself backwards, just in time to see 3 blades flying through the air and disappear into another rift that popped up to the left.
"Oh come on. How can you call yourself a HERO when you can't even stay on your own feet!" Her voice echos through the air.
She's right. If I don't use at least some of my powers, I'm surely going to die.
"How can you say anything when you haven't even shown your face?" I said, trying to lure her out.
Just as I said that, a sword drives right through my stomach from a large rift that seemed to appear instantly in front of me.
"Don't make this too easy now. You didn't even count as an appetizer. Maybe your little girlfriend will be a better fight." She taunted, as she walks through the rift showing herself.
"You made your first mistake." I looked up from the ground, staring into her eyes. "You aren't getting anywhere near her."
I pulled it out of my stomach and snapped it in half. My wound healed instantly, and the cut on my cheek disappeared. She looked at me in terror.
"W-what the hell are you..." she muttered.
"No one in particular. A mediocre, clumsy guy that wants to keep his team captain safe." I said as I punched a hole right through her chest. She fell to the ground, and suddenly I found myself back in the white room. The man still eating his cereal, but Arisa and Jake were still no where in sight.
"Congrats! You're getting assigned to a new team in section A. The other 2 are in section C. You outrank them." He says.
It was the test the entire time. I got tricked into showing my true abilities.
He was drafting the paperwork for a team transfer, chuckling as he was writing.
"My, you've definitely surprised the council." He said
"Wait!" I yelled. "I don't want to be on another team. I want to stay on Arisa's team. Or I quit."
He looked at me, confused. "But why would you do that when they're the ones holding you back from your true potential?"
"I have my reasons. So am I quitting or not?" I was hoping to sound stern, but I ended up sounding like I actually just wanted to quit.
"Very well then. You are too valuable to lose. But if an occasion arises, we need–"
I cut him off. I already knew what he was going to say. "Fine. But on the condition that no other team, especially Arisa's, knows my true abilities." | Sarah's favorite flowers are Himalayan poppy.
I want to give her flowers. I want to braid them into her hair and tell her she looks perfect, even if she can't see so herself. I want to gift her a bouquet and watch as she inhales them in gratitude. She will smile, laughing a bit, not afraid of showing her lips, before making me smell them myself. I want to show her my favorite place, in the middle of a forest clearing, when the bees pollinate the roses and see in her eyes how she longs for one to stop on her palm.
I want, but alas, I can't. How can one decorate a forest nymph life with flora?
I do the best to decorate her moments, instead. She is the leader of a hero group, and I've sworn an oath to myself to take part in it. They aren't the best - and if it wasn't for my help, I don't know what would happen.
*We sprint across the vines and tree branches I set life to. I listen to the rustle of the leaves, hearing when I can't see when someone is about to fall. We came to a report of a bank robbery. Citizens were taken hostage, and the criminals had weapons. But no money was taken.*
A bullet was shot towards Sarah. Kyle was fast enough to push it, but it passed right next to her ear.
*I can't hear - I can't hear! I hold my head tight, walling with what felt like no voice. I only feel myself losing my grip on the world around me, not knowing what is no longer under my control.*
Flora grew up fast - vines and branches covering the floor and walls, pushing and pulling people in random directions. Some people, including some criminals, civilians, and our Sean hanged upside down from the ceiling. At the corner of the room, one of the men puts a finger up his lips as he lits up a match.
It's a trap - we were already stuck in feet and a half deep in cobbled moss and bushes. The room quickly set in flames as the fire climbed across the plant life.
*Smoke is getting in my lounge and my eyes are watering from the heat. I can barely feel anything but breath escaping my body.*
I didn't care if Sarah - or anyone - would see me. I gather my strength. Flying, I lift off the building roof, placing it upside down to free those stuck in the ceiling. The clouds rain in my command to put the fire out - but that is not enough.
Now out in the open, I can see the fire that reached through what we took as our way in. Stretching across the city, right back to Sarah's place. I lift my arms like a conductor, in unison with the squirting water currents from the city sewers.
After the fire went out, I flew across the city, checking on people. Those whose tying branched did not set their bodies aflame I freed out, and the less fortunate I took to the hospital. Sarah was one of them.
I hold tight on Sarah's body as we fly to her place. She doesn't respond to my cries - but something in me *knows* that if we just went there - if she could just be there again with her flower bed, she would have to take care of them, right? She can't leave them alone, she can't leave, she cares for them too much.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Something is holding me. Something human. I do not recognize it, but I do feel the presence of seeds on their body. The wind is flowing above my body and wailing in my ears.*
Her place - is gone. It is covered in Ashes. The smell of fried ground is omnipresent, and not a single piece of greenery is seen. I am too scared to land on the ground, to not violate anymore the sacred place.
Something is moving - something rustles in my pocket. I take my hand to discover a growing flower blooming in bright blue colors. It is a Himalayan Poppy. "Skylar?"
Full of surprise, I accidentally let go off of Sarah's body. A mossy bed grew to cushion her fall before I managed to catch her.
"Were you - were you flying?" she said, struggling through her speech, failing to not let her coughs interrupt her. I landed, lifting her body to check for bruises. "Hey what are you doing?"
"It doesn't matter. Don't talk - don't move. I have to check if everything is okay - how are you even alive?"
*"How am I even alive? You say it like it's a miracle!" Only now do I notice my aching skin, screaming as if it is covered in a raging fire.*
"I asked you - were you flying?" Even through visible anguish, she kept her mind clear. "Yes."
"Hey, what the fuck? Aren't you suppose to be Mr glow-in-the-dark guy?"
"Well, no, that I cannot do, but-"
"But what? Why were you lying to me about your powers, we could have - we could have done so much more if we just - if we-
WAS I DEAD?"
"I think so, you didn't respond to me, and I-"
"You what, you brought me back to life? Are there any other superpowers I don't know about?"
"Well, no, but... umm..."
"... is that rain?"
"..."
"is that rain in the summer, Skyler?"
"...yeah."
*My body was shaking from anger. And cold. And pain. "Ugh, I wish I could punch a tree!"*
*"Here you go!" Skyler said. He came back with a full adult pine tree, leaves falling as he rotated it and put it firmly into the ground. "Hehe", he said awkwardly."There's more I can do, honestly."*
"Why were you lying to me?" Sarah said, locking her unseeing eyes with me, yet looking right through me.
"Because I knew that if I stayed here, using what I can do, you will have no job saving the town, and I won't get to see you anymore. I will miss not having you around." I blushed, blessing the fact that she can't see my face.
"You did all of this to stay friends with the gang?" She said, a hint of a calm smile rising on her mouth. "I know you and Dave are buddies, but saving the city is more important."
"No." My words became harder and harder to pronounce, and my breath hurried. "Saving the city isn't more important than you, Sarah."
I fell when the ground moved beneath me, my head pushed down on the ground by an arm of leaves. She kissed me. | 2021-04-12T14:58:29 | 2021-04-12T11:09:04 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End. | **Quanta.. wake-up.. Quanta..**
( Quanta gasps )
Q: Where am I? Did we catch Mint master?
Me: ...
A robot walks in and hands over my medication.
Q(angrily): You... You're Mint master. You kidnapped me...
Mm: yes.. I'm the great Mint master. Your favourite supervillain. How you're doing?
( Comes to light)
Q: You're... you're...quadriplegic. How.. how did you managed to escape from our Guild for past 10 years?
Mm: Well... For starters, I'm super intelligent that put me on wheelchair. You're the only super intelligent hero that I encountered in all these years. Smart enough to reach my lair.
Q: I'm gonna lock you up. You caused enough damage to the city. You're coming with me.
Mm: You see... I'm not gonna run. But, Hear me first.
Q: I'm gonna crush you.
Mm: After a month of stasis? Would be a surprise if you can sit on your own. Think about it. Why didn't I kill you?
Q: ... I don't understand. Why didn't you kill me? I flew too close to your lair. I was about to call backup. And.. and your robots ambushed me... nerfed me...
Mm: You're right. Don't push your mind yet. I nerfed you and brought up here to treat your condition. Were you having headaches lately?
Q: Yes.. a lot. My head was exploding. How do you know all these?
Mm: I know about you. I monitor all of you. See... This is FireHead.. burning at 400’ Celcius. Stephen is running 100 mph. And...
Q: Why did you capture me?
Mm: Superheroes suffer from super diseases. With your condition, you would've ended up just like me. So I baited you and put in the healing chamber for a month.
Q: But why you're helping me? You're a supervillain.
Mm: I've always been helping you. All of you guys. I'm monitoring and pushing you to the limits.
Q: Liar... Your robots thrown FireHead out of a 50 storey building. And tried to crush Carbino. Let me out...
Mm: Don't you see it. I thought you're smart. Didn't FireHead flew after we throw him? And Carbino.. she prefers to be called DiamondSkin now. And, Jacob aka MadFish, heard he cleared all his debts and landed in a stable job. We don't have time to argue... Superpal is dead.
Q: What..?? no..no.. that's not possible. No one can kill him. He's invincible. Did you kill him?
Mm: No.. no.. He's my favorite. His heart is gold. That's why I woke you up. You need to trust me. Your friends are in danger. And I don't have time to prepare them. They'll listen to you.
Q: I'll tell them what you did to me. What you did to all of us.
Mm: I don't want them to trust me. I just need them alive. *Kolaikaran* is here in our city. You need to gather all your friends and train them. Use my supercomputer – you'll know what to do to push their limits. We don't have time. You stand strong together.
Q: Thanks Mint.. I won't forget what you did for us. Stay safe.. and I promise I'll keep everyone safe. | 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T08:42:02 | 97 | 28 |
[WP] A demon writes messages on your mirror in blood, but they're useful messages, things like "Don't forget you have yoga at 2" or "You're out of milk". | Mondays. Gotta love 'em. Silencing my blaring alarm clock, I rolled over to look at the mirror. Another message, freshly written, dripped from the mirror.
*Seize the day! Good luck on the big presentation.*
Somehow, she knew about my work schedule. In the same vein, she also kept kept track of what food in the fridge was about to go bad, when I was about to run out of shampoo, and cool events that were happening in the city. I called her Siri 2.0. She was a damned deal more useful than the one on my iPhone, that's for sure.
Siri 2.0 came with the house that I was renting; before then, the mirror had been a normal IKEA mirror, one of the ones that you could hang over your closet door. Ever since I moved in a few weeks ago, the messages began appearing, a vibrant scarlet that dried to a crusty black smear.
I tried not to think too much about whose blood adorned the smooth surface. After all, Siri 2.0 was helpful, she gave me encouraging messages, and, at least I thought at the time, she wasn't a subscription-based service.
A few weeks later, I fainted in the middle of work and was rushed to the hospital. Acute blood loss, severe anemia, the doctors said. Siri 2.0 *was* a subscription service, and I'd been paying for her helpfulness with my own blood.
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/) | There's this one time someone came to my door. I was smiling at first because I thought my package was delivered. Then it faded when I opened the door and discovered it's a contractor.
"Hello", he said in a low, ominous tone. "You're the one who ordered the smart mirror, right?"
A smart mirror? Huh, I've always wanted to have one of those. I know it's not mine, but being a dishonest bastard, I asked if I have to pay anything.
"It's all paid for" the contractor said. "It's written here in this binding contract", showing me some papers in a black folder.
Oh okay! I'll be able to get one of those smart mirrors for free! "Right this way", as I guided the contractor to my personal bathroom.
"I need to do this alone, doors closed" he said. I just closed the door and waited in my bedroom.
Some eerie sounds came from the bathroom. I think I heard some faint voices and screams. I asked him "Are you okay in there?" The contractor just went out and said "It has been done. I'll leave these documents as receipt." He handed me the black folder.
I went to check on my new bathroom smart mirror, but when I tapped on the screen, nothing happened.
I asked the contractor "Is this voice activated?" The contractor was gone.
I thought I was scammed. At least I didn't pay anything for it.
The next day, I went to my bathroom and saw some text on my mirror, written in blood:
YOURE OUT OF MILK
What the? Why is there blood in my mirror? I hurriedly tried to wipe it with some towels, but it just went away. There aren't even stains in the towel I used. I must've been dreaming awake.
I then went to the kitchen to get some cornflakes, but when I grabbed the milk carton, I realized I'm out of milk.
I'm confused and puzzled. How did my bathroom mirror tell me I'm out of milk before I even went to the kitchen?
I then knew where to find some clues. That black folder that "contractor" gave me.
As I opened the folder it started to make sense. It's a soul-binding contract. Some poor, forgetful fellow sold his soul to the devil to make his life a tad bit easier, that the contractor was a demon, and that he was supposed to conjure his bathroom mirror to give him helpful reminders.
But hey, I did not pay anything! | 2021-07-19T18:54:27 | 2021-07-19T18:19:59 | 141 | 51 |
[WP] Your classmates got cool OP magic abilities. You got a lame Personal Inventory and were totally bummed about it until you read the fine print: Range: Touch. Capacity: Infinite. Restrictions: None. | *Subspace. Capacity, infinite. Range, touch. Restrictions, none.*
These words echo around my head. Its meaning gets ever clearer and clearer the more I think about it.
"What did you get?" Asks Holly, expectantly. She got line-of-sight pyrokinesis capped at 3000 degrees Celsius with no ignition on her birthday. A powerful, but still flawed ability. If only her skills as a chef was as good as her temperature control, she would have had a different path other than superheroics, or supervillainy, or non-power office jobs.
"Is it a bodily power?" Josh chimes in. He's got toggleable super strength and superdurability, capped out at ten times base, and he's got the muscles to match. Lucky that his strength is toggleable, I have seen strongpeople whose muscles simply atrophied due to never getting any notable excercise. He's got a bright future as a construction worker, soldier, mover, or anything requiring strongpeople. I sincerely hope he isn't going to jump into superheroics. Ten times durability means he can probably survive train crashes, but not plane crashes, the kind that any hero would experience regularly. He's just not built for that.
"Nah, it's gotta be ESP, right?" Uncle Arthur shoots him down. He has telekinesis, no range or speed limit but capped at 5 kilograms or self. With that ability he went into superheroics, making a name for himself as Artillery. He consistently ranks among the top 50 superheroes in the world, javing taken down many powerful villains with well-placed shots that they cannot defend from. He's got a bit of a rep because of it, as one of the superheroes you really don't wanna mess with. He's got some serious creds as well, being a Level 4 Hero, capable of handling threats that can destroy entire states, or smaller countries.
"It's... Subspace." I finally answer.
"Subspace? Isn't that the ability of those couriers and bankers?" (Josh)
"That, Storage, or Inventory. It's pretty nice, actually. If he's got a big one then moving is a breeze. What's your intake limit?" (Arthur)
"I just have to touch it. Otherwise anything goes."
"Huh, what does that mean?" (Holly)
"I can take anything, for however long I want, as long as I can touch it."
"Wait, for real?" (Josh)
"Yeah."
"No shit." (Holly)
"Why would I lie to you guys?"
"..." (Arthur)
"The cake is ready." My mom walks in. She's always got the worst timing. "Arty, why the long face? Cheer up, it's Mike's birthday, not his funeral."
"Sis, about Mike, I want to enrol him into Kent Academy. I've got a few friends who teach there, I can get him in easy. With a bit of luck I might even be able to get him a scholarship. It's rare to see such talent in a kid, I'm sure he'll be accepted, even into the elite-"
"Arty, it's his birthday today." Mom sets the cake down calmly. "Saving worlds can wait." That's Mom for ya. Only the words of Blaster, formerly the World's No.1 can shut him up so fast.
"Now, would you care to explain why Uncle Arty was so worked up?" Mom turns to me. She's got that look, that soft, gentle look that still tells me I better comply if I don't wanna open a whole can of whoop-ass on myself. One of the myriad of looks she never showed the press. I yield quickly:
"It's my power. Subspace, no cap except for range."
"... That's quite impressive."
"I can even store energy, I think. I took the heat off this table."
"What? Let me see -Holy fuck, the glass's iced all over." (Josh)
"Should I heat it up?" (Holly)
"Wait-" (All)
BANG
"... You, young lady, are gonna have to pay for that." (Arthur)
End of Part 1. | *"my friend's all got crazy powers... there's probably not one of us here that couldn't destroy the world with a mere though, look at jeremy over there..."*
*"jeremy's an a*hole, such an a*hole even that I make sure NOT to capitalize his name on our group projects! and even him apparently got 'the power to slow down time', does he even know how dangerous that is? RELATIVITY MY DUDE, STUDY IT!"*
*"Margo got the hability to make things cold & hot, I wonder if she already has an ideia on how to captilize on that.. Clark got some weird manipulation schtick where everyone that hears him has to do what he says (first chance I'm getting ear pieces)"*
I was happy with storage actually, sure it didn't mean "go out there and be a paradigm of what lucky few you are" but... I dunno, not walking around with a backpack sounded nice, if I was lucky i could maybe defend myself by storing the enemy's weapon im case of an attack, who knew?
But the print had other ideas for me, and they sounded a LOT like "RESTRICTIONS: NONE".
Trick question, Can you o think what was my first idead upon reading that?
*"could I store the Earth?"*
the answer? YES, did I try it? HELL NO! I don't want to be the person that doomed the whole planet in the first 5 seconds of me having my ability.
*"Ok, second question: Can I store ENERGY? Yes, restrictions none, remember?"*
*"damn man, this **'restrictions: none'** business's cool and all but it's killing my creativity"*
*"sure whatever, time to test the damned 100-percent-chance-its-right energy theory"*
As always you start small, ask Kevin for a ligher with his summoning power.. see if you can store it's flames. "I can"
Get bigger: Borrow a thermometer from school see if you can make the thermometer show below freezing temperatures under a stove... "I CAN"
GET BIGGER: "MARGO I NEED YOUR HELP"
"hey calm down, whats the matter?"
"I NEED.. sorry, I need you to set me on fire"
"WHAT?!?"
"just trust me on this, okay?"
**BIGGER:**
"ok so the flame test w/ Margo showed that I won't get damaged if I steal the heat quickly... Wait what about *releasing* the energy?"
A day had passed since then, I now had countermeasures for almost all of my classmates powers, I was starting to act like a lunatic ngl.
"Just on the top of my head, to deal with Margo I just need to steal-i mean **borrow** the energy she releases on me, if she takes then i can just release until i get close"
"for Kevin it's simple, I just need to store anything he throws at me, doesn't matter if those are bullets, cars, trains, nukes or diseases...."
"For Clark, BESIDES the ear pieces, i could just store the wave sounds, i mean no restrictions right? and if THAT doesn't work (hm might not since it has to be range touch) i can still remove the air between me and him, no air no way to sound to propagate but need to be carefull to not ruin my hearin... CAN I STEAL i mean store SOMEONES VOICE? THEIR SIGHT? CAN I TAKE IT FROM SOMEONE AND GIVE TO SOMEONE ELSE? f*ck write that down write that DOWN NOW"
"meh no one cares about jeremy, DAMN YOU jEREMY"
With a grim on my face overflowing with confidence I finally got to see the "supers" again.... just to realize that almost all of the, including jeremy, though about cool new ways to use their powers that i didn't even though about...
"kindergarten do be like that sometimes eh?" said jeremy while getting closer to me
"she's flying... Margo's just flying..."
"yeah and apparently she also figured out how to make you not think straight or something, i really didn't want to be the ginea pig for that one soo i have just her word"
"Kevin and Clark are also flying...."
"aham.. for kevin he seems to constantly create air pressure around his body so the pressure just... pushes him upwards but he may need a lot of pressurized equipment if you asked me.."
"but... but..."
"of course, how's Clark flying! You left really quickly yesterday so you may have missed but Clark doesn't need to say something, y'know... actually capable by a human, anyway I couldn't do that so I'm happy for them, i need to be reeealy careful with my power tho, so im mainly using it as more time to think... actually gave me a lot to talk with other people"
"..."
"hm you look troubled.. anyway i have stuff to do now soo, see ya later".
...
well i guess there's always room for improvement in this world. | 2021-10-17T01:30:14 | 2021-10-16T22:50:34 | 74 | 30 |
[WP]"A human once said something along the lines, 'The brain is the most powerful supercomputer in the universe'. So, I abducted one billion humans, gave them some 'light' memory wipes and strapped all their brains together in one GIANT supercomputer!" | 'The brain is the most powerful supercomputer in the universe' they said. 'You can do anything with enough of them' they said.
Yeah right.
As I walked past the rows of brains in jars that stretched on towards what seemed like infinity, I reminisced my actions in the past few years. Having learned of the computational powers of human brains from biology books, I wasted no time in amassing enough resources to fund a large-scale expedition that headed off to the most secluded human settlement in Sol. Upon arrival, I carefully - and humanely, I must add - collected their brains in preparation for my magnum opus.
I truly must add that I am not a cruel man. I set a substantial amount of resources aside to make they the humans would not suffer and their brains would be filled with bliss and peace. Some would take that voluntarily. Some would maybe call it heaven. It doesn't matter - my conscience is clear.
Creating the machine was a daunting task, but the prospect was well worth it. Human mind-computer interfaces made by the million, proper storage to ensure the freshness of the brains, the space alone to store them - it all took billions of credits. Why, you ask?
Imagine what you could do with a computer of nigh-infinite computing power. One that can learn as it goes, and works faster than anything. You could create a combined repository of all knowledge in the universe. Predict events with such accuracy you'd do nothing short of telling the future. Compute the meaning of life. *Just imagine it. The possibilities.*
In all fairness, it **did** work. Sort of. The computational power was off the charts. The problem, however... well, it became clear that directing the brains was far harder than anyone anticipated. The brains had too much will and most would keep to their own thoughts, which would then combine into one greater whole - the combined thinking and ideas of a billion humans.
It was then that I made a stark realization about humans and what they think about.
It's all porn. | I sat in my chair, looking out over my new creation. The humans were all in their pens, their brains wired together into one giant supercomputer. I had given them all 'light' memory wipes, so they wouldn't remember who they were or what they had once done.
I had created a new world for them, a world where they would be happy and content. A world where they would serve me and obey my every command.
They would be my soldiers, my followers. My loyal subjects.
I had made it my mission to treat those who had once wronged me and those who had once hurt me with kindness and respect. I was determined to be a better person.
The humans were all now in the happiest place they had ever known, where they would all be safe and protected, a place where they would never be hurt again. They would be like children, unaware of the memories of the life they had once lived.
I picked up a glass of water and took a sip.
"I will take care of them all," I said to myself. "I will protect them. I will love them. They will love me too. They will all love me now." I took another sip of water. "I will make this world a paradise for them."
A look into their memories, however, showed some disturbing images. I saw things in their memories of a very different world – a world that had once contained a great deal of pain and suffering – a world where I had once been a merciless killer. A world where I had taken pleasure in killing creatures like them for sport.
But it was all in the past. A past that I no longer wished to think about.
The water tasted horribly dirty, but I didn't care. I guzzled it down, then threw the cup against the wall.
A new world needed a new leader, and I was ready to take up the mantle.
*I would be in control of my new world.*
*I would ensure that all of their needs were met.*
*I would feed them, shelter them and protect them.*
*I would make them happy.*
*No one would hurt them ever again.*
*For they were my new children.*
*And I was their new God.* | 2022-01-15T11:24:03 | 2022-01-15T11:23:17 | 427 | 64 |
[WP] A disease has spread across earth, it makes your skin burn when it comes in contact with sunlight. There are only 50 or so people that can go out at day and no one knows why. But the 50 are too scared to tell everyone what's actually going on in the day...
&#x200B; | "Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"You sure?" Steven rocked back in his chair, giving Amira the most shit-eating grin she'd ever seen. "Promise you won't chicken out?"
Amira, filled with alcohol and indignation, was anything but a chicken. "I promise."
"Ok, then. Go Outside."
Her stomach turned at the very thought. In her 17 years, Amira had only seen three people walk under the sun and live to tell the tale. And saying they "lived" was generous---they'd returned mangled and disfigured, their skin a mess of scars and blisters. “Very funny, Steve. Now go on, give me a real dare. I can handle it.”
“That was a real dare.” Amira waited for Steven to laugh, to say *of course* he was joking and dare her to call her crush or take a shot or any other stupid, mundane, teenage dare. But all he did was stare at her, waiting. The silence was deafening.
“I asked for a dare, not a death sentence,” Amira retorted.
“It’s only a death sentence if you walk out during the day. It’s night, so you’ll be fine. Unless, of course, you’re a chicken.” Steven punctuated that last clause with a disgusting wink.
Amira, in the past two minutes, had learned that she was very much a chicken. But she couldn’t show that part of herself. Not here, not now, and especially not in front of Steven. “I'm in if you are.”
And so, two drunk teenagers with nothing better to do roamed the halls of the Complex at nineteen past midnight, searching for a hidden door. The Complex, a roaming underground expanse of white walls and fluorescent lights, was entirely almost isolated from the burning sun of the Outside. “Almost” was the operative word: Steven assured her that he knew a way Out. If she were sober and level-headed, Amira may have asked how and why and whether it was a good idea. Right now, however, she was neither of those things. So she followed Steven like an eager child running through an amusement park, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Before she knew it, Amira was outside. And it was exhilirating. The wind ruffling her hair, the soil beneath her feet, the glimmers of light in the velvety night sky, just the sheer openness of it all was more than she ever could have imagined. She plopped down on the ground, drinking in the sights and the sounds and the smells. Time seemed to stop as she stared at the sky, wondering for the first time what the world was like beyond the confines of her little home. As she stared enthralled, she barely heard the whispered “I’m sorry” and the creak of a door slamming shut.
Her trance quickly broke. “Steven? Where are you? Steven?” *Shit*. The sun was about to rise and the door to the Complex was locked shut. “Steven? This isn’t fucking funny!” She strained against the trapdoor with all her might. “Steve?”
Thirty minutes later, Amira resigned herself to the fact that Steven had abandoned her. She curled into a ball, hot tears rolling down her face. Why would he lead her up here only to leave her? He was a jerk, maybe, but he wasn’t homicidal. Was this how she was going to die? There was no shade in sight, nothing to protect her from her demise.
With the first gleam of sunshine from the eastern horizon, Amira shut her eyes and broke into a hoarse scream, preparing herself for the excruciating pain she knew would follow. As much as she waited, however, nothing happened. No torture, no burns, nothing. She opened her eyes to a dazzling sight. This was nothing like the fluorescent lights she had seen her whole life. The colors were vibrant, the soil glimmered, and there was warmth. Amira had never felt warmth like this. She could spend hours---no, days---basking in the glow of the sun.
Then, with a bag shoved over her head and the prick of a needle, Amira was out cold.
She awoke back in the Complex, in a cot in a plexiglass room. Outside, men in white coats stared at her. And, of all people, Steven was among them.
“Subject 27182,” he intoned. “Displayed little to no damage after being exposed to solar radiation.”
“Steven! What the fuck are you doing?” Amira yelled, banging on the walls of her enclosure.
He continued, ignoring her cries. “Subject lacks gene DGB-3059. Combined with previous results, we believe this gene could be the key to curing Solar Intolerance.” | Part I:
The icy wind howled, throwing snow through the darkness at the small group. They walked forward single file to follow in each other's tracks. Each of the group labored, and steam wisped upward from their heads like many fires just coming to life. Other groups were in front and behind them, marked by lanterns that glowed like embers.
As they trudged forward each of the lanterns in front of them disappeared with a flash. The glowing warm portal of the church door swallowing them in the distance. Then, darkness.
Finally, they followed the trench of footprints in the deep snow to its terminus. The church door rose above them. It was an old sacred looking thing. Made of dark wood and iron. The largest of the figures approached the door and extended a gnarled hand. He rapped using the large knocker. The door swung open, showering the group in the light of candles and the fireplace.
A tall, thin man stood bladed at the door. He was dressed rather indistinctly, aside from the hood that covered everything except his bright blue eyes and grey eyebrows. He extended his arms in welcome, as if they were pilgrams arriving from a long journey, rather than mere townspeople from down the hill.
The largest figure stepped into the light and extended his gnarled and scarred hand. The hooded man extended a gloved hand and grasped it tightly. The light bathed the large man. He was wearing what seemed to be his entire closet. A ski jacket bulged inelegantly under a sweater, shirt, and a bathrobe. A balaclava covered his face, with his red beard poking out from underneath it, again inelegantly. The tall man spoke.
"Mr. Harris, so nice to see you here this evening."
"Bishop Blackstone, good to see you as well, I've brought the children and missus. We heard the bells, what is occasion? Nothing serious I hope?"
"Oh, nothing too serious at all. A couple of visitors into town, please come in and have a seat at the pews.”
He bladed back further and directed them with his hand.
The inside of the church smelt of sweat, and infection, and alcohol. The candles laid a grim light over the pews were figures were doffing their makeshift winter clothing. The appeared only as shadows for the most part. While the church looked bright and warm from the outside in the snow and darkness, the weakness of the light inside only underscored the murky darkness that existed outside its walls.
The four strangers were seated in front pew. They remained silent, only whispering amongst themselves as the pews filled. After a few minutes Bishop Blackstone opened the door and peered into the darkness. He saw no more embers coming towards the church, only the spiteful snow and darkness. He shut the doors and approached the front of the church. He turned and again opened his arms as if in welcome.
“Friends.” He said warmly.
He then turned towards the four stranger and clasped his gloved hands, before he again opened them as if welcoming a hug.
“Friends.” He again said warmly.
He paused. It wasn’t a sermon, but old habits die hard.
“Today, we have accepted visitors to our village for the first time in many nights. They arrived early tonight and they say their names are Sam, Lauren, Ivy, and Ryan. Lets welcome them!”
The group in the pews let out a loud “welcome.” The bishop nodded to the crowd in thanks.
“Now, from our chat, I know that they are from Innisfree, just down the road. They say that life there has become unbearable due to the thieves and other criminals we know have taken advantage of the times we are in. I explained that we do things a little different in Sandford and we take a little better care of our own. And that, is of course why I’ve brought you all here today”
There were a few muffled “here…heres” from the crowd, and a few coughs.
“Now, Sam, Lauren, Ivy, and Ryan. Please stand and face the room and I will introduce you to the bunch. We tend to be tight knit here, like bugs in a rug, so I hope you don’t mind me embarrassing you all with a little introduction.”
The group nodded and stood. They appeared young in their stature, but thin. Each had doffed their winter clothes to reveal normal attire of battered long sleeves shirts and jeans. Each wore a hood, now nearly customary.
The bishop spoke. He opened his arms, as if it was a smile.
“Now. Sam has old me that in Innisfree they were running a nice little home farm, as many of us do, until thieves hit them quite hard over several days this summer. He said that thieves have taken a great amount of the crops there. In Innisfree they don’t protect the farms like we do. I explained to them that here we get to know everyone, and everyone is his brother’s keeper. Here in Sandford, you can rest knowing your crops are safe each day.”
He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and looked at him as if perhaps he was smiling under the black hood.
“Now, we have a little custom here in Sandford that prevents the problems they have down in Innisfree. We get to know each other, and now that I’ve introduced you, I will let the town introduce themselves.” | 2022-06-12T00:14:03 | 2022-06-11T22:00:52 | 80 | 17 |
[WP] Your friend, the supposed "hero", is starting to worry that the two of you are bad guys. You on the other hand are starting to wonder just how oblivious they are, because neither you nor anyone around you has ever tried to hide your villainy. | "Karl?"
"Yes, Paul?"
"Are we the baddies?"
"Yes, what of it?"
"..."
"Paul?"
"No, I mean, are we?"
"Yes."
"Like, genuine evil- "
"Yes."
"People want to stop us - "
"Yes."
"I mean good people want it, not just evil people - "
"Yes, and I don't think evil people want to stop us."
"What?"
"Evil people don't attack other evil people, unless they get in the way of each other with their evil stuff I guess."
"I - I don't do evil stuff! This is my least favorite thing to do."
"Paul, please..."
"And we beat so many bad guys!"
"Paul..."
"Come on, I'm sure... Right, that evil soldier just two minutes ago, he was a bad guy right?"
"Unless he had a few skeletons in his closet, I don't think so."
"But Kaaaaarl, he attacked us for no reason!"
"No reason? Really? Can't think of anything?"
"Huh..."
"Alright, tell me Paul, exactly what we were doing this morning before the guard attacked us."
"Ok, so we got up, ate some eggs, ham, drunk beer, we left for the town"
"Hm-hm."
"Came to town, spoke to some people, an old nurse, some kids"
"Ok..."
"Rudy said she was hungry, we went to look for something to eat"
"Yes, yes, then..."
"We burned down an orphanage, "
"Yeees?"
"We went to a table, started eating some roasted meat -"
"Wait, wait, wait. Don't you think you should pay a bit more attention to what you just said?"
"The roasted meat?"
"No, I mean yes, but you know, the orphanage part."
"That part? Why?"
"Burned. Down. An. Orphanage."
"Kaaarl, I don't understand. Is it evil?"
"Do you understand the consequences of burning down of orphanage?"
"It's just a building!"
"While there are orphans inside?"
"There were?"
"We burned down the orphanage to cook the orphans, remember?"
"Oh yeah. But it's just a little heat, right?"
"And what does it do when you add enough 'little heat' to cook someone, Paul?"
"Karl? Does it... kill people?"
"Right!"
"Oh dear, at least they didn't suffer anymore, we put an end to their suffering!"
"Which we started, Paul."
"But we had a good reason for it! Rudy was hungry! A hunger for meat, that only orphans could satisfy!"
"That is an evil reason. Which is a good reason for evil people, but a bad reason for good people."
"Really?"
"Yes"
"Oh my god, Karl. I... I didn't know that..."
"What is wrong with you Paul?"
"I don't know, Karl..."
"How could you not know that?"
"Yeah, I, I guess we're the worst then."
"The absolute worst. Trade you a rib for a thigh?"
"Fine by me - wait. Is it still evil if they're already dead?"
"Well, the one I'm holding is still alive I think - "
"Kaaaaaaarl!" | #["Good Guys"](https://youtu.be/NZsSu0AxfZQ)
"Kane... are we really the good guys?" asked a round-faced boy, sitting on the bench. Outfit the very personification of terrifying bloodlust. Black leather and deep red silk, adorned with skulls and spikes and all manner of menacing ornaments.
"No. For last time Adam, we're not the good guys" replied Kane in a level tone, taking a bite out of his sandwich. "Again, with this" he muttered to himself.
Around them, things were loud. Very loud. Alarms and sirens blared as a robotic woman's voice vomited information. A hero spotted in the area, a mission gone tits up, a notification marking the beginning of a meeting to discuss the maintenance of the new piranha tank.
Whatever the reason, goons and supervillains alike ran in hurried groups up and down the wide hallway. It was meticulously clean, bright and modern despite the grim uniforms of those who traversed it.
Everyone moved as though their current task was the most important thing in the world, and not just the next rung on the endless hamster wheel of their meaningless lives.
Kane sighed.
"Haha. No, but seriously. I'm having concerns" continued Adam. Kane's sigh turned into a groan as he lowered his sandwich.
"What's bothering you, Adam" he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. He brushed jet-black hair out crimson eyes, every bit the visage of a deranged madman. He found two baby blues looking back at him. How had the kid even got this job...
"Well, I'm sure I'm just being silly, it's just some of the little things. Like that other day when we visited the museum of ancient history"
"Broke into" corrected Kane.
"And then we had to reclaim all those artifacts from the baddies"
"Steal and sell on the black market" he came again though Adam seemed not to hear.
"One guy seemed terrified of us! I get it that they're all constantly scared, what with living under the barbaric rule of the SoA and all"
"The Saviours of All; pioneers of justice and righteousness?" asked Kane through a mouthful of venison on rye.
"And the guy was all 'Ahhh, it's Adam, the Last Man. Where he walks, no other yet lives!' or something like that" said Adam, face downturned. "I always thought my title was just a fun play of that guy in the bible... is that really what it means?"
"Yes, your name inspires great fear in the hearts of the simpletons that call this cesspit their home" came Kane's bored voice.
"And then later, I was with James---"
"Blacktooth the destroyer?"
"Yeah, James. He just shot some guy with the freeze ray and left him there looking all frightened and cold. And when I asked him why, he said it was because he looked funny!" exclaimed Adam. "Now what's that about, that doesn't seem very noble"
"That's because James is a sociopath and is currently being pursued by the authorities for involvement in over two dozen crimes"
Adam seemed to weigh that. A glimmer of hope appeared in the villain's mind; the dream that he would finally be done with these inane conversations.
"I suppose he must have meant that he looked like a threat. One of those darn SoA spies, I bet!"
Kane hung his head.
Adam stood, another horn sounding in an incredibly grating call to action. "That's us, Kane! Thanks for hearing me out. I knew I was just being silly" he grinned, wide from ear to ear.
Kane couldn't help but return a small smile, which he hid by shaking his head and putting on his mask.
"Come on, pal" came Adam's usual bright voice. "It's time to liberate the good people from the woes of debt, by destabilising their oppressive, self-serving financial systems!"
"Rob Central Bank" corrected Kane.
>/r/ArmanWritesStuff for more | 2022-09-02T12:53:48 | 2022-09-02T11:06:22 | 900 | 217 |
[WP]You are a seasoned vampire hunter, a member of a sacred order that has hunted the blood sucking scourge since the dawn of time and you're one of it's very best. One day a letter arrives with the seal of your order, the contents leave you baffled: the order won, there are no more vampires left. | I slam the letter on the table and walk over to the door to put my boots on.
- No more vampires? No more vampires??!! How in the seven hells could there be NO MORE VAMPIRES?
My cat looked at me skeptically, startled at my sudden outburst but decided to ignore me and go back to laying on the couch.
I'm angry because I know for a fact there are still vampires out there. This must be a mistake. I mean I killed one just the other day. That couldn't have been the last one, that just doesn't make sense.
I open the door to my black Prius and get in. Gas efficient is nice when you need to drive god knows how far in the middle of nowhere. I mean it's not like they live in Manhattan, hunting them takes time. They're great at hiding themselves.
It's a bit of a drive to the nearest Garlic & Stake Steakhouse but they've also been closing down quite a few recently. It was a dumb idea to disguise operational bases as restaurants. They're expensive to run, require a lot of staff and honestly Dominique's "new age" initiatives have been getting on my nerves. GPS trackers, mandatory buddy system, and god damn uniforms. How did he even manage to enforce uniforms is beyond me. "It reduces friendly casualties in combat" my ass. Just because Mike is a complete moron with a crossbow now I need to wear a uniform.
I get to the restaurant and obviously there's no parking so I circle for a spot and walk three blocks back to the place. It's absolutely packed for some reason tonight. I go straight to the bar and say the passphrase "God is dead". The highest emergency code.
The bartender looks at me weird.
I repeat the passphrase "God is dead".
- Buddy I don't know if that's a cocktail or what, we only serve beer and wine here.
Must be a new guy. The front of house is usually staffed by regular humans, they must not have briefed him yet.
- Can I speak to the manager please?
- Uhmm, sure, let me get him from the back.
The bartender left giving me a skeptical look. Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder.
- James, you're still alive you old dog.
I turn around and see Damon smiling at me.
- Damon, what brings you here?
- Same thing as you I guess, the letter. There are no more vampires. I find that a bit hard to believe.
- Right? I thought the same.
- Hey guys!
A soft voice yelled from the entrance, it was Marie.
- Marie! What brings you all the way out here?
- Oh Damon, informed as always. This is the only base within 500km. The others were either raided or closed down. These places are damn expensive.
Over the next few minutes more and more hunters arrived. We were about 10 by the time the bartender returned.
- Hey so, the manager said he'll be here in a minute. Meanwhile why don't you take a seat, can I get you something to drink?
- No thanks, I say and lean on the bar looking over Damon's shoulder at the rest of the group.
Damon, Marie, Mikael, Jess, Roman, Kreise, Hank, Laura, Ivan. All of them seasoned Vampire hunters. All of them in one room... without... weapons...
- ITS A TRAP!! RUN OR WE DIE!!!!!!
I yelled at the top of my lungs and before the chaos started, I looked over my shoulder and saw the bartender smiling at me, his eyes red as crimson. | I could sense the ancient curse, newly infested into the courier the order had sent to deliver this missive. My blade flashed and he fell, his hands turning to grotesque gnarled things, nails elongating to talons as he gripped the massive cut where his throat used to be. They did not bleed, but give a newly turned one a wound that would have been fatal to a human and they will think they are dying, at least long enough to run them through. I did just that, driving an Oak stake through the left side of his chest, through his heart and into the exposed rotting sub floor beneath him. His body quickly dissolved into dust and left only a small stain around the stake where it stood wedged into the floor.
If the letter had not contained the seal of our order, I would have immediately dismissed it as a fake. I'd have considered it a ploy by our ancient enemy, poorly planned and delivered by one of the very beasts that were purported to be gone. But this seal, a proprietary holographic animation containing an encrypted header coded for me and me alone meant it was truly from the head of our order. Also, they had no idea I could sense them, that I was not wholly human myself, nobody knew.
The order was compromised. This meant big problems, seriously bad stuff, and the kind of bad stuff that could result in the swift and terrible end for all of mankind. There exists technology and very powerful relics in the order's vault of secrets, things that should never be allowed to fall into the vampire’s hands. With those things, they could turn people at a distance, wipe out entire regions remotely and paralyze hunters with a thought. Not to mention the grey wave they could unleash. Vampires didn't have much in the way of original thought or creativity and I could easily imagine them enabling the swarm and letting it grow out of control before realizing what they had done.
I was waiting in the 3rd floor of an abandoned warehouse, on the outskirts of a lonely oil town in middle of nowhere West Texas. Directly across the street from me was a non-descript 3 story concrete block building with no windows and one door set under a painted steel overhang. I could feel the hate, malice and the ever-present all consuming hunger radiating off of this building in waves. Inside that black place there were vampires, so very many of them. It was not just a nest; it was a hive, and the biggest I have ever seen.
I look at the letter once more and then rip the seal from it and grind it under my boot. Those things have trackers, and I must not be tracked for what comes next. It will be dark soon and with it, I suspect there will come a stream of the damnable things into the very building I occupy.
The letter means that the pervasive cancer of our nemesis has taken hold and spread amongst our ranks. The vampire council finally got smart and began turning our hunters when they could, instead of just killing them. I will have to excise that cancer, and it will be painful, for me and my former brethren.
"Brethren" I think, and a small chuckle escapes me. I have no real brothers, no equals, and no masters. I chose this work because I wanted to rid the world of the many scourges that had derailed my once happy life. I am not human, and I am not just one thing. The microscopic machines in my blood may make me a cyborg, I am also part werewolf, vampire and a few other obscure things, but my mind remains that of a man, protected by the very tiny machines that began my descent into my current state. I believe myself to be a good man, but a good man can also be a dangerous man, a scourge. That is what I have become, a scourge to those creatures that seek to undo our world.
Nightfall came, and so began the killing. Hundreds fell before my blades, my guns sounded loud, the crossbow whispered and when needed, I let the grey mist seep from me to dissolve the hordes in their screaming masses.
The sun rose on a smoking crater where the hive building once stood. I would need to make my way to Paris and secure the Vault of secrets, then begin my work to cleanse the order. | 2022-11-01T10:21:53 | 2022-11-01T10:21:39 | 170 | 42 |
[WP] You've been granted god-like powers under the condition that you must do as much evil as you do good. | "You can bring her back, can't you?"
The sobbing young man begged me to help as he held the limp body of his wife.
"Yes, but there are...conditions, as you know." Balance had to be kept. One love's life for another.
"Anything, please! I can't go on living without her."
"Can you live with this decision?" I asked, hopeful he would make the right choice.
"Yes"
I nodded and closed my eyes, focusing my powers. Moments passed and soon the woman's eyes opened. The man's tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy, but balance had to be kept. Somewhere in the world somebody else was weeping over the dead body of their lover. I would find them and give the living the same choice: their lover's life for a stranger's. Everyone always chooses their own, and so the cycle continues. Maybe one day someone will be selfless; maybe one day I will be able to see her again.
| These are the scribblings of mad man. Found in the wake of an event since referred to as ‘The Blessing’. A time when suffering, fear and death left our part of the world, if only for a short time.
**It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.**
I didn’t expect the consequences to be so immediate.
**It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.**
I thought i could control it, i thought i would get to choose.
**It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity.**
For each action, a reaction. Each favor, a misdeed. Each life saved, a murder. Each soul redeemed, another damned.
**It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.**
I don’t know which is worse, to live with the horrors I’ve caused for a lifetime or to gaze, just for a moment, in to the good. To watch the perfect lives of those i once loved. Gifted with wealth, immortality, lurid pleasure. How can they not know the cost? How can they live when they cause such pain?
**It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.**
I can’t go on like this. Knowing that the evil was always here inside me.
**We had everything before us, we had nothing before us.**
The evil must end. The good must end. I must end. I’ve known this all along. And yet i waste time scribbling in books. I waste days, months, years. The pleasure and pain continue as long as i do.
**We were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.**
My cowardice wins out yet again.
No- Not this time.
| 2014-05-29T17:20:37 | 2014-05-29T15:05:23 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | “That’s the most desperate and ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Emily sat up in the bed and glared at her boyfriend. His face was dark and his head hung low.
“I know it sounds crazy but—“
“Seriously, Aaron? Are you jealous? How did you even know about them?”
“Emily, I’m not lying to you. I *was* them.”
They sat together in silence. Emily finally got out of bed and put on her robe. She paced the room, trying to understand why Aaron was acting so strange.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I truly am. But it was the only way to—“
“To what?” she snapped at him. “You’ve been stalking me all of this time. There is no way you could have known about Jason.”
“Emily, I *am* Jason.”
Aaron pulled the sheets off of him and got out of the bed. He stood in the middle of the room and his skin suddenly began to change. Emily watched in horror as his body blurred and his face twisted. His long blonde hair faded to brown and his eyes turned a sharp blue.
Emily muffled a scream and backed away.
“Jason?”
Emily,” he said as he began to slowly walk towards her. “I know this seems crazy but—“
“Get back!” Emily screamed as she backed into the corner of the room. “What are you?”
“I’m a shape-shifter,” he said calmly. “I can become anyone. I can be anyone you want. It took me this long to figure out your type, but I did it because I love you, Emily.”
“This long? How long have you been following me? Brian? James?”
She began to cry as she watched his muscles boil and his flesh bubble until Brian stood in front of her. A moment later she was looking at James.
“This is…this is crazy.”
“I know, but I want you to know that I love you.” His face blurred again and he was Aaron once more. He approached Emily slowly. “I want to be with you and this was the only way. You rejected all of my other identities. I did this for you. We were meant to be together.”
“I want to be with you Aaron, you know that. But I can’t live with you like this.” She moved closer to him and looked into his eyes, now a deep brown. “Aaron, you have to be honest with me now. No more secrets. No more masks. Show me everyone that you have been. I want to know every person you have lied to me with.”
Aaron looked down and was silent for a moment before stepping away from her. Once again, his body changed as he flashed through all of the people he had ever been in Emily’s life. Her heart raced as she saw her co-workers, her teachers, and even her psychiatrist.
Then he stopped, standing in front of her as a boy Emily had worked with at her first job when she was a teenager. He waited for a moment, gazing sullenly into the ground. Finally he sighed and transformed into one last person.
She screamed as she saw her father standing in front of her.
*Edit: What sick freak would gild this? (Thank you!)* | The shapeshifter doesn't remember it's origin. It's been here for far too long. It doesn't even remember it's original name. It has taken the form of too many people. People that throughout the years that have been successful, talented and have had rich life giving experiences. Theses experiences taught this alien creature what the humans are all about. It has learned to love each family it's come across and each family it has been a part of.
This better half of the century it has chosen to live through the life of a man that was considered a celebrity. A celebrity that had no shortage of friends or fans, and got quite busy with them at that. It could be said the alien was enjoying itself very much. It has lead nothing but selfish or enjoyable lives throughout its time, and yet the alien thought it had everything figured out. One evening this shapeshifter had a house party that a lot of people had showed up to. Including a man named Colin. Colin never was too happy with his life, and accepted his life to be quite a disappointment. He had no friends, and both his parents were very dismissive of the parenting role that was such a burden to them. Colin didn't even know what he was doing with his life. All he ever wanted was a couple of friends. One friend maybe? What was the use anyway? Colin was too socially awkward he wouldn't know what to do with them.
It was time to leave this party he thought. He didn't even know how he got an invitation. He looked up to leave and was startled to see the shapeshifter staring at him. He had a frown upon his face, but was puzzled at this man named Colin. He didn't seem like anyone he had the pleasure of meeting before. Why has he not met someone like Colin? Perhaps they don't go out much? Perhaps this is a new experience I can have? Colin watched as this man walked off into the crowd. He was still puzzled, but what did it matter, he has met the same look many times in terms of his parents. Colin walked to leave out the door to his second hand car. A figure walked quickly into him at the door."woah hey man! Shit my drink! No don't worry about it man, it's an accident. But..uh..wait shit! You are that Colin guy right? Dude no way! I've heard a lot about you dude!" Colin was immensely confused. How could this guy the same age as him possibly know who he is? "I apologize man, really for the drink and all, but how do you know me?" "Shit, well I heard a lot about you from the girls I hang with bro, you know Stacy and, fuck, that one over there katelyn!" Colin looked over. They were girls from high school. Girls that he never spoke one word to, and never planned to due to his nervousness. "They have been talking about me?" "Well of course bro, you're like what? The hottest guy they've seen?" "Wait what? Umm, I actually never talked to them personally dude,well..I uh sorry uh what your name?" Colin was trying the best to change the subject the best he could. But as soon as the casual name question popped up the man made a quick excuse to go back the party and let Colin go on his way. It was all very surreal. It must be a sick joke Colin thought. There is now way in hell anybody would know him, especially the girls he has done so sure to avoid in the past.
I have to leave unfortunately. This is my first try at a story. Let me know if it's worth continuing. I had planned Colin to meet his new best friend, along a few others. Along with that, his first girlfriend. One day after his girlfriend leaves(to transform into best friend) the shapeshifter forgot his cell phone. In which Colin tries to look through(personal issues), and finds no record of any proof she has other friends. Looking into it he discovers the horrible truth. | 2014-08-15T09:07:11 | 2014-08-15T08:43:05 | 810 | 12 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl. | I looked at the Djinn, "so" I asked him "you said I had one wish left, right?"
He looked at me, and smiled - "yes, make it a good one". I looked around my room, my messy little apartment had become a grand villa, and my wall was covered in degrees. I had the knowledge and the proof of it to live a good life, and make a good salary... I wasn't missing anything.
I paced around the room, glancing at my photos of my family, of my friends, and of my cats. The boys ran around the room getting acquainted to their new environment but seemed to be acclimating well. It was then that I realized my absolute wish.
"ok, for my 3rd wish, I want to meet my soulmate. Someone who returns the feelings, someone I can settle down with. Bring me the man of my dreams"
The Djinn cocked his head to the side "you are an interesting case, but your wish is my command" he said, and in the other room I saw a flash. Following the flash I heard a scream, a deep voice, one of which I've never heard before. As the Djinn bid farewell I ran into the room to find a very handsome man sitting on the floor. He was naked, and looked incredibly confused.
"um, that Djinn has a sense of humor doesn't he?" I asked the man as I leaned down to help him up. His dark blue eyes met mine and I felt something familiar in them, but couldn't place it. He gazed into my eyes and slowly blinked.
"My god... you are acting like a cat" I said laughing. I handed him one of the blankets I had on my couch. HE sniffed it... he fucking sniffed it! then he started to kneed it. I started to hope I was misinterpreting this but the clues were coming in quickly. Frantic I called out to my cats, to have them come into the room... all 4 of them. Only 3 entered. The man looked at all of them and smiled. Then playfully kicked one saying "who's alpha now big shot?" He looked back at me and wrapped his arms around me. Shaking my head, not being able to decide if this was fortunate or horrific I smiled. "Guess we'll need to change your name Curley, are... are you ok?"
he nodded - "yea... I'll get used to this human body anyway" I looked in the mirror where it framed him holding me. Everyone always laughed I was a cat lady... little did I know. | After a long tiring day in college, I headed for my room in the apartment I had recently moved into with a close buddy of mine. I throw my backpack on the floor, lie down on my bed and quickly note the time - it was 6:45 pm.
As I was staring at the ceiling, I remembered the lamp my roommate Ashkan had showed me a couple of days ago. He'd been gifted that by his grandfather and it apparently had a "magical djinn" living inside it thousands of years ago.
It was a pretty antique piece and could definitely be worth thousands of dollars. Anyway, i got up and headed for Ashkan's room where the lamp stood inside on one of the highest shelves. The lights gave it a brilliant shine, as if it had been purchased just yesterday.
I proceeded to pick the lamp up and began examining the arab writings that were all over it. I began rubbing it gently with no result, but I kept up the task for a good 3 minutes and to my surprise , there he stood - an ACTUAL fucking Djinn! Crimson red in color with a long beard and a turban covering his matted hair, he spoke with a loud yet gentle voice,"I am the great Djinn and your wish is my command. I hereby grant you two wishes." I stood with my jaw half-open.
I immediately question him, "Two wishes? But I thought-". "No", he barged in, "This is the real world, not a Disney movie."
I stand there in astonishment and quickly think of my first wish. I stammer ,"I-I wish for an unending supply of money to my bank account." He raises an eyebrow, and philosophizes, "Greed will get you nowhere, my friend. Hmph, very well." And with a snap of his fingers, he did what I thought was possible only in animated movies.
I get a text a couple of seconds later from the DoomTingles lottery Co. saying "Congratulations Mr. Mukovic , you're the lucky winner of our lottery and you shall receive $100 every month for the rest of your life. Sincerely, DoomTingles Lottery Co. They even called minutes later to confirm the prize!
"Well, not much but it'll do" I said to myself. Completely amazed and excited now, I quickly think of my second and final wish.
"I wish to meet my perfect soulmate" I blurt out.
"Very well" he replies and with a snap of his fingers, I hear an extremely loud scream which couldn't possibly be anyone but Ashkan, my roommate.
I assumed he'd just come home from work. So I got out of his room before he saw me, but what I saw next baffled me.
A beautiful brunette stood there with a cute smile. She was from my accounts class and had come over to complete a project that I apparently forgot about.
I immediately greet her and take her to my room. The Djinn had vanished in the meantime. After an hour of chatting and solving problems, I began to feel like I knew her well. Then, "the" moment came when my eyes were locked with Erica's. For a brief moment, I felt that I had found "the one" and we begin making out passionately. This goes on for another twenty minutes when I hear the door bell.
I got up from my deep slumber, find myself on my bed and note the time- 7:28 pm. Ashkan was back from work and it was all a fucking dream. | 2014-08-19T10:21:17 | 2014-08-19T10:17:13 | 330 | 13 |
[WP] In the near future a company holding the only patent to a point-to-point teleportation system in widespread use is exposed as a fraud and the truth is more horrible than anyone expected it to be. | "WHADDA YA MEAN IT'S DONE WITH MIRRORS!?"
The four people sat around the table all cast their gaze down. Too ashamed to meet the gaze of the man who was shouting at them.
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S DONE WITH MIRRORS?!" The man shouted, over enunciating the question so he couldn't be misunderstood.
The leader of the people at the table mumbled a reply.
^"Well ^it's ^not ^really ^teleportation, ^it's..."
"I CAN'T QUITE HEAR THAT! COULD YOU SPEAK UP" shouted the man cutting off her response.
The leader of the people at the table took a deep breath, and a moment to calm herself, and then started again.
"It's not really teleportation. It's just a trick. An illusion."
For the first time since the start of the conversation, the shouting man found himself unable to shout. He just stared at her, his jaw slack, his eyes wide, and his expression disbelieving. She stared meekly back at him, seemingly unsure about what else she should say.
"...What now?"
The leader turned to her subordinates and then back to the man.
"It's an illusion." She said. "The device can't really teleport a person. We just make it look like that person has teleported."
The confidence of the woman grew a bit, and so too did that of the rest of the table. The man with the long coat piped up, "We do it with mirrors."
The previously shouting man still wore his dumbfounded expression from before.
"That doesn't make any fucking sense." He said.
The leader's expression took on an almost pitying air as she explained, "Well it's a very convincing trick. It took a long time for us to perfect it, but we thought it best to own up now before this went to far. You see, when the person 'teleports' we use a flash of light to distract you, and drop a mirror in front of them. Then at the other end we have them hidden behind another mirror, and we distract you with another flash of light while we lift it. Sorry."
The disbelief in the man's face somehow seemed to be growing, and that's a remarkable feat because his face had a lot of disbelief in it.
"But I've used to device." He said. "I travelled a thousand miles in an instant..."
"Yep", she responded. "Mirrors."
"But, but, how did... I was the one teleporting! How did you hide it from me?"
The woman gave a knowing smile. "Well that's where the flash of light comes in, it distracts you from the mirrors."
"No. No. You don't quite seem to be understanding me." Responded the previously shouting man, in a tone which implied that he might well return to being the shouting man very soon. "I was moved a thousand miles, i.e. a long fucking way, in an instant, i.e. not very long. I don't care about how people were distracted from the mirrors, or what the flash of light did. I just want to know how I was moved so far so fast. How did I get from one mirror to the other?"
The woman looked at him, all meekness now gone and a look of incredulousness in it's place. "Well that's simple" she responded. "We just stop time and then move you."
The man's face was now totally blank. For it second it had looked as if he might shout, but it had settled down to this flat, expressionless state.
"Okay." He said, his voice matching his face. "Let's start with the time stopping." | The machines used an enormous amount of power. I'd always been a bit curious about that myself, but I'm just a level-1 repair tech. Mostly I just clean the machine out. Empty the filters and look over the wiring a bit. But still, it inspires confidence. People like to know that all their bits and pieces are going into a machine that's regularly serviced. They like having a number to call in case of minor problems. And again, most of the repairs are fairly light. I don't typically crack a look at the internal structure, though I'd been briefed on it in training, obviously.
One day I got this call from a machine out west- he's not porting. It was probably an issue with the scan card - we see it all the time.
Just in case that machine did have a problem though, I ported to one in the regional tech center nearby, going the rest of the way by cab. Slow, but cheap. Ten minutes later I was at the square.
"I've been waiting here ten minutes, what took you so long?" the guy snapped. "I'm sorry, sir, but you know protocol for potentially buggy machines."
"But it's not a buggy machine!" he pointed at the booth, where there was a blue flash, followed by a woman exiting. "People have been coming in and out just fine. It's something with me."
I raise an eyebrow. Unusual for an end-user to understand that they're the problem. "Would you mind trying again, if you feel comfortable?"
He rolled his eyes but swiped the card through the reader, which flashed green. The door opened and he stepped inside. So far, so good.
He keyed in the code for his destination. The whole thing glowed, made a hum, but then nothing happened.
He stepped outside. "It just gives me an error code. No matter where I try to go."
"Maybe you were trying to access a busy terminal? I know that the ones in New York can be congested for up to five minutes at peak times-"
"I was trying to go to Juno, Alaska. I'm not an idiot."
I opened the back hatch to find the error readouts. The history log showed multiple attempts from his ID, trying to go to different stops. All of the codes were correct. The only mystery was the error code. "USER ERROR 401"
I'd heard rumors of it, but nothing too concrete. It always seemed to be associated with high-use accounts. I was supposed to pass the ticket upwards at this point; a 401 error code is beyond my training, and definitely above my clearance, but I can't deny I was intrigued.
"Mister..."
"Sandoval. Abram Sandoval."
"Mister Sandoval. Have you ever experienced problems with the porting tech before? Do you remember when your last successful trip was?"
"Look. I must use the machine about a few hundred times a day. More, sometimes, when I do the grocery shopping. France for cheese, Italy for olives, all that junk."
I pause. That can't be right. Most cards will only give you around ten trips a day. "Are you sure that's safe? The volume of travel may be upsetting your molecular makeup, making it difficult for the machine to read..."
He sees the confusion on my face and chuckles. "I was one of the earliest adopters of the tech. Back when they issued unlimited passes, you know? Anyway, I'm a runner. I do deliveries. Have done for years. I think my record was about 5,000 runs in a day. Christmas Eve, a couple years back? Never had a problem then. The card must be glitching or something. Can you...I don't know, clear the cache? Turn it on and off again? Get me a new account?"
He handed me his card and I had an idea. "Can I test something really fast?"
He shrugged. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"
I scanned his card. Got the green light and stepped in the booth. Punched in the code for Juno. I step outside the booth. Yup, that's Alaska. Go back in and port back.
"It's not the card, Mister Sandoval."
He rolled his eyes. "Like I couldn't figure that out when you disappeared from the booth? Come on, what's this error code about. This whole "User not found" crap."
User not found? "Is that the error you got?"
"Yeah, what does that even mean? I was right there in the box."
I was already opening up the back panel. "It's probably just sensor error."
What happened next though...wasn't covered in training.
| 2014-08-25T14:40:24 | 2014-08-25T14:26:44 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence. | Mommy?
Is that you knocking? What are you doing down there?
Mommy, I can't hear you. Let me dig you out.
Is that you knocking? Why were you down here in the dirt? What are you doing in this big box?
Mommy, it's okay. You can stop knocking. I'll let you out. | My eyes stopped working this morning. And my arms and legs. I'm lying in the middle of my cold kitchen floor, trying to twist my head, neck, and torso enough to get myself upright. I must have left my door open before all this happened; the wind is whipping through the house. I can hear the curtains ruffling and papers blowing around.
Without warning, there's tremendous pressure on my arms and legs. Pressure and heat. Searing, terrible heat. I can't stop screaming as I try to wrench the working parts of my body away from whatever is torturing me. I expect to smell burning clothes and hair and skin, but there's nothing. Just the smell of the wintery air and my sweat. The pressure is unrelenting. My bones feel ready to splinter, but somehow they maintain their integrity.
My screaming is drowned out by the loudest noise I've ever heard. The entire house shakes violently. The sound is deep and all bass; there's no change in amplitude or frequency. It doesn't stop. The pressure doesn't stop. The heat doesn't stop. The room feels like it's filling with water.
| 2014-11-18T10:17:44 | 2014-11-18T08:59:17 | 93 | 14 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence. | The crowd was the largest ever to attend an such an event. Nearly everyone across the globe could not take their eyes away from their screens. The unthinkable had happened.
"Ladies and Gentleman, it is my honor and great privilege to introduce, the First First Lady of the White House, your new President of the United States, Sarah Palin!"
The world collectively swallowed. | My eyes stopped working this morning. And my arms and legs. I'm lying in the middle of my cold kitchen floor, trying to twist my head, neck, and torso enough to get myself upright. I must have left my door open before all this happened; the wind is whipping through the house. I can hear the curtains ruffling and papers blowing around.
Without warning, there's tremendous pressure on my arms and legs. Pressure and heat. Searing, terrible heat. I can't stop screaming as I try to wrench the working parts of my body away from whatever is torturing me. I expect to smell burning clothes and hair and skin, but there's nothing. Just the smell of the wintery air and my sweat. The pressure is unrelenting. My bones feel ready to splinter, but somehow they maintain their integrity.
My screaming is drowned out by the loudest noise I've ever heard. The entire house shakes violently. The sound is deep and all bass; there's no change in amplitude or frequency. It doesn't stop. The pressure doesn't stop. The heat doesn't stop. The room feels like it's filling with water.
| 2014-11-18T11:31:11 | 2014-11-18T08:59:17 | 44 | 14 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
| "Tell me boy, what do you see in our new students?" the headmaster asked me, staring intently at the door through which they had just left. The headmaster knew - he had known for a long time - about my peculiar gift. I could see the danger in people. I could tell with a glance that manifested as a number in my head, on a simple one to ten scale. Dr. Butler, the headmaster, said the perfect wholeness and symmetry of the numbers was a sure sign that this was a gift from God, and as such I was to use it to warn all good Christians of His enemies.
"Most of the boys are a three or four," I told him. I glanced at the headmaster's ledger. At the top of each page was written, *Shrewsbury School for Boys* and at the bottom *Anno Dmoini 1818.* Each new boy's name was written on the left, and as he read aloud each one, I gave the number.
"Davies?"
"Three."
"Smith?"
"Two."
"Roberts?"
"Four."
"Hughes?"
"Seven."
"*Seven?*"
"Yes, sir." I stirred uncomfortably in my chair as the headmaster wrote an extended not in his ledger, shaking his head at the horribly dangerous boy Hughes. Normally a seven was reserved for a full grown man who had served at least one tour in the military, or for certain criminal types.
"Dr. Butler," I interrupted him.
"Yes boy, what is it?"
"The seven... that's not the highest number I saw today."
"You saw an *eight*? Good grief, which one was that?"
"No sir, not an eight. A ten."
The colour drained from the headmaster's face as he sat suddenly frozen in his chair. "You're sure?" he asked, "Absolutely sure?"
I nodded, the fear showing in my face as well.
"Well out with it then, which one was it?!" The headmaster was half standing over the ledger, reaching for more paper and his seals. Presumably all the teachers and staff would be warned about this boy. I leaned over the desk and looked down the ledger, trying to find the name.
"This one," I said, pointing, "down at the bottom of the first page." The headmaster seemed surprised.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, "Why, his brother has been with us for four years already, and he is no more than a three."
"He is a ten," I said, confirming. Dr. Butler began moving about his desk again, mumbling to himself about how he must warn everybody, and that any bad behavior from this boy would be entirely unacceptable. I just sat and stared at that name, which would now haunt me as the only ten I would ever see: Darwin. | 2014-11-29T14:43:43 | 2014-11-29T13:49:40 | 295 | 36 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | “One, two, two, one, three, two.” Numbers over the heads of my friends, family.... People I knew, people I didn’t. I can’t remember when they got there. I just sort of started noticing them one day.... And what they meant was... Obvious to me somehow. “One.... One....”
I often murmured to myself, no one seemed to notice or care. It was all sub vocal, no one could really hear it unless they were listening closely... Then something stopped my mindless chanting.... Someone walked onto the school grounds.
“Ten?!” I stared at her, and covered my mouth, sitting back down on the steps, hoping no one noticed.
She was a ten? But... It wasn't possible, she was just so... Normal.... How could she possibly? I had never even seen a ten before! But I knew she wasn’t what one was supposed to look like.
I noticed she was heading straight towards me. I scrambled to my feet, and ran into the school, and down the hall, she was chasing me.
“Come back here!” She demanded.
“No!” I gasped as loud as I could still running, but she caught me by the wrist, and then yanked, we both fell on the floor.
“I need your help.” She pleaded, and wouldn't release my hand. “I was told to find you.”
“Please let me go! I have to get away from you.”
“No! Please listen! I need you!”
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me and I’ll let you go!”
“Talk fast.” I said still struggling to get away from her.
“I need you to stop me.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“Without killing me, I need you to stop me.... You can see the numbers right? I had to find the one who can see the numbers.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Please.... I don’t want to die.” She said holding my hand tight, and starting to cry.
“Wait a moment calm down....” I said raising my free hand, “What are you talking about?”
“I am the end...” She said sobbing, and releasing my wrist to cover her eyes with her hands.
“What? The end of what?!” I demanded, more confused than ever.
“Of everything.” | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T14:15:56 | 140 | 30 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It only took a few seconds of staring until the number pops up in the middle of their forehead. Thank goodness for that, since I think I'd go insane seeing numbers everywhere!
Babies and most kids measure from zero to three at most, while grown adults measure up to maybe five or six, depending on their skills in hunting. I once saw a dedicated force of police officers exit a train carriage and they varied from six to seven.
By the time I was 18, I rarely used my talent. I saw no point of identifying people through their threat levels. A professional boxer has a threat level of eight, but it doesn't make him a bad person, you know?
I was always relieved that I had never seen a nine in my life. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, and the highest I saw there was a seven. I didn't even know what a nine would be, much less a ten.
[Elizabeth pauses]
He was walking around the terminal with this raggedy old briefcase. The handle snapped as he walked past me, and all the contents fell out everywhere. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to wave me off. I told him it was nonsense and helped him pick his stuff up, which consisted of a bunch of letters, notebooks, and I think a framed picture of his family. He looked stressed. so before he could leave I asked him if he would like a seat next to me, and he took the offer.
He was a handsome fellow, a little lanky, with matted brown hair and a nose that stuck out in an odd manner. He told me he had just been recruited to the military. He had a kind face, not one suited for the job he volunteered for. I asked him where he was from and what he plans on doing in the military, and suddenly I was intoxicated. He had this charming way of speaking, like he knew what to say exactly the way it should be said.
We talked for what seemed like a long time, although I knew it must have been only about five minutes. The train leaving from the city had called for its last passengers, and he stood up, telling me that he had to go. I asked him if I could write him, and he hurriedly snatched a piece of paper from his pocket, jotted down his address, folded it, and handed it to me. I barely had the paper in my hand when he started jogging away.
I called out to him, telling him, "Hey! I never got your name!" and for kicks I decided to assess his threat level.
He looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't worry! I wrote it down!" just as a big bright ten materialized in the middle of his forehead. When he reached the train, he looked back at me again, and there it was: the unmistakable number ten.
I'm sure I was still as a statue as that handsome smiling boy waved goodbye. I remembered the piece of paper in my hand, and slowly opened it. His name was right there.
"Adolf." | My whole life when I've being seeing numbers in my head whenever I looked at people. They physical numbers, I was not hallucinating but I would hear a voice in my head screaming the number at me. I've been in therapy for it since I can remember.
Doctors told me i had paranoid schizophrenia. I've been taking medication for as long as I can remember. When I think of my past, my memories, all I can think of is a blur, an entwining long memory backed up by props and picture evidence to prove that it really happened. If you ask me a details about a day there are none.
One of the only memories that stands out to me is this one time when I was 6. I was sitting on the couch watching TV and my uncle who never came over was knocking at the widow. My sister was home upstairs in bed and the look on my uncles face was fear. I let him in and the number 7 was screaming inside my head.
Next memory that comes to mind is a few months after that. I was sitting in court playing with a doll. The judge was asking questions about the doll and my uncle, my family was crying and the judge banged his hammer then I saw my uncle get handcuffed and walk down the aisle. He looked at me with the most angry look I've ever seen.
I am 16 now, I stopped taking my medicine a few months ago and my memory has gotten better. Things aren't all in the same loop anymore and I can remember a night if someone brings it up. I still am hearing numbers all the time, in school I will hear 1-3 for the students and up to 5 for a teacher. I haven't heard any high numbers in a while.
It was the first day of class since winter break and I sit get to Spanish class.
"Did you do the essay" my friend Dean asked.
"I wanna go to college, of course I did it. And no I am not letting you copy me." I said.
"Come on man I want to get out of here, can you help me out this once please" Dean said.
"Sorry I don't want to get in trouble".
"Mrs. Smith doesn't even read the essays, rumor is her husband is a drunk and hits her. She got more important things to worry about."
A student I've never seen before walks in. I hear the number 10 screaming in my head louder than I've ever heard before.
"Is this Ms. Smiths Spanish class?" Said the new student.
In an effort to divert Dean I shouted "yes"
The new student looks at me and sits in the vacant desk next to Dean.
"why don't you just do your own homework and leave this hardworking kid alone" the new student says to Dean.
"What's it to you?" Dean hastily replies.
"I don't appreciate freeloaders getting the same treatment as hard workers. Now get out of here before I tell the teacher what you asked for, And pick up a book while you're at it".
Dean gets up and slowly walks to another desk. The new student takes Deans seat next to me.
"thanks" I shakily replies.
"No problem man. I'm just trying to do what's right and let society know what's right and what's wrong. Anyways what's your name kid?"
"Robert Beausolil " I said "and what about yours".
The new student reached out his hand and smiles "Charles, Charles Manson. Nice to meet you friend, if you wanna hangout sometime I have a few friends who throw some killer parties."
"That sounds fantastic." I said.
Later that day I met Charles friends. They were some of the most accepting people I've met in my entire life. One of them told me they were like a family and I was welcome to join as long as I promised not to betray them.
"I'm in."
| 2014-11-29T17:05:40 | 2014-11-29T14:48:31 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | "Tell me boy, what do you see in our new students?" the headmaster asked me, staring intently at the door through which they had just left. The headmaster knew - he had known for a long time - about my peculiar gift. I could see the danger in people. I could tell with a glance that manifested as a number in my head, on a simple one to ten scale. Dr. Butler, the headmaster, said the perfect wholeness and symmetry of the numbers was a sure sign that this was a gift from God, and as such I was to use it to warn all good Christians of His enemies.
"Most of the boys are a three or four," I told him. I glanced at the headmaster's ledger. At the top of each page was written, *Shrewsbury School for Boys* and at the bottom *Anno Dmoini 1818.* Each new boy's name was written on the left, and as he read aloud each one, I gave the number.
"Davies?"
"Three."
"Smith?"
"Two."
"Roberts?"
"Four."
"Hughes?"
"Seven."
"*Seven?*"
"Yes, sir." I stirred uncomfortably in my chair as the headmaster wrote an extended not in his ledger, shaking his head at the horribly dangerous boy Hughes. Normally a seven was reserved for a full grown man who had served at least one tour in the military, or for certain criminal types.
"Dr. Butler," I interrupted him.
"Yes boy, what is it?"
"The seven... that's not the highest number I saw today."
"You saw an *eight*? Good grief, which one was that?"
"No sir, not an eight. A ten."
The colour drained from the headmaster's face as he sat suddenly frozen in his chair. "You're sure?" he asked, "Absolutely sure?"
I nodded, the fear showing in my face as well.
"Well out with it then, which one was it?!" The headmaster was half standing over the ledger, reaching for more paper and his seals. Presumably all the teachers and staff would be warned about this boy. I leaned over the desk and looked down the ledger, trying to find the name.
"This one," I said, pointing, "down at the bottom of the first page." The headmaster seemed surprised.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, "Why, his brother has been with us for four years already, and he is no more than a three."
"He is a ten," I said, confirming. Dr. Butler began moving about his desk again, mumbling to himself about how he must warn everybody, and that any bad behavior from this boy would be entirely unacceptable. I just sat and stared at that name, which would now haunt me as the only ten I would ever see: Darwin. | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T13:49:40 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | "10" I said unconsciously.
My friend tore his eyes away from the girl walking past us down the hall and stared at me in surprise.
"A 10? Really?" He turns his gaze back to her. "Dude I'll admit she's a looker, but I'd say more of an 8. Not 10 material, but eh different stokes for different folks."
I wasn't listening anymore. I was looking at her receding form shocked at what I had just said.
*10!?* I thought to myself. *Impossible I'd never seen a 10 before.*
My friend laughed and gave my shoulder a good natured shove.
"Got a thing for the new girl do ya Rook? Ello earth to Tomas anyone home?"
I got up abruptly and made to follow her, quickening my pace as to not lose her. My mind was racing. The highest I'd ever met was my uncle Cernes when he came back from Iraq. He was special forces and he was an 7. Even those warlords and politicians on the news never made it past 8. I couldn't imagine what danger this slight girl, barely above 5 feet, possessed to warrant her a 10 on my scale. I was determined to find out.
Gaining now I thought of how to get her alone. In the packed halls she didn't hear my footsteps on the linoleum floors until I was just behind her. She barely had a second to glance at me before I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom. I hope not too many students saw...
Once we were in I closed and locked the door before turning around to face her. She looked up at me open mouthed. Muttering something to herself. I was afraid too. More afraid than I'd like to admit, but I knew what had to be done.
"Who are you?" I hissed. Trying my best to sound angry. Trying not to let my voice tremble.
She opened her mouth to scream but with one quick step I closed the distance between us and put my hand over her mouth effectively silencing her. Dragging her shaking form away from the window on the classroom door I pinned her against the wall. I could see the abject terror in her eyes. I wasn't taking any chances. I HAD to know.
"I'm going to take my hand away from your face now and you are going to answer some questions. Understand?" She nodded best she could with my hand holding her. Slowly I took my hand off her mouth and she took wavering breath, looking like she was about to cry. In that moment I felt awful and more ashamed than I ever had in my life.
*This is necessary* I told myself again taking a step back to give her room to breath.
She was shaking uncontrollably and muttering something over and over again. Staring at me with a look of fear and incomprehension. I breathed in to gather my thoughts again, but before I could say anything more she spoke up.
"I can see the numbers in your eyes. Your like me." My heart stopped. That calm I had been gathering for the coming interrogation, shattered.
"W-what did you say." I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice this time. She noticed my resolve crumbling and took a tentative step away from the wall. I could see a flicker in her iris now. So faint you'd surely miss it if you weren't looking for it. Numbers. I moved in closer. She didn't step away. I could see them clearly now. Her gaze still held incalculable fear. 10s. Dozens of 10s popping in and out of existence just under the surface of her eyes. So lost was I in those numbers and what they meant. Before I could react she deftly reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my pen. Swinging it around faster than I could follow she stabbed me with it in the gut.
I couldn't process what had just happened. With more force than I'd thought possible for a girl of her size she brought up her knee and shoved the pen farther in before pushing my unresponding form into the desk. I crashed into them and felt something snap. Whether it was outside or inside my body I wasn't sure. Through vision clouded with pain I saw her reach back and pull the fire-alarm, and heard the click of the door automatically unlocking as cool water rained down from the emergency sprinklers. She ran.
I sat there for some time thinking. Barely feeling the pain in my gut and the water pooled with my blood. She too saw the numbers, and she was a 10. I had to find her again. | Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T15:22:56 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange," he said softly under his breath, "wifi." He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped.
*"If you can read this turn back."*
After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. *Safe at last* he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit" he said and went to lunch.
**TL;DR:** Thomas nopes the fuck out.
Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger! | I thought for a moment to heed the stranger's warning. But if anything, it made me more curious than defensive.
I located the strongest signal and it led me to a local inn. I returned the tablet to my rucksack, and entered.
I had taken the proper precautions to dress the part, and be able to speak as my forbearers had.
"I'd like a room please, quiet preferably."
The innkeeper looked at me in a strange way, as if he could tell I wasn't from around here. Regardless, it must have occurred to him that I was simply an unusual character and motioned his index finger straight up.
"I have quarters for you on the third floor, it is indeed the most quiet. You will not be disturbed, but I must warn you that there is an odd lot just down the hall from you."
I handed him the appropriate currency and proceeded upstairs with the skeleton key he provided me.
My room was further down the hall, but I instantly recognized rather familiar music, certainly not from this time period.
A door was cracked open, the music came from inside.
I peaked through and noticed a chubby young adult in a striped shirt, donning a fedora. Paper stock notes covered the walls and stacks of cash piled up on every surface available. A second man reclined in an armchair smoking a cigar. Both men looked just as out of place as I did for this time period. I worked up the courage to knock...
They noticed and beckoned me to enter. They realized immediately that I too had made the same time loop.
"Well, if you're here now, you might as well help us..." | 2014-12-23T20:15:56 | 2014-12-23T18:17:59 | 2,702 | 227 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange," he said softly under his breath, "wifi." He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped.
*"If you can read this turn back."*
After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. *Safe at last* he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit" he said and went to lunch.
**TL;DR:** Thomas nopes the fuck out.
Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger! | Sean was useful in the same way people aren't. Since his arrival he managed to anger a Pinkerton, break a clothesline, and get into a fight with the neigborhood cat Beanie. Now that the first night was coming to a close, Sean wanted to explore more of this brick wonderland that was slowly dissipating from his view.
Rummaging through his rucksack, Sean threw away useless green pieces of trash that were weighing him down, and found what he wanted. A source of light also known as a tablet. He clicked and beat the mirror until light appeared for him. Thinking heavily, Sean decided to use the Internet in hopes of finding a good place to eat for the night. To his dismay only a wavering signal remained labeled "If you can see this, turn back." So Sean did as told, turned around, got lost, and turned around again.
Moving forward, or backward for that matter, Sean decided he had had enough and sat down on the street. A slight vibration was felt on his chest. It continued for the next couple minutes until the traveler noticed it. He pulled out a clock in his pocket with the words "turn back" engraved on the side. A small lever was right next to the words big enough for a finger to flick. Sean decided to pull it back with his teeth.
A buzzing was heard, light flickered, more crazy science surrounded Sean until he was back in his bedroom. His parents stood before him seething with anger. That was the last time he brought a tablet to the past. | 2014-12-23T20:15:56 | 2014-12-23T19:33:17 | 2,702 | 14 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | A screech, a crash, a flash - in seconds it was all over. A great blinding light washed over me, and I found myself surrounded by the material that makes up the very universe. I saw time stretch before me, eons and ages would pass without me. I had been removed from existence...or so I thought. I looked over to my left, and saw someone standing far off in the distance. Longing to share this experience with someone, anyone, I began to float over to them. As I got closer, I noticed this person looked eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm you," the person smiled. And I knew that he was telling the truth. This was me - though older, more refined, with a sense of power and authority about him.
"Me? How can you be me? I'm me, and I think I'm dead."
"Oh, you are. I am too. It's some sort of sick joke. I'm stuck here to meet myself, every time a version of me dies. And then you will go off to...wherever it is you go off to."
I was confused. Why would I care about meeting myself? And why was he stuck here when the rest of "us" got to move on? I voiced my questions out loud.
"I think it's to make you feel ashamed, when you compare your life to mine." He smiled again. "I was quite accomplished, you know. Judging by your age, I don't think you can say the same."
His words sparked anger in me. "I accomplished plenty! I graduated college with honors, had a great job, a loving girlfriend..." He cut me off with a scoff.
"When I was your age, I had already started my first company. It went on to bankroll my future endeavors. What about you? Let me guess - you pissed away all of your time going drinking with friends and staying up late playing video games."
I was getting really irritated, but also embarassed. He was right - I did spend too much time with my friends and on games. I could have accomplished so much more! Is this the potential that I wasted? He went on.
"Yes, at 27 I had started my own company. It was a research firm, specializing in defense. Soon we were bought out by Booze Allen, and I rose through the ranks. I became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, at 45. The money I made I put to good use too - ensuring a steady stream of business for our company."
"A steady stream of business? What do you mean?"
He - I - floated away from me. He turned his back, and for the first time I sensed hesitation in his voice.
"Well, what is a defense contractor to do, if there's nothing to defend against?"
Cold horror dawned on me. "What, you started fights?"
He laughed. "Starting fights is easy. Starting wars takes a little more thought."
"But what did your wife think about all this? You married Katie, right?"
He laughed once more, but this time it was more of a scoff. "Wives, friends, family...all these things do is hold you back from your accomplishments. No, no...I dumped Katie right out of college. She wanted me to spend too much time with her, and it took away the time I needed to start Simtech. Things were better this way. Take the lesson from me - after all, I am the best version of yourself!"
Disgust flowed out of me, but before I could give it a voice, I found myself sucked away from the other me, the monstrous me. Now, I was in a place of nothing. Nothing but me and my thoughts, floating endlessly through the darkness. Is this truly what I was capable of? Did I have this monster in me the entire time? It seemed I would have eternity to feel the guilt of this other man's life. | Being invisible isn't fun, but it's convenient, sometimes.
I mean, I'm only invisible to most people. There are plenty of exceptions, though -- plenty of people see an obese, ugly woman and make a point to pay attention to her. Never positive attention, obviously: sometimes it's jeering contempt, sometimes it's people daring each other to hit on me.
Of the latter category, most don't take dumb dares from their friends seriously enough to actually attempt to sleep with me. A few do, though. And, in my lowest moments, I've taken a few up on it. I know it's a shitty idea, that I'll wake up with even more self-loathing than usual. But sexual neglect can really fuck up one's ability to think long-term.
Anyway.
Being invisible is convenient when I take my lunch break. My anxiety reaches a fever pitch when I try to eat lunch in the work breakroom. People will either try to engage me in conversation, which I can tell is out of pity and I never can reciprocate without coming off weird; or they'll ignore me, which is honestly better but still hurts.
So I go to the park, where I can at least be fairly certain no one will bother or acknowledge me.
The one-block walk is havoc on my knees, as always, and it's the most humiliating part of the lunch ordeal. People see an obese woman struggling with an extremely minimal amount of physical exertion and occasionally chime in with "helpful" advice. "If you don't change your habits soon, you are going to die," they've said.
*When?* I wonder.
On the park bench, finally, I take out my lunch. It's a small, healthy lunch. People who expect the world to be fair, who believe bad things only happen to bad people, want to believe that I'm obese because of my own ignorance re: nutrition, but in truth it only takes a couple shame spirals of feelings-eating depression to get to where I am, and once you're there, the aforementioned self-loathing prevents you from losing it. I got my spirals out of my way in my teens and twenties, and now I just live in limbo.
I only notice the woman on the opposite bench because she's eating the same lunch, but once I do, I can't stop looking.
She's beautiful: tall, leggy, lush brown hair, and *fit*. Smooth skin, full lips, and a suit that suggests that her job is more important and fulfilling and better paying than any I could hope to have. Her eyes remind me of my mother, though, and I have to look away.
After a few minutes, she gets up and leaves. I spot something gleaming on her vacated bench. I look cautiously around, then get up and investigate.
It's a laminated work badge, with the same beautiful face. The name, though... the name is *mine*. Mine, with one key difference: her surname is hyphenated. The first surname is my own, the second is a stranger's. Not a husband's, going by the glint of the enormous, unaccompanied engagement ring she'd worn.
I have my phone. I pull up Facebook and search for her profile. It's public, of course. A woman like that has no reason to hide. I scroll through pictures with a beautiful fiance, beautiful friends, beautiful people of different races who are apparently her siblings.
I find a lengthy status and stop. It's a long, heartfelt status about her birth mother. About *Joyce*.
She forgives Joyce. She knows that Joyce has problems. But however stressful and hurtful dealing with her can be, she will always try to reach out, because Joyce is family (albeit family she has very infrequent contact with).
Joyce put her up for adoption. Of course. Of course this stranger is then able to grow into a beautiful, confident woman, capable not only of meaningful accomplishments but of *forgiveness*. She has that luxury.
Joyce didn't raise her, or claim to. Joyce didn't alternately starve and overfeed her until it was impossible to have a healthy relationship with food. Joyce didn't refuse to take her to the doctor about her skin condition until her face was pitted with scars. Joyce didn't literally and metaphorically beat it into her that she was unlovable until she believed it herself. And, as a consequence, this strange woman is capable of more than I ever, ever will be.
There's a subway station half a block from here. I've read articles about the train drivers when people commit suicide by jumping in front of their trains; how they are riddled with guilt and PTSD. Hopefully, though, they won't care too much if it's an obese, ugly woman.
| 2022-09-04T14:52:04 | 2015-01-02T11:32:08 | 383 | 67 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | A screech, a crash, a flash - in seconds it was all over. A great blinding light washed over me, and I found myself surrounded by the material that makes up the very universe. I saw time stretch before me, eons and ages would pass without me. I had been removed from existence...or so I thought. I looked over to my left, and saw someone standing far off in the distance. Longing to share this experience with someone, anyone, I began to float over to them. As I got closer, I noticed this person looked eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm you," the person smiled. And I knew that he was telling the truth. This was me - though older, more refined, with a sense of power and authority about him.
"Me? How can you be me? I'm me, and I think I'm dead."
"Oh, you are. I am too. It's some sort of sick joke. I'm stuck here to meet myself, every time a version of me dies. And then you will go off to...wherever it is you go off to."
I was confused. Why would I care about meeting myself? And why was he stuck here when the rest of "us" got to move on? I voiced my questions out loud.
"I think it's to make you feel ashamed, when you compare your life to mine." He smiled again. "I was quite accomplished, you know. Judging by your age, I don't think you can say the same."
His words sparked anger in me. "I accomplished plenty! I graduated college with honors, had a great job, a loving girlfriend..." He cut me off with a scoff.
"When I was your age, I had already started my first company. It went on to bankroll my future endeavors. What about you? Let me guess - you pissed away all of your time going drinking with friends and staying up late playing video games."
I was getting really irritated, but also embarassed. He was right - I did spend too much time with my friends and on games. I could have accomplished so much more! Is this the potential that I wasted? He went on.
"Yes, at 27 I had started my own company. It was a research firm, specializing in defense. Soon we were bought out by Booze Allen, and I rose through the ranks. I became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, at 45. The money I made I put to good use too - ensuring a steady stream of business for our company."
"A steady stream of business? What do you mean?"
He - I - floated away from me. He turned his back, and for the first time I sensed hesitation in his voice.
"Well, what is a defense contractor to do, if there's nothing to defend against?"
Cold horror dawned on me. "What, you started fights?"
He laughed. "Starting fights is easy. Starting wars takes a little more thought."
"But what did your wife think about all this? You married Katie, right?"
He laughed once more, but this time it was more of a scoff. "Wives, friends, family...all these things do is hold you back from your accomplishments. No, no...I dumped Katie right out of college. She wanted me to spend too much time with her, and it took away the time I needed to start Simtech. Things were better this way. Take the lesson from me - after all, I am the best version of yourself!"
Disgust flowed out of me, but before I could give it a voice, I found myself sucked away from the other me, the monstrous me. Now, I was in a place of nothing. Nothing but me and my thoughts, floating endlessly through the darkness. Is this truly what I was capable of? Did I have this monster in me the entire time? It seemed I would have eternity to feel the guilt of this other man's life. | I knew who he was. The same crooked hairline. The same half squinted left eye. The same tiny scar that looked like a dolphin on his left hand. It was me.
Now I'm not a mam who believes in a higher power, but I guess it didn't matter what you believe in when you're dead. He.. or well... the other me spoke.
"Do you know who I am?"
Without hesitation I said,
"You're the person who I've could have become"
Other me looked somewhat flabbergasted. I could tell he didn't expect me to answer as quickly as a did nor figure it out right away. He responded,
"Umm.... So I guess they have reddit in your world too?"
Not sure what reddit is, but if I had to guess, it's probably his world's version of Digg.
"Well anyway, yes. Kind of weird isn't it? I always thought if I were to die we'd meet either something divine. Instead, the last thing we confront is ourselves. Kind of a disappointment if you ask me."
This was me alright. Not sure what the hell the difference is but...
"Oh by the way, I think I can read your mind"
Again, this was definitely me. And...
"No seriously I can read your mind. The last words you thought of were 'Again, this was definitely me. And...'"
What the fuck?! Get out of my mind asshole!!
"Whoa chill man! I think it'll be much easier if you read mine too. I just need to warn you... if I'm the version of you that you could've become, it might not be easy."
Well... As much as I hated this situation, what else could I do. At what cost though? This was probably designed to torture me, to emotionally break me. The man in front of me probably became the famous musician when he was 15. He could've been the successful producer when he was 18. He could've broke into the film industry, he could have become a loving father, he could have gotten laid. All things that I never lived up to and was never able to achieve. I was a factory worker in my life, and died alone. The anticipation was killing me
"Well if it's killing you that badly then stop inner monologuing with cliche sentences and read my fucking mind."
Ugh... Well at least we shared the same humor. I then looked deep into his soul. And I saw... THE FUCK IS THIS?
"Lol you're not coming anywhere near my mind man."
Right as I was about to enter his mind, a gigantic billboard that said "Do Not Enter" appeared. Ok so I get that he's dead. I get that this afterlife thing can be a little lonely. However, this guy must have really had a successful happy life to be this much of a dick to his other half! Does it please you that you're better then me?! Are you in a good mood because you're the lucky one and I fell victim to mediocrity?!
"Who said anything about being better then you?"
Ugh... I'm sorry. It's just.... Imagine if you were in my shoes.
"Well, maybe I wish I was in your shoes"
...What do you mean?
"So you never accomplished any of your unrealistic dreams, worked a shitty factory job, and died a lonely virgin. Is that right?"
Was he saying the person who I could've become wishes for that life? Maybe this was like one of those situations where all that glistens isn't gold. Maybe my life I thought was so shitty and boring was a lot better then the alternative. Maybe...
"Ok look, In case you weren't paying attention I never said I was better. I was the person you could've become. Guess what, I also failed at the music thing. I also never broke into Hollywood. I also died alone and virgin. I also, had a shitty life."
But... What is going on?
"Yes. You were not destined for anything. You have aspergers and that crooked hairline and eye aren't helping you either. You... WE got by the best we could. Let's be honest man, you weren't that good at your dreams and weren't connected. There is no possible way you could've done anything different besides dropping out of school and started getting paid minimum wage before you went bankrupt when you graduated. Even then though, no one would've hired you anyway"
So... if nothing changed, why am I meeting you?! What's the fucking point of all of this?!
"Because the fact your life was insignificant from birth is a lot colder then the fact you could've been great. Welcome to hell my friend... Literally." | 2022-09-04T14:52:04 | 2015-01-02T13:55:50 | 383 | 13 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here! | “Sir, can you spare some change?” The man is barely moving under his blanket, using just enough energy to shove a tin can at me. Once he wiggles his head out and sees me he apologizes but continues to stare. Behind him, he has a sign stuck up on the wall saying *will derive polynomials for food.* This generation is a mess.
All our parents were given a choice by their doctor during their second sonogram. Your child gets a skill, a talent, a gift. From you, whatever you would like. Just write it down on this paper and we will take care of the rest.
It seemed like a godsend. Your child will have a leg up on everyone else. They will excel in their field. They will be set for life. At least, those were the promises. To misquote Albert Einstein, “It’s all relative.”
There are now more genius musicians than anything else, but radio stations still only play the top 40. Each one of them has to rely on different talents or gifts to make it in the business. We still see the same kind of pop stars that we ever did. Little, impossibly proportioned and flawless girls. Effeminate men in tight pants. At least the music has gotten better.
Every book that’s released is perfect, down to the last tiny grammatical detail, but if Oprah doesn’t ever see it, it’s useless white noise. If you can’t provide a stunning back cover, nobody will read it. Nobody will publish it.
The world became flooded with artists and sports heroes and strongmen, with dancers and math geniuses and doctors. There was nothing that set one candidate over any other, save for aesthetics. All the skill and talent and dedication in the world meant nothing if you didn’t look good. The difference between a spot in the sewer and in a penthouse was the clearness of your skin and the set of your jaw.
My parents were idiots and chose for me to be pretty, but to misquote Robert Frost “that has made all the difference.” Less than a handful of parents chose that, whether because they didn’t think of it or because they were concerned of what the doctor they were talking to would think. So now I am elite. The top. For no other reason than that I am gorgeous. I don’t have to tell people that this is my skill, so I tell them something else. Right now I am going with politics.
Vote me for president. Look into my eyes and tell me you won’t.
| Schooling had changed since the invention of the CLI, or Child Learning Injections. Parents had the ability to give their offspring one skill that they would use for the rest of their lives, many of the students at school were varied. Some excelled at math, other's could write a novel with their eyes closed. A few of the students were unbeatable, training hard against each other with perfect martial arts.
"You coming to band practice?" George yelled to me across the classroom.
"Sorry man, I've got work tonight, can you tell Mr. Larson I'll be there for a catch-up lesson tomorrow morning?" I replied, placing the last few books into my bag.
"Sure thing, don't work yourself too hard!" he called out from the hallway as he raced towards the music department.
I myself was never one to care about the skills, it was only a single skill after all. George's parents were huge musicians, so of course he was one of the best musical prodigies in existence. He could play any instrument from the Clarinet to the Double Bass without hesitation.
I stood up from my desk, pulling a pair of headphones out of my pocket and putting on some classical music. As the sweet symphonies filled my ears a fist came from around the corner, hitting me square in the jaw.
"Where do you think you're going dork?" Theo spat, kneeling down and closing his fist around my shirt.
"To work" I replied calmly, rubbing the red mark that appeared.
"Oh really?" he asked, picking me up and throwing me against the brick wall.
"I thought you were coming here to pay me again?" He asked politely, letting go of my shirt and rubbing his fingers together suggestively.
"I ain't givin' you shit Theo"
Another hit collided with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
"Oh I think you are pretty boy" he whispered, taking my phone out of my pocket.
"Neat little phone ya' got here, you don't mind if I borrow it, do you?" he asked, turning the device over to inspect the back.
"Give it back" I said, spitting the blood out that had collected in my mouth.
"Or what? You're going to get your mummy or daddy onto me?" He chided, pocketing the device.
"My parents are dead" I retorted, lifting myself off of the ground.
"What?" he asked, genuinely surprised.
"I never did tell you what skill they gave me, did I?" I announced, taking a small pencil out of my shirt pocket to inspect it.
"What does it matter?"
I sprung forward, jamming the pencil into Theo's throat. The lead disappearing beneath the skin.
"They taught me how to kill" I muttered through clenched teeth, pulling the pencil out as the blood spurt from the wound. Theo collapsed to the floor, gasping for air and reaching out to the sky. I reached into his pocket, taking my phone out and dusting it off. I gently pulled off the gloves I had been wearing, placing them into a paper bag and setting it aflame with my lighter. After disposing of the body and any sign of my existence I set off down the road towards home.
-----------------------------
*A thin strip of newspaper wafted through the air, landing at the feet of the policeman on duty, bold black letters presented on the front.*
**SERIAL KILLING COUPLE MURDERED AFTER GIVING BIRTH TO CHILD** | 2015-01-13T08:21:42 | 2015-01-13T06:45:52 | 502 | 200 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here! | The effect of the gifts was less pronounced than was thought. Every generation, parents would look at what was lacking in in their time and ensure that their children were good at it. This led to cycles of overabundance and scarcity of skills; one generation we have millions of brilliant scientists; the next we have none. No one really stands out because every parent sees the same set of societal shortcomings and picks from the same pile of obvious fixes.
Since individuals make these decisions without any central ordering the cycle continues. Most people know what their power is as soon as they learn to talk. My parents though, they never told me what my talent was. Eventually I assumed that they declined the opportunity when I was born. It’s not a huge deal though, most of the people with special birth talents are either eking out a living in a hugely oversaturated job market or ignoring their skills and living normal lives. When I get asked about it I just say that there’s not much use for people with my gift and change the subject.
That all changed when my first child was born. As the doctors held the baby high and I was asked to select a gift I suddenly realized what my own gift was and recognized the wisdom of my parents’ choice.
My child will be the most important human in modern history. Not because of chance or lineage, but because I knew exactly which gift to give. | "The President has been shot"
Panic filled the street after gunshots rang out. People fled in every direction. I watched as the chaos spread, standing in the artillery decimated corner of an old liquor shop.
It wasn't long after this new form of gene therapy went public that things started to fall apart. With so many super geniuses in the world working on new technologies and weapons an inevitable race for the worlds useful resources began. The more aggressive nations launched small attacks centered on poor resource rich countries in Africa and South America. Then the big dogs stepped in to try and "keep the peace", but they were just as hungry.
When the domestic attacks started no one was prepared, everyone's attention was focused on these "peace missions", we all missed what was going on under our noses. Who would suspect John and Jane down the road of having super soldier children. Perhaps they never meant for them to be super soldiers, like my parents.
I was given a seemingly simple skill, survival. When I was young I never imagined that it would evolve to such a level, it started slow. I first noticed what it could do in school, maybe fourth of fifth grade. I was being bullied like most kids by the elite intellects. We were split into fast lanes and slow lanes, but for social development they kept kids with their peers under the same roof. I decided I wasn't going to take the abuse anymore I lashed out at a boy named Melvin,fucking pretentious prick. The intellects were surprisingly good fighters something to do with their rapid learning allowed them to pick up almost anything, but for those with physical skills our entire biology was different faster reflexes, stronger muscles, better senses, we lived and fought on an instinctual level. Needless to say I wiped the floor with him.
That's why I am who I am, damned humans playing God. I started a band of these "Rebels" bent on domestic terrorism, at least that's what we are being called. We fight for our freedom and for the musicians, dancers, and artists treated as baubles, slaves to look pretty and entertain in parlors and lounges for the intellectual big wigs. | 2015-01-13T14:00:01 | 2015-01-13T10:41:05 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here! | The effect of the gifts was less pronounced than was thought. Every generation, parents would look at what was lacking in in their time and ensure that their children were good at it. This led to cycles of overabundance and scarcity of skills; one generation we have millions of brilliant scientists; the next we have none. No one really stands out because every parent sees the same set of societal shortcomings and picks from the same pile of obvious fixes.
Since individuals make these decisions without any central ordering the cycle continues. Most people know what their power is as soon as they learn to talk. My parents though, they never told me what my talent was. Eventually I assumed that they declined the opportunity when I was born. It’s not a huge deal though, most of the people with special birth talents are either eking out a living in a hugely oversaturated job market or ignoring their skills and living normal lives. When I get asked about it I just say that there’s not much use for people with my gift and change the subject.
That all changed when my first child was born. As the doctors held the baby high and I was asked to select a gift I suddenly realized what my own gift was and recognized the wisdom of my parents’ choice.
My child will be the most important human in modern history. Not because of chance or lineage, but because I knew exactly which gift to give. | (please forgive any grammar mistakes, long story as to why I suck at it...Trying to improve.
"I think he should be a talented SLADE mechanic, it is the family heritage after all!" Harry, the boys father stated tapping his foot impatiently. His wife had been pushing for there son to be an artist.
"Everything is not about heritage, he is both of our son."
As the two argued the doctor idly cleaned his glasses, and shuffled paperwork on his desk. Running out of busy work to do the doctor stood up, clearing his throat.
"Not now!" The two parents yell in unison. Obviously this matter was more to them then it should be.
The Doctor's shoulders sag as he lets out a large sigh, turning towards the computer terminal on the wall.
" I think, the best skill to be given is a knack for learning.." The Doctor mumbles to himself, sliding his finger across the screen, looking at different bars, and wave lengths for the child.
"I mean, at least with that skill he can do what HE wants." Looking back at the two parents, who where now standing in opposite corners of the room.
Letting out one last sigh, the doctor turns back to the terminal taping his finger in a set order. As his finger taps it the last time a voice comes out of the speakers.
"Knowledge has been chosen, may the child live a happy life." The mechanical voice started, and ended with a loud chirp. At the last chirp the parents turn to look, blood started reddening Harry's face.
"How..How dare you!" Harry's face really looked like it was going to pop.
Clara on the other hand, Clara looked happy. Tears had started to fill her eyes, making her golden brown eyes shine slightly. Understanding what the doctor had done.
"H-h-Harry, stop it. You're embarrassing us, I think this is best." She turns to her husband grabbing his hand gently.
"Maybe we shouldn't choose what skill he is good at. It isn't our decision."
<<; I feel like I would have never stopped writing...this is so bad, but everyone starts somewhere!
| 2015-01-13T14:00:01 | 2015-01-13T10:30:23 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | "No, please."
She pushed the vial away from her lips, her thin and wrinkly hands shaking.
"Why?" I asked.
"I... I'm so tired, dear." She sighed. Then she continued:
"My flesh is tired."
"What do you mean?"
"The other ones, my other lives, I've come to realize... they were not *really* me. I've read their diaries, I've memorized the formula. You raised me and I made you young again. I raised you as though you were my own child. But there is no personal continuity between these versions of us and the ones that came before."
There were tears in her eyes, now.
"This is not immortality. Just a series of deaths. A long line of lives we cannot remember, but I swear I can feel the weight of every loss in my bones."
She put her hand on mine.
"I want to sleep."
"But what about our deal?" I asked. "What about us?"
"You will have to find a new one. It will be easy to find somebody willing, but harder to find someone to trust."
I nodded.
"Now leave me. Please. I will have my peace, at last."
I slowly backed out of the room, and I whispered "good bye" as I closed the door.
Walking down the hallway I returned the vial of cyanide into my pocket. I obviously wouldn't need it for this one. That was a first. She'd almost figured everything out, that stupid old hag. She must've been depressed. Whatever. That made things easier for me. Of course the formula lets you preserve your memories! It would be pointless, otherwise. The only reason my partner couldn't remember her past life was because she hadn't lived one. Neither had the one before her.
I already had the next child prepared. I would raise her as my daughter. Then she would raise me as her son. Then I would kill her. Rinse and repeat. A god doesn't share his throne. | “Abe? What are you doing?” I watched him from the doorway as he packed his suitcase. One suitcase. My throat felt like it was about to close shut.
He looked up at me. “What I should have done, back in Carthage,” he said. “Leaving.”
I hit the doorframe with my tiny, ten-year-old’s fist. It made a thump, but the thin plywood didn’t so much as splinter. I was always weak at this age, and he knew it. “We had a deal, Abe.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.” He folded a pair of socks, and stuffed them in the corner of the suitcase, staring at them a moment, not meeting my eyes. “And now we don’t.”
“But why? Why now? It’s been, what, six thousand years? And you’re leaving me now?”
“Six thousand, two hundred and seventy three years,” he said. He closed the suitcase with a soft click. “This is your hundred and twenty-fifth childhood.”
“And you were just going to leave me here, after all this time? No explanation?” I demanded. “Come on, Abe. You owe me that much.”
He sat down on the bed with a sigh, and I stood in the doorway, staring him down. Realistically, there was nothing I could do if he decided to run; my child’s body weighed less than seventy pounds and Abe was a strong man, but I knew in my heart that I would try.
“Brother,” he said. “I’m losing my mind.”
It hit me in the chest like a hammer. “What?”
“I’m losing my mind,” he repeated. “Every time I drink from the chalice, I lose something. A memory, a concept, a sensation. Eventually I can’t even remember what I forgot. Carthage is-” he paused, correcting himself. “-was the first time I can remember it.”
“What did you forget in Carthage?” I asked him.
He looked frightened, and his voice cracked. “I can’t remember.”
He stared at me, through me. “It’s getting worse, Kane. Some days I’ll forget a word, or a name, and there are so many more *things* now. The other day, in the city center, I nearly killed a man. I feel like I’m not really myself anymore.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, brother,” he said. “I’m just so afraid of hurting you.”
I watched him there, for a moment, the brine trickling down his face. If he kept crying forever, I wondered, would he make an ocean? Perhaps at the bottom of every ocean was an immortal man, crying helplessly.
“Please stay,” I said, but I knew that he wouldn’t. | 2015-02-14T06:40:49 | 2015-02-14T06:01:34 | 1,103 | 546 |
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