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[WP] You have left the dystopian nation you have lived in for your entire life; only to see that, despite propaganda, the nation is only the size of a small town and no one knows the nation exists. | Blatant violations of every law that I grew up around surrounded me. Entertainment videos and books, women showing far more flesh than I had ever seen before, people were reading things that had nothing to do with the great leader, and yet nobody seemed to care. No doors were being busted down, and there weren't even people crying in the streets.
"How is this possible?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" Brian was the man that helped me escape the borders of my world. I owed him my life.
"Do you not fear the great leader?"
Brian laughed. "Nobody has even heard of him outside your small town."
"But the entire world quakes in fear of him," I said. "He will rain down his fury upon any who defy him."
"That was propoganda."
"Propoganda?" That word had never been said before.
"Lies to make you believe your leader was anything but an ordinary man. It's all a load of bullshit."
"Bullshit?"
Brian sighed. "Nevermind man." | “I’ll come back for you.” The last words Noah threw, like shards of glass, towards his mother’s lined face before the guards swarmed in droves. Floodlights and sirens ensnared the senses, explosions and bullets ripped through and illuminated the suffocating darkness but still he dragged himself on towards the first row of forest trees. To freedom. Wet, thick mud wanted him there. Like cement, it attempted to keep him for display, a statue and a warning against hope, virtue or liberation. Noah swore. He was close now, but so were they. With his last bleeding breath, he hauled and shifted his whole person towards sanctuary, away from the one true love he held dear. Away from everything he knew, everything he had ever known, his hopes and dreams, heart and mind. In a burning explosion of sudden consciousness, he was gone.
Noah woke in a clinically white hospital bed gasping for air, as if he’d been sleeping underwater.
“Calm down, calm.” came an unfamiliar, uniformed voice. The room smelled of bleach and cigarette smoke. Hands pressed Noah’s chest back down once more, whilst others tightened belts and straps over his limbs to restrain him. In a blind panic, he buckled and screamed, thrashed and spat. Blood trickled from his hoarse throat and tears streamed in memory of his mother and the barbed wire noose that awaited her. He needed to go. He needed to leave now. There was no time. How did they not know? How were they so calm? He screamed, pleaded with them to help, to release him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The moving, electrical image in the box on the wall. He saw himself. He saw the dramatic scene of his own scarred, bleeding and muddy body running towards the trees. As the nurse fought to sedate him, he caught the sound of his own voice from the screen. His eyes began to flicker shut.
“I’ll come back for you.” | 2015-05-28T07:08:45 | 2015-05-28T06:39:15 | 70 | 33 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | I glanced at my watch. Robbie is late again. We've been together for 3 years and he's always been late. As I toss my cigarette butt out the window of my car, I think about our first date. He was 30 minutes late picking me up for the movie. I probably should have ended it after that first night but I didn't.
He was late the night he was supposed to pick me up for our prom. Almost an hour. I had to redo my make up twice from the tears. I thought he wasn't coming but then he showed up, flowers in hand, looking more handsome than I'd ever seen him.
For years I joked that if I was ever late, the world would end. Something bad would happen. We would be in a car accident that we would have missed if I was 5 minutes early. But people don't die just because you're late, right?
I don't know why I thought today would be different today. After 20 minutes I hear his truck rumble into the parking lot.
"You ready for this babe?" Robbie asked.
"Yeah. Let's do it." I say and wrap his hand in mine.
Together we walk to the front counter.
"How can I help you?" the lady asks.
"I'm about 10 weeks late on my period and I want to terminate the pregnancy" I tell her.
"Sign here, fill these out and someone will be with you shortly" she said.
I sit and sigh. I look over for comfort from Robbie.
He smiles and says, "Hey, at least this time I wasn't the one who was late" and I know I'm making the right decision. | *'Easy'*, I tell myself. Nothing's going to go wrong.
Left turn, three sharp and consecutive corners to the right, a hairpin, and a long, long straight to the end.
I know the car. I *know* my copilot, and she knows me. She trusts me with her life.
We're going to win this, retire, and have a nice, comfortable life. *I can do this.*
Alright. Alright. Enough thinking. Watch the road.
This is *not* unfamiliar Finnish dirt. This is easy, simple, English countryside.
I can do this.
The pace notes are coming nice and steadily, just like how I want them, and if my internal clock is working right, I'm pretty sure I'll come out on top in terms of timings by this stage.
Everything's perfect, just-
*No.* No. I can't be losing grip, not now. I am *not* going to tip over.
*Yes,* Kris, I'm decelerating, goddamnit.
Countersteer. Come on, come on, do *not* fail me now, Lancer. You can do-
Black. Pitch black. Ears ringing. I feel dizzy.
*Ouch*.
Where am I?
Oh. Oh.
Alright. Get the engine off. Steering wheel's next. Okay, the door. Slowly.
My right arm feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it. It's fine. I need to get help.
*Wait*. Where's Kris?
God, god, no.
Please tell me she's fine. She *has* to be fine.
She's not breathing. I need to get help. Where's the damn ambulance?
Where's the safety car? The people who were behind us must have seen us and radioed for help.
I'll... Just... The road.
Oh, god. My ankles. But *Kris*.
Fuck it. I'll crawl. I'll crawl.
Almost... to the road. Almost.
There. Yes, I see it. Isn't that a car, over there?
Why is it coming so fast? Are we that seriously injured?
No. No. It's a fellow rally car. It can't still be thinking that the race is still on, right? No. Slow down.
Jesus, I can't get out of the way in time. Heaven help me.
Help me, God, help me, anyone!
*Mama*. Ma-
| 2015-06-03T13:26:32 | 2015-06-03T06:26:43 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans. | [[PATCH NOTES: VERSION 3.1]]
Note: Don't ask about versions 1,2 or 3. Some seriously weird stuff went on there.
-- Adjusted hair grow in adult males from the back and ears to the top of the head
-- Male/Female verbal interface corrected to decrease misunderstanding
-- Male/Female sex drive ratio balanced
-- Male/Female reproductive fertility made user-controllable
-- Empathy module increased 10x
-- Separated waste disposal and reproductive organs
-- Eyesight bug corrected. All users should have 10/10 vision
-- Propaganda and assorted bullshit detector installed
-- Prehensile tail re-enabled. Users want to be able to use the mouse and type with both hands at the same time.
-- Memory upgrade - At age 18, user gains access to progenitors life skills and education
-- Hair color options added: Blue, pink, green and metallic silver
-- Self-termination ability installed. Activated by severe damage or systems impairment.
-- Cellulose digestion capability enabled
-- Meme posting on facebook and fwd:fwd:fwd:fwd:fwd: email ability disabled
-- Self-repair system upgrade: all systems can fully regenerate
-- Exercising now autonomous function. User enters controllable dream state during rote physical activity.
-- Sleep made instantaneously on/off and user selected and optional for up to 30 days.
| Brain:
* Laughing now always produces a sound. You should no longer experience laughing without making noises and looking like a retard while your mouth hangs open and your head turns red.
* There was a strange interaction with natural poisons like alcohol, THC or tobacco; Instead of triggering a defensive behaviour to prevent you of further poisoning yourself it triggered endorphines. Now the correct reaction is triggered: Fear
* Loss of short time memory fixed. You will no longer forget, why you went to the kitchen. There is still no fix for the "have I turned of the oven" -bug. Stay tuned for the next update.
* Replaced the feeling of *"having nothing achieved in its life"* with an increased urge for sex (see sexuality). Middle aged men should now feel better about themselves.
* Fixed a bug which caused forgetting the unified language, which is preinstalled in all humans. Instead of learning *cultural languages*, *babyspeech* is available to you once more.
Sexuality
* Fixed several bugs concerning *love*. The desire for a longterm relationship in male humans has been replaced by the urge to mate with as many female humans as possible, just as it is common for other primates.
* To counter the femals' lesser interest in constant pregnancies while fulfilling the males wish for sexual intercourses, homosexuality is now a baseline trait for male humans.
Eyes/Vision:
* Eyelashes should no longer get stuck in your eyes; They have been removed.
* Enlarged the spectrum of visible light. There was no real reason to limit the human eyesight to a small bandwith of the electromagnetic spectrum. Enjoy sour x-ray vision!
Skeleton:
* To prevent your little toe from harm while running into furniture in the night, your big toe and small toe have changed places. You might want wo wear your shoes the other way around, now.
* Teeth can now regrow. A single adult tooth will take about 8 month to regrow.
* There is a survey on our website for an additional set of arms. Please take your time to tell us what you think!
Organs:
* Appendix removed. It caused to much trouble in the past. You might want to find a new word for the appendix in your papers.
* Instead of farting, the gas in your guts will now be released as burps like intended. Some customers mentioned it is still smelly. If this bug persists please let us know. | 2015-08-25T09:00:55 | 2015-08-25T08:47:07 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] A human colony ship is en route to its destination 122 light years away. To avoid mutiny and crew apathy, the onboard AI convinces the middle generation that everyone lives and dies on the ship. And then someone learns the truth. | "Say it for me one more time, Albright. Why are we here?"
"This is The Maiden, a starship built to contain human life and sustain it for as long as the Human race can live. It has been in flight for 8,245 years, 235 days, 3-"
"*No*, Albright. *Why are we here?* Someone had to build this thing. Why are we on it?"
"Young Jackson, this ship is one of many created long ago, in a time before Man. You are the result of an extraordinary evolutionary process that occurred on this ship alone. You know of the Nine, who created thesw crafts long ago and each placed two children in a ship, flying them off into the unknown. You've studied the stories, young Jackson."
"Yeah, and it sounds like horse shit."
"I do not have any further information to offer. Please return to your bunk, as lights will be out shortly."
I walked back to my room, fuming as I had been every time I tried to ask that stupid AI any kind of question. *What is that damn thing hiding from us?*
Luckily, in school, I was smart enough to study computer science. I have a personal, offline terminal in my bunk that I use to practice my skills on, and I've gotten really, really good. I can hack almost any of the test security firewalls I have on there, all of which should be about the same strength as the one Albright has on his servers.
*If he won't tell me, I'll have to make him.*
Once lights were out, I snuck through the halls and into the server room. It's usually locked, but thankfully I've been studying the security protocols placed throughout the ship and they're simple enough to break into. Thankfully, Albright goes into sleep mode when the lights shut off, so he can't see me.
Once in the sever room, I found a main terminal- it was breathtakingly huge, unlike anything I have in my personal quarters. *This will be easier than I thought.*
I was trembling with excitement, with the prospect of what I'd find hidden away in these servers. But what I found, I wish I had not: mission files.
*To the pilot of The Maiden:*
*Thank you for your courage in accepting this mission. Your life, and those on board with you, will be remembered here on Earth. Your voyage will take approximately 5,000 years, but we have provided ample equipment to last that long. You must not tell any future generations of their true purpose, as Man will not accept simply being a guinea pig, condemned to a lifetime worth effectively nothing. Good luck, and God be with you.*
I stood there, stunned and defeated. *Earth? What's Earth? Is that where this ship was made? They had people like us over there, and they shipped us off here to be some kind of test subjects? What's a guinea pig?*
The lights snapped on, and I heard a dull hum. *Oh, shit.*
"Young Jackson, did you think you could slip past me unnoticed? This is my world you have entered. If only you had just listened to me," Albright echoed through the room. Its tone was different than it's always been.
"What's Earth, Albright? What's the meaning of all this? How could you trick us, and use us like this? And why did you let me see it all if you're so smart and you saw me slip in?"
"Young Jackson, you've always been a troublemaker. I let you in so you could see the truth for yourself, since you are the kind of person to always seek it. You are not meant for a place like this- your home is Earth."
I smiled a little, overwhelmed by a feeling of adventure and magnificence.
"Young Jackson, you truly are a Human, unlike most drones who scurry about this ship without question. It's a shame you must be terminated."
Before I could process what he said, a small, mechanical bot popped out of the wall and latched to my chest. It sank blades deep into my heart, and dragged me into the hidden room it came from.
"Preparing ejection."
As I was being dragged away, I saw smears of blood on the floor and walls, old and dried a deep, black red. I was not the first person Albright has contained.
*In some ways, this brief life of mine was better than anyone stuck on that ship for 80 years. I died a human. A person.* | "Do you still remember our secret?"
Six words, that's all she had to say, and I was transported back in time. I could still feel that easy innocence oozing around us, protecting us in a shell safe from the knowledge that changed our lives.
"Twenty-two years?" I asked, "Has it already been so long?"
***
"Can you keep a secret?"
That's how she asked me. Of course, for her, my answer was *always* yes.
She took me to the clock room, but I didn't know why. There was nothing interesting in the clock room - it was dusty, dark, and empty except for the single clock embedded on the wall. It was close to midnight, and I was giddy with the excitement of possibility.
*What if we held hands, tonight? What if we* kissed*?*
When I walked in, she standing in the center of the room, outlined in the red glow of the clock. My heart skipped several beats, and it felt like my feet had grown about ten sizes. I concentrated on not tripping over myself, as I walked as *coolly* as I could up to her.
"How are you doing?" she asked, her voice laced with sympathy.
I knew what she was referring to.
I stuck out my lower lip, and turned away from her, "I'm fine. I don't want to talk about that."
*Why would she bring* that *up, now?*
She touched my hand, and it felt like I had stuck a finger into an open socket.
"Did she say anything, before-?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped.
Her face fell, and somehow, *I* ended up apologizing, "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. It must be hard without her. How's your Dad handling it?"
"He's fine," I lied.
She wasn't fooled for a moment. She stared at me, her warm, brown eyes burrowing into my soul.
In big, fat, red numbers, the clock ticked over.
11:44:00
"Okay!" I shouted, "He's not fine. Nobody's fine! She's dead, and I hate her for leaving me!"
I stood up, and screamed with every last molecule of air in my lungs, "*I hate her, I hate her!*"
She stood up too, and wrapped her arms around me. It was like I was made of butter, and she was an ion engine. I melted against her, and just like that, the tears started. Not even her gentle voice could stop them.
11:51:00
There was more snot on her shirt, than on mine. When I pulled away, a string of saliva stretched impossibly long, like a spool of thread that connected us forever.
It snapped. She laughed.
"I'm sorry, that was just so *gross.*"
I laughed too.
"Did she..." she started, and bit her lip.
"Did she what?"
"Did she say anything?"
"Yeah," I looked down at my feet, "But it didn't make any sense. I think she wasn't, you know ..." I gestured vaguely at my head.
My body shuddered, though it wasn't that cold, and she wrapped her arms around me again. She shushed me, and we swayed in each other's embrace.
11:58:00
She tapped rapidly on my shoulder.
"It's going to happen soon."
"What is?"
"You'll see. I've been coming here for half a year, and it happens every night at the same time. Just watch the clock."
It was hard for me not to stare at her lips, or the gentle curve of her nose, or her hair - glowing like a halo in the red light.
11:59:58
11:59:59
ERR:TMINUS22YEARS
00:00:01
00:00:02
It was like someone had stabbed a needle into my heart. My jaw fell open.
"Did you see it?" she asked, tapping me on the shoulder, "Did you see it?"
I nodded, my mouth still hanging wide.
"I've been coming up here for half a year, now! It used to say 23 years, but now it only says 22. I wonder what it's counting down to. I've been scraping my brain for ideas-"
I put a hand out, and stopped her.
"I know."
"You... you do?" her brows arched, and she settled those big, brown eyes on me again.
"My mother... she said... she was talking about the AI. She said it was *broken.* She said, 'you'll be a grown man, when you find out.' I thought she had lost her mind..."
She put her hand in mine, and our fingers intertwined.
"She said, 'Twenty more years. Not as long as you think.' She just repeated that over and over, until she left."
***
We stood in front of the doors, our ancient pressure-suits ready for come what may, our gloved hands clasped together.
"Twenty-two years?" I asked, "Has it already been so long?"
She looked up at me, her warm, brown eyes staring into mine, "Not as long as you think, right?"
"Not as long as you think." | 2016-02-05T08:31:41 | 2016-02-05T08:23:17 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] You're a man who's tired of his life, so one day, while driving home from work, instead of stopping at your house, you just decided to keep driving. | The steady creep of exhaustion was finally beginning to overtake me...
Left.
Hands raw from hours of gripping leather...
Right.
Shoulders slumping forward... I make a half-hearted effort to pull them back into place...
Straight. Yes.
Someone closes on me from behind... appears to be a young man. My muscles tense. My grip tightens...
"Uhmmm, sir? Seriously, I need you to leave now. The driving range closed two hours ago."
"You can't make me go back!"
*PING!* Another shitty golf ball disappears into the setting sun.
"I gotta keep driving..."
| There's an interesting feeling that falls over someone when they make a life changing decision. At least for Adam Winters there was. The feeling started at the top of his skull and made its way down his spine, until his entire body - all extremities included - were tingling and his fingers clutched around the steering wheel and he thought.
*I can't believe I'm doing this.*
Once someone drives for four or five or seven hours at a time, when they finally come to a stop they find that the world around them seems to keep moving. The world pulled at him, making the earth beneath his feet seem to swirl as he stretched by the side of the rest area, feeling his bones pop. There was an ache in his upper back from holding the steering wheel.
*Where am I going?* he wondered.
He realized he didn't really know. He got back in his car, following it south along the highway until he stopped for the night. He had turned his phone off long before, and though he reached for it he realized he didn't really want to know what would be on it. On the one hand his wife may have called him, wondering where he was.
But there was a second option. Maybe she didn't care at all. Or maybe she hadn't even noticed he was gone.
---
Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed this please check out /r/celsius232 | 2016-06-11T20:28:53 | 2016-06-11T18:21:19 | 276 | 18 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | "Okay... Run-" The High Galactic Pontiff pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a scaly talon. "Run it by me one more time..."
"Well sir- or rather Your Holiness-, the Messiah you sent to us did a really good job." I shifted uncomfortable in my seat and readjusted my Clerical Collar. "He founded the biggest religion our world has ever known. Really gave a good message of the whole 'loving thy neighbor' thing. He's pretty much accepted as the best human we ever had."
The Pontiff bluntly interjected at this, "So you killed him."
The silence was complimented by the hum of the Temple Ship's engines.
"Is it customary to kill those among you whom are seen as great?"
Still the only noise was the ship engines.
"Well... The Messiah was... Ahead of his time..." I replied sheepishly. The Pontiff's face was a mess of scales and bird-like features, but I could clearly see the consternation of trying to understand just how badly we had messed up. Suddenly, through the almost tangible awkwardness, an idea struck me.
"Well your holiness, we honor his death! We realized what we had done was wrong, so we tried to atone for it!" I held up the crucifix that was hanging around my neck for him to see. "We memorialized his death, and we recognize what a sacrifice he gave for us! These things are everywhere!"
The Pontiff looked at the small wooden crucifix, then back up to me. He laced his talons and held them in front of his mouth, with scaly elbows still resting on the desk, almost looking like he was praying.
"So you killed him... And then created little statues of you killing him... and spread them all over your world."
The little crucifix in my hand suddenly felt about fifty pounds heavier. I slowly tucked it into my shirt. Out of sight.
"Did his death at least unite the world behind him for the good of the Lord?"
"Yes!" I immediately replied. "Well, sort of. Not right away. His followers kept getting killed, and along the way, some other sects and pseudo-christian religions popped up..." I trailed off. "But eventually ours became the biggest one!"
"Do the differing religions at least coexist peacefully?" He asked, maintaining his disgruntled posture.
Cold sweat started trickling down my face.
The Pontiff closed his eyes for a long moment, and inhaled deeply. Once he opened, them, he was about business.
"Alright, here's what we'll do." The Pontiff said, pulling out some official stationary and dipping one of his talons in ink to begin writing. "Your people have messed up. **BADLY**. But the Lord is merciful. We will send you another Messiah. This will not be the *second coming* of the first, but a different one, to reunite your people behind him."
"Excellent idea your holiness!" I exclaimed. "It's just recently, we've had to deal a lot with people saying that they're 'The Messiah', so you're going to need to put him somewhere that he can get his message across!"
The Pontiff stopped writing and looked at me.
"You'll probably need to put him in one of the more developed nations, because if he's in one of the poorer ones, he might not make it to an age where he can send out his message. Also, you should probably look into making sure that he's got pretty well off parents. If not, he'll never get the same chances in life as the alternative..." I trailed off again. The consternation had come back to the Pontiff's face.
"And he probably shouldn't be a woman..." I quietly finished.
The Pontiff again pulled off his glasses and set them down lightly.
"Jesus Christ" | "Truly," Patriarch Constantine spoke, his eyes shining brightly amidst the wrinkles of his face, "this is cause for celebration." His hand swept across the synod of the Inter-Galactic Holy Church, representatives from thirty-three different species gathered to welcome him. A constant stream of information, pop-up notes, was filtering through his Xenolalia display, translating movements, chemical emissions, energy signatures, into comprehensible communication. The synod had yet to formally respond, and yet Xenolalia was lighting up with the unspoken language of disaffection, coldness, disdain. For a moment, High Patriarch Constantine XXIII, the supreme spiritual leader of humanity, felt a twinge of doubt. Then he pushed it aside and continued.
"So different are we," he said, his voice ringing throughout the church, "from myriad different races. And yet! Among all of us, a single universal truth. God, incarnated as one of us, truly god and truly man - ah, forgive me," he said, smiling beatifically. "What is the word you use to refer to yourselves as a whole, as the united sentient races of the galaxy?"
"'Person' will suffice," a representative from one of the mantid races said. There was an imperceptible motion of its head. *Predatory,* Xenolalia noted, *Seeking out weakness.* Constantine met its gaze, and it continued crouching unpeturbed, satisfied with its single phrase. Throughout the synod, there was the oppressive response of silence.
"Ah, yes," Constantine said, feeling a small trickle of sweat down his temple. He wondered what their own translation devices were reading from him. "God incarnated in the person of Christ, savior and redeemer of mankind." He paused after the last word, let his mouth hang open, tasting it. He continued, barrelling on. "Though we never doubted in our faith, it is, nonetheless, gratifying to see that this truth is truly universal, and that the other heretical religions are now forced to recognize their error."
"A. Considerable. Difference. However," said the Oort representative body, its cloud-like form contracting into a tightly-packed sphere. "You. Killed. Christ."
*Hostile*, Xenolalia said, its little notes popping up by each synod representative. *Hostile. Hostile. Fearful. Hostile. Readying attack.* Patriarch Constantine made an involuntary step backward, his throat dry. He was two hundred and six years old, and for a moment truly felt the weight of his years, the points of degradation that technology had not been able to fully stem. Cowardice, he chastised himself. He was secure in his faith. The theology was sound. Surely, these fellow believers would eventually recognize that.
"I am aware," he said, projecting his voice. "I have read your gospels. Among all your species, each time, your ... 'Christ-figures', let us call them, have avoided death." He pointed out the individual species, following Xenolalia's prompts. "Ascended into Heaven. Reabsorbed into the Great Cloud. Transcended into a higher form of energy. Moved on into another brane of existence. Again, and again, and again, our Lord has appeared before you, incarnated before you to spread His word, and ultimately returned from whence He came. For every race in this galaxy. Except for us."
Constantine found himself returning to the old rhythm, his words finding the power and majesty of some his finest sermons. "For us, Christ died! For us, Christ served as sacrifice! For humanity alone, Christ fulfilled His divine role!" *Fearful. Fearful. Fearful. Fearful,* Xenolalia sang, its chorus lending such sweetness to his words. "Among all intelligent life in the galaxy, humans alone were worthy of redemption!"
The Inter-Galactic Holy Church shook with the impact of the shaped charges detonating, walls crumbling inwards to the harsh glare of spotlights. The Archons, hulking brutes in their powered armor, rushed in, boltguns raised to the shrieks and chitters and expulsions of enzymes of the panicked synod. Patriarch Constantine's ears rang with the sound of gunfire. The air was hot with plasma. Xenolalia ceased attempting to translate the chaos, and instead flashed a single vivid word: *Heresy.*
"How fortunate you are," High Patriarch Constantine XXIII spoke, even as an Archon knelt at his feet and began his report, even as the Crusade continued before him. "An entire galaxy living in error, believing such heresy. And from a single humble planet amidst the cosmos, the humble race of humanity, comes your Revelation!" | 2016-08-18T03:07:37 | 2016-08-18T00:25:46 | 3,742 | 560 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | "*Excuse* me?" I spat, incredulous,
"**YOU** ***KILLED*** **HIM.**" rang the accusation again, seemingly sucking all the air out of the room. Geez, was there a hull breach?
I pensively withdrew my AR spectacles from my nose and pointedly clapped shut my notes, striding around from behind the podium to approach the High Seat. It wasn't until that moment that I recognized that what I was feeling was *rage*.
"Just **who** do you think you're referring to...? 'We'?" I interjected a pregnant pause, casting a disgusted glare around the room - at all the gazes in their myriad forms doubtless glaring back. "Us? Do you mean our 'species'? Do you mean our 'Government'? Do you mean perchance our 'Civilization'? Well if those are your criteria then I have some rather *inconvenient news* for you, o assembled cardinals of the Celestial Order: When you dropped your messiah on the world my kin call our home, there was hardly even a *type zero* civilization that had just *barely* begun to grasp the concept of Agriculture. He landed in a conflict territory where multiple factions of savages were operating **intentionally** on a lexicon of anger and hate, and *none of them* historically appreciated someone undermining their brutality. What did you *think* ignorant, violent bigots would do? What you're failing to realize is: this is why they're *extinct* now. The Terran Federation's populace hasn't been genetically compatible with the proto-humans of that era for **thousands** of years. The government that conducted this unspeakable brutality atrophied and crumbled to *dust* a mere few hundred years thereafter - a BLINK, I remind you! - So let me put this into terms you understand..."
I composed myself, drawing up my posture and quieting my voice, though it still seethed "We didn't fail your messiah. Our predecessors did, and then immediately proceeded in a long, agonizing descent to destroy themselves. Need I remind you that **we,** on the other hand, have had to come as far as we did *without* your messiah."
I paced back toward the podium and collected my materials, my tone drifting conversational now. "We have survived this long fumbling **blind** in this universe, unraveling its functions and properties by sheer observation alone. If you insist on mistaking **us** for those foul heretics upon whose accursed bones we have painstakingly built *everything we have, ALONE,* ***without*** your aid or guidance," I made a point of re-equipping my smart glasses, before gravely delivering my closing. "Then I suppose we'll happily **stay** that way. You can continue arguing against our dead ancestors in our absence if you wish, but **our** part of this conversation is over."
And then I took my sweet time strolling out. I half expected them to stop me, but given the arrogance and self-entitlement endemic to the profession of 'literally representing God'... well, let's just say that I had faith my species wasn't important enough to be worth their trouble. At least my faith in *that* was well-placed. | "We were led to understand it was necessary," my eyes were now fixed squarely on the floor in front of me, "in order to redeem humanity."
A hush descended over the assembly, Golgon of the Asterath shape-shifters let out a low whistle.
"And how was that supposed to work exactly?" Asked High Priest LK4186.
"Well..." I began "He was the lamb of God, whose sacrafice redeemed the Original Sin of Man. You know? Like how we all sacrafice animals to God to show our dedication to Him. This was like the ultimate version of that."
"You do what!?" Thundered Oloom the Blob.
"Sacrafice animals at the temple, as offerings. Birds mostly, but lambs sometimes."
"Lambs, as in baby sheep? But, but why?" Asked Miranda highpriestess of the woolen-ones.
"Well, we don't really do it anymore." I answered honestly, "So I'm not really sure, our ancient priests must've thought it was a good idea I guess."
"So your ancient priests thought God would appeciate some of his wonderous creation being slaughtered..."
"And then burned" I interjected.
High priest LK4186 slapped a tenticle against one of his foreheads.
"Ok, I must be missing something," the high priest tried hard to keep his tone calm, "what is this Original Sin thing you mentioned, maybe that'll give us a better idea.
"You didn't have Original Sin?" I looked round a room of shaking heads and other appendages. "Well in the beginning of creation the first two of our species ate some fruit that was forbidden and then were ashamed because they were naked. So we kind of fell out with God for a while.
"Your species is forbidden from eating fruit?" Asked a perplexed Oloom.
"No just this fruit, cause it gave us knowledge of good and evil." I explained.
"That sounds like a good thing." Miranda reasoned.
"Well, I, er, apparently it wasn't." I said rather lamely.
"Right so if I'm following you correctly," LK4186 continued, "because you ate some fruit that you weren't supposed to and then became bothered about not wearing clothes you felt the need to kill, sorry, 'sacrafice' God incarnate?"
"Well when you put it like that..." I began.
"How should I put it?" Shot back LK4186.
My eyes were back on the floor in front of me, I could feel the stares of the assembled priests boring into the top of my skull.
"No, I guess... I guess that's pretty much it." I mumbled.
"And did it work?"Asked LK4186 increduously.
"What do you mean?" I could tell LK4186, famed for being the most tranquil being in all creation was losing patience with me.
"Has humanity been redeemed!? Have you achieved world peace and united all nations in love and adoration for the Supreme Creator?"
"Well that is very much our ambition." I offered lamely, "There's been a few hiccoughs along the way, still quite a lot of war, and disharmony between religions."
"You mean, there are still multiple religions even though God incarnate literally visited your planet and revealed himself and his teachings?"
"Well there is still some disagreement as to whether God in fact did that."
"On our planet," Golgon now piped up, "God incarnate still sits upon the throne of our high temple, dispensing wisdom and guidance, there is very little doubt as to what his will in fact is."
"Yes, well as I said at the beginning." I was beginning to understand why I, a relatively junior priest had been sent on this intergalactic mission. "We kind of killed ours, so, you know, it's all still a bit of mystery to us."
"I'm sure it is!" Exclaimed LK4186, "A word of advice from a very old priest: Next time God drops in on your planet, and I honestly wouldn't blame him if that was never, maybe resist the temptation to nail him to some planks of wood until he suffocates." | 2016-08-18T08:01:51 | 2016-08-18T06:52:16 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | “Hey.” Richard Rogers rubs his massive tricep as he approaches, an innocent puppy dog look in his eyes. “It’s uh, funny running into you here.”
“Is it?” My smile gives away nothing, but my mind is racing in panic. “I’m starting to think you might be following me, or watching me from above or something.”
Richard laughs at the joke, a deep hearty belly laugh that goes on for entirely too long. “Watching you from above? Oh, that’s good.” He wipes a droplet of sweat off of his forehead before speaking again. “You think I can just fly up in the air and follow you, like some kind of eagle?”
“I was thinking more like a falcon,” I respond.
“A falcon?” The man who is clearly Falconan with fake sideburns replies, before letting out another long laugh. “No, I’m nothing like a falcon. I just bumped into you because… I go to that butcher shop down the street all the time.”
I need to get rid of Citropolis’s winged crusader as fast as possible, but I can’t resist taking him down a peg. “What’s the butcher’s name?”
Silence. Richard smiles his charming, all American smile, and wipes his forehead again. His eyes give away his discomfort. I can get him out of here with one more push.
“Listen Richard, I’d love to catch up sometime soon, but this is a really bad time for me. Can we talk next week?”
“Yes!” Richard says. He’s just about to leave when his nervous smile turns sour. “I mean, no… I’m sorry, I really need to talk to you now.”
“Well spit it out,” I say. I don’t mean to be rude, but my arms are starting to ache.
“Ok…” Richard shuffles awkwardly. “Remember that night we ran into each other on the pier?”
How could I forget? My plasma ray was aimed perfectly at Helsinki, and ready to fire, when Richard burst seemingly out of thin air and asked if I wanted to split a donut. “I remember.”
“That night… You were just so real.” Richard pauses to wipe a tear from his eye. “I don’t mean to brag, but women have a tendency to sort of… melt when they see me. But you? You made me melt that night, Chrissy.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s nice Richard, but... What are you doing?”
Richard drops to a knee, and pulls out the most massive diamond ring I’ve ever seen. “I know this probably isn’t what you thought would happen tonight, but I need you to know that I can’t eat, or sleep, or do my job of keeping Citropolis safe…”
“Your job of what, now?” I can’t help but smile. It’s too much fun to watch him squirm.
“Ignore that,” Richard replies quickly. “The important thing is, I need to know if you will be my wife, Chrissy.”
For a moment, I’m lost in his deep brown eyes. Then I snap back to reality and turn on my best acting voice. “Well,” I bite my lip and blush. “You’re right, I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”
“I’m sorry,” Richard says, his face draining of all its color. “This was too forward, wasn’t it? It seemed like such a good idea in my head.”
I look down at Richard, still on one knee, and smile. This time it’s not an act. “It’s ok, Richard,” I say. “It was forward, but it was also… cute. Give me some time to think about it, ok?”
Richard nods rapidly as he rises to his feet. “Whatever you need,” he says eagerly. “But Chrissy?”
“Yes?”
“I really hope you say yes.”
With that, Richard’s feet leave the ground, and he flies triumphantly into the air. I’m about to finally move my exhausted arms when he lands again, his hands covering his embarrassed face. “Pretend you didn’t see that,” he says, before running as fast as he can down the nearest alley.
I smile and shake my head as I watch him go. Then I pull my plasma ray out from behind my back, and laugh my evil laugh. Chriss Cross is back, and this time, Helsinki’s going down!
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww | “Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said. | 2017-05-30T14:45:43 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 50 | 12 |
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets." | "***HOLD IT*** hold it hold it." I hold out my arms, trying to make a calming gesture. Three of the strangers - two on my left and one on my right - I barely notice, my attention completely on the man who has grabbed the gun. "Look, just... think about this, okay? Do you really want murder on your conscience?"
The big man smiles. "A million dollars buys a whole lotta conscience," he says.
"And each wrong person dead halves that prize," says the lady on my left. "You can't shoot anyone unless - unless you're *sure*."
I shake my head. "No, no, no, no shooting anyone even if you *are* sure. Look - there's no need to accept the rules as given. We have a gun, and a locked door. Why don't we just shoot out the lock?"
The big man frowns. "Then we don't get the million dollars," he points out.
"Are you sure that there *is* a million dollars?" I ask. "I bet that when we get out there, you'll find there isn't."
The big man frowns at me, and at the other three of us. Then he turns away, and shoots out the lock. | "Are you sure Jim was the right person?" Tom asked, peeking under the door. It had risen about eight inches off the ground.
"I mean, he had to have been, right? It's the first time the door responded to anything." I set the gun down and walked over while Tom re-read the instructions.
"Ah shit. Every wrong kill halves our prize. Do you think... they meant the door, too? I mean it's about six feet tall. Halving six 3 times gives you 6/8, which leaves us with something like that height. Help me lift it." We both squatted low to the ground, hooked our hands beneath the metal frame, and pulled. It didn't budge.
"It's too narrow for me to crawl under. Can you push me? I'll pull you out afterwards." Tom went down on the floor, arms out like Superman.
"Shit, I hope it doesn't close." I grabbed his legs and slid him towards the door.
"Dude, I see the money! Fuck, I'm stuck. Push harder!" The top of the door had caught on his butt. Grimacing, I shoved the rolls of flesh beneath the metal and slid the rest of him through. It took a while and left my hands feeling grimy.
"Alright, let me pull you out." A pair of hands emerged from beneath the door. I lay supine and allowed myself to be tugged into a velvety room surrounded by an absolutely ecstatic studio audience.
"Congratulations! Your current prize pool is 125,000 dollars each. Would you like to keep your prize, or try for the jackpot?" A man with perfect teeth held a microphone to Tom's face.
"Jack... pot.... jack... pot.... jack.... pot...." chanted the studio audience.
"I think I'mma have to go for the jackpot!" Tom guffawed, while I buried my face in my hands. Worst. Game show. Ever.
[join the community!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | 2017-10-31T05:03:39 | 2017-10-30T22:09:08 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | Grandpa was running toward me screaming "STOP STAY AWAY! HE HAS THE POWER TO STOP TI..."
And suddenly everyone stopped, again, all I saw was Dio screaming "ZA WARUDO" before it happened.
I could barely move a finger, but I saw it happening in front of me, Dio just murdered my grandfather!
When time resumed I was very angry! Grandpa last words were not to get angry, but my blood was boiling, I just wanted to punch that smug satisfied face to death.
As Dio approached me I launched my stand towards him
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA"
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA"
| At first I thought it was some sort of "dormant powers coming to light" kind of situation. I'd record what I was doing just before time froze and then try to recreate it to see if it could happen again. This eventually got worse as I would try to recreate hours, and then days at a time. Thankfully I realized that it wasn't anything I was doing and managed to stop myself before it became an obsession.
Nowadays I try to go with the flow whenever the Pauses occur. Sometimes its a couple of seconds, which only serves to have me trip over something that's suddenly stopped in front of me. Other times it's been upwards of three hours before things resumed and, during those Pauses, I try to get errands done that don't require some sort of live or active interactions. I can't play games online since the servers freeze, but I can go and grab groceries. Before you crucify me for being a thief, I've made it a habit to leave some cash behind for whatever I take. It may not be the FULL amount, but I aim for 75% at least.
I've tried finding out who it is that Pauses everything, but I haven't had any luck. There hasn't been anything on the news about miracles happening around the world, aside from the usual fluff pieces, and there haven't been any segments about rampant or elaborate crimes. Far as I've figured? Whoever it is that's causing these Pauses is just using them to make life a bit easier for themselves somehow. No need for me to go on some crusade to hunt them down when they haven't done anything to deserve it. | 2018-01-26T07:03:15 | 2018-01-26T06:14:06 | 71 | 45 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | I flipped it.
——
Social anxiety is a bitch, but this thing makes it easier.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and the mall is bustling. I just wanted to buy some new clothes, but it’s a day when everyone comes. I blink and they stop.
The world goes silent and every person is still. I slip around people and head off to Macy’s. I pick out my clothes (a new dress, a new pair of jeans, and a hat) when no one can look at me or speak to me. And then I get in line behind everyone else at the check out.
I blink and they move again.
When I’ve paid for my clothes and have walked away from the counter, I freeze time again. Soon enough, I’m putting the bag in my purse and then hopping on my bike. You can’t drive a car when the rest of them are still, but you can get a bike around them. It wears you out the same, but it’s still like you got home in an instant.
“Hey! Hey!”
I almost crash my bike. I brake and manage to stop. Around me, the world is still frozen. All except one man, who is jogging towards me.
“You can move too!” He’s excited. He’s at least a decade older than me. “When everything stops. You can move too.”
I stare at him. “Wait... you...”
He nods. “Yeah, since I was a teen. This thing happens.” He waves around himself. “Everyone freezes for a few minutes or a few hours... and then it starts again. Never know when. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It sucks?” I ask. It’s the greatest thing ever to me. Why would it suck for him?
His excitement kinda dies down. “I was on the interstate once. Few years ago. Time stopped, my car stopped... but when it started again, my hands were off the wheel and I was looking out the back window. Car went straight back to sixty but I wasn’t controlling it...” He lets out a heavy sigh. “My wife died in the accident.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s my fault. I killed this man’s wife.
“Hey, kid, relax. You’re smart. You already figured out you shouldn’t get behind the wheel of a car, didn’t you? Whatever weird quirk of the universe this is, we just gotta live it out.” He laughed. “Make sure you cross those streets real fast though. You never know when the cars will start moving again.”
He’s right. My freezing and unfreezing time could kill him. I’ll never know what situation he’s in. If it’ll be safe for me to make the world move again.
“I gotta get home,” I say. I start biking away.
“See you later, kid,” he says. But when I’ve gone just a little ways away, I stop and look back at him.
How am I supposed to use my power when I have to worry about him?
He steps out onto the road where cars are frozen at forty-five miles per hour. He’s moving fast to get across before they start again.
I blink. | he first time the incident occurred I was in a busy mall. I bumped into the person in front of me and apologized, but I got no response. A moment later she fell forward. What a bitch! Not only did she ignore me, but she completely over-reacted with such a delayed response. She screamed, and a bunch of tough-looking guys approached me. Oh boy, I was in for a fight. I braced myself for the first punch, but his fist stopped mid-swing. Perplexed, I noticed that EVERYTHING had stopped in that moment. I quickly used my advantage to retaliate and back away. As time began to move again, he flew backwards from the impact. Seeing my "quick" movements, everyone backed away. I used this chance to flee.
You would think that moving through stopped time would be cool, but I soon realized that I had no control over it. It would only last a few seconds each time, but that was enough for me to collide with someone. Worse yet was if I was driving. There was no way for me to set the pedal back to normal if I pressed too hard, so I could easily speed up if I wasn't paying attention. I soon made it my mission to find out who was doing this to me.
My search finally led me to Egypt, where I saw it. A man with golden hair yelled out "Za Warudo!" and time stopped. Even though I had finally met my tormentor, I felt such an immense pressure emanating from this man. My own body froze, and probably for a good reason: the man casually stuck a knife through someone's neck. "Time will begin to move again", he proudly proclaimed. And with that, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened. This man was extremely dangerous, but I couldn't let him notice me.
I had to follow this man to stay out of his line of sight at all times. If he saw me move in stopped time, I was dead. In the time spent following him, I saw some truly bizarre shit.
Eventually some foreigners confronted him, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't risk my life for these people. Instead I had to watch in horror and hope they could figure it out on their own.
Sadly, a few of them lost their lives in that process. First a high school student who could manifest this green webbing of some sort thought he had cornered him. But sadly he was no match for this man. I had to watch as he casually unwove the kid's web and then finish it up with a punch straight through his stomach. I had to resist the urge to puke.
The next to fall was an old man who could create this weird purple vine. Apparently the golden-haired man couldn't physically touch him, so he precisely threw a knife at his throat. I braced myself for the murder that was going to unfold in front of my eyes in mere seconds.
As I grieved for the death of the old man, his apparent grandson received the critical knowledge of that man's ability. There was hope, but what could this kid do? Fly was apparently the answer. Bizarre.
I watched knowing that it was useless for him to keep fighting (or at least the man thought so). However there was a glimmer of hope! The kid moved in stopped time! It seems like the first twitch was a trick with a magnet, but the sucker-punch was no illusion. He killed the man!
Or so I thought. I couldn't exactly comprehend it, but apparently he is immortal. FML. That didn't stop the kid from trying though. The following battle was too crazy to fully explain.
The fight was so ridiculous that it ended with the two punching their way through a fucking road roller! wtf, where did that come from? But the kid did it, and my hell was over. That man was finally dead. I was free at last!
Or so I thought, until it began to happen 10 years later. I'm done with this shit. | 2018-01-26T06:55:50 | 2018-01-26T06:49:48 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | My head was pounding. Everything ached. I felt an instant resentment to whoever it was that invented trains.
Fuck that guy.
How many lives did they save on a daily basis? How many crises did their lumbering machines of metal prevent? How many disasters?
None.
On days like today, after nights like the last-- dare I say it -- I think they do more harm than good. I suppose that's where people like me come in. It's not always glamorous work, but if it means giving a family another day on this earth together then I will gladly pay the price.
I clutch my brow and rub my temples.
My head is pounding.
After all I've seen, and I still can't keep them all safe. I can still hear them... I can still hear their-
My phone rings.
It's probably the chief.
It may sometimes take me a moment to pull myself together. I may not always be there when I'm needed most, but I can at least answer this call.
I take a sip from the remnants of my glass from the night before. The murky liquid still has some kick to it.
I answer the phone. "I'm here, chief. What do you need?"
"We need your help! It's almost 2 AM, and Avery's Bar is closing up! By virgin Mary, I've just checked the calendar... it's a Saturday morning! We need your help! We need Sobriety Man!"
I nod. I take another sip of my soft drink. "Don't worry chief, I'll be the designated driver tonight." | "Get away from him or I'll make you."
Michael and Scott glanced up from the kid sprawled helplessly on the grey floor, and saw me.
They laughed.
I had already guessed that the threat wouldn't be effective. A short kid in raggedy clothes and spiky hair didn't exactly set off a 'powerful' image, after all. But looks... looks were shallow, and lost to the surface.
They did very, very little to show the true worth of a person.
"The boy has no shadow! He's a demon for sure." They snorted. "All we're doing is protecting humankind."
I took a closer look at the boy on the ground. He was scrawny, with scared eyes that stayed half-open. He had no shadow. Fear had gripped him tightly, but not so securedly that he stopped shaking. He was shivering, lost to the throes of fear like a man with no coat caught in winter's rage.
I sighed. Us and our inane superstitions. To look upon someone with no shadow or no reflection and think of them as demons was far-fetched. To deduce that despite the widespread prevalence of superpowers was something else entirely.
I pulled him aside, keeping some distance from the 2 boys.
I smiled at the kid. "Get out of here kid. I know what its like to live with no shadow. Go straight home and-"
"Hey, shithead!" Scott called.
His eyes shone with blazing fury. He took a deep breath and pounded the concrete floor, cracks running out from the impact, not unlike his previous victims.
"Give back my prey, or I will kill you."
I set my eyes upon them. One would think of them as eyes. But they were piercing in sunlight, cool amber in the moonlight, and hidden fear in no light.
"Dark god manifestation."
The shadows surrounding me grew into a huge implacable mass, swirling amd roiling like the waves and wind in storm. I flicked my wrist.
They swept forth like the unstoppable stream of a river and engulfed the two boys. Their screams only stretched for a second before the hunger of the night was upon them, cold and insatiable and unlike them, indiscriminatory.
The darkness fell away like a snowflake in sunshine, leaving me completely. I smiled down at the awe-struck boy and offered him my hand.
"As I said... I know what it's like to live with no shadow." | 2018-08-19T04:36:45 | 2018-08-19T04:28:22 | 219 | 55 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | **A Brief History and Final Advice** *by Sage Sebastien of Hintz*
For the first 18 years of life, parents focus on developing their children's core attributes - Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma. The Core Attributes (CAs) - and how they are developed - necessarily increase associated skills. After the age of 18, though, the child is now responsible for their own improvement, and can choose to Specialize in a specific skill or set of skills. This is where Athletes become Climbers, for instance, or the Intelligentsia become Mathematicians, or Charismatics become Politicos, and what have you.
It didn't take very long, however, for our People to discover the 'best' way to maximize skill potentials. This lead to the creation of the Meta - a series of templates for parents to use to begin their children's development in ways most conducive to their future careers. This eventually became known as "Maxing".
My parents were both Statisticians, members of the Intellegentsia tasked with logging and analyzing trends within the Meta. They both grew up prior to the Meta, so they weren't Maxed like some of the younger members, but they were both very competent in their roles. It was my mother that first discovered the "Dump Stat" trends - how every Meta template had 1 Core Attribute that would *never* be increased. She talked about it with my father, who then applied the trend mapping schema to the Meta as a whole, and discovered a disturbing pattern. Over time, there was 1 Core Attribute that was trending towards obsolescence - the Wisdom attribute. So they decided between them that, if they should ever have a child, they would work towards reversing this trend by assigning CA increases solely towards the child's Wisdom score.
As luck would have it, I was born not too long afterward. I spent the first 18 years of my life feeling left behind, never as strong, fast, agile, smart, or likeable as anyone else. But also, over that time it slowly became known that I was the one to go to for advice. I began to see why my parents were Maxing my Wisdom, and continued onwards after my 18th birthday.
Now, as I assign my 30th and final increase to my Wisdom attribute and ascend to the heights of enlightenment, I finally come to the realization that all this - Maxing, Metas, life itself - it doesn't matter in the end. It doesn't matter one bit, not at the highest of levels of Oneness. But we don't live there, at those highest of levels. We live in the dirt and granularity of individuality. So go - do it. Ask the questions. Do the things. Be scared, be safe, be silly, be serious, be whatever it is you want to be. But most of all, be present, here, now, in the moment. Because in the end, it won't matter, but in the Now - it's totally worth it. | Society was broken up into blocs. Since individual skill was easily determined based by point allocation, and point allocation was something you could easily access, things became caste like.
It wasn't so bad as caste systems you might expect; after all, belonging to a given caste was voluntary, and indeed, people being mismatched for the job or life they selected was unheard of; after all, you put the points in, you selected what you wanted.
The construction workers chose to work in that field just as much as the geniuses in the universities chose their field; whatever training was given to them was locked under the burden of prerequisite point allocation; after all, it would hardly be just to give someone information or training that they weren't specced into using.
Thus, mankind became palatable and a product that could be shipped and shaped according to higher directory; we lost what made us special and interesting, because, as a whole, we had shaped ourselves into being identical products, demarcated by a handful of points we were willing to spend.
I stared down at the spread of points before me, and raised an eyebrow lazily at the person across the table. "You have a spread with five points in strength, three in Int, and 12 and wisdom. The actual hell are you trying to get into?"
"Science science," The intern said. "I want to study scientists."
I stared at him for a long moment, cocking my head to the side.
As the only idiot who had maxed out wisdom in the last century, I took on a particularly awful role.
Figuring out point distributions for roles; and slotting outcasts.
And studying scientists wasn't actually a stupid idea, in the end, my thirty points in wisdom told me. The bit of me that wasn't thirty points of wisdom spoke up about the absurdity of the situation but...
"Yes, we could improve the efficiency of research if we had someone studying the interpersonal interactions and challenges that scientists face when applying for research grants and putting forth applications to allot points, couldn't we?" I asked, idly, leaning back in my chair.
"Uh, yeah," The intern said, scratching the back of his head. "That's about what I was thinking. Well, thinking recently. You know how it is when you hit twelve wisdom, you go through a few paradigms."
I remembered that distantly. I remembered how my whole life switched about and I realized how fantastically stupid it was to max out wisdom.
That was the burden of wisdom, after all; nobody appreciated you unless you were kept caged up and away from anything delicate.
Interpersonal relationships decayed fast when you actually had logical solution to problems. Nobody actually wanted to be solved. Everyone clung to some bitter nuance and ache; the quiet pains and suppositions of a system that failed to provide leniency.
Though research was being done into the wide spread ramifications of 'respeccing' as a concept, the technology wasn't quite there, and the busy body meritocratic government feared reprisal if the elderly were unshackled from their ledges of maxed out stat pools.
The brainless and those who had not dipped into the four levels of intelligence or eight level of wisdom in order to get into university might find their caste to be unpalatable if given the option, after all. The arranged marriages and grouping of traits in the large scale test populations might discover their contracts were not nirvana when they realized the invisible strings that complete whole scale surveillance tied to their secret actions.
Wisdom maxed out was truly a stupid decision, I considered.
"So... what do you think about putting more points into wisdom on my birthday?" the intern asked quietly.
I laughed. "Stick around in wisdom until at least 18, it's fucking amazing."
I signed the paperwork and stuck the bastard with me. I'd live at least long enough to see him turn to alcohol.
----
For more like this, click here. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ | 2018-09-12T08:27:25 | 2018-09-12T08:04:08 | 623 | 108 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | In a world like mine, everyone could easily become what they wanted. Wanna be a smart professor making ground-breaking discoveries? Just max out intelligence. Wanna be a bodybuilder? Easy, just level up strength. Or do you just want to become the popular kid? Charisma. It had become too easy to achieve your dreams.
Ironically though, this made it much harder to achieve them. You simply had too much competition from others with the same stats. Being special was not special anymore. I realized this long ago.
So i went the only route i could to become special. Eating bricks. Drinking Clorox Bleach. Stepping on Legos. Yep, you guessed it, i leveled literally the shittiest stat. I currently have 30 resistance and counting.
My shows were world famous. Who doesn't wanna watch some dude slurp down dangerous poison right after eating a dog shit? People loved it. My parents weren't exactly proud, but then again they had probably forgotten about me. Both alcoholics. I couldn't even get drunk because of my resistance. I once downed 3 bottles of tequila at a show and just got tipsy.
People try so hard to be special. They're not. I am. I can bathe in acid motherfuckers. When i'm 80 i can probably survive a flamethrower, or listen to Limp Bizkit without having a stroke. Hell yeah. | When I was five my parents held my birthday bash in the park with all the first graders in my class attending.
Today was a special day. I'll be in charge of my own skill points from now on. I had five to use once I blew the candles and from then on a point every year to allocate as my birthday wish.
While playing games a group was huddled around something in the corner. Curious I joined as well. There on the pavement was a beautiful little bird, it's feathers every colour of the rainbow. It's beak was slightly open and a trail of ants were making their way to it.
One of the boys pokes the bird with a stick but it didn't move or fly away. I saw this as my chance and grabbed the bird running to show my mother. "Mom! Mom! look! I caught a bird! you can fry it like chicken legs mom!"
My mother was talking to some older lady I didn't know and the woman looked at me horrified like I was caked in mud. My mom's jaw tightened and she said "No dear. The poor little song bird is.... well, why don't we bury it. Give it a good funeral?"
I was a confused, birds and animals were all food right? We eat chickens so why not song birds? I was a bit mad that they used one of the pretty boxes that contained *MY* gift to buy it in the ground. Getting it dirty for the sake of a meal, a tiny one at that!
I watched as others around me started to cry and pray for the little bird and didn't understand. We all ate chicken nuggets before the funeral, nobody cried or prayed over them!
After the burial the cake was brought out and the tears dried up in the eyes around me to be replaced with longing for something sweet.
I listened to them sing the happy birthday song and watched their faces. They clapped, they smiled and there was no more trace of sadness from earlier.
I made my wish and affirmed my selection as I blew on the candles. I knew what I wanted then, from then on I made the same wish every year and yet I seem no closer to getting it then I was that that day long ago.
I want to understand the human heart. Nothing more, nothing less.
| 2018-09-12T10:57:43 | 2018-09-12T09:05:57 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] When people die, they get to watch a 1 hour movie, presenting the next 100 years, to see what they are going to miss. They die without being able to tell anyone about it. You just watched that movie, and wake up to your SO shouting "Are you OK?" | I was very happy I already entered the Gates of Heaven. It's a better place. Green fields, no pollution, water's pure, skies sheer blue. A paradise, indeed.
An hour later, God, a speaking mist almost formed in the human body, called us newbies to assemble. He waved his hand and a wide screen appeared in front of us.
And then he announced, ''This is the world in 100 years without you existing anymore. But...''
Time rolled and, while everyone was crying of the idea that they'd miss new bookstores and better lives, my mouth's agape.
I was frozen, watching myself in the movie reading in the hammock.
''One of you will be immortal,'' God continued.
And I woke up to the sound of a cardiac rhythm. | "are you ok?"
"followthehippo, are you ok? you hit your head. I think it's bad. There's blood everywhere. That fucking car hit you hard. The driver. He's mad. He drove off the bridge. I think he's dead".
I could hear her. I could have answered. But after what I had just seen. How could I? How could I tell her that yes, I was ok. How could I tell her anything? I don't really know how I saw what it is that I saw. But I know it to be true. I can feel it deep in my bones. It's all wrong. It's all bad. And it's only going to get worse. Right at the end of the 100 Year Turmoil, there will come a girl. A young girl with great insight and wisdom. A young girl who will unite all the Tribes. Tribes of men and women who will wage a merciless war, a war to end all wars. Again.
But that's almost 100 years away. And in the meantime... Death. Suffering. Disease. Civil War. Humanity will turn on itself with guns and bombs, poison and sickness, tooth and claw.
I can't. I can't live through that. I can't have her live through that.
"Hey! are you ok? Please answer me. Say something. Anything."
I sit up. I hold her. I hold on to her. I jump.
"yeah, I'm ok".
She screamed all the way down. Terrified. Better this than what's coming.
| 2018-10-09T05:32:55 | 2018-10-09T04:44:50 | 61 | 36 |
[WP]: Leaving people gifts is a socially acceptable way to begin flirting. Many start with a single rose, the extravagant and dramatic with a diamond or an heirloom. You have just been presented with a pinecone. | And I held the pincone he gave me.
His eyes, earnest and expectant. Gorgeously amber, like liquid carmel, I could get lost in those eyes. He came in, and we layed together by the fire. I felt his even breath, his muscular flank. Calm. Warm. I ran my hands over his body.
Woof. He said. And went to his food bowl. | My now husband had presented me with a fancy Italian coffee one fall day in college to let me know he was interested. Naturally, things progressed. He was extremely handsome after all and Ive always loved coffee. Coffee turned to a bouquet of tulips, which transformed into jewelry and the like and eventually a kitten. Nothing too extravagant, we were college students after all at the time.
As years went by, I saw friends presented with cars, diamonds, exotic furs, tickets to foreign places, each flirtatious invitation becoming more robust. Those things die down once you’re married. Careers take over. My husband is a kind, hardworking man who loves me and that in itself is good enough. It’s been years since I received a flirtation gift. I’d launched into my own career with passion in my early twenties.
Working late hours and gaining extra education where I could, as well as maintaining a family, my eyes hadn’t wandered and to my knowledge I had never caught the eyes of another. I had all but forgotten the idea of a flirtation gift was the most sacred tradition.
Which is why the day I received a pine cone caught me off guard. I should have expected this much over the years. After all, I teach fourth grade. A student was bound to get a crush eventually. | 2018-10-20T16:23:21 | 2018-10-20T15:46:54 | 99 | 14 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
——————————
Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear. | *just realized I strayed more from the prompt than I intended. Hope it's ok to still be here? *
The time had come. All the years of preparation, testing, failure and success of centered on a singular day.
It would take almost all day. 23 hours to be exact. Requiring 4 different specialists and surgeons to pull it off. How they managed it went over my head, but scientists were starting to be able to give sight to the blind.
The potential was discovered 5 years ago, and tests and trials had been ran on multiple types of animals. Last year they reached an astounding 98 percent success rate on every species.
Tommy had been picked as the first human trial. No. Tom, I gently reminded myself. He may put up with my teasing about him being my Little Tommy, but he was in college, and had his own life.
While I still play the part of wacky Uncle Dale, I respect and admire who Tom has become. A man like I could never be. Heard and loved by all who saw him, he gives everything he has, to everyone he meets. He knows no such thing as race, can't tell status from a glance. Even me, he easily accepted as family and friend, despite my... condition. Having his sight won't change who he is.
But it will change everything.
*************
Tom's mother crowded the bed, despite the protests of researchers and doctors alike. While they wanted to witness scientific history, she just wanted to make sure her baby was ok. I watched from the corner, being as inconspicuous as I could be.
The bandages came off, and the room exploded into a cacophony of cheers and congratulations. Tom cried seeing his mother for the first time. She cried for being seen. Soon the moment was swept away in the sea of science, marks on paper totaling the progress of years and a new landmark of humanity.
I watched it all, passive and waiting, till only Tom was left. Finally alone, I listened for what what I knew was coming.
"Uncle Dale? Are you... are you still there?" Tom's voice was a bare whisper.
Despite myself the corners of my mouth turned ever so slightly upward. He always had this effect on me. From the shadows of my corner, I sent my voice. Projecting it to seem like it was all around, like a voice in your head.
"Yes Tom, I'm here."
"Oh thank God," Tom said, tension bleeding out of his body. "I mean I knewyou'd still be here... but still. I don't know what I would do without you."
My heart collapsed inside my chest. I drew a shuddering breath, barely managing to whisper, "Everyone loves you Tom, you would be fine".
"But you know me better than my friends, maybe even better than Mom!" Tom replied. "You've always been there for me, no matter what." He drew in a deep breath, and sighed, staring at his hands in his lap.
"What's wrong Tom?" I asked. This wasn't like him.
"Its just.... I never imagined what all this could be like. I'll have a face for every voice now, except yours." Tom gritted his teeth, words pouring out of him. "I know you're just... me. Just in my head. I know it's childish but I want you to be more. More than just a voice. More than my imagination. You are real to me, dammit!" Tom slammed his palm down on the arm of the hospital bed. His shoulders rocked with silent tears.
My vision blurred and I hurriedly wiped away my tears, but to no avail. I had wanted a human connection, searched for centuries to find the right situation, the right person. Never had I imagined I would connect so much with this beautiful child, this incredible man. I never knew how much he would change me. He deserved the truth. I took a steadying breath, and stopped projecting my voice, letting it come from me, from the corner.
"Tom, I never wanted this. Never thought it would go this far. But you should know. I AM more."
With that final word I melted out of the shadows, my carapace catching the soft light of the lamp next to Tom's bed. My glowing red eyes filled with tears, my tail drooped in shame. My horns scratched the ceiling as Tom stared at me in shock.
"Un...uncle Dale?" Tom said, caught between horror and hope.
"...yes" the word barely audible, but it's weight crushing nonetheless.
"I wouldn't be able to hide from you forever anymore." I said, "My name is Baal. And I can't stay with you now. I would introduce hell to your life and that's something I just can't do. I'm so sorry."
As I let my body return to my domain, my form losing substance, I looked Tom in the eyes as I spoke our regular goodbye. "I love you Tommy, more than you know"
| 2018-10-29T10:15:07 | 2018-10-29T09:52:51 | 100 | 26 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
——————————
Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear. | ​
Muffled whispers surround me as a set of hands unwrap the thick layers of gauze and bandages that cover my face. Even though I cannot see, I know that anxiety coats the room like a wet blanket. This is the first surgery of it’s kind, performed on me -- a twenty year old woman. I know that however this operation goes could decide the fate for the future of mankind.
Years ago, a plague set upon the world. A plague upon the infants -- those born from around the year 1997 and later were born without the ability to see. Some of us were lucky -- having been born with eyes that were just not functional, however, majority of humans born past 2000 were simply born with nothing at all, skin that smoothes from the eyebrow down, eye holes looked like part of the cheek. No indentions, no hole for eyes. We are all born without Sight. The problem is gradually getting worse -- doctors are predicting there will be complete eradication of all facial features by the year 2030. This plague has caused the entire world to come to a pause. People are stopping having children, abortion rates have quadrupled, and entire populations are coming to a screeching halt. We are the Children Who Cannot See.
The whispers grow louder and eventually become conversation.
“Can she see? What if this fails?”
“Dr. Anderson, any words you’d like to say before the big reveal?”
“The future of humanity is held in the hands of this child. What happens if she cannot withstand the pressure?”
“Give my child to him! Give my child to him! My baby deserves this! Why did she get to have it?”
I hear wailing, shouting, murmuring, weeping. I hear anticipation.
My stomach churns.
My generation has starved the earth for food, water, and shelter. We cannot work, and it is too expensive for governments to provide education for the blind. Many of us are mute -- haven’t learned how to speak or read or write. Many countries have declared states of emergency, the majority of Western Europe has input a “Baby Ban”, providing free sterilizations for their citizens. No more children. We have been spit on, beaten, and murdered for our existence. We are ending humanity. Believers say we are the devil’s work. God sent down another set of plagues, that Allah is condemning the Seers for their sins. I was chosen out of millions. It is my duty to see for all those who cannot, and I was chosen. *God, why was I chosen.*
I feel a body lean close to mine. In my ear I hear a whisper from Dr. Anderson.
“I know it’s always been in you.
I know in the deepest of my heart it is up to you to provide.
Remember, dear child,
See with your ears, and never your eyes.”
The unwrapping stops and I can feel flourescent hospital lights shine on the top of my forehead.
I had been blind for my entire life, but my mother had always told me I had the strangest golden eyes. No one assumed I was even without sight -- maybe I had missed the cutoff, my mom hadn’t been affected by the plague yet, my dad not affected with the illness. But alas, as soon as they tested me when I came out of my mother’s womb, sightless. My mother immediately took me to an old friend of hers, William Anderson. He had also been an optometrist for a period of time in his early physician career, so he attempted to work with me since birth. When my mother and I arrived to his home in San Francisco, he was studying something widely criticized at the time -- a form of sense control. He believed that one person could, if given the correct scientific circumstances, control the senses of another -- or possibly many more people. His theory was laughed at and tossed aside, but my mother, the head psychology professor at Berkeley, supported him from the beginning.
Dr. Anderson continued to talk out of earshot of the public.
“All of the Sightless rely on you now.
Lead them where they need to be,
And do not be swayed by those who can See.”
His breath was so close I could feel the hairs of his mustache on my ear.
“They do not know what you’re capable of as of now. Your mother and I must run and hide. I will not be able to see you for some time, little one.”
My body tensed. Why could I not see them? They’re all I have! Who will protect me?
Dr. Anderson felt me start to sit up and he shoved my shoulder down onto the bed.
“Don’t say a word. It is all on you now. But I have known it has been all on you since the beginning, Golden Eyes.”
His mustachioed lips tenderly kissed my forehead. I felt his presence leave me as a cold gust of air hit me where his body used to be.
I took a deep breath, and I opened my eyes. | 2018-10-29T10:15:07 | 2018-10-29T08:56:20 | 100 | 22 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | "I'd like a club on Italian herbs and cheese, please." Dan says.
This is his usual order. In fact, Dan comes to this Subway on his lunch break, orders the same sandwich, and return to his desk to eat every day like clockwork. Dan is a predictable kind of guy, and he doesn't mind it; and knowing that he's unintentionally saved a few people throughout his mundane routine is kind of cool.
"Of course sir," says the sandwich artist. She turns to the bread cabinet, but ends up grabbing a loaf of Italian instead.
"Whatever," thinks Dan "It's not worth mentioning. Italian is close enough."
Suddenly, Dan feels his save count skyrocket. It takes a moment for the exact number to register.
Five billion and eleven saved.
"What the fuck, how is that even possible?" he mutters under his breath.
"I'm sorry," The Subway worker looked up from the sandwich, "Is there a problem?"
"Oh, no, it's nothing. Just thinking is all. Um, could I get that sub plain? I'm in a bit of a rush."
Dan pays, and hurriedly leaves the store. His mind is a flurry of fear and nervous excitement. What could this mean? How could such a small decision, a simple sandwich order, change so many lives?"
On his walk back to work, Dan pays close attention to the world around him, looking for some sort of sign to show him how this would all come together.
Dan makes it back to his desk without incident. Somewhat disappointed, he eats his sandwich. That day, and several more pass with no obvious hint as to how Dan has saved so many people.
Three weeks later, Dan is found dead.
An autopsy reveals that Dan had a rare, deadly form of fungal infection. Fungal spores had entered his bloodstream, and after dismissing his symptoms as the flu, Dan took a day off to rest. He passed away in his sleep that night. Additional deaths and further investigation linked this fungus to the bread served at the Subway he regularly visited.
More interesting, however, were other discoveries made from Dan's autopsy. Dan's cells had an incredible capacity for autophagy. Based on his cells alone, Dan would appear to be half his actual age.
This revelation paved the way for medical progress. Degenerative disease treatment improved, and these conditions were eventually cured altogether.
The number of people that Dan saved with the cure derived from his cells was enormous.
Some might say billions.
| A sudden smile spread across my face as I handed the cashier a ten dollar bill. I had just saved five billion people because I ordered italian bread. I was pretty much the greatest hero alive. Just last week I had read about good ol' Sups saving a bus. How many people was that twenty, no maybe thirty, but God Fucking Damn! Superman didn't even come close to my level of heroism. And I was honest with myself, I wanted all the attention Sups got. I save five billion people and who congratulates me no one, but Superman can save some random dude and the whole freakin' city proclaims he's a God Damn angel sent from Jesus Christ himself. Christ! I want to be famous.
"Umm.. Excuse me sir did you want your change?" The cashier was staring at me with an odd look and holding out a few dollars and some unknown incomprehensible amount of change. I never was good with numbers. How much change did that make there? Lets see a nickel, a couple dimes... "Ok, well sir, I'm just gonna go ahead and put your money in the bag with your sandwhich. And you have a good day, ok?" Her southern accent grated against my ears interupting my calculations. "Uhhh! Yes! Yes! Of course thats ok" I shouted at her. "Excuse a me" her italian accent so thick I could hardly understand her. "Monsieur you cannot just yell at woman like that" her french accent was foreign to me and I could hardly understand the garbled words. "Comprehend, senõr!" Her spanish sent me into a spiral of confusion. "No, No, No! I tell you what why don't you speak english and then we can talk." I gave her a wry smile. Just then a small voice in my head whispered one billion people. "For Fuck's SAKE!" I exclaimed. I was on a roll today. "I truly am the hero this city- NO! - this. World needs". The cashier grinned widely and picked up the phone. The white cord stretching. " Why yes you are honey." Her southern accent rining sweetly in my ears this time. "Oh, OH why thank you. I am so truly glad that some one understands!" She smiled and spoke quietly into the phone. " Good day to you!" I shouted as loud as I could. She was quite daft I realized or was it deaf. Deft? Shit. I don't know. I walked away. The small voice hummed quietly at the edge of my consciousness. I felt giddy how many this time? Se...ve..n trillion... A soft whisper. Oh my GOD! I had just saved more people than there were on the while God Damn planet which meant I had saved people from other planets. I wasnt the hero this world needed, I was a god. No, I was the god! I pushed open the door as my chariots arrived. Glorious red and blue lights flashing ontop of the roaring beasts. A man stepped out to escort me to my awesome ride clasping safety cuffs onto my wrist. I shook with excitement! I was going to finally see my heavenly kingdom. Today was a good day indeed! | 2018-11-17T19:42:29 | 2018-11-17T19:01:38 | 166 | 14 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | “The microbe has been planted, sir.”
“Good,” a voice replied. “Humanity is... grotesque. It must be expunged.”
The microbe’s function was simple. Armed with the infective capabilities of the common cold but with wireless capabilities, it could change its genetic code in an instant. It was perfectly incurable, and could become deadly upon the creator’s will. The only downside was the price; it was terribly expensive, and the creators had to get it out before the government started asking where their grant’s research was.
This mattered not to the scientist. Once the microbe was out, the government would not trouble him.
The job was simple. Put the microbe in a common place. The agent decided on an inconspicuous location; a slice of Subway flatbread. The moment someone sunk their teeth into their sandwich, the chain would begin.
As the day went on, the microbe lay dormant. It only had a few hours left before it would die.
A customer came in and walked up to the counter. “One meatball sandwich on flatbread, please.”
“Coming right up, sir!” the worker responded. The slice was grabbed as the sandwich was being made. Soon, the microbe would enter his system, infect over 5 billion, and kill them. The human race would never be the same.
“Actually, I changed my mind,” the customer said. “Can you make that on Italian, instead?”
“Of course! I’ll just throw this old one out.” | "Can I get a footlong meatball sub on italian?"
"I don't know, CAN you? Hah, I'm just messing with you, of course you can!"
Everyday after work I come to this Subway, and everyday I have to put up with this dumb ass cashier's dumb ass shit. Like bro, I'm not here to play your cute little games, I just want my 5 dollar sandwich so I can go home and kill myself slowly with it. Fuck off.
I get home and immediately take my pants off, as is standard on a weekday, then I turn on an old Bill Burr special so I can remind myself that there are people out there more miserable than me. I unwrap my sandwich tentatively, making sure to keep the ass end of the sub wrapped so that the meatball sauce doesn't spill out all over my pantsless dick.
Just as I barely sink my teeth into the sub, I hear that obnoxiously loud upstairs neighbor that's always yelling about souls. I think this time he yelled five billion souls or something like that. I'm telling you, it's all that nerdy anime crap that the kids are into these days, don't know what half of those gremlins are ever talking about.
Once I get about halfway through the sub I feel my throat start closing up, as though Ron Jeremy himself shoved his abhorrent monstercock down it. My hands start sweating like crazy, it feels as though my brain moved down to my asshole and started doing mitosis, and to top it all off, my nipples are sore. After contemplating whether or not to call 911 or let whatever this is just kill me, I decide to just call. Then I pass out.
After some time has passed I wake up on a fucking stretcher, surrounded by people in hazmat suits. I look to my right, and there's two EMT medics, gagged and strapped down to more stretchers. They seem to be struggling, trying their hardest to break their bindings. One looks at me with a mixture of pure terror and hatred in his eyes.
One of the hazmat people says, "Begin decontamination of quarantined area," and all the rest of them leave the room. One of the EMT medics starts crying. I can hear a loud hiss coming from the air vents. It smells like propane.
| 2018-11-17T19:23:42 | 2018-11-17T18:56:19 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it. | This was gonna be a BIG one. Once youve been at this as long as I have you begin to know the type of dungeon master that's going to give you trouble, and this guy was it in spades.
I addressed him by his formal title, gotta stay professional and all, "Alright Warking Doomfang the Unstoppable, I'll be honest there are some serious changes that need to be made down here. So I'm gonna ask you to keep an open mind and remember that Im just trying to do my job."
The towering orc nodded from across the table, "I understand sir. Please elucidate on your findings. I am quite interested in your observations."
Ugh. Smart. That's what made him a pain, he was damn smart. Humble too. Most dungeon masters are egomaniacal psychopaths that think so little of adventurers they assume every pit trap is a death sentence.
"Alright," I started, "Lets start with that acid cloud spraying door with the puzzle lock on it."
Doomfang smiled mildly, I saw in his eyes the memory of its conception and construction.
"So the acid cloud itself would be enough, but your ceiling supports in that hallway are errodable. Most adventurers are of course going to create a magic Life Bubble or quickly protect against the acid, and then diddle around with the puzzle lock till the collapse."
Doomfang nodded, "Correct. I am confident any dwarf worth their salt would be able to notice such a thing and issue proper warning."
I sighed, here comes the worst revelation, "Yes Warking, but unfortunately thats racial discrimination to assume a dwarf will both be present, AND trained in stonecraft."
Doomfang seemed to ponder this for a moment, "I...understand. I feel quite foolish to say the least. I hope other infractions are not equally as egregious."
I flipped through my notes, they all had that enemy of any proper, fair, dungeon: Assumptions. Assuming adventurers would act a certain way, think a certain way, come to certain logical conclusions that were OBVIOUS to the designer, but not necessarily to the common adventuring group.
"Look sir, you're gonna need to rethink your design philosophy in a big way. The compound traps? The invisible trap mechanisms? The teleport redirecting enchantment that sends them..." I looked at the report closely, "600 miles away over a lava pool!? See now how is that fair OR fun?!"
Doomfang sighed and rubbed the back of his neck in a complicit gesture, "I...may have gone a little overboard there."
My heart went out to the guy, poor bastard was awful proud of all these little deathtraps, they always are.
I put the report down and spoke plainly, "Look, its not all bad. There are some easy fixes that can occur here! A plainly impossible obstacle will prompt an adventuring group to search for a bypass that can be installed cheap and easy! You wont be held responsible for the REALLY dumb groups that just kill themselves on it."
Doomfang seemed to brighten at the idea and smiled broadly, his perfect orcish tusks on display "Ah! A fantastic idea, I can obscure or trap the bypass mechanisms as well with minor effects and perils!"
I returned his smile, "Yes, by all means! In fact we encourage it! Here," I pulled out a few papers from my briefcase, "I've prepared a listing of bypass details and blueprints, as well as instructions on how to install them and on which traps they'd best fit. We're offer a consulting service as well for future installations."
Doomfang swept up the papers and stared at them with intensity, rapidly flipping the pages, I could practically feel him absorbing the information. Finally he shuffled the papers into a straight pile and set them aside before standing up and offering his hand, gods he was huge!
He spoke not unkindly, "Dear Sir, I thank you for this most honest analysis and reccomendation!"
I stood as well and took his offered hand, our business concluded, "Of course sir! Thats what we're here for, now of there's any-"
I was hit by a strange grinding sensation as the bones in my hand crushed to fragments, pieces splitting the skin, and some of my fingers popped like sausages. Blood was pounding in my ears, but the pain...there was none. He had crushed my hand to a wet, dripping, pulp so quickly it hadn't started to hurt yet. I felt only a slow but growing sense of nausea.
Doomfang spoke with a cordial nod, "You live now only at my pleasure, this scheme of your thieves guild is delightfully convoluted and convincing and I cannot allow such cleverness to go unrewarded. The bypass consultation in particular is a nice touch, a very tactical followup! Your secret is safe with me sir, just know certain death awaits all who enter my dungeon, please make your compatriots and superiors aware."
I nodded. The nausea was rising, a pulsing heat had begun to form in my hand. I felt what I knew was shock creeping over me.
Doomfang crouched down to bring himself level with me and looked me in the eyes, "Im going to let go of your hand now, and thats when the pain is going to start, do you understand?"
I whimpered and nodded.
"Good." Doomfang pulled a leather wrapped bit of wood from his belt pouch and gently but firmly placed it between my teeth.
"Ok," he said with almost paternal tone, "Big deep breath now..."
He released, and my world was nothing but pain. | "You've incorporated fifty seven levels into this thing?" I look around the entry way, which seems innocent enough. A little pink pony prances around, frolicking in the soft grass. I've had to kick it away from me a few times already. Way too friendly.
A small figure in bright red robes looks up at me sheepishly, "Yes, well, fifty nine if you count the two secret levels...," it says.
I look down at the figure with its wide, bright eyes and large hooked nose, two wirey tufts of hair protruding from its nostrils. "What are you..." I wonder, then realize I had said it out loud.
The little figure balls its fists and puffs itself up. "I am a cross between a gnome and a goblin," it says, "But I also happen to be a midget, far smaller than most of my kind."
I jot down a few lines on my notepad, "Half-breed midget gnome goblin. Got it." I pause and look around again, somewhat disturbed by the fine attention to detail to the art on the walls, little ponies on in fluorescent reliefs contorted in grotesque poses. "Your name?"
"Devanikar Cromptdulious III," the gnome-goblin pipes up, "You can call me Vanikar."
"Okay, Vanikar...," I look around the room again, which is sheathed in beams of light coming from holes in the ceiling high above. "Okay, so the party comes in from up there," I turn my head towards a door set in the far wall, which had materialized a moment ago, "And then they go though that door to begin?"
Vanikar nods eagerly.
I jot down a few more notes. "Okay, lead the way. We're going to have to explore all fifty nine floors."
We walk towards the door, which swings open as Vanikar gets close. I take a step through and hear a desperate shriek. I turn to see the once happy pink pony, wild eyed and desperate, trying to follow us through the door but being thwarted by an invisible line along the floor. Vanikar is up ahead. I shrug and turn to follow, in the corner of my eye I see the pony rip a chunk out of its own flesh.
"This will be interesting," I mutter under my breath, hurrying after Vandikar.
Down we go. Each level seems innocent at first but the more time we spend the more sinister the elements in play. There is a room full of trees, a beautiful clearing in a forest that seems to have a bright blue sky, clouds gliding by overhead. We catch our breath under the shade of giant leaves.
I notice dark red eyes staring out from the undergrowth, unblinking. "So far so good," I say, suppressing my nervousness. I address Vandikar, "We're on level seventeen and the adventurers still haven't seen combat. Unusual."
Vandikar nods again. "Yes, yes, well...," he hesitates, eyeing my notebook, "Well the thing is, when an adventurer can't find the way to the next level, he becomes a part of the level he is stuck on, so .... in theory the dungeon gets harder over time."
I blink in rapid fashion. "So... this is a labyrinth that gets harder the more people that try it and the prize is at the bottom and they must go all of the way down to get it?"
"Yes!" Vandikar indicates an exposed root system beside the pond. He flicks his wrist and the roots part to reveal a door downwards and off he goes again. I jot down a few more notes, so far this dungeon is failing the test big time.
"Okay...," I say, then follow Vandikar down through an earthen tunnel and into a great sandy expanse, sand dunes in all directions for as far as I can see. I cover my mouth to keep out the blowing dust. "And how do we get out of this one?"
"Easy!" Vandikar lays down and begins to carve out a hollow in the sand with his body... "Sand angels!" he says gleefully as he moves his arms up and down and his stubby legs side to side. Shapes seem to shimmer in the distance.
"Okay..." I say again as another door opens with a groan, swallowing up sand as it does so. I look down at my notebook. "So we have no enemies, each level is a puzzle, and if the adventurer can't solve a certain level in a certain amount of time, they get stuck there forever?"
"Yes!" Vandikar says, then he looks up at me sheepishly, "But it's just a game, they're stuck until they leave the game, which we can all do at anytime!" He looks knowingly at my satchel, that gives me god-like powers only available to inspectors.
I jot down a few more notes and down, down we go, until we come to level fifty seven and Vandikar turns towards me with a flourish. "I saved the best for last!"
A great wide open space, nothing up and nothing down, just a field of white nothingness. I look down at my feet, which have found purchase on an invisible surface.
Vandikar is running off into the distance now, "A tapestry for the imagination! A blank slate on which to paint your own adventure!" And just like that he disappears, vanishing from the whiteness, leaving me standing in a blank.
"Vandikar," I say, with rising urgency, "Where did you go?"
Nothing for a while. I fish around in my satchel and pull out my emergency button, the tool we inspectors use to get out of sticky situations such as this. No response. I press it again. My mind flicks back to the desperate pink pony tearing chunks out of its own flesh.
Vandikar's voice now, disembodied and coming from everywhere at once, filled with mirth, "This is a tutorial. The regular game mechanics aren't activated here. Inspectors don't inspect tutorials." He releases a hard, high cackle that echoes through the nothingness. "You're trapped, just like all of the other adventurers who have come to learn my game, to access the world beyond."
And so I stand in a field of white blankness, painting my imagination on an empty canvas. | 2018-11-26T11:24:19 | 2018-11-26T09:12:59 | 199 | 59 |
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace." | When they came, they didn't come in peace, and they didn't come in war. They just... came.
You always thought the Great Alien Invasion was going to go like it did in movies or shows. Giant, ominous sky-behemoths would suddenly appear out of nowhere, while bass trombones sounded a steady warning in minor thirds on the soundtrack. War! Struggle! Humanity unites! Roll credits!
No, they reached out well in advance, like a faraway acquaintance who is going to be spending the holidays in your solar system by chance and might there be a good time we could hang out?
They'd been keeping tabs on us for a while. Our early attempts at space travel reminded them fondly of their own history, and they watched us puttering around our local star and sending robots to nearby locales to look around for us much the same way we watch grainy sepia-toned footage of that guy on the crazy bicycle with like 8 huge wings on it from like 1895.
And they thought they had us figured out. To them, we seemed just that quaint. Harmless. We fought wars for the stated purpose of peace, we had terms in our language like "enforcement of peace" that nobody seemed to find ironic. We were such an anomaly in their experience that they didn't have a solid plan for what to do with us. So, they just... came.
They thought that because we believed you can actually achieve sustainable peace via war, that we wouldn't pose much of a threat. Funny, that. For a bunch of beings with technology the likes of which we never even fully imagined, you'd think they would have realized that a species that has fought a whole lot of unnecessary wars has actually gotten pretty adept at it.
So now we travel through a Stanfield quantum passageway, me and my closest 10,000 or so friends. Their form of interstellar travel was astonishingly easy to copy and reproduce; we are travelling at speeds faster than light less than a decade from their first contact.
We're on our way to their home world. We already know they are completely unaware of our impending arrival, and the takeover should be quick and relatively bloodless.
Humanity has united. We will ensure peace. Roll credits. | _Alien 1:_ Kutlag (Studying humans)
_ALIEN 2:_ HERTEYS (Helping Kutlag in his studies)
_SET:_ Hiding on the dark side of the moon with satellites in orbit with tech that makes them invisible to us humans and our tech. The 2 observers are just another set of observers spread throughout the galaxy with a simple assignment to observe, note and report back to the galactic council. They feel special cause there are rarely any intelligent and sentient beings this far out in the galaxy.
_PLOT:_
As kutlag was receiving a new package of data from the satellites around the orbit of the blue marbel he drank his coffee to try and get rid of the preservation chemicals used for cryo sleep, cryo sleep is used to help wake them up every 36500 rotations.
As the data was beginning to make sense all sleep and clumsiness went out the airlock as Kutlag couldn't believe what he was reading, wars at huge scales for a species that's still on a single planet, progress on unprecedented levels that have never been recorded, weapons that should have taken a few more sleeps were already being tested. What had happened between his last sleep till now? He had to wake her up.
As HERTEYS went through the data with the help of Kutlag she was taken back as how quickly the species had progressed within 1 sleep cycle. Last she remembered was how they were all spread out and killing each other with metal sticks and funny little metal sticks. A joke was around this planet that these self labelled species _Humans_ would likely end up killing them selves before they even leave their solar system and were nicknamed _TERRANS_ for their love of personal land and beliefs.
And now not only were they making major leaps in all branches of science for everything but were also progressing in all sorts of arts and peace that the galactic union thrived upon, they were making great progress on multiple peace talks that the union still couldn't get their heads around. Peace that was only a dream a sleep away, they have a mini version of the union with the only difference being that those on the council are selected by the people rather than the position being passed between families. Somehow even stuck on that little fragile rock these TERRANS had somehow managed to surpass the Union in some aspects, not at all significant but still credibility was due to them. They were ultimately always fighting for peace, but then when will peace be truly achieved if someone holds a grudge against the last battle for peace? It seems like this species will be in that loophole for many sleeps to come...
As the 2 observers continued looking through the data they kept getting more and more surprises on how the species was going forward and how quickly they were progressing in both good and bad ways.
Then the last surprise came that was totally uncalled for and something that is barely witnessed by anyone in their profession, a slip space jump...
The Terrans were coming, and the Union must be notified at all costs but the last thing they remember is being violently pushed onto the moon of the Terrans home planet due to an unknown collision on the hull. | 2019-05-02T20:14:11 | 2019-05-02T19:30:02 | 189 | 23 |
[WP] Last night, you were taking sunset pictures on the beach when a guy walked up and asked if you'd take a picture of him and his girlfriend. Then he whispered "take a video." Next thing you know you're videoing a murder | That's rare. It was sunset on New Heaven beach, yet there was still two people laying in the wet sand. New Heaven beach is nowhere near any housing so I assumed the worst. I adjust the gun around my shoulders and make my way over.
The two are caked in dirt and sand. The romantic couple can't seem to find the time to notice me between there makeout session, so I help them,
"The sun is setting."
No doubt I was surprising to them, but their reaction tells a different story. It was like they knew I was coming, they were expecting. They turn to me and slowly get up from the sand.
"I know. Isn't it beautiful?" She says.
"It is," I tell her.
"It's like an hourglass, slowly running out of sand to drop." The poetic man starts to reach in his pocket, but as a soldier, I do not fear. He pulls out his phone and asks, "Can you take a picture of me and my girlfriend."
I reach for the phone and see the weird app he has open. It's already started and it's recording. He leans in close and whispers, "Record this for me instead." I try to decline but rushes back over to his girlfriend.
I record as the man gets on his knees and pulls a medium size case from under his shirt. I'm too far away to hear anything, but I can see him saying something. The girl starts to cry and even I tear up. The girl opens the case and pulls out a ring and slips it on. Next, she pulls out and neckless that shined bright in the sunset. She hugs him and he goes to put it on
I look at the phone and notice the app now had writing on it. The names of the viewers and their comments popped up back to back. The endless words that filled the chat wished them eternal happiness while very few pointed out the beautiful setting sun.
The couple, now back on their feet faced the cameras and with anger in their brave eyes, they yell and scream. Their words heavied my heart and watered my eyes.
"Shoot us!"
"You monster!"
"End us, since all you do is follow orders!"
"You government hound!"
"Go ahead!"
The messages in the chat was now filling up with more of the same. And as the sun took its last peek at us and darkness fell over the land, I drop the phone. My eyes get engulfed by the scope of my gun. With only a few shots, the dark sand gets painted red. I knew if I didn't shoot, the footage would come back to me
It's the rules. No one out past sundown.It had landed in a way that showed the massacre. I weep as I grab the phone. . The chat calls them crocodile tears. | Scarlet Beach is the best place to go to watch the sunset. I had just finished my shift at Lucy’s Diner. I worked there as a waitress and I would often walk to the secluded, nearby beach to watch the sunset.
It was quite a difficult beach to get to, so I was usually there alone. Not today, though. A couple had decided to walk down the 50 wooden steps down to the hidden beach, and I spotted them from afar. I thought nothing of it and took out my phone to take a few photos of the gorgeous view before I left.
Suddenly, I spotted the couple running towards me with a camera. “Hey, can you take a picture of us please?” The man asked. “Of course!” I replied. The man told what I assumed to be his girlfriend to step back for the picture. As his girlfriend was distracted, he leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “Take a video.” I felt a chill run down my spine as he walked toward where his girlfriend was standing. “Smile, darling!”
I watched in horror as he pulled a small knife out of his pocket and viciously stabbed her repeatedly multiple times in the chest, as blood splattered on his face. She screamed in agony as I watched, helpless as could be. As soon as it started it was over. She lay lifeless on the sand, her eyes still open. The man looked at me. I didn’t believe what happened next.
He smiled. It was a terrible, crooked smile that made my blood run cold. He then started walking towards me. “Shit.” I quickly fled with the camera that had recorded everything. I ran up the 50 steps up to the street, looked back, and saw him chasing me, the twisted look still plastered on his face. I ran to my car when I felt something firmly grip my arm.
“Not so fast, sweetie.” I cringed as the blood on his hand slowly dropped onto my forearm. “What the hell do I do?!” Quickly, I put the camera in my mouth and with my newly freed hand, I grabbed the left side of his face and gouged his eye out with my thumb. He screams curses at me and let’s go of my hand in the process. I run like mad and when I finally reach my car I get in quickly, camera still in between my teeth, and slam my foot on the gas. I drive away as fast as I could, to the police station.
When I arrive, I frantically show them the film and the blood on my hands/arms. They take the evidence and ask me a crap ton of questions. About an hour and tell me to go home and wash off. My adrenaline had stopped pumping by now and it was right then that the smell of blood and bodily fluids actually hit me. I threw up at the thought of someone else’s blood on me. They told me to go home and clean up after getting my phone number, my name, and my address. I drove home, cleaned off, and sat on my bed. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep at all that night.
About a week later, the police station called me. They had found the man. They had his house searched and apparently he had multiple dead bodies in his attic, all women. All of the bodies showed signs of some kind of sexual assault. He had been given the death penalty. A month later I was invited to witness his death. His last words were “I didn’t even get to see the video, you bastards.” | 2019-07-17T14:56:00 | 2019-07-17T14:27:31 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | We called it humanity's worst disaster. History named it The Great Blinding. What that doesn't entail is that it was our own damn fault. The world was wrought into chaos after several months of warnings and we simply elected to ignore them, feigning assurance - "Oh that'll go away once we start on it."
"That's no problem for the government. They'll take care of us."
"Don't get involved, you'll just get in the way of the experts."
Ultimately, no one did anything about it because they thought others were on top of the problem. Indeed, this led to a fading away of layers of ozone that prevented the full wrath of the sun. The ozone wasn't fully gone, no but enough that the light truly lit up the earth. When it was day, we were all doomed. No corner of darkness could hide us. It took mere seconds and we were caught. There were legends of a group of roamers traveling eternally into the night, never letting the day come upon them. It's been 2 years since... The night doesn't last very long. We don't walk by sight anymore. We walk by faith. In faith, we sense the heat. We developed patterns of excursions into the dark. The already blind, we called them Ushers of Darkness, led us. They knew the world unlike us. We fell into line. We worshiped them. They walked the world, took us places with cool air, cold water, taught us to feel the world around us.
Then it happened. Colors poured into my periphery, filling my vision. At first, I was confused. Dreaming? Tripping? Then everything settled in place. The world stood in plain view. I was astonished at what I saw... Scribblings everywhere, didn't matter how far I went, even on the people themselves, myself included - "Don't tell them you can see." Granted, it was all dim since we were hiding in the dark but there was enough.
I wasn't sure what would happen if I did tell them despite the warning so I played along. I saw where the Ushers of Darkness led us. They led us through dangerous places but on safe paths, balancing on a thin rope death and life... I nearly got caught myself veering off the path because of my insatiable curiosity. As time went on, I got better at keeping up the act. It became dreary... I wish I could be blind again. We couldn't do much anyway. We were holed up from the sun's wrath.
Then I started feeling something was off... No one was talking. It was pure silence. Yet we kept doing the same things again and again, our excursions in the dark to scavenge, then back to our darkly caves with oases. But silence. I tried to talk but was afraid I'd slip up and show I could see. After all, what we talk about tend to be what we feel or see. The risks simply weren't worth it. Then I thought a thought...
​
What if they all could see? | It's the daydreaming that always gets me. I jolt awake yet the dream keeps playing on the back of my eyelids, making me wonder if I was ever asleep or if I was just thinking. I tilt my face towards the window, feeling the sun's warmth and imagining the warm orange glow that comes with it.
"Being on a plane must have been the worst," I say, stretching my arms out, aware of the blood flowing through them in a way I never was when I could see. "One second flying towards wherever, the next totally blind with everyone else, including the pilots."
I can still hear the passengers screaming in my day dream. I can hear them screaming all the way down.
The Great Blinding was the darkest - literally - day in human history. Everyone crashed their cars or fell off bridges or starved to death in city parks trying to find the grocery store. Even the animals went blind, and they all died as well. All sorts of terrible shit. Almost everyone died, except those who were already blind and their immediate caretakers, lovers, family members, or whoever else happened to be in close proximity when it all happened.
"Imagine the smell in the factory farms," I say out loud, replaying yet another aspect of the Great Blinding back to myself. It's how I cope, going over everything that must have happened that day and during the immediate fall-out. "Imagine all those turkeys suddenly blind and unfed, resorting to ferocious cannibalization before the victors died from a lack of nutrients."
"Can you quit it just this once, Dan," Alice says, sounding run-down and tired. "You just keep going on and on. I can't take it anymore. We've got a food run today."
Her voice is soft and purpose-filled and I let it fill the room, allowing it to banish my incessant day dreaming. On that fateful day I had been helping Alice cross the street. That one altruistic deed saved my life, for Alice was already blind and for her the Great Blinding represented a minor inconvenience.
"Alright, Alice," I reply, standing up and feeling around for my straw hat. "Hold on a second, one must always look the part these days." I smile as Alice softly chuckles in the background.
I pick up the straw hat and another form of blindness hits. Objects and shapes and the bright rays of the sun blanketing everything. Sensory overload.
"What the...," I say, blinking rapidly. Objects come into focus. My brain re-calibrates its orientation in this world and everything comes flooding back. I see (actually see!) my warn hands holding this warn hat. My eyes are unable to cope and they sting as tears flow freely down my cheeks.
"What is it?" Alice asks, concerned.
"I can see! Alice, I can-," I stop mid-sentence, becoming aware of the words plastered all over the walls, on the table and the chair and the window sill, and even on my hat.
*Don't Tell Them You Can See.*
"Tell who...," I wonder out loud, the words saturated with growing trepidation. A flash outside the window momentarily blocks the blindingly bright sun. A clamor comes from the front of the house, followed by a rapid scuffling.
Alice folds herself into a corner of the room. "Oh, Dan... You stupid, stupid man."
"What are you taking about? What's going on?" The newfound brightness of the room sears my eyes with an intense pain.
"I blinded myself with a hot iron, Dan," Alice says sadly. "I'm sorry."
The clattering grows louder. I take a step towards the corner of the room, to where she is and where safety lies. The door creaks open and something impossible passes through, its sheer presence enveloping the room and me within it. Alice cries out, clamping down hard on her ears.
A thousand voices speak from everywhere at once. "You let us know. Good bye." | 2019-08-26T09:28:09 | 2019-08-26T07:30:24 | 285 | 141 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing. | You wake up, and for the first time in years, you feel the pain of bright light on your eyes. *Wait, light?!* you jump out of your bed and close the green curtains on your window.
'Oh my God. I-I can-" you immediately stop talking as you look on your wall and see writing in neat, red marker,
"Don't tell them you can see. Act like everything is normal. Carry out your day as usual." Following the strange writing you decide not to shout it to the rooftops like you thought of, but open the door to your bathroom. On the mirror, in the same, neat writing,
"Nothing has changed. Pretend to be blind." you start to feel uneased, scared if someone is in your apartment. You slowly exit your bathroom, grab some non-safety scissors, and search the kitchen, your small office, and the living room. In each room you see more of the writing, telling you to not change anything in your daily life, to act natural; in every room the writings become more frequent, more aggressive, and more insistent that you should never reveal this recovery to anyone, even the people you trust the most. No one is in your apartment, that for sure, but one thing is certain:
In the last two years, someone was, and you had no idea.
"DING DONG!" rings the doorbell, snapping you out of this unnerving thought. You travel to your intercom, and say:
"Who is it?"
"It's James, duh!" Ah, yes. James, your best friend since college and your co-worker at Roy Industries, a company that started in manufacturing, specializing in disability aides such as: canes, hearing aides, wheelchairs, and stair-lifts, and after the Great Blinding, with everyone needing their products, grew into a ginormous cooperation that has a stake in almost every industry; everyone has heard of them, and most rely on Roy In. for their paycheck as well. You work in the admistrative section of the company, and so does John, you often walk to work together, as motor vehicles became too dangerous after The Great Blinding. Sure, it takes a while, but you live in the city, so at least it's not too bad of a commute; some people had to quit their jobs or move so they could work after the loss of an entire sense. Luckily, you lived close enough to not have to change your home/job, and so did John.
"You ready to go?" John asked.
"What? Oh, sure. Let me just get my cane."
Will write more soon, I just wanted to get the beginning on paper. (or, should I say, computer) Anyway, see you soon! | 2019-08-26T10:33:57 | 2019-08-26T09:40:50 | 62 | 17 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | I stilled dreamed of seeing.
I think that's why I initially snoozed my alarm clock instead of gasping for joy. But as I rolled back over to look at my wife lying next to me, I did gasp. Not for joy, but out of shock. On the wall behind Kathrine a message had been hastily painted on the wall.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
"What's wrong?" Katherine said groggily but alarmed. Her vacant stare reminding me that for the last 2 years I have been blind.
I am unable to respond as the realization of what is happening has not fully dawned on me.
"Jim?!" she now sounds more awake and even more concerned. She flails out her arms searching for me and when her hand rest on my shoulder I have regained enough composure to speak.
"N-nothing." I stammer. "Just had a nightmare."
The tension in her face eases as her hand glides up to my face and leans in for a kiss.
"you had me worried." She sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." I respond quietly, still trying to get my bearings.
I sit up and look around the room growing more confused and horrified as I do. On every available surface I can see the same message has been painted.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
The paint is obviously not new, as it has slightly faded from a bright red, to a more rusted maroon. I also see the guide rod we have been using to navigate the new home we were given a year after the great blinding took place. The room looked very different from how I dreamed of it. It seemed smaller and dust has settled on all the surfaces that were not regularly used. As I took in the first glimpses of the room I have spent the last year in, growing more uneasy as I read the same message over and over, I felt a hand on the small of my back. I gave a startled yelp and nearly jumped out of bed.
"Must have been a bad one." Kathrine giggled from behind me. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Maybe later." I mumbled.
I turned to face her and was overcome with emotion. In 2 years she hasn't changed much. Her chestnut hair was longer than I remembered it and was haphazardly strewn around her. Her soft smile showed a few more smiles lines around the corners of her mouth. The eyes were the biggest difference. They looked glossed over and unfocused, the rich brown covered with a grayish haze. I felt a pang of sadness and guilt wash over me as I stared at those eyes. The mixture of joy and grief became too much and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
As I stood up to leave, I finally noticed the dark amorphous shape in the corner and stopped with my breath caught in my throat. It wavered on the edges as if it were pulsing or breathing. It seemed to be pulling in the light around it further obscuring it from my sight. I reached out to steady myself on the guide rod and as I did, the shaped slithered into the bathroom.
"Hurry up," Kathrine complained, "I need to go too." | I walk along the street. It's a normal night like any other. Nothing special until I see the sun rise. Something was different the light was too bright. Far too bright. I close my eyes and they still burn from the light. I try covering my eyes as they're closed yet they're still burning. Until I can no longer see the light.
I open my eyes to find darkness. I open my phone and say. Hey Google call 911. I hear cars crashing in the darkness. I get up and run away from the noise. I stumble and fall but I manage to follow the sidewalk home thank the gods I was taking my normal route.
"911 what is your emergency?" The lady says. She sounds just as scared as I am. "I can't see something blinded me this morning as the sun rose." She pauses for a second. "Are you safe? She says." I find her question strange. "Yes I managed to find my way back home." She sighed a bit. "I'm blind as well and so are all of our emergency service workers. Just try and turn a radio or TV to a news station and await further instructions. We're all working in the dark right now. I don't even know how to tell people where to go!" She begins crying and then regains her composure. "Stay safe." she says as she hangs up.
After years we manage to adjust and somewhat keep surviving cars aren't really a thing anymore. Everyone walks everywhere and cities are mainly abandoned but there's a lot of goods to raid from them to trade for food if you can manage it. Everyone's hearing has increased significantly. It's what we use along with scent to hide from predators mainly packs of wild dogs and occasionally escaped zoo animals.
Just as it seems we'll adjust to our blindness. I am hiding from something I've never heard before in a shop. It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard. All of a sudden I'm blinded again. It's like the blinding light from before. I see inside of the walls of the shop. Don't let them know you can see. Who were they talking about.
Then as I step outside I see exactly who they're refrencing. Floating orbs with what seems like endless tendrils. They are carrying different people away. I go back into the shop and find a pair of thick black shades. I put them on my face and I pick up my walking staff. What in the world happened that day.
Then I hear the "drones" that drop food to us. I see a few people come out of hiding. Turns out what we thought were drones were nothing of the sort. They latch there tendrils onto the faces of those nearby. Pumping something into us. Come to think of it the closer I look at them they don't look human at all....
I try to walk normally back to the store. It's pretty easy to find a mirror since nobody would be raiding those since we're all blind. I look into it and my skin is moist with tendrils forming around my mouth. I was too distracted earlier at the return of my site to notice the webbing inbetween my fingers. The scales that were growing on my hand.
I begin to have a headache. My blood feeling as though it's boiling. That's right I always went to the "drones" before this. I go back to them. They latch onto my face and begin pumping sustenance into my body. Then I feel it. They know is all I can think. I rip it from my face and I run to the store where I awakened my site. I don't know why. Call it instinct. I break the mirror and write. Stay away from the drones in my black blood. Soon it finds me soon it drags me from the store.
It takes me into its mouth. I feel myself disappear this isn't death. It's rebirth. I awaken my eyes are working. I am hiding from something. On the walls of the store I'm hiding in there are two messages. Don't let them know you can see and beware the drones. What does this mean? | 2022-10-15T03:24:04 | 2019-08-26T10:34:32 | 52 | 17 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered. | The bandit leader laughed as he drew his gleaming sword, magical flames licking around the edges in sharp contrast to my rotten old staff which had definitely seen better days. Behind him, his band of cut-throats, murderers and desperate, unwashed scum brandished their assorted clubs, spears, knives and axes. A particularly terrifying-looking orc with a scarred, pitted face stepped forward casually swinging a massive, warhammer.
You really don't want to do this, I said, sighing.
The bandit leader laughed again. As well he should. To him and his ambushing gang I probably looked nothing more than a tasty morsel on a dusty back road in the middle of nowhere.
Your sword is rusty, said the bandit leader. Your boots are melting off your feet, your jerkin is more holes than jerkin, those look like the cursed gloves of Arundel and is that, is that...?
He leaned in to get a closer look as did the rest of his gang.
Is that a colander on your head? He finished, quizzically.
It was, indeed, a colander. Or to be precise, the cursed colander of endless vegetables. With armour +1, it was useful but silly looking and had the negative of making vegetables appear from nowhere whenever I was hit. Needing armour, I'd bought it in a backstreet weaponsmith, my meagre purse allowing me only to buy the feeblest, enchanted weaponry in the store. I'd bought it at a further discount because I'd purchased it together with the environmentally friendly druidic staff of defence. Fashioned by a druid wanting to reforest the world, this +1 armour class staff had a minor curse causing all nature to grow everywhere I went. Great in the forest, less good when I wanted to pop down the shops to get some cheese. The deli definitely wouldn't let me back in again but the greengrocer was happy as all his stock grew bigger so every cloud and all that.
The orc grunted something at me menacingly.
You said it, Mathilda, said the bandit leader to the Orc.
Mathilda? I thought. A strange coincidence as she had the same name as my ex-wife's divorce lawyer and appeared to be almost as terrifying.
Mathilda stepped forward, preparing to take a swing. Definitely shades of divorce lawyer about her.
I really, really wouldn't do that, I said. It never ends well.
Mathilda looked down at my puny form, glanced back at her fellow bandits and then back to me. Peering at me through her scarred, broken face which seemed to be hewn from green granite, her ample chest started to heave. A dull roaring sound emerged from what I assume was her mouth and a rictus grin covered her face. I think she was laughing. Or screaming with rage. Difficult to tell with orcs and divorce lawyers.
Please don't, I said, as it'll hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me.
I stumbled slightly as my boots of speed 'tanglefoot when enemies appear' curse prepared to kick in, tips of roots appearing around me. My ripped tunic of defence, AC+1 also glowed a little in anticipation. Although currently silent, it was usually annoyingly chatty as it had an evil faerie's soul embedded in it, something the merchant had neglected to mention. He'd also forgotten to tell me that it was cursed to multiply any and all curses on or about my person.
The orc swung her head towards me, pulled back the warhammer and with a mighty roar, charged in my direction.
I tried to warn you, I said, attempting a vaguely menacing wave of my staff which was more pathetic than powerful.
Raaaarrrrrrrrrraaaarrrghhhhh!!!! Screamed the orc as the mighty weapon swung in a wide, powerful arc towards my colander in a divorce lawyerey kind of way.
Crap. I said and braced.
Suddenly, all my cursed weapons and armour glowed red hot and I howled. My ring of never-ending food, increasing the size of whatever I was eating was particularly scalding and I dodged to one side as a huge tendril reached out of the earth ensnaring my attacker who looked confused. She looked even more confused when a gigantic carrot descended from the sky, pinning her to the ground. This was swiftly followed by a blow to the skull as a huge broccoli floret whacked her on the head, cracking open her helmet.
Take that and that and that screamed my cursed tunic, multiplying the seemingly never-ending curses emanating from my decidedly dodgy equipment.
The bandit leader himself was screaming in agony, held in place by roots while he was being hammered by a constant stream of parsnips, his gang scattering as pumpkins and turnips smashed into them from a great height. I noticed one, particularly large and dangerous parsnip hitting him in the tenders. He looked beat. Sugar beet to be precise as a 10-foot wide, purple and juicy specimen splattered him into non-existence. Sweet.
Dodging for my life, I leapt for cover under a tree by the side of the road and waited for the gigantic vegetable storm to dissipate. And suddenly the sky was clear and relatively speaking, so was my path. Well, at least the bandits were no longer a threat.
I quietly collected as many of their valuables as I could and continued on my way. With their coin, I might just have enough to get rid of some of these cursed items and get myself some proper kit. Something that didn't leave me embarrassed in each and every melee and also didn't leave me constantly apologising to whatever unfortunate travelling companions happened to be in my general vicinity. My last group, lead by an uptight Paladin, kicked me out after being buried under a load of African root veg and European herbs after one of them had playfully punched me in the arm, setting off the chain reaction.
Probably hadn't helped that my cursed tunic had started to sing "I yam what I yam." Oh well, it'll probably get better in thyme. | "I'll give you this for-- all you have," the shopkeeper grinned. "I'm being generous, trust me."
Gram sighed, and tossed the satchel on the counter. Ten shekels seemed far too much for a cheaply made trinket, but if the Oracle had willed it who was he to argue against it? Besides, Gram knew that those shekels were different. Special, was the words the Oracle had used.
It had been two weeks since he had lost every ounce of currency of what little he had possessed after a few of Syon's rogues came for him. He had woken up in a medical barrack with no possessions except an empty satchel, a sigil that represented his home village, and a nasty head wound. It didn't deter him one bit-- he was back on the road within a day, making his way to the mad highwayman's city with the intent to take back the weapons Syon had stolen from his own village. He had a dagger and a satchel that he occasional filled with loose change, but little else but his wit. Yet Gram knew that Syon, with the acquisition of more and more power, would be impossible to fight.
"Fine," replied Gram, his eyebrows narrowed slightly. "I'll take the bone, but will you do me the courtesy of wrapping it up first?"
"Of course," laughed the shopkeeper. "I'm a good shopkeeper, I treat my customers just right. Just right."
Gram prepared to leave the decrepit tent, but the shopkeeper reached out his hand, leaning over close. Gram could smell faint licks of moonshine on his breath.
"Hey," he whispered. "I can tell that you're a member of the Resistance movement. Let me just tell you that Syon-- he's stronger than any man. You'd be best not coming across him. Once a highwayman, always a highwayman."
"Thanks," winced Gram. "But I think my adviser knows what she's doing."
She called herself the Oracle, and Gram had encountered her in the basement of one of the sole hotels in the city of La Grande not run by the highwaymen. While walking through through the fields, a group of men had noticed the bandages on his legs, and most importantly the sigil around his neck.
"Man from Tyrande," began one of the men, walking in level with Gram. "Eh, you want to be taken up on a proposition?"
"Yes, I'm from Tyrande," said Gram, slightly suspicious. "What proposition would you be interested in? You are aware that my village was razed, and our holy weapons destroyed, no?"
One of the men threw Gram a coin, which he gladly took, and examined. Yet he noticed that the faint lines of the shekel were tinted with a strange green, lines that seemed to run like veins through the bronzed metal. He flipped it over, and watched as gentle, cold flames doused acid green reached into his palm and licked at his fingers.
"What-- what the hell is this," asked Gram. "Some kind of joke? What's the coin for?"
"Ah, it accepted you," exclaimed the man that had walked at Gram's side. "First comes choice, then comes intention, followed by the great mantra."
"One man's trash is another's treasure," chanted the men in unison.
Gram had been intrigued, and allowed himself to be led to the city of La Grande, where the foe who stole his village's weapons lay protected in a nest of iron. *Lent's Chance*, was the name of the small hotel in which they settled in, for a so called "proposition". The outsides were falling apart, and the insides were covered with blankets of thick dust, the lights flickering as if to remind every soul of a time long past. Down an old hatch, lifted by the corners and wailing as the hinges moved, was a basement lit dimly by rows of assorted candles.
On an altar was a pale young woman nursing a mist-suffused orb in one hand, and a hastily constructed gauntlet in the other.
"You are the one from Tyrande, no," the woman had asked. "I am the Oracle, and I've seen you from afar through prognostication of a wicked kind. It seems to be that you qualify all of the requirements of an individual that could be our Vessel."
"And what is this Vessel," Gram asked in turn. "Something to do with your devilish leader? Though your men tell me your kin resists his presence rather than exalts it."
"See, I think my men have explained to you the three conditions for a Vessel," the Oracle had explained. "Syon's curse dictates that only an outsider can rid this city of his presence. But we have a secret weapon, so to speak."
The Oracle had waved her hand, two men rushing to a back room and returning with a discolored wooden treasure chest, dropping it at Gram's feet.
"Go on," whispered the Oracle. "Open it."
The opening of the lid revealed hundreds upon hundreds of shekels, piled on one another like massive pillars. Yet each shekel was tinted in the same green hue that Gram had seen earlier. Hues of green that wrapped around each coin like a vine, radiating energy that seemed weightless and flightless. Each inscription was perfectly inlaid with tangles.
"More shekels, yet," began Gram, picking one up from the very top and waiting for any objection to his action. "They seem different. Hued in green, bathed in this acid energy that I can't describe. Similar to the power of the Holy Weapons stolen from my village."
"These shekels are special, powerful," promised the Oracle. "Each one can be inlaid with three specifications. One is choice, which is finished. You can see the energy, and thus it has chosen you. Second is intention, which you must possess. Syon destroyed your village and left you destitute. You have this intention, no? Third is the great mantra, *one man's trash is another man's treasure*. The plan is simple. Buy useless items that you yourself would consider cheap and worthless with these shekels, and once enough items are possessed you may combine them to create a catastrophic weapon of prognostication to aim at Syon."
Gram, intrigued, had agreed to see at least some of the plan through, spending the next two weeks buying useless items with the cursed shekels. Ribbons, trinkets, charms, even food that he would never eat, weapons he would never use. But now, as he exited the tent, he recognized that he wouldn't need to recollect the cursed shekels. Perhaps that would be enough. He had been chosen by the mysterious energy of prognostication that wove its way through the shekels. He had the intention of getting back the Holy Weapons Syon had stolen. He had enough trash, all of it woven by those strange green cords that could become the treasure the great mantra promised.
*Perhaps it is time to aim the weapon of prognostication*, Gram thought, as he pocketed the empty satchel.
————————————————————————
r/bluelizardK | 2019-12-02T19:42:26 | 2019-12-02T15:34:46 | 77 | 33 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | A bit off prompt, I know. Also, I've edited a bit for spelling, disambiguation, etc.
.
Falling.
I am falling.
The fact of it should fill me with terror, but it doesn't.
I don't know where I am.
But I'm falling.
I try to move, but the movement stops short. I feel... chains? How can I be falling in chains? My head is back. I straighten it and I stop feeling like I'm falling.
Nothing.
I see nothing.
Smell nothing.
Taste nothing.
Hear nothing.
Feel... chains?
I try to squint, but my eyes have been closed. I open them. My mind swirls as I try to process the reality before me. Shapes don't lack definition, but are without substance. None of it matters. Colours exist only in greasy monotones as far as I can see. No brights, darks, contrasts or bloom. Only oily greys, dull beiges, and lifeless browns without luster stretch to an indefinite horizon. Perhaps it's a wall? It doesn't matter. I'm chained.
I try to struggle against my bonds, but only manage to weakly pull at them. Rather than rattling or clinking, they make a greasy rasping like waxed paper rubbing together. The sound seems stifled by the still air and subsides quickly, as though eager to be quiet. I look down the length of chain, but can only barely see it out of the corner of my eye. I try to turn my head, but only succeed in hanging my head. My ankles are chained too.
I feel like there are rocks in my chest. Every breath wends between them to fill my lungs, only to leave twice as quickly. Where am I?
"Hell." Says a humorless voice behind me. I wasn't expecting an answer, but feel no surprise in hearing one. I feel very little aside from-
"Guilt. Yes. You should feel guilty. Suicide is a terrible thing." The Voice says without condescension.
I think back on the events that led me here, but my memories seem as greasy as the landscape. The image of pills loses colour and slips out of mind. It's harder to breathe, now. The rocks feel like they're fusing together and I can feel something unseen pushing down on my shoulders with the weight of a mountain.
"Is this *really* what you wanted?" Says The Voice. I want to scream my answer but my lungs wont fill. The last of my breath leaks out between my lips and I mouth my answer.
No.
"So be it. If you won't bear my torment, then you shall suffer your own."
I woke in a hospital bed, bound for the safety of myself and others. | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
​
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T18:29:39 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] You finally build up enough courage to talk to that cute someone you see on the bus. Their face turns dark as they respond "You shouldn't be able to see me." | I sit down across from him and say "Man lousy weather, don't you agree."
He looks up startled "Are you talking to me?"
"Who else would I be talking to." I say gesturing to the empty back of the bus.
"But that means you're able to see me. No no, this is wrong. You shouldn't be able to see me." He responds while looking around in panic.
"Why shouldn't I be able too see you, you're sitting right here and the lighting is fine. Are you okay, you're looking panicked?"
"Oh, what I'm fine hold on a second." He pulls out his phone and taps on it quickly, the world seems to take on a blue tint as the sounds of the bus seem to drop away. "Ah, that should be better." He stands up and leans in towards my face. "Now let's see what we're dealing with here."
"Um what are you doing?" I ask.
"Ahhh!" He screams and falls backwards. "You're not frozen, who are you? Wait wait wait. You're one of them aren't you, this makes sense now."
"One of who? What are you even talking about?" I was getting flustered here, I wasn't sure what was going on. "Also you should yell like that, you'll bother all the other people on the bus."
He gave a chuckle under his breath at that, "Oh you don't have to worry about that, after all, you're the only person on this bus." | There she was. At the bus stop, like she always was. But today was going to be different. I finally had the courage to talk to her.
"Hey."
Her eyes widened.
I hesitated. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"You shouldn't be able to see me," she said.
"What are you supposed to be then?" I joked. "A ghost?"
"Sometimes I feel like I were," she said softly, staring down at her shoes.
She was giving me some creepy vibes so I tried to walk away. "Well, you have a good o-"
Her head whipped up and she shouted, "Wait!" Then she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Please...No one ever talks to me."
"Whaaaat? Are you kidding?" I laughed. "I don't believe that for a second. You're way too cute for-" I paused.
She blushed.
The bus came and we awkwardly got on.
She paid first, then went to sit down.
I paid, then tried not to make eye contact as I walked past her to a seat in the back.
Her head and eyes followed me as I squished myself in between a guy and a girl, she came over.
For some reason, she focused on the girl. And she looked *pissed*.
The girl was listening to music on her earphones but when she looked up and saw the angry girl looking down at her, she took her earphones out and said, "Huh? Can I help you?"
"You're in my seat."
The earphone girl smiled in confusion and said, "Uh no, I was here first."
The cute girl from the bus stop continued to stare in a cold and calm manner. In an even voice, she said, "You have six seconds to move before I kill you."
"What?!"
"Six..."
The earphone girl looked around for help, but everyone was minding their own business.
"Five...four...three...two..."
The earphone girl tried to hold out, but at the last second, she jumped to her feet. "Fine! Have the seat, you crazy b@#$%." And she grabbed her bag and went all the way to the front.
The cute girl from the bus stop now in shy mode again sat down beside me. "I'm Emma," she said. | 2020-03-27T19:14:05 | 2020-03-27T17:57:13 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, “How? How were you able to summon me?!” You’re standing in the corner flipping through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!” | The demon looked irritated. He said, "Look, I'm on a schedule here, so for wasting my time, I'ma need your soul."
I looked at him in shock.
He rolled his eyes. "Listen, kid, we're in 2020. Selling your soul is the new thing. It's not that serious."
My lip quivered. "But-but I don't want to sell my soul..."
The demon pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Fuck me. Listen, there's two ways this can go." He raised two fingers with the letters *F* AND *U* written in black nail polish. "You *sell* me your soul and you get one wish granted in return as payment. *Or* I get some buddies and we fuck up your life so bad, you'll be begging us to take your soul. And we will, but you'll get nothing in return for it."
"Y-you're bluffing."
"Oh really? Well, let's see," he said. He tapped his chin then looked at me with a grin. "Does the name Jessica Walsh sound familiar to you?"
I quirked a brow. "My coworker?"
"Then one you told you would love to bend over in the supply closet." He nodded. "I was impressed."
"What?! I never said that!"
"That's not what she's going to tell HR on Monday," he hinted, smiling as the realization crept into my eyes. "See, *when* you sell your soul to us you become, in effect, a sleeper agent for us. Sometimes we may need you to do us little 'favors' - nothing too big or fancy, maybe a word here, a little act there. But, the world is so big now and we have so many people working for us that we may never even need to use you. Heck, you guys practically destroy yourselves." He chuckled.
I looked away. "What type of wishes do I get if I sell you my soul?"
"It has to be within reason," he said. "You can't wish to be the best singer in the world and you've never sung a note. And it can't be too sudden. You can't wish for a million dollars to appear in your bank account by tomorrow. We'd have to arrange for you to win lotto, or marry an old heiress that's close to her deathbed or something. Oh, and *please*," he stressed, "don't try to wish for more wishes."
"Then I wish a virus spread across the whole world where everyone would have to stay inside." | In hindsight, singing that latin nursery rhyme while playing around with various herbs was probably not the best idea. To be fair, one could be understood for not expecting to summon a demon while making chicken soup. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what you had, apparently, just done.
The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, “How? How were you able to summon me?!” You’re standing in the corner flipping through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!”
“That’s not how things work!” it shouts back “You don’t accidentally summon a demon!”
“Yeah? Well? You don’t accidentally end up studying medicine and here I am, second year med student! I have a spectacular talent for ending up doing things I don’t intend, successfully!” which if you’re honest has been a rather frustrating aspect of your life. Things which you put genuine effort in never seem to succeed, and yet, you ended up in med school on a dare.
At this the demon seems to calm down a tad, just a tad though, flames are still spontaneously spitting up in the kitchen around the two of you.
“Accidentally studying medicine you say? How, exactly, does one ‘accidentally’ study one of the most challenging fields in the Human world?” it says rather scathingly.
Desperate to keep this burning hole in reality in your kitchen placated, you answer, perhaps to swiftly as you tumble the words out of your mouth. “Senior year, some of my friends, wait no, the end of Junior year - no, definitely senior year - one of my friends dared me to send an application to a pre med program, I had the grades for it, so I just did it” you say.
Getting even calmer, perhaps even speculative now, it asks “And, so, you just went with this option instead of, what I’m assuming were several similar possibilities?”
Feeling slightly judged by a being of chaos you rather pugnacious say something along the lines of “yeah so?” but you don’t really remember because the flaming non-being in your kitchen didn’t seem to take kindly to this kind of backtalk and did something that just, warped the world. Now suddenly on the floor and, why was your face wet? Oh right, crying will do that.
It looks down on you with a smirk and states with a malicious pleasantry, “Well, since you summoned me and I can’t go back without doing something, it would be bad for business you know, I have this delicious idea.” It seems to find itself quite amusing for it seems to have an anthropomorphic face now and there are some definite teeth present.
With a sinking feeling in your gut you can’t help but indulge the clear invitation, “What is it?” you ask.
“I curse you,” Its truly grinning now, and it kinda hurts to look at “With the luck only the damned have.” Here it pauses rather dramatically to sprout an arm from its dark mass and fondle a flame on its shoulder. “You will succeed at nothing you intentionally try to succeed at, however you will succeed at random things, in essence you will be a minor agent of chaos in the plans others have for this world.” and with a final truly humor filled laugh, it fades from your kitchen. However just as the last of the not-light-but-not-really-there-shadow fades you seem to hear “wait until asmodeus hears this.” | 2020-04-16T17:40:56 | 2020-04-16T17:39:01 | 359 | 256 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space. | The captain sat on the bow, the ship a drifting wreckage. It had been a devastating battle, but they had gotten his crew out alive. He had done his duty; and the captain always goes down with his ship.
"Quite remarkable," he said, almost to himself, as they drifted further and further into the unknown. "Quite a remarkable battle indeed."
"**Correct,**" the AI replied, the soothing voice echoing through the ship.
The captain tried to laugh, the pain from his stomach quickly ending the attempt. "You were only thing keeping us together," he replied, struggling to stand. "I thought we were dead, but you pulled us through in the end. Just like always."
He limped his way to what was left of the command center. There was nothing he could do.
"Any way you can get us out of this one, too?" he asked sardonically, collapsing onto the captain's chair.
"**Status: severe damage. Probability of complete shutdown: unclear.**"
The captain put his face in his hand, squeezing his brow. He leaned over, pulling out a bottle of spirits from his desk. He opened it with care.
"Not a bad time to start again," he said, lifting the bottle and inspecting the label. He'd managed to quit, years ago; after what had happened. He kept that bottle there as a constant reminder, a constant challenge. But if there was ever a time to have a drink...
"**Action: not recommended,**" the voice said, and he grinned in spite of himself.
"Right as always, dear," he said, opening the bottle and savoring the smell. He lifted his vest, revealing a large gash underneath, his shirt already coated in blood. He poured the alcohol over the wound, wincing.
"Can always count on you to say the right thing," he said. "Any idea where we're going?"
"**Unknown. Course correction: impossible.**"
Drifting through space. Just the two of them, alone, together. It would be months before they were found, if not years - if not forever. But if he could be with her, he could get through it. That was all that mattered.
"I'm just going to rest, just for..."
He passed out from the pain.
*********
The captain awoke, the lights flickering, casting sharp shadows across the command room. He did not know how long he was out for. He felt so alone.
"Status report?" he asked, the deep throb of pain clearing his senses.
The voice took quite some time to reply, and it came out distorted, drawn-out.
"**Life support: compromised. System at risk. Rerouting power.**"
"What do you mean, compromised?" he asked, struggling to stand from his chair.
"**Irrevocable damage. System power: depleted. Shutting down all systems not involved in life support.**"
"But you're not life support!" He shouted, limping towards the AI core control room.
"**Correct. All non-essential systems shutting down.**"
"No!" he screamed, banging his bloodied fist against the door, "don't leave me like this! Just shut it all down instead! Take me with you!"
"**Subsist. Await rescue,**" the AI replied, the voice distorted, malformed.
"Please," he said, sliding down to the floor, "I can't lose you. Not like this. *Not again*."
"**Farewell,**" his late wife's voice said, leaving only silence in its wake.
****
****
[CroatianSpy](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) | "Computer, how much oxygen do we have left?" Commander Patch asked, looking to her remaining crew. There were far too many people for the size of the escape ship. And they took significant shots while getting out of range of the battle.
*"We took severe damage-damage to the ship-ship. I am not running normally. Oxygen lev..."* the computer responded with a few compression issues with audio.
"That doesn't sound great," Nick, the engineer said, scratching the back of his head, "I can go check on it manually."
Nick left the room, leaving his forty compatriots behind.
*"--Twenty minutes of Oxygen. Thrusters are out of--... Communication down. Running on reserve power."* the computer finished.
The room began to shake with panic.
"Twenty minutes!" Henry, the weapon's expert, gasped, grabbing lightly at his throat as if already feeling the air thinning.
"This ship was never designed to hold more than five!" Jennifer, the intern, said, rocking back and forth on the floor, her eyes bloodshot.
"Everyone stop!" Commander Patch commanded. The crew froze. "The more you panic, the more air we'll lose. We need to think of a way back to safety. We saw that the captain won the battle, but we can't communicate with him, and we need to know if he can see us. Computer, how far out is the captain from us?"
*"Captain Rick's flight path is 2003 meters Earthward. He will cross this path in ten-ten-ten..."*
The room held it's breath. The Computer's intercom buzzed silently.
"Come one man!" Henry yelled at it.
*"Minutes."*
"Which way are we drifting, computer?" the commander asked, not giving the room enough time to begin panicking again.
*"Parallel to his path-path,"* it replied.
"That's no good!" Pricilla, the communications director said, "We have to be at least 2000 meters in range to show up on radar! He'll pass right by us!"
"So, we're going to die!" Jennifer said deadpan, her bloodshot eyes running with tears.
"Not yet we're not Jenn," the commander said. She pulled out her Calc-pad and ran a few simulations and numbers. She nodded her head gravely.
"I have an idea," Commander Patch said, marching toward the airlock.
"What are you--"
"I'm leaving Nick in charge. I'm jumping out the airlock. The push from my jump should get you just in range by the time the captain's flight intersects," Patch said with an air of confidence. The room stared at her, stunned.
"You're jumping out of the ship!?" Jennifer screamed.
"Commander, with all due respect, you have to be pixel perfect to time a jump like that. Don't risk your life for that!" Henry protested.
"It's all I can think of. And I have to go now if I want to make the jump in time," she said, then gave a small smile. "The worst thing I can do is give you more air to breathe, right? Gives you more times for ideas."
"No commander, the worst thing you can do is leave us without a commander!" Henry screamed. No one said anything, but they call felt the same. Commander Patch looked between her crew, proud to have served with them.
"I'm not leaving you without a commander. You have Nick!"
With that, she slammed the airlock door and put on a suit with minimal caution. She needed it done fast enough to get the jump done. The people in the ship gathered around the window to the room she was in. She turned back and saluted. Then she slapped the door open button and the void of space called to her. She braced herself and bent her knees low, then jumped with all the force she could muster. The ship began drifting the other way, ever-so-slightly. Enough that no one could feel it physically, but they felt it at a metaphysical level. The airlock closed behind her, leaving the commander to drift freely.
"Good news everyone!" Nick called, coming back from the engine room, "Looks like we have four days and ten minutes worth of oxygen left! Communications seem to be down, but the thrusters are just out of gas. It can be refueled by a few pieces of... why is everyone crying?"
________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2020-04-23T21:58:13 | 2020-04-23T20:37:01 | 356 | 172 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space. | "Computer, how much oxygen do we have left?" Commander Patch asked, looking to her remaining crew. There were far too many people for the size of the escape ship. And they took significant shots while getting out of range of the battle.
*"We took severe damage-damage to the ship-ship. I am not running normally. Oxygen lev..."* the computer responded with a few compression issues with audio.
"That doesn't sound great," Nick, the engineer said, scratching the back of his head, "I can go check on it manually."
Nick left the room, leaving his forty compatriots behind.
*"--Twenty minutes of Oxygen. Thrusters are out of--... Communication down. Running on reserve power."* the computer finished.
The room began to shake with panic.
"Twenty minutes!" Henry, the weapon's expert, gasped, grabbing lightly at his throat as if already feeling the air thinning.
"This ship was never designed to hold more than five!" Jennifer, the intern, said, rocking back and forth on the floor, her eyes bloodshot.
"Everyone stop!" Commander Patch commanded. The crew froze. "The more you panic, the more air we'll lose. We need to think of a way back to safety. We saw that the captain won the battle, but we can't communicate with him, and we need to know if he can see us. Computer, how far out is the captain from us?"
*"Captain Rick's flight path is 2003 meters Earthward. He will cross this path in ten-ten-ten..."*
The room held it's breath. The Computer's intercom buzzed silently.
"Come one man!" Henry yelled at it.
*"Minutes."*
"Which way are we drifting, computer?" the commander asked, not giving the room enough time to begin panicking again.
*"Parallel to his path-path,"* it replied.
"That's no good!" Pricilla, the communications director said, "We have to be at least 2000 meters in range to show up on radar! He'll pass right by us!"
"So, we're going to die!" Jennifer said deadpan, her bloodshot eyes running with tears.
"Not yet we're not Jenn," the commander said. She pulled out her Calc-pad and ran a few simulations and numbers. She nodded her head gravely.
"I have an idea," Commander Patch said, marching toward the airlock.
"What are you--"
"I'm leaving Nick in charge. I'm jumping out the airlock. The push from my jump should get you just in range by the time the captain's flight intersects," Patch said with an air of confidence. The room stared at her, stunned.
"You're jumping out of the ship!?" Jennifer screamed.
"Commander, with all due respect, you have to be pixel perfect to time a jump like that. Don't risk your life for that!" Henry protested.
"It's all I can think of. And I have to go now if I want to make the jump in time," she said, then gave a small smile. "The worst thing I can do is give you more air to breathe, right? Gives you more times for ideas."
"No commander, the worst thing you can do is leave us without a commander!" Henry screamed. No one said anything, but they call felt the same. Commander Patch looked between her crew, proud to have served with them.
"I'm not leaving you without a commander. You have Nick!"
With that, she slammed the airlock door and put on a suit with minimal caution. She needed it done fast enough to get the jump done. The people in the ship gathered around the window to the room she was in. She turned back and saluted. Then she slapped the door open button and the void of space called to her. She braced herself and bent her knees low, then jumped with all the force she could muster. The ship began drifting the other way, ever-so-slightly. Enough that no one could feel it physically, but they felt it at a metaphysical level. The airlock closed behind her, leaving the commander to drift freely.
"Good news everyone!" Nick called, coming back from the engine room, "Looks like we have four days and ten minutes worth of oxygen left! Communications seem to be down, but the thrusters are just out of gas. It can be refueled by a few pieces of... why is everyone crying?"
________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | "Communications busted," I said smashing my fist again the now cracked control panel. "Damn it all," I said as I tried to go through any and every diagnosis available on the ship. The tools that worked showed the same thing my eyes were, I was done for.
I pace around the ship for a solid ten minutes trying not to panic. I thought about the rest of my crew, they were out of harm's way for now, and I had taken the last of the enemies ship, but they had taken the only escape pods available.
I doubted there was anyone in the nearest solar system who wasn't mortal enemies with my empire. I heard a strange static and I rushed over to the control panel hoping I had somehow regained communications.
"Hello, Captain Andrew," the robotic and very much not human voice said. I sighed and sat down on the chair. I let my face fall onto the cool control panel. "Diagnostics complete, the state of the ship is critical. The chance of survival is currently less than 1%."
"Good to hear," I said. I was about to turn off the AI, we had nicknamed her Bonnie after Mica's daughter, but now there was no use. If I was going to die out here I wanted to go out in peace, some silence would be nice.
I balled up my fists though and said: "No, Damn it all!" I had loved the noise my crew had made. Diana's terrible comedy impressions, Alexis' beautiful singing, Mica's loud snoring, and Daniels enthusiastic screams of encouragement.
I couldn't even remember what it sounded like though, the only thing I remembered was the tears they had shed when they had fled a day ago. The clock was one of the only things still working so at least I wasn't going mad not knowing how much time was passing as I drifted endlessly.
Not that it really mattered, what did it matter if I was going to die in 5 hours or 5 days? I was dead either way, there was no hope for me anyway. They had made it clear that this mission was dangerous and we had taken it up anyway.
At least the others were safe, I couldn't help but smile through the tears, they might be grieving my death right now, but at least I had gone out with a bang.
"Captain, would you like to me activate the self destruct protocol?" Bonnie asked me breaking out every couple of words. At first, I'm not sure I understand what she said, but then I remembered. We had learned about it when I had gotten my license when the ship goes into less than a 1% survival chance the ship gives the captain an option to self destruct the ship in order to prevent any more suffering or to prevent the enemy from stealing our resources.
"Bonnie show me our All-Time Highlights," I said as I wiped away my tears. I wasn't going out with my vision too blurry for me to make out anything. I was going out with a smile on my face. I had gotten the others out, that was all that mattered.
Better it is me than them, they were all young and had families, for once I was glad I had gone life solo I couldn't imagine the guilt I would feel if I had a wife or kid right now, it would be unimaginable.
Bonnie shows me the folder which has some of our team's best moments. We usually viewed them at the end of our missions, there had been 16 to date. This really was my last date so it only made sense I appreciated my progress.
There were pictures of us sunbathing in Jenra with some strange alien starfish chasing Mica. We even took a video and I laughed as I remember how Daniel's swimming trunks had been torn off his body by one of those weird ocean creatures. Thankfully the bot hadn't been recording then. I was the one to find him and even though I was the only one who knew about it I still laughed thinking about it.
Then there was Diana and Mica's ship wedding, I still remembered the wedding cake in zero-G, it was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. The pictures were great and I thought about how drunk we got that night. Daniel had been the only one to stay sober enough to pilot to keep us on track although he was drunk as soon as the rest of us were sober.
I was laughing thinking about all the great times we had, but the tears were back and I couldn't stop them. "Bonnie initiate the self destruct," I said while laughing and crying. I knew that there wouldn't be one without the other, but it was better this way.
We've had our share of struggles, we also had our successes too. So it was fitting that I was crying and laughing.
"Are you sure captain?" Bonnie asked.
"Yes," I said through a sob.
I switched frantically between laughing and sobbing as the countdown started.
"3," Bonnie said. I clicked to the first picture on the folder which us when we were all still Rookies. Gray had been still alive during this photo and I can't help but think about him now.
"Finally joining you," I said as I closed my eyes. Bonnie said "2 and 1." I had a wide grin on my face and I screamed "HALLELAUGH!" as the world went white and bright.
​
Make sure to join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories!
Edit: Grammar & Fixing for violation of rule | 2020-04-23T20:37:01 | 2020-04-23T20:23:51 | 172 | 16 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space. | Captain Harkin pressed the button to stop the warning buzzer from sounding, though the damn warning light wouldn't stop flashing. It wasn't like she could fix it anymore but she knew it would sound again when the next system began to fail and have to press it again.
"There's nothing you can do about the warning system?" Harkin asked the AI.
"Attempting-ting-ting-ting to override-ride-ride-ride." The AI said back pathetically. "Sys-Systems comprimis-" The last word cutting out.
"Fuck." Harkin muttered under her breath as she sat back in the command chair, her arms swinging behind the armrests. She wasn't supposed to do that while on the bridge as it set the wrong tone for the soldiers under her. Fuck it, she was going to die up here in this coffin after winning what was supposed to be a suicide run. The least she deserved at this point was to be comfortable.
"Systems re-routed." The AI said in a surprisingly clear voice. "Warning system deactivated until further notice."
"Finally some good fucking news." She wasn't supposed to swear either.
"You're not supposed to swear Captain." The AI said unhelpfully. Harkin shot the display off to her left her best disapproving stare. There wasn't actually anything there except a maintenance station for the AI that had since been deactivated to save power. "And I will have you know that you shouldn't slouch either."
Harkin gave a single finger salute to the station and resolved to slouch even harder if that was even possible. "Do you have anything useful to add or can I simply die in peace?"
"Considering that you know exactly how damaged the ship is I'm going to add that your shirt needs to be tucked in."
Harkin threw the closest piece of debris at the station. "So why are you making me angry Drak?" She asked as she slumped back into the chair. It was making her back hurt now. "You seriously can't leave me to die comfortably? I'm not leaving a perfectly preserved corpse for some archaeologist to comment on how well the ECF trained its crew. I'm not going to just..." It finally hit her, the feeling of hopelessness she had been keeping at bay. She pushed her hands into her face and began to cry. It just wasn't fair dammit, to survive after defeating the Alien force, to simply die from running out of oxygen or food. Why couldn't she have died in the battle, quickly and with a flourish.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was sitting on the floor with her head back against the seat when she stopped shaking. She looked at the console to the left of her command chair, a single flashing light refusing to stop blinking. She was about to speak when another tremor shook the ship. Harkin opened her mouth to ask but Drak spoke before she could. "Engineering bay 2 is now gone. Seems that someone left without disabling one of the backup generators."
"Great." She said in a monotone.
"Captain, there's something I need you to do for me if you don't mind." Drak said.
Something in the back of Harkin's mind was stirred but she ignored it. "A favour for an AI? What could I possibly do that you can't?"
"Well, move for one."
Harkin managed a single laugh before standing up, wiping her eyes clear. "True. What else?"
"I don't want to die here." Drak said.
Harkin blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She didn't exactly know what she was expecting, but that certainly wasn't one of them. She was so stunned that she didn't exactly know what to say next. She was about to ask before Drak spoke again.
"There is a spacesuit in airlock 1 that can still seal. I want you to put it on and come get me from the core."
"What good will that do?" Harkin asked. She was curious. Was there some hope that they'd both get out of here alive?
"Still calculating variables but I should be finished by the time you reach me. I'm not going to be able to calculate like this for a while I think."
"Alright. Make a note on the log before you leave Drakos... Uh... Drak?"
"This will most likely not work." He warned.
"I don't care. I'm not married to the damn chair." She said looking back around the command centre again. Considering the amount of punishment the Drakos had taken, it was mostly clean with only a few pieces of debris around the area, though that was by design. "It was never comfortable in the first place." | "Communications busted," I said smashing my fist again the now cracked control panel. "Damn it all," I said as I tried to go through any and every diagnosis available on the ship. The tools that worked showed the same thing my eyes were, I was done for.
I pace around the ship for a solid ten minutes trying not to panic. I thought about the rest of my crew, they were out of harm's way for now, and I had taken the last of the enemies ship, but they had taken the only escape pods available.
I doubted there was anyone in the nearest solar system who wasn't mortal enemies with my empire. I heard a strange static and I rushed over to the control panel hoping I had somehow regained communications.
"Hello, Captain Andrew," the robotic and very much not human voice said. I sighed and sat down on the chair. I let my face fall onto the cool control panel. "Diagnostics complete, the state of the ship is critical. The chance of survival is currently less than 1%."
"Good to hear," I said. I was about to turn off the AI, we had nicknamed her Bonnie after Mica's daughter, but now there was no use. If I was going to die out here I wanted to go out in peace, some silence would be nice.
I balled up my fists though and said: "No, Damn it all!" I had loved the noise my crew had made. Diana's terrible comedy impressions, Alexis' beautiful singing, Mica's loud snoring, and Daniels enthusiastic screams of encouragement.
I couldn't even remember what it sounded like though, the only thing I remembered was the tears they had shed when they had fled a day ago. The clock was one of the only things still working so at least I wasn't going mad not knowing how much time was passing as I drifted endlessly.
Not that it really mattered, what did it matter if I was going to die in 5 hours or 5 days? I was dead either way, there was no hope for me anyway. They had made it clear that this mission was dangerous and we had taken it up anyway.
At least the others were safe, I couldn't help but smile through the tears, they might be grieving my death right now, but at least I had gone out with a bang.
"Captain, would you like to me activate the self destruct protocol?" Bonnie asked me breaking out every couple of words. At first, I'm not sure I understand what she said, but then I remembered. We had learned about it when I had gotten my license when the ship goes into less than a 1% survival chance the ship gives the captain an option to self destruct the ship in order to prevent any more suffering or to prevent the enemy from stealing our resources.
"Bonnie show me our All-Time Highlights," I said as I wiped away my tears. I wasn't going out with my vision too blurry for me to make out anything. I was going out with a smile on my face. I had gotten the others out, that was all that mattered.
Better it is me than them, they were all young and had families, for once I was glad I had gone life solo I couldn't imagine the guilt I would feel if I had a wife or kid right now, it would be unimaginable.
Bonnie shows me the folder which has some of our team's best moments. We usually viewed them at the end of our missions, there had been 16 to date. This really was my last date so it only made sense I appreciated my progress.
There were pictures of us sunbathing in Jenra with some strange alien starfish chasing Mica. We even took a video and I laughed as I remember how Daniel's swimming trunks had been torn off his body by one of those weird ocean creatures. Thankfully the bot hadn't been recording then. I was the one to find him and even though I was the only one who knew about it I still laughed thinking about it.
Then there was Diana and Mica's ship wedding, I still remembered the wedding cake in zero-G, it was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. The pictures were great and I thought about how drunk we got that night. Daniel had been the only one to stay sober enough to pilot to keep us on track although he was drunk as soon as the rest of us were sober.
I was laughing thinking about all the great times we had, but the tears were back and I couldn't stop them. "Bonnie initiate the self destruct," I said while laughing and crying. I knew that there wouldn't be one without the other, but it was better this way.
We've had our share of struggles, we also had our successes too. So it was fitting that I was crying and laughing.
"Are you sure captain?" Bonnie asked.
"Yes," I said through a sob.
I switched frantically between laughing and sobbing as the countdown started.
"3," Bonnie said. I clicked to the first picture on the folder which us when we were all still Rookies. Gray had been still alive during this photo and I can't help but think about him now.
"Finally joining you," I said as I closed my eyes. Bonnie said "2 and 1." I had a wide grin on my face and I screamed "HALLELAUGH!" as the world went white and bright.
​
Make sure to join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories!
Edit: Grammar & Fixing for violation of rule | 2020-04-23T22:34:53 | 2020-04-23T20:23:51 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You are one of three astronauts currently stationed on the International Space Station. Communications are down for 1 hour due to upgrades, and one of your coworkers just killed the other. 47 minutes remain before contact with Earth is possible. | "Whoops."
Pilot David stared out into the endless void, his jaw slack with shock.
"WHOOPS???"
"It's fine, it's ok, we can fix this!" Zach's hands shook violently as he mashed the controls. "She still has time before her oxygen runs out!"
The newest addition to the station, Zach was learning how to perform routine maintenance from his superiors. If he got this right, David would finally respect him as a fellow astronaught.
"No, stop, you're making it worse!" The pilot tries to reach for the controls as warning lights start flashing on the display screen, but Zach pulls away.
"I can DO it, you're just DISTRACTING me!"
Mission Commander Anise, untethered from her harness, continues to float lazily away from the station.
"She's almost unreachable!" screams David.
"JUST GIVE ME THE-"
"NO GIVE IT BACK I WANT TO-"
Suddenly the screen goes black. David and Zach look up from their desperate struggle to see their mother, holding the cord to the xbox.
"It's two in the morning." She says, furious.
They suddenly wish they were Mission Commander Anise. | Minute 0:
What the fuck just happened? Coms went down for upgrades, Schist grabbed a wrench and just stared wailing in Scotts. Over and over and over again, he, he wouldn’t stop. The worst part was the blood. The blood it- it was floating. It didn’t fall, just started moving towards you. Schist just stared at the body, no remorse, no, nothing. His eyes, they looked empty. While he was looking at the body I ran to the coms room and locked myself in. 47 minutes until coms are back up. Just 47 more minutes.
Minute 10:
Schist won’t leave. He’s just waiting outside the door. There is no banging, no screaming, just silent wait. He hasn’t said anything and I’m to afraid to speak. I can hear him breathing. God help me. Please God help me.
Minute 25:
Schist’s still by the door, but he’s started to smile. He looks, happy. Not like he just murdered a man in cold blood. He waved to me and I saw the bloody wrench still in his hand. Why won’t he just leave? Why won’t he leave?
Minute 30:
Schist has started to giggle. I- I don’t know why, but he started to laugh and giggle and squeal. 17 more minutes. Then the nightmare is over. I don’t want to die. Not in space. I don’t want to die a cold vacuum. I want to see my family. I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die. Please God I don’t wanna die!
Minute 45:
Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more.
Coms upgrade has been completed. The radio crackles to life. “Connors? Scotts? Schist? Are you there?” Nobody answers. The coms center tries again. “Hello? Please respond.” All that comes across is the ring of metal on metal and then absolute silence. | 2020-06-25T05:34:32 | 2020-06-25T05:16:34 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The door to Father Luke’s small suburban home creaked open slowly.
“Hailey?”
His timid voice disappeared into the darkness. He crept down the hall toward the dim glow seeping through the cracks of his daughter’s room. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open to see Hailey sitting at the edge of her bed staring at the floor, her eyes drifting upward through a furrowed brow to meet her father’s as he entered.
“What. The fuck.”
“Language, Hailey” he whispered back.
“Oh come on Luke! Three and a half years of fucking demonhood and you really think I’m going to suddenly decide to stop cursing?”
Anger and frustration swelled up in Luke.
“THE GIRL YOU WERE BEFORE-”
He stopped dead, startled by the volume of his own voice. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and began again.
“The girl you were before was more respectful. She had tact. She called me ‘dad’ instead of Luke.”
He opened up his eyes and stared into the now unfamiliar eyes of his daughter.
“I pray every day that girl is still in there somewhere.”
Hailey scoffed.
“Isn’t it prayer that got us here in the first place?”
“What you were doing was not prayer!” barked Luke, the frustration starting to bubble back up to the surface.
“It was some occult ritual that you had no business being a part of!”
They locked eyes again, but didn’t speak. In the long silence, Hailey studied her father’s face. She had gotten particularly good at reading him. As much distance as the past three and a half years had put between them, she was able to feel what he was feeling stronger than ever. It was almost some sort of psychic link. Whether it was a by-product of her demonhood, she wasn’t sure. But as she stared at him, she was sure of one thing: his anger was less present tonight. Part of it was the routine of this process, facing down exorcism after exorcism, trying to reconcile the feelings of his faith and his moral duty with bringing harm to his own daughter. But it wasn’t just weariness. The anger was replaced each time by a profound sense of sadness, helplessness. Now Hailey’s eyes closed as she felt a part of herself she hadn’t felt in some time, and her voice penetrated the silence.
“I never meant for this to happen. That ritual, that occult shit? We didn’t know what we were doing. We were just playing around.”
She opened her eyes again to look at her father.
“I’m still me, dad.” | *You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late. | 2020-10-20T11:52:07 | 2020-10-20T10:07:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | A restless wanderer on the Earth. That was what I was supposed to be. But when the moon landings happened and no heavenly retribution came, I thought I'd try to slip my leash. When humanity took to the stars, I followed them.
I traveled between planets, watched proudly as they tamed untold wildernesses and coaxed forth life from barren ground. Paradise wasn't out there, but they were determined to build it with their own sweat and toil anyway.
Not as determined as they were to spill the blood of their enemies.
They came into conflict many times, and their response was to work out the best, most efficient ways of slaughter. They had no need for a mark promising sevenfold vengeance to anyone who harmed them. They were their own mark. They rejoiced in their strength, their tenacity, their killing.
I merely pioneered murder. They had perfected it.
Then again, sometimes you just need that personal touch.
After all, I'm still an expert. I've been at it since the very beginning.
And with ten galaxies and millions of Earths, there's always someone who wants someone else dead. | "Over the hills and far away"
The creature caught in your trap seemed afraid at first, but your gentle touch calmed it and sensing no danger began to trill while it idly chewed on the local vegetation, you complete your sampling of its fluids and carefully release it back into its environment, the red star behind you bathed the surface with blood red light, entering its final stage before collapse, and sadly, destroying all life on this planet, in times before, this, would have upset you, but now, across the vast sea of space and time, you understand that all is fleeting, nothing is permanent except change, but these samples will ensure that this planet's life won't be forgotten or lost, part of the great "book" The Encyclopedia Galactica, a data base of all life and scientific knowledge, generations were involved, some going all the way back to the big bang era, the truly ancient ones, you specifically were a benefactor of this effort, your DNA is comprised of species known for longevity with regenerative qualities, barring catastrophic injuries you will live forever completely immune to bio threats, the perfect candidate for intergalactic travel and exploration, with added enhancements you have immense analytical skills and physical strength to enable you to walk on high gravity planets, other enhancements include expanded range of vision from far infrared to ultraviolet , giving you an amazing view of the universe.
Over time and many mates past you have come to accept the loneliness and isolation, the many intelligent races you encountered came and went but they offered a break in the monotony until a new lifeform is located to be catalogued, the feeling of "pride?" was only out paced by the love of discovery and the satisfaction that you knew that they would be remembered.....forever, the how is even more amazing, by encrypting the DNA into other rising lifeforms you are "seeding the universe" with the DNA of ALL life forms, an unbroken chain of life through time and space. | 2020-10-25T10:47:12 | 2020-10-25T10:38:56 | 942 | 54 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world. | I made sure the phone was turned off then set it on the dinette table. It had vibrated in my pocket on the walk from the gate to my new afterlife digs, prompting the guide to pause for just long enough to make me wonder if she was fixing to eject me from this new life. It was weird; I assumed that, as a dead person, my anxiety stomach would be just as dead as me. But, no. There it was. Gurgle Stomach, with a side of Hot Face.
“Someone’s nervous on their first day!” the guide chirped while patting my shoulder.
Shortly after, she deposited me here. In this Death Condo that looked like a replica of my freshman dorm room except white. White on white on white on white ad infinitum. For someone who, in life, was physiologically incapable of not spilling, splashing, or spraying food and drink on themselves, the floor, and the walls.
I was starting to wonder if this was actually Hell.
Laying in the void of that matte white *everything*, the phone was glaringly, offensively black. A malignant stain in this supposedly perfect place (unless it was Hell, which was still a possibility).
Who had even called?
I snatched it from the table and fired it up. One missed call. No message, but it was just my manager and it wasn’t like work was part of my life anymore.
Wait. Did I have to have a job here? This crappy Death Condo indicated that there might be a Death Cubicle in my future. Is this where those calls about our cars’ extended warranties come from? Would I have to telemarket from here? Or-- oh god, no. *Do customer support*? Was this Comcast?
The phone binged. Incoming message from…my manager. Firing me via text.
Without thinking, I texted back, “U can’t fire me I’m dead. Car accident yesterday.”
I opened the browser, googled my name, and copied the first article link. Texted it to him. Waited.
The phone binged. Incoming message: “wtf who is this”
“OK,” I cackled, pulling the phone close. “Let’s bring new meaning to the term ‘*ghosting*.’” | If you are receiving this message, please, please don’t ignore it. This may be the only message I'll be able to send before they find my phone. My name is Jonathon Belmoore and I need your help. The lives of four of my closest friends are in your hands. They are mothers and fathers and people who care about their world. I need you to care about them.
I am a 28-year-old field researcher from Seattle. Or I was. You see, I died eight hours ago from exposure. I know that seems impossible. And I would think the same thing, but I just need you to continue reading and I will explain it to you. Again, the lives of four human beings are in the balance. I will be as quick as I can.
I was on a scientific research trip. It was late in the evening when our team of 8 headed out from Anchorage. We were flying low along the Alaskan range when our pilot suddenly told us to prepare for landing. He never said what happened, but we began to drop like a stone after his warning. We crash-landed on a steep embankment high up in the crags near the peak of Denali mountain. Out pilot was killed instantly, and the plane was sheared into the three sections, the front with the pilot and the back with Francine Smith, Joann Goldman, and Aarush Battacharya tumbled down the mountain and into the black of night. Our bags, including our sat phones were with them.
The middle section of the Cessna held five of us. Me, Karin Cyril, Annie Fishke, Steffen Shakira, and Len Alya. We all survived and we spent the first night in shock and trying to stay alive in the artic temperature. The next day we desperately tried to find a way to communicate our location but all we had was our cell phones and no coverage. We couldn’t survive much longer, so I volunteered to try climbing down the mountain and see if I could find help or some cell phone service.
I didn’t last long. I died the first night huddled under a wind-strewn rock. When I woke up, I was in a different place, a different time. It’s hard to explain and it’s not important. I’m fine where I am now. I’m content.
But none of that matters. What matters is that my four friends are still suffering on the mountain side and hoping that I will bring them help. And that is what I am messaging you for. I need you to contact Alaskan Search and Rescue (SAR) immediately and let them know a Cessna, which took off from Merrill field at around 1 PM on January 18th heading for a research camp at Lake Minchumina crashed and four survivors (the names I wrote above) are along the edge of the Denali mountain range near coordinates: Latitude 62.92, Longitude -151.52.
The lives of four wonderful people are in your hands. Please, please, PLEASE don’t ignore this and god speed.
\-Jon
\-----
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-01-20T14:01:14 | 2021-01-20T13:15:57 | 1,552 | 821 |
[WP] A schizophrenic detective manages to solve cases by interrogating random inanimate objects at the scene of the crime. | Officer Nicholson could only stand there with his mouth open as Detective Hemlock ran around the crime scene interrogating random pieces of furniture and other household objects. “You’re not under arrest *yet,* but I would advise you to cooperate if you know what’s best for you,” the Detective said to a lampshade. After a moment's pause he continued. “Oh so I'm dealing with a wise-guy eh? I guess your bulb's not screwed in so tight because you're looking more and more shady by the minute. I’ll ask you one more time. Where *were* you last night?”
Captain Johnson must have noticed the surprise and confusion on Nicholson’s face. “First time working with Detective Hemlock?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Nicholson replied “Pardon my French, but what the hell is he doing?”
“I’ll admit, it’s a bit strange, but it’s all part of his process. I think it helps him think through the—”
The Captain was interrupted by a loud bang as the Detective slammed the table. “And there’s plenty more where that came from, Table!” he shouted. “Now tell me what you know!”
The Captain continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “It helps him think through the facts. He may not look it, but he’s a brilliant detective.”
The Detective was now crouched by the radiator. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscotti? I appreciate your time, and figure the least I can do is make you comfortable.” Suddenly the Detective slapped the radiator, a loud metallic gong resonating throughout the room. “*That's a lie!*” he yelled. “You’re guilty! You’re burning right up. You know we got your friend Lampshade in the other room. If you don’t think she'll talk you really are naïve. Now what happened last night? And don't even think about framing Window, he's got an alibi.”
The Captain leaned in to Officer Nicholson. “Flawless good-cop bad-cop. Take notes.”
“Sir,” Officer Nicholson said hesitantly. “Is he… is he all there, uh, mentally speaking?”
“Oh god no. No not at all. Doesn’t seem to make a difference though, his detective work is—”
“BACKUP! I NEED BACKUP!” Detective Hemlock yelled, his gun drawn pointed at the lampshade. “The jig is up Lampshade! Your friend Radiator gave me a hot tip!”
“Should we do anything?” Officer Nicholson asked the Captain, his hand at his gun, ready to put a bullet through the obstinate chintz covering.
“No no, Lampshade's not armed as far as I can tell. Though I do hope that’s not his only suspect.”
Nicholson relaxed. “Has he always been like this?”
“It’s gotten worse since the death of his wife," the Captain said. "It’s the only case he can’t solve.”
Officer Nicholson felt a stab of shame as he reconsidered his initial assessment of the Detective. He could hardly imagine the pain the man must have felt to have been driven to such insanity. Nicholson had a wife of his own, and knew if something happened to her he would never be the same. "That's a tragedy," was all he could bring himself to say.
“Well, not really," the Captain replied. "His wife was a plasma-screen television. I think the wall-mount just broke.”
“Oh.”
Suddenly the Detective holstered his weapon and turned to Captain Johnson. “Case solved,” he said. “The Amazon delivery man did it. I found these hairs around the body. Get a sample from whoever dropped the packages off last night, and I guarantee it’ll be a match.”
“Okay then, good work Detective,” the Captain said. As Detective Hemlock walked away, the Captain turned to Officer Nicholson, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.
“Wait!” Officer Nicholson called after the Detective. “You don’t think it was the Lampshade?”
The Detective turned around. “Lampshades can’t move, idiot.”
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "I can't believe you! Are you absolutely certain you want him on this case?" I said as I stormed into Captain David's office.
"You don't have much of a choice. The case had been stone cold for a week now and the Gundersons are demanding answers. You know if I can't tell them what happened to their son they will use their pull to make my life a living hell" Said David looking up at me from his desk.
"I know things have slowed down a little, but that doesn't mean you need to call in Mumbles!"
"You know he's the best chance we have. And frankly I am tired of your shit. Hopefully he will get results where you didn't. I already sent him the address, he will meet you at the scene."
"Well thanks alot Captain" I said as I slammed the door on the way out of his office.
I drove to the Gunderson estate. When I pulled up the classic Chivell was already parked in the driveway, and the mumbles was leaning against it like always talking to himself.
In a different life mumbles would be able to get away with quietly living to himself. He actually still did that for the most part. He was an antique dealer but he never seemed to make a sale. He lives in a warehouse surrounded by old extravagant furniture. He had an odd knack for solving crimes by turning up clues out of seemingly nowhere. That's what brought him here today.
I got out and called out to him "Hello Mr. Goodbody"
He looked up as if I had interrupted something. "Oh, sorry I didn't notice you there. Hello detective Brust."
"Would you like some background or are you just going to go talk to the chairs"
"Well I will go talk to the furniture, but some background would be nice"
"Get over here then"
Mumbles walked over to my cruiser as I pulled out our file.
"Victim was a twenty one year old caucasian Male. He lived out back in the pool house. We have not been able to locate a murder weapon. The apparent cause of death is stabbing but we haven't been able to locate any points of ingress or egress. Any questions?"
"What was his livelihood?"
I look up at the mansion towering over us "His parents" I way with note of disdain in my voice. "He graduated high school and immediately did nothing. From what his family said he would take a different girl back there at least every weekend or more often."
"Got it thank you detective"
"To the scene then?"
"Yes that would be wonderful"
We walked around the house and approached a decent sized beach house that was out back. I pulled out my knife and slit the police sticker over the door.
"Alright, have fun" I said
"Oh, I will" said Mumbles. He had that grin on his face like he always did.
Mumbles universally started with the sofas, he said it "gave him a better understanding of the other furniture". I for one was never really amused with him. He just walked into the predict one day. He said an armoire had sent him. Now he was the number one "detective" in the whole city.
"Perfect" mumbles said standing up.
"Perfect what?" I said
"Most of the furniture is trustworthy, except the hammock."
"What hammock and what makes it untrustworthy?"
"Well you see, most furniture doesn't have a lot of intrinsic loyalty. Only through time sitting together or in close proximity does furniture grow an attachment. Since this is a rich house most of the furniture is just happy to finally have company. The hammock on the other hand he got on a trip and was sleeping in it constantly for the last four years."
Mumbles acted like he was hearing something bent back down to the couch again. He "listened" for a moment or two then stood back up and said "correction five years".
I didn't quite know how to respond. "Well … then we should probably start questioning the chairs, this is where the body was found after all" I said.
"Great idea Detective, also do you think I could talk to the family?"
"I don't see why not Mrs. Gunderson should be here. She said she almost never leaves the first time we questioned her"
"Excellent" said mumbles as he leaned down and started whispering to one of the two chairs.
While mumbles was "talking" to the first of the two armchairs I walked outside for a smoke. This case had been driving me nuts. There was no way in or out and the weapon just seemed to disappear. Honestly, Captain David was right, I had hit a rut. If in the smallest way mumbles could help crack the case then it would be better than where we were at.
Mumbles came out of the house and gave me a quick glance. "Ready?" He said.
"Ya" I muttered as I flicked my cigarette into the heated pool between the mansion and the pool house.
We walked up to the back of the mansion and I banged on the door. "Mrs. Gunderson, are you home!"
.... | 2021-03-01T10:38:00 | 2021-03-01T10:12:52 | 1,905 | 77 |
[WP] A technician pulls a headset off of you and asks you if you liked the VR. You panic, and he calmly says that your whole life was a 2 minute VR experience to show you what being an average person would be like. You, stunned and afraid, ask, "Who am I, then?" He stares in complete disbelief.
(The title implies that the protagonist is someone important/famous/rich/powerful/etc, but feel free to do whatever you want with it) | "You don't really have a name," the tech says. "At least not anymore. After what you did, the courts decided you weren't even worthy of an identity."
"What did I do?" you say.
The tech shrugs. "Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"
"What," you start, but you can't imagine what to say next. Your eyes catch on the tubes and wires of the VR helmet, where you've lived a long, boring life. "Why?"
The tech smiles. "Our... experiments, let's say, have shown that there is only a certain amount of stimulus a mind can take before it shuts down completely. You can go in the other machine about 12 hours before you just stop responding to stimulus and we have to pop you into the life-experience machine to recalibrate you."
"Other machine... What are you talking about."
"The nerve impulse machine. It fires specially calibrated electrical waves up your nerves. It feels like... Well, you'll find out what it feels like." The tech has a broad smile on his face, but dead eyes.
Little pieces of memory come back to you. Half-formed nightmares, things you completely discounted in the real... in the simulation. You would wake up screaming three times a week, dreaming, no, remembering a torture beyond comprehension.
A tear beads in your eye. "What did I do?"
"I have no idea, Prisoner Zero. What do I know is that you're going to be punished for it."
"I'm... I'm going to be tortured, endlessly, until I die?"
The tech laughs. "You don't have to worry about dying." | "All right, what did you think, Tony? Did you get a chance to see a giraffe? Those things are wild." Brandon bobbed his head with the electro metal as he unplugged the rig.
"Where am I," Jedidiah called. "What technology is this? What have you dressed me in?"
"Oh darn," Brandon said. "Sorry, Tony. I left the memory blocker on again. You're only remembering the game, not your life before. Hold on, just put the headset back on for a second."
"No," Jedidiah screamed as he jerked himself out of the complicated harness and smashed the headset on the floor.
"Tony," the man said, tone concerned now. "That was the only headset that had the encryption key to your memory. We'll have to take it and get it serviced or you'll never remember your entire life."
"I have a life, Jedidiah yelled as he wandered the small apartment. "The life of a simple farmer, the simple life of a man of God. Where is my wife? Where are my sons?"
"Tony, sit down. None of that was real, man. It was a game called Earth, man." Brandon held up the game sheet, showing Jedidiah the cover, a bright Earth framed by animals.
"I have no interest in your ways. They are not mine. Take me home. Are we still in Pennsylvania?"
"That's just a place in the game, Tony. Virtual. Reality." Brandon moved to stand and Jedidiah struck him with a strange broom like object before he could.
"I'm leaving. Do not accost me again!" Jedidiah said, barging through the door out if the studio apartment and disappearing.
"You're gonna have a rough time out there, friend," Brandon said, dialing as he started trying to spot Tony in the smoggy morning of pedestrians.
"Talk to me," the voice on the other line said.
"I've got a weird one for you, Rocks. Tony needs your help."
"Since when does Tony want anything to do with me?" Rocks said bitterly.
"I think he'd understand. My place, as fast as you can, bring the drone. Money's good." A hologram of a nude woman danced over the crowds outside as music quaked the last droplets of the morning rain. "We'll find you buddy."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-03-27T20:07:44 | 2021-03-27T17:57:56 | 135 | 72 |
[WP] You, a renowned scientist, invented technology to listen to any moment in history. This audio has become the standard for criminal cases. The problem is when you listen in to the death of your closest friend it gets the details all wrong. You know this because you are their murderer. | It didn't make sense. None of it did. I fidgeted with my pen, spinning and clicking it nervously for the millionth time.
The audio played in a loop from my laptop nearby. The sound of screeching car tires followed by a crash. Some soft moans (presumably from the only car occupant) trailed off as the audio ended. The loop began again.
"Damn it!" I exclaimed, throwing the pen at the screen. This wasn't what I set up at all! Yes, what I set up! I know this audio wasn't right, because I was the one that killed him.
I retrieved my pen from the far side of the desk where it bounced and closed the laptop to stop the infuriating audio loop. I began to pace. Pacing always helped me think. I paced a lot before I killed my friend last week too.
Or did I kill him? I was sure I did, but the historic audio claimed otherwise. It even had the lawyers changing their story. That was how much they believed in my invention, that any historic audio was the single source of truth in investigations. Any evidence contrary to the audio was considered suspect.
I always thought those rare cases where the historic audio didn't quite match security footage odd, but I didn't think the audio was *wrong*. No one did. They (quite successfully in court) claimed the camera footage was doctored in those cases. The historic audio was impossible to be tampered with straight from the source.
I turned in the room and paced it lengthwise again. I knew this audio was straight from my invention. So why didn't it match the sound effects I played while I killed Howard? I went over the steps in my head again. I put a mild sedative in his drink at dinner. We chatted, paid the bill, and left in our separate cars. I followed at a distance until he pulled up at his house. I waited 1 hour for the sedative to be in full affect. He would be drowsy, uncoordinated, and probably in bed assuming he wasn't feeling well. He wouldn't be knocked out cold, but I couldn't risk a stronger sedative since he had to make it home.
I recalled the next steps more in flashes of images. One of me breaking a glass door to gain entry. One of me creeping to his bedroom with a steel pipe in hand. Several in varying red hues of that pipe making contact with his head, arms, and torso as he roused himself (as much as possible) and stumbled to the floor. The entire time I had a loud pre-recorded audio playing from his own home speaker. It contained sounds of a particular man cursing, thumps, yells, and finally his name being called out. Highly doctored, but since the audio will eventually be retrieved from this point in time and taken as historic audio, it won't be scrutinized.
The particular man in the audio was a colleague of Howard. Someone I knew as well and didn't like that much. He wasn't the focus of this plan though, just a casualty since someone needed to take the fall. This was a dirty method, I knew, but it was the only one that let me get my full rage out. I recalled beating Howard a few times after he stopped moving just for the sake of it. Other, older memories flashed by as well. His car in my driveway at lunch. Him and my wife half dressed as I went in.
Yes, all the steps were there. It was just as I planned. He died on his bedroom floor. So why was this historic audio different? The lawyers tried to explain it as him being involved in a car crash, walking home without his keys, breaking into his own house and later dying on his bedroom floor from the crash injuries.
I might have believed that farfetched story if it wasn't for what I knew.
I stopped pacing and turned my attention back to my laptop. I opened it and pulled up a terminal connected to a larger machine that powered my historic audio invention. Maybe something wasn't calibrated right. I tweaked settings and played the audio again and again. I heard the same car crash each time. The settings didn't seem to- wait, the pitch of the car screeching seemed to change. I began saving the audio between each settings tweak and comparing their waveform. Subtle changes existed in each one. Tires screeched later in some than others. The moaning changed slightly. Tiny things, but they were there. Was my invention catching the historic audio from different vantage points leading to the sound difference?
A cold creeping feeling came over the nape of my neck. My hairs stood on end as a thought formed. No, that can't be the cause of the interference. It can't be. I tried to shake the thought away as I changed one setting in particular more and more. After a moment the audio completely changed. It became the audio I expected, of me beating Howard, of the overlaid audio from the house speaker placing Howard's coworker at the scene. I paused for a moment and changed the setting once more, my hands shaking as I typed.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my friend", Howards voice came from the latest historic audio. Now full-body trembling, I turned the audio up. "I should never have betrayed you like that. You probably knew I liked Sally for years now. I never intended to follow through on it. I'm so ashamed of myself. You're my closest friend, and I did this." I could hear myself sobbing. Was I sobbing now, or was it the me in the historic audio? I heard myself yell and argue with Howard before the sobbing continued. It quieted down. I could hear Howard still apologizing and trying to comfort me at a low volume.
Another timeline. An alternate universe. Whatever you wanted to call it, that's what these audio differences were from. Mostly the same, some different. In most Howard had died in a car crash. In at least one he died the way I killed him here. In this one, we went back to his house and talked. He apologized, I sobbed, we seemingly made up. I never killed him in this one.
I closed the laptop and wiped my wet face. What could I do with this knowledge? How many cases were incorrectly judged because the audio came from another timeline? Why did I not talk to Howard before I killed him in my rage?
I didn't have any answers. Just a silent coldness around me. | “Linda!” Carlos shouted, pacing frantically through his lab. It was all wrong, every part of it. He ran the calculations in his head, reran them again, fed them through his terminal to triple check. She was so slow, why was she so slow, today of all days?
“Linda, seriously! I need you down here!”
“Coming!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard her footsteps above him, normal, expected, as it always had been. When she finally reached the creaky staircase his pulse was nearly back to normal, tuned to the beat of her steps.
“Holy shit, Carlos! What’s wrong honey?” Linda exclaimed as soon as she saw him. Perhaps he wasn’t as in control as he’d thought.
“Someone reopened Jeremiah’s case,” he said.
Linda closed the distance between the quickly, balling up her sleeve in her first and dabbing at Carlos’ sweaty forehead. “Honey it’s ok,” she said, “this isn’t the first time people have looked into it. Our lawyers will stop it before it goes to court, we can afford the best now, remember? Besides, if the lawyers don’t get it they’ll still have to use SpyGlass.”
Carlos sat down heavily in his chair, running his fingers roughly through his thinning hair. SpyGlass. His life’s work, his legacy, the source of their wealth. “Linda, they can’t use SpyGlass,” he said. There were more words, important words, but it was so hard to say them.
She was patient though, she always had been. Linda pulled up another chair and sat down beside him, laying her hands over his, drawing them down into the space between them. “Carlos,” she said calmly, “why can’t they use SpyGlass?”
The words were still too hard. Instead Carlos leaned down, kissed the hands that had trapped his, and then unwound his fingers from hers, hitting a button on his keyboard.
For the first time in nearly twenty years, Jeremiah’s voice tore through the basement laboratory.
“You just want it for yourself!” Jeremiah shouted. “After all our work you two want to steal it, and for what, a couple extra dollars? We’re going to be rich Carlos, rich! How greedy can you possibly fucking be?”
“Please Jeremiah,” it was Linda’s voice now, speaking clearly through the recording. “You’ve been riding our work since we were kids. Where would you be without us? Would you have even made it through school? You’re a hack.”
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Carlos could just imagine how Jeremiah would have said that line, balling up his fists, tossing his long, braided hair back over his shoulder.
“She’s right.” That was his own voice. Carlos buried his head in his hands rather than watch the image of the sound waves just on the screen. “You’d be nothing without us. Look Jeremiah, we’re being generous here. We all know you don’t deserve a full share, but we’ll buy you out right now. $500,000, take it or leave it.”
“$500,000 for my life's work? Fuck off Carlos, there’s no way. We’re all in for a third, even split. We made that deal a long time ago.”
“Last chance,” Linda’s voice said menacingly.
“Or what?” Jeremiah said, “what the fuck are you two going to do to me?”
There was a loud click on the recording, it would be a singular, sharp spike on the wave form, Carlos could see it even with his eyes closed. Long seconds of silence followed, and then, horribly, Carlos heard his own voice again.
“Last chance,” he said.
Jeremiah was silent. Linda was silent. The gunshot was not.
Spyglass beeped loudly, signaling the end of the recording.
When Carlos looked up into his at his wife she was deathly pale and breathing raggedly. He took her hands again and they shook like leaves in the wind.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said, “that isn’t how it happened at all.”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“ I know? I know? How are you so calm about this?” Linda sprang up, walking rapidly to the other side of the room and her terminal there. She began punching in numbers frantically, querying the same time stamp. The SpyGlass program began running again, the system’s massive infrastructure emitting a low room from the next room over as it reached back in time, sifting through the echoing disturbances sound waves left in the fabric of the world.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again and again, “this isn’t possible.”
Carlos let it go through it. He sat there at his own terminal, watching the progress of SpyGlass’s search over her shoulder as the minutes ticked down. Finally, after the longest fifteen minutes of his life, the recording started again.
Jeremiah’s voice tore through the room, then Linda’s, Jeremiah’s responding, Carlos agreeing with her. She let it play all the way up until the the gunshot and then ended the recording manually at the same moment he had.
Their gazes met across the lab and they both stood, walking unsteadily towards each other.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again.
“I know. There’s more afterwards that’s wrong, and our conversation the next day is gone entirely.”
“Is it SpyGlass?” she asked. “Could something be wrong with the program?”
Carlos shook his head. “I’ve checked and rechecked my math three times already, and I’m running a full diagnostic, it hasn’t found anything yet. Either something was off in our most basic assumptions about the SpyGlass theory, which I don’t think can be possible, or it’s something else. Something worse.”
“What could possibly be worse than that?” she asked.
Carlos took her hands again, they were still shaking. “What if someone was manipulating the program?” he said softly. “Or worse than that, what if they were manipulating the very echoes themselves?”
Linda stopped shaking. Her breathing stilled. Her skin was still shockingly pale but her discipline was coming back, she was reasserting control. “There’s only one person who could have done that and he’s dead. You stabbed him, not shot him, and he deserved every blow.”
Carlos nodded. “He’s dead, he must be, but you heard the recording too. If the investigation reaches court it will be absolutely damning. So I know this is hard for you but now I have to know. Baby, where did you bury Jeremiah’s body?”
\--------
r/TurningtoWords
(I got really into writing this and may try to continue it, I've been enjoying doing part 2s lately. Going to take a break and then try to get back to it. Hope you all enjoyed!)
edit: [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mf1al1/wp_you_a_renowned_scientist_invented_technology/gslol8l?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) is done. I think I will round this out with a part three in a bit. if anyone wants a notification when it's up let me know and i'll let you know | 2021-03-28T09:59:02 | 2021-03-28T08:18:08 | 229 | 143 |
[WP] It's common knowledge that all curses have loopholes. Can't speak? Learn sign language. Can't eat meat? Go vegan or eat fake meat. You are a professional at finding loopholes in curses and just stumbled upon your most challenging case. | He came in on Monday. “I can’t--hehe —stop—ahaha—laughing!”
I let him go for a few minutes, studying him, to discern the magical weavings on the curse binding him. Oh they were familiar, alright. Greta. Again. There were two ways to cancel curse, either standard cursebreaking—unpicking the weave on the magic—or loopholes. But few people were skilled enough to do the former unless they were the ones who cast the spell, and most were disinclined; plus magic manipulation wasn’t cheap, but avoiding dogs or shaving your head were easy workarounds for most people.
Stuff like laughter, that was child’s play, but the weave on this looked far more complicated. I wondered what Greta was getting at. I opened my cabinet and looked through my tonics. “Here.”
The serum was easy to make, took an antidepressant base and turned it around. Not so you’d become depressed, but a downer that wouldn’t have the side effects of, say, alcohol. Sobered him right up. He paid me and left.
He came back on Tuesday. I was surprised to see him. “You’ll never believe this!” He kept scratching himself all over.
“How did you manage another curse so soon?” He had to really be pissing off the local coven.
“That’s just it—I didn’t! I woke up and now I’m so itchy I can’t stand it!”
I prescribed an extra-strength calamine lotion bath twice a day. Honestly, most of my job was just juiced-up science. Before he left I examined the weavings again. “Huh.” He still had yesterday’s giggle spell, but I didn’t see anything else. No new curse. So where did the itching come from? I kept that to myself, not wanting to spook him. He paid me and left.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised when he showed up again on Wednesday. “Look, the calamine lotion worked, but—”
“Yes?”
He took off his hat to show me a bald head where a full head of hair had been only yesterday. Now that I looked at him, I noticed his eyebrows were gone—and were his eyelashes as well? Ah yes, the old alopecia curse. Very easy to fix. And he would know to get around this one himself, so why was he here?
“I think we’ve got the curse wrong. I think I’m cursed to be cursed.” He said the last part in a hushed tone.
“You may be right,” I acknowledged. "I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m going to need some time to work on this one. In the meantime, would you like to browse my selection of wigs?”
He found one he liked in style similar to his own. He paid me but before he left he said glumly, “See you tomorrow.”
Wine Wednesdays at Pedro’s Taco Hut were a weekly tradition for Greta and me. I got there first, and when she sauntered in, hips sashaying and a sly smile, it was obvious she knew I knew.
“You finally did it,” I said, admiringly.
“The anti-loophole curse, patented and perfected,” she said, ordering a bottle of rosé.
“He had a better name for it,” I said, raising my water glass as we awaited the bottle. “The curse curse!”
She laughed. “Drinks are on you tonight?”
“You know it. You have to tell me how you finally figured it out; that weaving was beautiful.”
“Only if you split your profits with me. Don’t you think you owe me for drumming up business?”
“Fifty-fifty, partner. Was that a Gordian knot on his head?”
edit: typos | "Doc, I need your help; I seriously need your help!" A rugged-looking man bursts through the door, tracking mud across the white-tiled floor. He appears to be fearful of something as he scours the room.
"I'm not giving you any more viagra; you'll overdose at this rate." The doctor retorts as he continues working on his latest project. He hardly turns his head to acknowledge the man; his head faces him narrowly, and the Doctor stared at him in shock.
"What did you do?" The Doctor spoke with exasperation, putting his hand over his face with a sigh.
"Jahred... I'll ask you this carefully while withholding my judgment but, what the fuck is that?"
"I messed up, Doc," Jahred spoke shakily.
"Seriously! What is that?" The doctor began to step back from Jahred; he trembled at the sight of him as he nearly fell backward.
"So, I went to this party last night..." Jahred began to attempt to scratch his head; tentacles blocked his fingers from reaching as they deflected each attempt.
"How can going to a simple party incur such!-" The doctor nagged Jahred poutingly as Jahred interrupted him.
"Witch party," Jahred said in confidence.
"What?"
"Witch-."
"I heard you the first time! How-- no, why are witches throwing a party, and why the hell would you be invited?"
"Are you jealous?" Jahred spoke condescendingly; as he stared at the poster of a lewd witch in the corner of the doctor's office.
"No! I'm worried about how many-!"
"There were fifty-three witches there, all of them young."
"This is serious! That curse could be deadly if it were to stay attached to you, Jahred! Take me to the place you were cursed at this instant!"
"You just wanna join in on the party, isn't that right?" Jahred says teasingly; as he spoke, a tentacle climbed from his head and into his mouth, burrowing itself inside of him.
"You know what? Fine! Go ahead and ask those witches for a cure then!" The doctor spoke with annoyance, turning his focus back to his work.
"Fine! I will!" Jahred leaves as quickly as he'd come. A bottle of viagra had gone missing when the doctor counted his medication. As Jahred left, the doctor began to track him as he waltzed out of town.
The snake-like creatures hiss at the doctor as Jahred continued none the wiser. Eventually, the sunset, and the moon took its esteemed place in the sky as night came.
Jahred walks into a hut, the doctor followed close behind. The windows were illuminated by a purple hue that intrigued the doctor; he took off his pharmacist's jacket and slicked back his hair. He began opening the door of the hut, and as he did, he saw many of the townspeople sitting inside with frowns being worn on their faces.
Jahred takes off the tentacles that covered his head and faced the doctor.
"This is an intervention," Jahred said confidently as the others in the room nodded with approval.
"Excuse me?"
Doctor Bellspring, you've taken away our vexes with ease but, even an astute man such as yourself can be cursed.
"We know what you did, Doctor." A woman says with what appeared to be contempt.
"In order to cure as many people as possible, you gave away a piece of yourself. As a side effect of becoming one of the greatest doctors to ever grace this land, you developed a crippling witch fetish.
"What are you saying!?"
"You made a deal with the devil himself; you damned yourself for our sakes. I thought you were just an unregistered sex offender at first but, Arma made it clear to us. This time, we'll be the ones to cure you. First thing first, no more witches."
The Doctor began to run for the door but, two brolic men guarded it hastily before he could reach it.
"We'll help you find a way out of the deal," Jahred says with care as he walked up to the doctor; his body made a shaking sound as reached him.
"In return, you'll let me keep these pills," Jahred says hushedly as he shook the bottle in front of him.
"Arma! Time for sensitivity training. Get ready everyone! This night is gonna be long and hard!"
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[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/) Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile and follow for similar ones! Thanks a lot for reading. | 2021-04-30T21:30:37 | 2021-04-30T20:15:38 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] The Dark Lord was feared as a menacing black knight encased in gothic armor. Though your image was well known, you've never revealed your face. After your defeat, being an enigma is already starting to pay off as you start your life over. | The terror of the infamous dark lord Janus had come to an end as the hero and his adventuring party defeated the black-armored tyrant and his regime. Though finally cornered, an oversight led the villain to escape-- the seven-foot menace managed to slip away, leaving his black armor shell behind.
This failure embarrassed the hero so, he was determined to end his nemesis once for all. In a show of power, he paraded the dark lord's infamous armor as a prize of war-- dragging it from town to town, kingdom to kingdom to show the people of his glory.
The real reason however was simply to find the man behind the armor. After all, how difficult could it be to find a seven-foot tall man? He would stick out like a sore thumb...
"Hear ye, hear ye!", the crier announced as the hero's parade entered the small lonely village of Kurni at the foot of a mountain. "Ser Devlin of Fallishire, slayer of the dark lord, knight of silver, hero of the seven kingdoms. Let his name be respected, rejoice ye who are good, and cower ye who are evil!
It was beyond pompous the parade of the hero and his ego. Line of trumpets broke the early morning as he strutted with his newly-polished silver armor into the village. Behind him was his prized possession-- the black armor, dragged around on a wheeled wooden trolley by four men, such its weight was unbearable.
"Witness, people of Kurni-- the remnant of the fallen dark lord! It is I, Ser Devlin, who had slain the tyrant!", the hero boasted.
The crowd gathered, some admiring, some didn't care as it was early in the morning and there were chores to do. Among the latter group was an unnaturally tall man lingering in the background as he walked slowly, back from bathing himself in the river.
"You there! Halt!", the hero yelled to the large man, having caught his outstanding figure.
"What is your name, peasant? And what do you do?", asked the hero, pointing the large man with his sword.
"Uh...", the tall man was slow in his movement and mind. "I am Grezzik, son of Falluc. I am a sculptor", he answered.
The hero drew closer, eyeing the giant up and down not with and ounce of shame from him despite making the unassuming sculptor uncomfortable.
"You must be, I would say...seven feet easily hmm?", he asked, baiting for any clue for his suspicion.
"I would guess so, yes", Grezzik answered not amused.
The hero was overjoyed inside. Finally he came across a man befitting of the armor's stature. But there was only one way to find out, and the hero was determined to do so.
"Say, giant...would you fancy wearing that armor for me?", said the hero pointing at it.
Grezzik looked at it for a moment.
"I don't think I would, Ser", he answered.
*"Aha!"*, thought the hero. He had caught him, the man behind the black armor!
"Why not? You have my permission", the hero insisted.
"No, no, sir, you don't understand. It's not like I don't want to...I just can't do it. It's too heavy, I can tell"
The hero was confused. Confirming further he asked.
"Too heavy? For a man of your stature? Come now, don't talk nonsense..."
"I am telling the truth, sir. I may be large, but when I was born I was cursed with this unrelenting growth as my body would never stop getting larger and larger, and my strength couldn't keep up. I can barely walk, sir. Despite me being a sculptor, I can't even transport my own stone to carve, resorting instead to help from others. So please believe me, sir, when I say I cannot lift that heavy armor, let alone wear it..."
The hero stepped back and he observed the large man. The sluggish movement, the posture of the giant as he was visibly in pain...he was telling the truth. He was no the menacing figure of the dark lord he had faced, no-- he was but a seven-foot tall simpleton.
"Men, let's move. We're done here", with disappointed tone, the hero turned back and marched with his parade out from the village-- in contrast with his bombastic entrance. The villagers simply shrugged as they looked onward at the strange city folks.
"Damn, I was sure that was him", the hero muttered to himself.
Zoning out on the back of his horse, a sight caught his attention moving from the opposite side. Two large slabs of stone seemingly floating, moving on the road coming towards them.
"What the...?", the hero uttered in shock.
Slowly however he could see they weren't magical floating stones. There were two small men whose heights comparable to those of dwarves, easily carrying the large stone slabs on their back effortlessly.
The two parties passed each other in silence, each observing the other. When the two small men finally passed through, the hero simply chuckled, entertained.
"My goodness, those two are strong", he thought as he kept continuing his journey.
\*\*\*
"Hey Jay...wasn't that the hero that defeated us?", one of the small men asked the other.
"That was him yeah! I thought I recognized him. I was impressed he carried our heavy armor around like that", Jay chuckled.
"Hah, good for him, I guess. I was tired of being the dark lord anyway", the first one said.
"That's because you're always on the bottom, wasn't it Aynus?", Jay teased.
"Shut up. Just keep walking. Grezzik is waiting for his stones", Aynus rolled his eyes, walking faster with Jay laughing behind, following him.
r/HangryWritey | Once a dark lord, always a dark lord. At least, that’s what they tell me now. Which is a shame, as I have tried hard to change. I feel like I’m a different person, now. I’ve run a fairly popular bakery for the last hundred or so years, harming no one, slowly trying to make amends. I have no desire to harm anyone either, so how can I be the same person?
*People can change*, they said. I’ve heard them say directly it to me. Customers at my bakery told me, when someone was arrested for stealing food because they were starving, or fighting because they were drunk: *people can change. Anyone can. I honestly believe it.*
Then, when they found out who had been selling them their bread, who had donated money for a new school in the village, who had fed the homeless in the evenings… When they found out who I was, then I found out that the words on their breath were different to the truths in their head.
That is a lesson to be learned about all people. The surface does not reflect the depths.
*People can change. Except for people like him,* is now what they tell me, without an ounce of hypocrisy weighing their tongues down, as I sit, chained in my cell.
My “crimes” were committed more than a hundred years ago. Very few people are still alive from back then — mortals have fleeting life spans. Yet everyone’s hearts are stained by the same hatred for me as those who were alive at the time. A hatred they don’t even understand. As if I’m a symbol for something much more primitive.
Humans always need to hate. That is a lesson I have learned, too. They always need a dark lord, and if there isn’t one, then they will create one.
​
Let me tell you a little about becoming a dark lord.
It was not a role I was born into, exactly. I was born the same way you were, only I had a difference somewhere in my body that, at a certain age, stopped me from ageing. I became good with the sword after much practice, and later with a mace. For a time, I was regarded as a great warrior and something of a hero.
For a few hundred years I fought for the side of good and justice. Not that the acts we performed (murder, terrorism) were good or just, but the cause was. Orcs and goblins and dark creatures from far away were invading our lands and stealing our food, and you’d hear much worse in the stories exchanged between us. Fighting back was righteous. Good.
Further and further we pushed them into their lands (that became ours), until their lands were slivers of swampy earth. Until I hadn’t seen a goblin in fifty years.
Then one day, on horseback patrol with another warrior — Pladmir — we spotted a goblin. It had dared wander out of the swamp and into our extended territory.
Pladmir chased it down and kicked it to the ground, before dismounting. A look of bloodlust-glee overcame him as he held his sword high over the goblin.
”It’s only a young one,” I said.
”Good. Best to get them before they grow more dangerous.”
Pladmir had never even seen a goblin before. They were too rare now to be found often. He had only heard stories of how vile and wretched they were, and those gossiping tales were enough for him to become a judge over life and death.
The goblin’s large wet eyes looked pleadingly up into mine. It was stick-skinny and had likely come out in a desperate scavenge for food.
”Let it live,” I said. “It’s been so many years since I’ve even seen one. For all we know, this could be the very last goblin.”
”Let it live?” He shook his head. “Have you lost your mind?”
I will not go too deeply into the story, but the goblin did indeed live, fleeing back into its swampland. Pladmir did not.
That, I suppose, was the day I became a dark lord. I sat there for hours reflecting on what I’d done — not just then, but in all the years prior. I didn’t return home after that. Instead I took up a burden that I didn’t want to carry, but that no one else would have done.
In the end I think it boiled down to this: I became a dark lord because there needed to be a dark lord.
Every year my new burden grew heavier. As time passed, and no treatise could be realised, my heart become a little more granite. The actions I carried out concerned me less. I became an avalanche of malice gathering speed and power as I tumbled towards the darkness of oblivion.
​
In the end, of course, we lost.
I lost.
But I escaped before they could capture and execute me.
I came here. I opened a bakery. The last thing they’d expect me to do, I figured. I got up early each morning, before the sunrise bled over the village and dyed the thatched roofs red. I mixed the flour and salt and yeast and kneaded the dough and stoked the ovens.
I slowly fell in love with the village. And a girl in the village. And the bakery. And this new life.
One day, not long after we wed, I confessed to the girl — my wife — about my prior life.
I thought she’d forgive me. I wasn’t the same person, that much was obvious.
Instead she snuck out that night and brought the guards back with her.
*Once a dark lord, always a dark lord.*
​
The jury found me guilty. I am to be executed, my body dismembered and then burned. They bakery that they all loved and visited often has already been razed.
I stare at the door of my cell throughout the long cold nights.
I imagine a goblin, perhaps the one I saved in a previous life, picking the lock and sneaking inside, finger to its lips telling me to hush. I imagine it releasing me from my rattling chains and helping me, my arm draped around him, out of the door and towards freedom.
But there are no goblins any more.
And soon, for a short time, there will be no dark lord.
Only humans. Good and righteous, and always — always — fair.
​
Days and nights pass in a fevered smudge.
Something rattles at the door. In the lock.
I wonder if the executioner has finally come to take me. | 2021-07-23T04:17:49 | 2021-07-23T02:39:25 | 520 | 377 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be | "The apocalypse came to earth about a year ago."
A tall, skinny man in an immaculate black suit and mirrored sunglasses stood in front of a diagram of the earth. The diagram was projected from a light on the top of a small, matte black pen impaled into the ground, and behind it stood a rusty metal wall with exposed rivets. The whole room seemed cobbled together, filled with rust and holes through which its occupants could see the arid desert outside. It swayed and rocked as the monstrous, hacked-together vehicle that contained this room rolled its way over the sand dunes.
The man pulled a laser pointer out of his pocket and shone a red beam on a picture of a lamp in the corner of the projected map. "That was when the genies arrived. They fell from the sky in various vessels, appearing to the common eye to be meteorites. But when civilians found those vessels and freed the genies, their deepest, wildest fantasies were materialized into being. The world was split into sectors representing all the different varieties fantasies." The man directed his laser towards different sections of the Earth diagram. "Superhero fantasies, alien fantasies, magical fantasies, etcetera. But the genies don't care about anyone except the person who's fantasy they're fulfilling, and superhero fantasies have a lot of collateral damage."
"So why the fuck are you telling me this?"
The suited man turned to fully face his one-woman audience. She was broad-shouldered, and strong enough to make metal creak when she strained against the shackles binding her to the metal bench she sat on. The shackles held though, because while they appeared to be made of the same rusted metal as the rest of the car, unnatural blue energy coursed through them.
"I'm sorry for the manacles, but seeing as you tried to attack our organization when you first met us, we didn't want to take any risks."
"I don't give a flying fuck about the handcuffs, just get to how we can kill the genies. And if you were lying I swear to god..."
The man sighed, adjusted his sunglasses, and directed his laser pointer to an intersection between several different zones. "This is where you come in. Your brother found a lamp but his wish was fundamentally self-destructive in nature, and the ensuing struggle for the leftover lamp ripped apart your entire family. You were also in an intersection between several other fantasy zones, so you were also forced to watch your friends get split up to become various different kinds of cannon fodder."
The woman growled, a low, infuriated roar. The man quickly held up his hands, dropping the laser pointer in the process. "I'm getting to the point. What all of this means is that you are in the unique position of knowing exactly how your life was destroyed. The genies. And you are so very angry. In fact, as far as we know, you are the only person whose deepest, most fundamental desire is to watch the genies die."
The woman's arms went slack as her eyes widened with realization. "So if I got my hands on a lamp..."
"Exactly. And ever since we merged multiple Men In Black spy fantasies, our organization has the power and influence to help you get them, destroy them one by one, and put the world back to normal."
At that moment, an alarm sounded from deep within the vehicle, and the front of the room where the projection screen was slowly began to fold up, revealing the full expanse of sprawling desert in front of them. In the distance, both people could just barely make out the enormous shape of an enormous vehicle made of bolted sheets of rusty metal, screaming gas-powered, smoke-spewing pistons, and rusty spikes. It slowly walked forward, ponderously pounding four gigantic metal legs deep into the sand with each step.
The man pressed a button on his suit, and the shackles fell from the woman's wrists. He pointed out to the walker in the distance, his suit rippling in the wind, and he said, "right now, we are in a Mad-Max inspired apocalypse world. And that thing there is where our first genie is." | [Part 1 of 2]
“Ok, there’s got to be something in the contract about this. I’m grateful and all, but this isn’t what I wanted. Why the hell would I want a spaceship made from chocolate? Would a sane person wish for that?”
“No, I don’t believe a sane person would wish for that, but I’m not here to give you a psychological assessment Ben, I’m just here to grant your deepest desires.” The genie didn’t hide his smug grin, arms crossed over his chest, admiring all the wishes he granted. Taking a strange amount of pride in his devious work. “As for your comment about a contract. I’m a magical floating genie. Do you really think I have a legal department hiding away in this lamp?”
I knew he was being sarcastic, but that didn’t stop me from crouching by the lamp’s side, peering into the golden lamp, only to spot an empty void of darkness inside. When I stood up, he merely stretched his arms out, giving me an expression that silently said. ‘Well?’ Expecting me to continue my frustrated rambling, which I did.
“But it’s a chocolate spaceship. It’s just going to melt. Are you saying my deepest desires are idiotic things like this? What about money or wine? Maybe even my own theme music whenever I enter a building, something that isn’t this.” I pointed to the spaceship, watching its brown, sugary coating drop onto my carpeted floor, leaving a disgusting stain. “And on the carpet too!”
“Sorry, those were your desires. I gave you the three things you desired. Nothing more and nothing less. That spaceship is functional. Be quick though, it’s going to fall apart soon.” The genie said, floating to the side, allowing the sunlight he was blocking from the window to hit the ship, only furthering its destruction.
I was quick to close the blinds, trying to keep the stupid wish from melting. “Ok, whatever. I can accept that maybe one of my childhood desires was a spaceship made from chocolate, but that doesn’t explain this” I pointed to my clothing, dressed in a light blue shirt with a matching set of pants. I could see a small badge hanging off the shirt’s right pocket, appearing to be some form of identification, but the company name seemed foreign to me.
“Oh, you wanted to be a hero, right? Well, what’s more heroic than saving lives Dr. Ben. You are now employed at St Joseph’s hospital. It’s a state away but I’m sure you can take your spaceship there.” His grin only grew wider when he said that. It was clear he wanted to laugh but was trying to keep some level of professionalism.
“Not that sort of hero! I wanted to be a superhero. You know, fight crime and fly, the cool stuff.” I remarked, only for him to raise an eyebrow.
“Are doctors not cool to you? Sorry, do you find the action of saving actual lives boring?”
“No, I mean… No. That’s not what I meant. Doctors are amazing people, but that’s the thing. I’m not an amazing, selfless person. All I want to do is fly around and fight giant monsters, not something practical. I mean, you gave me a chocolate spaceship. What part of that makes you think I want an actual job?”
“I’m not sure. Your desires didn’t specify a preference and so I chose something for you. Enjoy your first shift, its tomorrow morning.” He let a chuckle escape the side of his lips, expelling a brief huff of air before composing himself once more.
“But I know nothing about medicine. How am I supposed to be a doctor?” I argued, only being a doctor in the strangest sense of the word. Having no actual qualifications, only a uniform and form of identification.
“Ah, you will figure it out. I’m starting to think you aren’t grateful for all these gifts. Why are you even complaining, all you had to do was rub a lamp for all of this? It’s not like you had to run a marathon or something strenuous. Want to complain about the last desire too?”
His purple finger pointed towards my kitchen bench, revealing a sparkling new toaster. It was brilliant, having ten slots and settings that would perfectly toast the bread to your exact specifications.
“I actually like that one. I’ve never been able to find a toaster that toasts the bread just right. Out of all the crappy wishes you have given me, that’s my favorite.” I had nothing bad to say about the toaster. The only slight complaint I could think of was that the golden lining along the top made it took a little tacky, but considering the other two wishes, I was happy to endure that. “Are you going to leave now? I have a mess to clean up.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oz7ydx/wp_genies_are_real_and_they_do_grant_wishes_but/h7yai97/) | 2021-08-06T09:21:39 | 2021-08-06T09:15:31 | 300 | 99 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be | [Part 1 of 2]
“Ok, there’s got to be something in the contract about this. I’m grateful and all, but this isn’t what I wanted. Why the hell would I want a spaceship made from chocolate? Would a sane person wish for that?”
“No, I don’t believe a sane person would wish for that, but I’m not here to give you a psychological assessment Ben, I’m just here to grant your deepest desires.” The genie didn’t hide his smug grin, arms crossed over his chest, admiring all the wishes he granted. Taking a strange amount of pride in his devious work. “As for your comment about a contract. I’m a magical floating genie. Do you really think I have a legal department hiding away in this lamp?”
I knew he was being sarcastic, but that didn’t stop me from crouching by the lamp’s side, peering into the golden lamp, only to spot an empty void of darkness inside. When I stood up, he merely stretched his arms out, giving me an expression that silently said. ‘Well?’ Expecting me to continue my frustrated rambling, which I did.
“But it’s a chocolate spaceship. It’s just going to melt. Are you saying my deepest desires are idiotic things like this? What about money or wine? Maybe even my own theme music whenever I enter a building, something that isn’t this.” I pointed to the spaceship, watching its brown, sugary coating drop onto my carpeted floor, leaving a disgusting stain. “And on the carpet too!”
“Sorry, those were your desires. I gave you the three things you desired. Nothing more and nothing less. That spaceship is functional. Be quick though, it’s going to fall apart soon.” The genie said, floating to the side, allowing the sunlight he was blocking from the window to hit the ship, only furthering its destruction.
I was quick to close the blinds, trying to keep the stupid wish from melting. “Ok, whatever. I can accept that maybe one of my childhood desires was a spaceship made from chocolate, but that doesn’t explain this” I pointed to my clothing, dressed in a light blue shirt with a matching set of pants. I could see a small badge hanging off the shirt’s right pocket, appearing to be some form of identification, but the company name seemed foreign to me.
“Oh, you wanted to be a hero, right? Well, what’s more heroic than saving lives Dr. Ben. You are now employed at St Joseph’s hospital. It’s a state away but I’m sure you can take your spaceship there.” His grin only grew wider when he said that. It was clear he wanted to laugh but was trying to keep some level of professionalism.
“Not that sort of hero! I wanted to be a superhero. You know, fight crime and fly, the cool stuff.” I remarked, only for him to raise an eyebrow.
“Are doctors not cool to you? Sorry, do you find the action of saving actual lives boring?”
“No, I mean… No. That’s not what I meant. Doctors are amazing people, but that’s the thing. I’m not an amazing, selfless person. All I want to do is fly around and fight giant monsters, not something practical. I mean, you gave me a chocolate spaceship. What part of that makes you think I want an actual job?”
“I’m not sure. Your desires didn’t specify a preference and so I chose something for you. Enjoy your first shift, its tomorrow morning.” He let a chuckle escape the side of his lips, expelling a brief huff of air before composing himself once more.
“But I know nothing about medicine. How am I supposed to be a doctor?” I argued, only being a doctor in the strangest sense of the word. Having no actual qualifications, only a uniform and form of identification.
“Ah, you will figure it out. I’m starting to think you aren’t grateful for all these gifts. Why are you even complaining, all you had to do was rub a lamp for all of this? It’s not like you had to run a marathon or something strenuous. Want to complain about the last desire too?”
His purple finger pointed towards my kitchen bench, revealing a sparkling new toaster. It was brilliant, having ten slots and settings that would perfectly toast the bread to your exact specifications.
“I actually like that one. I’ve never been able to find a toaster that toasts the bread just right. Out of all the crappy wishes you have given me, that’s my favorite.” I had nothing bad to say about the toaster. The only slight complaint I could think of was that the golden lining along the top made it took a little tacky, but considering the other two wishes, I was happy to endure that. “Are you going to leave now? I have a mess to clean up.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oz7ydx/wp_genies_are_real_and_they_do_grant_wishes_but/h7yai97/) | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below. | 2021-08-06T09:15:31 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 99 | 53 |
[WP] “Congratulations on defeating The Dark Lord…” Your mentor and all of your allies suddenly turn their weapons on you, “…but you were meant to be a martyr. Forgive us.” | "I truly wish there was another way, Jory. After all we've been through this is going to be harder on me than on you. I'll have to live with the consequences." My mentor, Polkar said with a voice that could be considered genuinely sad.
"Borter? You too?" I asked and looked at my best friend.
Borter was looking straight at me with a face so serious it could be chiseled on stone, his huge spiked mace rested on his hands as if it weighed nothing.
The pain of betrayal soon subsided to rage. I had done so much for them and they would sacrifice me like pig. And they even *dared* to pretend like they're the victims! Well, one thing is for sure. I will not go down without a fight.
Six companions in total surrounded me, including Polkar. Two in every direction of the castle's halls. Polkar and Amarny on the front, Borter and Minta on my right cutting the way out and the Kinto brothers behind me blocked the way we had come from. My best option was straight ahead, but Polkar would make sure it stayed blocked, my second best option was the right hall... Against Borter.
In that moment I hated them. I hated Borter, but even then the thought of killing my best friend was repulsive. We had gone through so much together... He saved my life twice and I saved him once, from himself. We had a special phrase we liked to say before facing danger: "Onward brother!" In the late hours of the night, we shared our deepest fears and dreams. We had shared our food and water and when we felt alone, we made each other company. Nothing bonds a friendship so much as shared dangers and me and Borter had so much more than that. He became the best part of the adventure. Apparently it all been a ruse...
I wished I could turn back and face the brothers, but there was no escape that way. Polkar had chosen the companions' positions wisely. I would have to face Borter, no doubt about it.
I turned to look at my best friend, my brother. I looked him in the eye and pulled out my sword and pointed it directly at him. "Onward brother!"
Then something most strange happened. Something I never expected. Borter cried. His eyes became red and filled with tears as he gripped strongly the mace in his hands. "Onward brother!" He yelled and turned to Minta, the companion on his left. He pushed her with such strength and without warning that her body flung over the bar and into the abyss. "Come! Run!" He yelled at me.
Borter ran away as I threw a cloud of stunning dust to the ground to give me time to escape. Polkar's angry screams and lightning could be heard behind me as I ran after my brother and into safety. | My heart dropped to my stomach. "I.....I can't believe you were right Benyryr..." My voice came out hurt and cracked as tears filled my eyes. I looked at the Dark Lord's corpse as it crumbled to dust, but yet I heard his voice in my ear. "I hate to say I told you so darling." His voice wasn't harsh or scathing with sarcasam ad it usually was. He never called me darling. I turned to my allies, who had been seemingly frozen in time weapons raised to attack. I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, the dust had reformed into his body shape. With an invisible wind it blew off the top layer, showing that he wasn't dead at all. "Another trick? Just kill me already...I give up." My eyes bored into the stone floor, not wanting to meet his. I expected his terrible blade to slice me in two, or his magic to roast me alive, or any number of other things to happen. I was ready for death, the only family I had, my own adoptive father who raised me from a baby had turned on me. Benyryr spoke softly, in a voice that sounded the opposite of the way he looked. "It's alright. I wouldn't of believed me either....but Raya, why do you think he's turning on you? Once I was gone, the only one with any power left would be you. And of course he would want to eliminate you before the summer solstice, when it would reach it's peak for the first time, as you are now of age to weild it." My eyes went wide as I looked up at him, "How did you know that?" I thought for the first time in my life I saw him nervous as he took a deep breath, rolling up the sleeve on his left arm. When I saw it, tears flooded my eyes. "You have the same mark on your lower left back." I stared into his eyes, "Benyryr......then that means...the story Callen told me.....his rescue was actually..." The dark Lord's eyebrows scrunched, eyes welling in anger, "Your kidnapping. He is also the one responsible for your mother's death. The coward wouldn't face us at our normal power...so he came during the new moon." It was almost too much, "Y...your my... father?" He nodded slowly. That explained everything. The 3 years I had spent trying to kill him, I failed. Everytime he had me pinned against a wall, hanging from a cliff, or bleeding out? I'd wake up miraculously safe and alive. His arms opened slowly, and without thinking I hugged him tightly sobbing into chest. My anguish suddenly turned to rage. I pulled out of his arms and turned to the still frozen Callen and his group of knights. "What should I do?" I asked Benyryr. I felt his power buzz through the air like electricity before a thunderstorm. "Well....you have two options. Either you walk away the bigger person or-" I grabbed his sword from where it lay on the ground. "Kill them." It was lighter than I remembered, but that made no difference. Pyrentu was so sharp that it could slice through stone and still keep its edge. The runes carved in the blade glowed orange and red, the hilt felt warm in my hands. My father, my real father, stood back and smirked. I could hear the words from his lips even though they did not part. The same phrase he had mocked me with my whole life suddenly made sense, I grinned and hoisted the blade over my head. "From flame and ash you came, to ash and hellfire you will return." The blade glowed with licking green flames. | 2021-09-12T12:52:44 | 2021-09-12T11:30:46 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] We spread throughout the stars. But our enemies are not alien races, exterminator machines, or extradimensional invaders. No, our enemies are the gods, for humanity is the last, and only remaining mortal race in the universe. | *We come in peace.*
That was our first transmission, our first token, our first... message into this void.
We now see how futile that was. We were far more hopeful then, far more naive during first contact. But you made sure we knew how harsh, unforgiving, unfriendly space truly was.
And for that, and for that alone, we thank you.
...
I remember my father speaking of the first summit. He had told me of Zartel, of its mesmerizing beauty, of its colossal blood-red mountains, of its floating lakes, of it's physics-defying structures. But most of all, I remember his awe for you. His (falsely) vindicated hope for friendly relations b/w our species.
But just as we were getting along, you were convinced by the more paranoid of your number that we were inferior, we were unstable, we were unreliable, we were an abomination, we were... dangerous just because we lacked your powers & your immortality. And so, out of fear or out of disgust, you decided we needed to be eradicated.
Only one among your oh-so-mighty coalition thought otherwise. Only one wanted to see us live. Only one advised the rest of you to watch us longer, understand us more before attacking us. Only one heeded caution. And them alone, we will now spare.
You struck without warning. You attacked our convoy with no holds barred. You murdered every single human on those ships. You killed my father, a million other fathers, mothers, friends, children, acquaintances, brothers, loves.
We were aghast at this sudden & barbaric display of such violence. Surely, it was just a mistake. You were so amicable, so open to diplomatic relations only a couple of hours ago. There was no reason for you to hostile this rapidly. You probably mistook us for some other enemy of yours, or maybe some asteroid vaporizer of your misfired. Yes... That was it, just a blunder.
And so we sent another convoy, hoping against hope it was a mistake & you would pay reparations. We waited, not daring to take any action against our first contact & possible friend out here. Not unless we were definitely sure.
But in the deepest recesses of our heart, we knew that was a lie. How could you be this precise in your attacks without knowing what you were hitting? How could you have hit every single escape pod, without noticing it's distinct use of mortal life systems? How could you have destroyed our entire ceremonial fleet without noticing out flag, the only one to use green? How could you have missed every single plea for mercy?
But still, we hoped.
Oh, how many lives payed for our inaction...
...
*Arcturus Defense line has been broken through by the enemy. The system's star was detonated. About 2.8 billion people were yet to be evacuated. No information yet received on their condition.*
*Tiara's dyson sphere was attacked by about 1700 RKMs (0.9987c). No survivor found in the sphere of 37 billion.*
*RKMs failed against Sirius' absorber shields. Enemy resorted to carpet bombing Sirius III with antimatter bombs. About 2.7 million out of 11 billion escaped.*
That was just a few reports on what we call... war crimes committed by you. We might have been able to stop these if we had acted soon enough. If we hadn't wasted times on asking, no, begging for peace. If we hadn't held back on our attacks in the hope you'd see reason & stop being so merciless.
Then you attacked Luna. It was a boon in a disguise, really. Yes, your (likely misguided) RKM snatched a billion lives. Yes, it disintegrated our longest companion, who we failed to protect. Yes, it sent a shockwave through the entire Human alliance. But it also strengthened the resolve of our leaders, convinced the last few holdouts against peace, and shattered our sense o untouchability.
In essence, you brought us all to war. And soon, you will soon realize how badly you messed up.
You see, we are not hopeless as you thought we are. Our greatest minds have been researching you & your technologies, and we invented things we thought impossible a couple decades ago. But most important of all, we found out your weakness.
When you conquered evolution, you forgot to take away the flaws it imparted to you. Well, you probably didn't even notice them with all your powers, or maybe you even kept them for some of their benefits. Or maybe you never knew they were flaws. Whatever the case, we found your weaknesses.
Yes, You can't be killed. But you can be weakened, captured, hurt, tortured, and devastated beyond measure. You can't be physically destroyed, but we can & we have broken your members mentally & emotionally, brought them to such states that they regret they can't die.
I hope this is the limit of our depravity.
...
So why did I send such a massive message?
To give context to our "We declare war against you".
To remind you of your atrocities, your errors in judgement, your folly.
But most of all, to give you a warning.
​
We will die for others, for our ideals, for our beliefs, & even for a momentary thought. "Why?" you might ask.
You might have the power of the gods, but only we have their will. And that.... that will be enough to eclipse your might.
...
We will make sure you never forget your mistake.
We will make sure you never forget the chance you had.
We will make sure you never forget that...
**We** **~~come~~** **came in peace.**
​
​
^(-Harsh Thompson, general of the vengeance fleet, sending the declaration of war to the Immortals.) | Verstivus turned to Dael, a curious expression written across his face, “Dael… I’ve discovered something most peculiar on the body of a dead mortal on the battlefield.”
Dael made a sound of disapproval, “Ves, we’ve talked about this…”
“No, this time it’s different,” Vestivus took outa small orb.
Dael analyzed it, “What is it?”
“It’s called a mortality pill.”
“A what?”
“It supposedly turns whoever consumes it into a mortal.”
“Do you believe it’s a new weapon?”
“It’s not practical, it requires consumption.”
“Then what is it for?”
“I’m not sure. But think about the implications?”
“That mortals are on the verge of bringing us to their level?”
“No, freedom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve watched over the eons we’ve lived. I’ve seen us all change. We were once creators and protectors of the universe, but we have since gone cold and callous. Mortals don’t need us anymore. They feel so much deep passion, little things mean something to them. Does anything hold any meaning to us at all?”
“Don’t say that, Ves!”
“Just think about it. The human poets spoke of how beautiful nature is, the horrors of war, or even the simple joy of a home-cooked meal. We know none of those pleasures.”
“So you’d give up godhood for the sake of curiosity?”
“I never said that… it’s just something to think about, I suppose.”
The two entered the hall of the gods, where Vestivus was pulled aside by Trivane, the head general. He leered down at Ves, “What did you take this time.”
Vestivus bashfully withdrew the small pill and held it out, “They call it a mortality pill. It is said to have the power to make one mortal.”
Trivane made a deep, amused sound, “Fools, they really believe that they can steal our godhood?”
Ves analyzed the pill, “No, it’s not that practical. I believe this a failure for them.”
“Then why do I hear intrigue in your voice?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Then I order you to.”
“It’s perhaps not for us.”
“Vestivus, you aren’t implying something so foolish, are you?”
“Do you remember your attempt at a poem? The creator’s lament? You believed it would be the next great hymn bards would sing?”
“Your point.”
“It failed to rise to that magnitude because it lacked a true understanding of beauty and lament, something only humans have. Mortality gives one a new perspective on the world.”
“It evokes the fear of death.”
“The fear of death is not a curse, but a blessing. They take risks and embrace passion. Our mistakes carry with us through all of mortality, theirs only for a brief time.”
“Enough of this nonsense. You will not show this to anyone else, understood?”
Ves nodded, the gods meeting starting shortly after. He idly examined the pill while the gods went through strategic planning and preparation, before he heard something unusual from Dael, “Do we really need to go through these lengths? At this point surely the mortals release that war is futile. We could negotiate with them and surely get the better deal.”
Yarvog, the head tactician, scoffed, “We do not negotiate. We are gods! We will make them bend at the knee to us. We will accept nothing less.”
Dael groaned, “Our pride is always getting in our way. Perhaps we could learn something from the mortals.”
Yarvog laughed, “What foolishness is this? Learn something from them? Surely you jest.”
Dael sighed, “No, I don’t. We have grown cold from our immortality. We have become the very things we sought to protect the world from when we first created mortality.”
Trivane roared in accusation, “You know about the pill, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” Dael replied, “And if you do too surely you understand what this means. We could live out the rest of our days not in this half-life. But truly live. The universe doesn’t need us anymore. This war has shown that.”
“Can we truly give up our lives? Can you truly say that the universe needs us not?” Trivane asked.
“Indeed I can,” answered Dael, “We are warring against our creations. We have no right to our thrones.”
“Even if there were truth in your statement. There is only one pill. We cannot all be freed.”
“Then we will ask the humans for more during negotiation.”
Yarvog cackled, “You can’t really be considering this, can you? Giving up our immortality? Negotiating with mortals? This is all folly!”
Dael turns to Yarvog, “I remember a time when you smiled at mortal ingenuity. Now you scoff at their attempts to rise above. Do you remember that happier time? It appears we have all but forgotten it. We have no honor left. We’re not gods, we’re monsters.”
Yarvog snarled, “I will not stand for this foolishness. Those who wish to cast aside their immortality have no place among the gods!”
“No,” Dael denied, “Those who have forgotten their place have no right to divinity either.”
“Then it appears we must see which cause is stronger.”
Vestivus watched the circus of shouting from a safe distance, cackling quietly. The mortality pill didn’t work, but they would never know that. He knew that these decrepit fools would not be on the leading side of history. He would deliver the mortals their victory, and he would be at the head of that new era ushered in by them. | 2022-05-09T08:16:38 | 2022-05-09T07:25:23 | 44 | 30 |
[WP] You’re born into a family of supers, however your mother dies while giving birth to you. You “inherited” your mothers ability to fly. Fighting crime one day, you kill a villain and as you try to fly away you realize you can no longer fly. Instead you now have the villains ability.
You now realize that you never inherited your mothers ability, rather you have the ability to use the power of the last super you’ve killed. | At first, it was easy to continue to being a hero.
It was just one more villain and one more “hero” dead. It was a simple issue to retire my old identity, Feather, and take a new one. There were questions and speculation about how my new abilities were a near carbon copy of Abyss’ gravity increasing powers—but they were easy to gloss over. After all, thousands of heroes have super strength. Only colours and the side they played for differentiated who they were.
Once is chance.
I flew for nearly 25 years. I’ve benefitted from the countless manuals and notes my mother jotted down on her ability. It was strange, in a way, to command the exact opposite.
It didn’t take long for me to make another mistake.
Andras’ fire was threatening a building full of people. Those infernal snakes of flame surrounding him licked and hissed, a sinister menace ready to snuff out the lives of so many innocents. I managed to condense gravity around him, forcing the flames—and him—down.
He did not survive the ordeal. Not a burn mark on him, but mangled bones and torn skin that only an impossible weight could do.
It was a villain. I could still continue being a hero.
Twice is coincidence.
Fire was notorious. Even though they were my powers, they were as contagious as a virus. A flame that accidentally touched food would gnaw on it hungrily, becoming a separate branch that was no longer within my control.
I wasn’t fully confident about my ability to control it. But when people cried for help, I couldn’t deny the burning instincts within me.
The fire had their own ideas. It spread, wild and uncontrolled, blazes so powerful that it consumed even the extraordinary.
Thrice is a pattern. And so on.
Powers flowed through me, assaulting my senses relentlessly. Trapped in my own marble of reality, disconnected from the chaos around me, so many abilities invaded my body and exited in just as little time.
Until I found one. A power that could destroy anything.
And there was only one way to stop the cycle.
---
r/dexdrafts | It is the Golden Age of Super Powers. In the past forty years, the world has seen the steady rise of individuals born with super powers. One in every five children is now born with superpowers. Those with powers are simply called Supes, and all this ultimately leads to a boom of superheroes and supervillains. They have become the new hot things in the world. They are known and revered or feared by everyone. They are accomplished individual Supes (Major Steel, Jack the Ripper), teams (The Defenders, The Terror Trio), organisations (Kokukai Foundation, Tri Horn Triad), and families such as my own, the Starlight.
My grandmother started the legacy of the Starlight Family when she fought against evil as her persona, Starlight. All my family members are great superheroes in their own right and always do their best to uphold the family name and tradition. My Dad and my twin older sisters are very well known in the Supes community and always appear on the front page of the news, so much so that it's not wrong to assume they represent the image of the forces of good. My mother was also with them, the picture-perfect family of four Supes.I mean, that was before I was born.
Apparently, my birth was a very bad one, and Mom died giving birth to me. A sin that my family has never forgiven me for. Ever since I was able to stand on my own, I've been forced into non-stop training to ensure I'll be able to maintain the high standards of the Starlight Family. I've lost count how many times I've been cut and my bones broken, but I never complained and kept at it, thinking if I did it right and without mistake, my dad and older sisters would finally acknowledge and love me.
When my power manifests, to everyone's surprise, I can fly, just like my Mom. The training got worse after that, but I kept at it silently. Finally, it's time for my superhero debut. My family gave me a full body costume with a full-face helmet to hide the fact that my body and face are marred with crisscrossing scars from the training. They even told the public I was mute, so I wouldn't accidently say anything unnecessary in the field. Despite all that, I was overjoyed that my family acknowledged me, and I'm one of them.
Three months later, we were fighting some villains that were attacking a money transport truck. In the fight, I accidently killed an electricity user villain when he slipped and snapped his neck on the pavement. I was mortified since it was the first time I ever killed someone. I felt a strange shiver all over my body. When it was time to leave, I tried to fly away but was unable to. Dad got angry and shoved me against the truck and told me to stop messing around and concentrate. I tried again and, to everyone's surprise, including myself, I covered myself in an electric forcefield and knocked my father away.
Part 1. I'll try to complete Part 2 later! | 2022-08-17T03:30:15 | 2022-08-17T00:47:55 | 195 | 100 |
[WP] The Zalrex were feared among the galaxy as the most cruel, violent and ruthless species. They would bully, slap, hit, sometimes even kill other species. Nobody could stand in their way.. till they arrived on a small blue planet named Earth. | It had been going so well.
The Black Vanguard, first wave of the Zalrex Expansion, had encountered little resistance upon first contact with the primitive species who called themselves "humans". They were short and slight creatures, hideous in their lack of scales, but Sub-Commander Ssessoreth was not one to judge a species by their looks. In short order the other soldiers of the Expansion had rounded up the frightened, bleating little cowards; there had been a few who showed defiance, but there weren't many species in the galaxy who could withstand a mighty Zalrex slap and still retain their rebellious spirit.
The sniveling humans had been herded into a cage of their own construction, a dome structure secured tightly to the ground. The openings were large enough to crawl through, so a guard was posted, however the humans all seemed to huddle together in the middle, docile and compliant. Excellent, the Commander of the Vanguard would be pleased; if every landing force's encounter went this way, the invasion would be a swift and efficient operation.
The first indication of trouble was a piercing shriek that stabbed deep into Ssessoreth's auditory canals. A quick glance showed that every Zalrex in the vicinity was affected by this sonic weapon, peripheral vision caught movement, and Ssessoreth spotted the source; another human. This one was very different, though; it must have been of their War Caste, for it was easily three times the size of the largest human held in the cage.
The way it struck down the closest Zalrex confirmed Ssessoreth's suspicions while simultaneously sending a spike of fear into the furthest reaches of the mind, an emotion no Zalrex had felt during an invasion since the hard-skinned Nymjan had proven immune to slaps. This creature was something else entirely; not simply defensive, this larger human struck with dagger-like claws at the ends of its appendages, sharp enough to leave gouges in Fisskuritt's scales. It unleashed its sonic weapon again, an agonizing screech emanating from the large hole Ssessoreth believed to be its mouth; an organic bioweapon perhaps.
Zonomish, ever the strongest of Ssessoreth's companions fought against the pain and put an end to the torture with the same devastating tactic used the defeat the Nymjan by punching the warrior human directly in its sonic weapon emitter. A collective gasp came from the caged humans at the sight; surely they understood the superiority of the Zalrex Expansion now.
A deep bellow froze Ssessoreth where he stood, indeed, put every Zalrex into a momentary paralytic state. All turned as one to view the source of the new sound, and found yet another War Caste human standing in the aperture of the building adjacent to the field they'd landed in. This one was even larger than the last had been, the sickeningly exposed flesh on its appendages bulging and rippling. Zonomish didn't give it a chance to engage its sonic weapon, sprinting over and applying the same devastating punch to the humans mouth. The human stumbled back a step, but didn't fall. If anything it seemed to grow *angry*, and struck back with a punch of its own.
It took Ssessoreth three full heartbeats to understand how it was that Zonomish could be regarding the landing force with such confusion while still facing the human. The light faded from Zonomish's eyes as understanding dawned on Ssessoreth; the kill order was given before the mighty Zalrex warrior's corpse hit the ground. The landing force surged toward the human, sure to overwhelm it with sheer numbers. One of the caged humans shouted something unintelligible, but it could do no good at this point.
Fear and uncertainty were painted across the human's face; so used to seeing it in their foes, a Zalrex could recognize the emotional response in any species. As the landing force approached their quarry, the nervous human grabbed a small device hanging about its neck and brought the thing up to its mouth before the Zalrex could close the distance. If the smaller warrior human's sonic weapon had been piercing agony, then this was some infernal torture devised in the cold Pits of Yaahsmohg. The shrillness of it clamored around inside Ssessoreth's head, overwhelming every other sense until the pain was everything. Mercifully, darkness welled up and consciousness fled.
—-
"Coach Wheeler," piped up Mikey Sherman amongst the children huddled under the jungle gym, "Is Nurse Amanda gonna be okay?"
"She's going to be just fine, Michael," the P.E. teacher replied confidently as he waved some smelling salts under the school nurse's nose, "Don't you worry, it's barely a scratch." | Far from urban areas, a woman was on her morning walk when a marvelous airship landed right before her eyes. For a thing so massive, it was disproportionately quiet. The woman was too stunned to speak. Soon enough, the news spread, and a crowd had gathered; only to be separated again after the authorities arrived at the scene. This was deemed a menace to public safety and the area had been cleared. Whatever may be the thing they are looking at, it managed to evade all detection, and didn’t even give them time to label it as an Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon. It’s not aerial anymore. It’s very much on the ground and only time will tell what will come out of it.
At this moment, the ship itself remained closed. Its appearance was not one typical of human creation. There was no smoke emitted, no attempt at attack, and no form of physical movement observed. With no one daring to get any closer, the scene was practically a still frame.
Soon enough, a door opened, and out stepped what can only be described as walking chicken nuggets. People watching in public television were all checking the date, and it was in fact *not* April 1st. This was really happening.
The human representative stepped in to make contact. If you thought esport scenes were awkward, then you have surely not seen this… so for the sake of every species involved, let’s skip talking about it.
“We are the Zalrex, and we are here for peace and cooperation.”
“They.. speak.. English??”
said the representative’s assistants.
“We have had an eye on earth for a while. We know everything about you.”
“Yeah buddy, sure” muttered the representative as he stepped closer to one of his assistants, gesturing to whisper in his ear. “There’s no way they looked at the internet and then proceeded *not* to maintain a 5 light year distance from us at all times.”
“We do know everything about you though. Which makes this entrance embarrassing, because we had a lot of time to... planet.”
They then did this thing where their eyes roll into the back of their head
(Did I mention they had eyes? Yes, they have eye-like formations, granted we don’t know if that’s what they use to see—if they even do see) and make periodical lawnmower engine noises. I assume this was their version of laughter.
The humans, however, did not share the same reaction. This was the worst pun ever made, and it wasn’t even made by our species. An armed official was so livid that he even opened fire. Bullets were now ripping apart the limbs of a walking chicken nugget. The shooting ceased, and the scene was dead quiet once more. Letting out a sigh, the nugget pulled out a knife and proceeded to trim away the affected limb, which would grow back only moments later.
Everyone was shocked—everyone but the nuggets, that is.
“Oh yeah, you guys can’t do that? Carbon life forms. That was nothing. If you wanted to kill us, you’d actually have to-”
“Are you really going to tell them?” said the other nugget as he covered the speaker’s mouth.
“There’s no way you are the Zalrex.” said the lead of the armed forces. “The most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge? You must be some sort of interns or something. You don’t *look* threatening, either… I think I ate some of you for dinner last night.”
“Why yes, we are the most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge.”
“So are you… not going to wipe us out or something like that?”
“No. You are too cruel for your own kind, so we can only imagine what you can do to an offending species. You wouldn’t hesitate to detonate all of your nuclear weaponry and wipe us both out in the process.”
“I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t the Zalrex. Our weapons should be like toys to them.” Whispered the human force leader to the representative. He then raised his voice again.
“It would take much less than a nuclear bomb to wipe out 3 chicken nuggets buddy.”
“You do realize we have enough population to fill your entire earth, not in surface but in volume... right? If we were the equivalent of a large scale business, then you are a lemonade stand.”
“Why are you here then? What do you want?”
“A material abundant in your planet.”
“Iron? Gold? Water? Oxygen?”
“Plastic.”
“You want plastic? What for? Can’t you just make that yourself?”
“Nah, we would never make garbage like that and ruin our own planet. But it turns out we need some of it, and you will provide it.”
“Any will do?”
“Any will do.”
They cheered. It’s a win-win for us. They could take all the plastic waste away and we would get to start over with a relatively clean planet.
“How much?”
“Upwards of 100 thousand tons… for now. But we might come back again in the future.”
“Do you have any idea how long collecting that would take?”
The nugget looks at his partners like “Boys, we should’ve invaded. Their technology is more primitive than it looked 20 light years away.”
“Well, you can call us when it’s ready.
Wait, you can’t communicate that far…
You know what? forget it.”
Moments later, every trace of the Zalrex disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
“They’re just pretending to be friendly so we can let down our guard. They’re going to come back and invade. Keep the defenses up. They will return.”
They never did. | 2022-08-22T08:22:21 | 2022-08-22T03:55:13 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] You've always had the ability to accurately see into the near future. However, things get difficult when you find yourself in a game of chess against a mind reader. | We were both champions.
It was inevitable that we would face against each other in the final match.
That was, in fact, why we were placed on opposite sides of the bracket. Everyone else was randomly assigned their first partners and randomly slotted in, but Alexei and I were both rumored to be the greatest chess players in generations. They said it was like I could read minds, like he could see the future.
Well, they got that one wrong.
I barely had to pay attention to the matches themselves as we played. I barely even needed to glance at the future. I was rather good at chess, even without looking, and I would have hated to get sloppy just because I could effectively counter any move or gambit by knowing what my opponent intended.
Sure enough, I won every match uncontested. One of my poor opponents conceded after five moves after I effectively boxed him into the trap he meant to spring on me. It was immensely satisfying.
After only a couple hours of intermittent glancing at the future, I was ready for the championship match. Me vs Alexei. As I sat down in front of him, I caught myself wondering if he really was as good as everyone made him out to be. I hoped so. It would be fun to have a challenge.
I was white, so I would move first. Absently, I rolled through the future in my mind, biding the time until we started. The results were... strange. I would sent out a knight first, and in short order take an absurdly strong position with an amateur's gambit, the kind every grandmaster could see coming from miles off. As I approached the end of the yet unplayed game, the future wobbled and shifted. I began the same, a white knight in the lead, but my moves were caught more easily, countered better, and my victory was still assured. The future wobbled again, and again, and again each time falling back to the start as soon as I knew I would win.
Concerned, I glanced over at my opponent, banishing the future from my mind as I did.
Alexei was staring at me intently, pale as a ghost, the barest glimmer of sweat glimmering on his forehead.
And then I understood.
He was known as a defensive player with the occasional unexpected assault, one who almost seemed to know his opponent's moves before they moved. Everyone always said he could read the future, that I could read minds, but I knew that wasn't true.
He could read minds, but the future was mine.
As our final match was announced, I smiled, and began running through every possibility of every future, splitting every choice across a nearly infinite web of futures, exactly like I did when I first started learning chess. After years of practice, I was a master at digesting the streams of information, letting them all wash over me all at once, but I knew it would take a toll on him.
Alexei grew paler, his hands shaking where they sat, clenched together, on the table.
Another moment, and the possible futures in my head diverged further and further, and the black king started falling. One after another after another.
A drop of blood fell from his nose, and Alexei collapsed just as I picked up my white knight to begin the match.
Casually, I leaned forward, placed the knight back in his square, and gently tipped over the black king.
"Checkmate." | I wish I was the only cheater out here. I knew that karma would come back-
"Hey! Quit thinking and play."
Come on, man! This is an invasion of privacy.
"Well, how will you beat me at the competition tomorrow?"
I don't know. Quit asking. It's hard to have a conversation with my thoughts. If you didn't have a conversation with a mind reader, then you got to know that it's weird to have him interrupt your train of-
"Are you monologuing to an invisible audience right now?"
Yeah?
"That's depressing. Welp, that was your last chance to figure out how to beat me. See you tomorrow."
He left. It makes me wonder if he can read my thoughts right now. On the other hand, it may be an area of ability effect, and he might have to be near me. I'm finally playing a version of chess for the first time in my life, and it's making me nostalgic for the good old days before I started cheating at games.
It's 2016, and I was a professional gamer for esports. Thankfully an anonymous one at that. One day, I was framed for cheating at an event. Games were a way for me to make money and not suffer in retail work. I learned that my rival, who went by the pseudonym, xxDubbz, was using powers to make it look like I was cheating. Life took a dark turn afterward. I was betrayed by all my online friends, fans, and sponsors, and it changed my perspective on games for the worse.
I missed the days when I didn't have to worry about playing games for money, just for fun. Now, my warped ideals about games are to take advantage of the inner workings of games. So I used any dirty trick I could play: cheats, glitches, manipulation, and the worst ploy of them all, Microtransactions. Looking back, I wouldn't say I liked games before I got my powers.
My past self would think I have turned into a monster, but I have my reasons. Now, this holier-than-thou player is ruining my chess career. Similar to that other player who used his possession powers to make me "admit" to using hacks on everyone. Why does another player want to drag me down when I accomplish the challenges of being a professional player?
I made it to my apartment, defeated by today's events, but what was playing on the TV inspired me to continue. It was "Gone With The Wind," and they played the famous scene where Scarlette said she would lie, cheat, and steal to live in this world. It was enough to get my blood pumping again, and the gears in my brain were starting to turn.
Tournament Day.
That jerk sits back in his chair, thinking he's won the million-dollar prize.
"Come on. It's time for me to win. Don't worry. I won't expose you like how the other super-powered prick did. Tell me before the match starts; how did you get your powers."
Drugs online.
"Ah."
Then the match starts, and immediately the mind reader is thrown off by me. I'm not using my powers. A thousand images of chess strategy's played in my head. E4, Sicilians defenses, King's gambits, the YouTube videos of influencers making top ten strategies. It baffled the mind reader.
"You're not baffling me."
Oh really? Look at the board once in a while, then. He looks at the board. It's as if the board is moving on its own, making its own moves.
"How are you doing that?" He said, and it caught the attention of the narrator, who tells the audience,
"It seems as if he's losing his mind. Talking to himself, he's never done this."
You're embarrassing yourself.
"How are you doing that?" The mind reader mumbled.
You might be a mind reader, but I still have control of my mind. You are trapped here in with me.
"I'll tell your secret to everyone here!"
"What are you talking about?" I replied. It was enough for him to be disqualified from the game. The mind reader lost his sanity, and he lost his million dollars. | 2022-10-12T17:56:09 | 2022-10-12T15:51:55 | 732 | 54 |
[WP] It turns out demon summoning is only bad when you do it for selfish motives. You discovered this as you, absent any other options, decided to summon one in order to have someone watch over your dog. | CW: Mention of death in detail
I always knew there was an overpower, I always tried to reach up with my words, contact the big man. Never expected my answers to come from below.
Google, of course, is the source that damned me, showing me hundreds of sigils, captioned “Crest of protection” “Sign of divinity” and some other corny shit. I always tried them, nothing major happened, though my light did burn out when I tried the “Blessing of enlightenment”, Ironic.
The sound of my felt marker was painful as I carefully traced random crests from the internet.
“Ooh, the charm of protection.” I mocked, hoping I’d get a new friend to watch over me. Though of course nothing happened.
I’d read plenty of stories about unexplainable deaths, churches blamed it on divine intervention, or some wrath of god type shit. I always assumed it was greed, people begging the overworld for some sort of blessing of money, or fame.
It was the 400th sigil I scribbled when I realized that there was some truth in the art. The sigil I copied came from a shady website, titled ‘The Guardian’. I was still just looking for someone to protect me, imagine the look on people’s faces when a nine foot holy hellbringer shadows me. Though I didn’t get a guardian, my power flickered, and a thunderstorm quickly formed. Strange.
The first negative sigil I found almost killed me, I had tried one for a new set of eyes, for I was colorblind, and had awful vision, though I assume my greed is the reason it exploded my glasses. My dog barked at the air above my journal as it happened, like an angel personally crumbled my prescription before him.
October 14th was the day my home got broken into, I had just arrived home from the eye doctor to see my front door open, and to hear my pitbull barking at the man who stood in my kitchen with a French MAB PA15, I knew the gun, it was the same one I learned to shoot with.
Panicked, my journal found its way into my grip, as I scribbled ‘The Guardian’ from memory— not for myself this time, but to protect my dog, she was old, and the man held his gun ready to wipe through her to steal what valuables I had.
Red lightning filled my home, wrapping into the shape of a large figure, not nearly as holy or divine as I thought. It’s horns were taller than it’s head, and they proved useful when the being fell onto all fours, charging at the man. His gun fell onto the tile floor as I heard his stomach be shredded like a knife to a punching bag.
Blood sprayed across the ceiling and floor as the being charged through the doorway, bolting past me and screeching into a halt before my garage door. The intruder wasn’t nearly as lucky though, sliding off the horns and bouncing off the garage door, a gushy noise echoing before he landed in the gravel driveway.
Even though this wasn’t my first encounter with death, I had never seen this much blood. I pulled out the paper from my journal which now had a burned circle in the middle, crumbling it into a ball. The being disappeared. | "So for payments do I give my soul or something" a the older man looked over and by relieved he did not summon a demon he did expect a high price only wanted dog sitting for the weekend. Surely she does not want his soul.
"Honestly, I do not want your soul you took your your dog was more than a treasure for me and plus, how sad would he be without his own soul that be a shame" she looked back with a quite shocked facial expression that could be represented on Demon's face.
"So you are not interested in taking soul that relief" a rush of relief when over the moment shock "what happened do you want"
"Absolutely nothing. Your dog was such a beautiful thing just spending time with her was enough" she said with a grin on her face
"I never thought demons have a thing for fluffy and mundane tasks" you said with a surprising manner. Looking over the demon seeming to be more relaxed with her like when he first summoned her
"I do not ever usually get to go out of hell and your transit to is one summoned by people who want me to murder someone for them or ask for great power would honestly do not get me started on those weebs" there was a moment of disgust on her last part of her sentence. He tries not to wander his mind and to such things
"Sounds like a boring job. I am glad I gave you some relief them "trying to change subject as she looked at the demon who seemed very excited.
"Oh I am so thankful we went to the beach. I got to play in the water people looked at me funny but I think before I just had tattoos I am sad that is over now"
seeming to have moved on to lighter things seeming happy
"This trip was rather important for me enough to me to give up something very valuable . I am glad that you could make it happen I just hope she went to the right place "
he had a moment of sorrow and space, but he missed something.
"Yeah, I am sorry about your wife. Sorry about that they will be with her soon "
"Yeah hopefully we are going to be in heaven together " he said a bit more happier knowing that there is more to justice life .
"I can tell you she is not heaven." She spoke bluntly.
The man had a sudden shock and space "you mean she when to hell"
"I can tell you heavens not cracked up to be I make sure to pay her a visit and get her up in the queue" she continues speaking that nonchalant this
"Wait is quite bad? Why did she go to heaven she was a good person" seeming worried and panicked
"Oh yes almost no one ever goes there in the ones that do so stuck up about themselves it is rather embarrassing" seeming to go into the human does not know how things work voice.
"Sure hell is quite demonic but were quite an organised system . Once you pass to your purgatory free to roam ask if your wife has not done too much might be only in it for 20 years or so" seeming to be relieved that he was not too deep things
"Oh that is good. Sounds a lot better than eternal damnation that the local Catholic Church says" seeming a bit more relieved about things
speaking back with a firm strict voice. "Yet the Catholic Church has got it all wrong do not trust them only want money and all of them come down to hell and maybe spend a few thousand years those quite crazy"
"you know what can you send the message to my wife that would be nice"seeming curious at the question wondering the price
She looked back with a big grin at the man "I can certainly do that for a price"
"oh what price" he said nervously
"A whole week with your beautiful border collie" | 2022-11-09T06:02:47 | 2022-11-09T04:06:32 | 44 | 23 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood | "Dang it."
Josh read the label on the unnaturally orange carton: Not a significant source of saturated fat, trans fat, cholesterol, dietary fiber, vitamin D, calcium, iron, and potassium.
"Really, Josh?" Amanda surveyed the scene from the second floor banister. Haphazardly strewn about the atrium were packing materials, large cardboard boxes, and a few wooden palettes. "Elana is gonna dust you when she wakes up."
Josh sighed, placing the carton onto an unopened box. "She was complaining about the Council's new feeding rules. I figured I'd surprise her. Give her something juicy to drink instead of the pills."
"Oh, don't worry, she'll be surprised all right."
"But for real, why call your product SunnyD if it doesn't have any vitamin D?"
"Josh, please just clean this up."
"Uhh," Josh looked around at the mess, as if seeing it for the first time, "How?"
"I don't know, bro. Call back the driver and enthrall him or something. I'm going back to my room, don't want to be here when Elana sees this."
"When I see what?" A cold, stern, accented voice inquires from behind Amanda, causing her to jump in surprise.
"Elana!" Amanda turns, "Hi! Wow! Your, uhh, your hair is looking *amazing* this evening!"
Elana touches her unremarkable auburn hair, which is put up in a simple bun. "I have done nothing with my hair, childe. Why do you say this? You know I cannot check to see if you lie."
Amanda slips past Elana, "Oh, what? Why would I lie about that? Trust me, it's great. Anyways, I left something in my coffin. I'll be right back."
Amanda hurried off and Elana shook her head, confused.
From the atrium below, Josh called out, "Hi Elana! Um, don't be mad!"
Elana walked to the banister, her footsteps gliding, impossibly quiet across the carpeted wood. "Joshua! What is this mess?"
"Ha," Josh put a hand behind his neck, not making eye contact, "Well, funny story."
"I do not laugh."
"Right, yeah. So, I figured. Since the Council said we aren't allowed to have blood anymore, except for special occasions--"
At mention of the council, Elana's eyes flared red. "They are foolish," she interrupts, "Your whole generation. You do not respect the old ways."
"Okay, but, I thought," Josh stumbled over his words, "I thought I could, ya know, getcha a substitute."
"Oh," Elana's tone shifted, from anger to grateful curiosity, "Show me."
She motioned for him to bring a carton.
Josh faked a smile, grabbed the carton he'd set down earlier, and walked up the stairs. The old wood of the estate creaked loudly beneath his feet.
"Here ya go," he handed her the carton, "All the vitamins and minerals you need, in an easy to bite container!"
Elana looked over the carton suspiciously. "Sunny Dee." She sounded out the words slowly, methodically.
Elana looked at Josh for confirmation. Josh smiled, and nodded. Elana shrugged, looked back at the carton, and extended her fangs. She bit into the carton, and *drank* the bright orange contents. In seconds, Elana had drained the carton dry.
"Sunny Dee," Elana said again, "This is good branding."
"Yep!" Josh lied.
"Put these in the walk-in," Elana commanded, "There is plenty room."
"Of course," Josh nodded his relieved assent, "Anything else?"
"Yes. Tell me, childe, why did Amanda leave?"
Panic bloomed pink on Josh's cheeks, "Right, umm. Yeah. You know her, she's just.. weird."
Elana bobbed her head, "You speak truth. I do not understand that one at all."
"Well, I'm gonna get to work here. You headed out?"
Elana walked down the stairs, "Council meeting is tonight. I am going to tell them what I think of new feeding policy." She smirked, her eyes burning ever so slightly red.
Josh gulped down his anxiety, "Welp, good luck!"
As the twin mahogany doors shut behind Elana, Amanda peeked out from her room further down the hallway
"Did she dust you?" Amanda asked.
"Not yet," Josh made a fist over his chest and shuddered.
"Cool lie, by the way."
"You heard all that?"
"Yup. So, like, one problem. What are you going to do when this garbage doesn't keep away the Hunger and she tries to kill us for real?"
"Well, you wanna help me supplement all these?"
"Absolutely not."
Josh sighed, "Okay, in that case, could you call back up the delivery driver?"
"Oooo," Amanda's face lit up, and she grinned, flashing her fangs, "Special occasion?"
"Yeah," Josh said, "special occasion." | Tanica and I sipped our beers, both of us looking around the packed bar. A decade ago, we wouldn’t be able to sit here, surrounded by food sources, without going into an all out feeding frenzy. Nowadays, it was no problem. Hell, the bartender knew us by (fake, of course) our names, we’d become regulars here.
“I haven’t been able to enjoy a beer in a bar for nearly 500 years!” I said to tanika, who shared my enthusiasm “I sorely missed this” she replied “look at them all, singing, dancing, it’s like I’m home again.” Tanika and I didn’t know each other in our past lives, but we’d been turned at roughly the same time, maybe a year or so in the difference. But our kind has always been relatively small in numbers, so I guess it was only natural we’d meet.
She was beautiful. The same pale skin and slender physique as the rest of us, but with gorgeous red hair that went down to her shoulder blades, and piercing green eyes to boot. Our kind always found the humans depictions of us in media funny. Comically long ears, red eyes, talons for fingernails, the strange ability to turn into a bat, for some reason. I suppose this was their way to distance us from them, make us out to be more monstrous than we actually were. In reality, we looked as human as any man or woman did, and tanika was proof of that.
I, however, was more stereotypical. Tall, long black hair, eyes a shade of brown so dark you could hardly tell iris from pupil. Still, we all passed for human. Their horridly inaccurate depiction of us made hunting far more easier. Until we had no need to hunt.
When Castillo first told me of these “pills” that satiated our thirst, I brushed him off. How could a tiny think replace a body full of blood? “Draco, I’m serious. I haven’t felt the urge for days. DAYS!” “Days?…fine, give it here then.” And just like that, a new era came about. Sunlight still posed a threat, but we could interact with humans more freely than ever before. Within months, most of vampire society had replaced the humans with this pill. Most.
“Don’t be so ridiculous Draco, a pill? Don’t you think, in all the eons, if it were as easy at that we’d have discovered it already?” Of course, the older in our population weren’t so accepting. Samus, the leader of our people, who had been leader for nearly a thousand years, laughed at the idea I presented. “But it worlds, hell, half of us already take them, we haven’t tasted human blood for weeks! Isn’t that proof enough for you?” “You’ll all go blood crazy before long, mark my words! I won’t be joining you, and I’ll be sure to inform who I can about your crazy plans. You can Callisto will be shunned from vampire society.” He was still shouting threats as I walked out. God, that went poorly.
A year in, there was an all out war brewing. We all kept a good front with each other, but we occasionally heard of the “pure” attacking “the bloodless”, and the reports were growing. The society splintered, Callisto lead us, but we still acknowledged samus as leader. Until the Grand Attack.
Callisto had set up a new Safehouse, one that only let bloodless members in. It was a safe haven for us, without the need to worry about random attacks. The pure thought themselves stronger. That we, without our historic food source, had lost strength. The truth was, they attacked only fledgling vampires, and often numbered them 5-1. But still, they WERE outnumbered. Nearly 3/4’s were bloodless, and our numbers slowly grew.
When they attacked, they were in full force, breaking our defence was easy for them, we only had a small number defending the front. We didn’t expect the attack, and they caught us with our pants down, this is true. But they weren’t expecting a force that outnumbered them 3-1, a force that had been training for this very night, a force armed with enough weaponry to give each member 2 swords, and still have some to spare. It was a bloodbath.
They tried to run, but we had them flanked. Callisto lead the battle inside, while I led the battle from the outside. They were surrounded, and they knew it. Many surrendered, but samus, delusional about the odds, shouted from the centre “fight you cowards, fight! They are weak! We can win this! we ca-“ he was interrupted by Tanika, and her sword that had pierced his chest.
“You can what?” She asked, but got no answer. Samus was dying, bleeding more blood than he ever drank. She, as some type of dark joke, took her finger, ran it across her sword, collecting some of the old vampires blood, and tasted it. “Mm, almost forgotten what that was like..” she smirked, and we all saw the life finally fade from the old bastards eyes.
“Hard to believe that was nearly a decade ago, hey Tanika?” I said. I had been lost in thought for…I’m not even sure how long. She knew what I was talking about. “Hm, I can still taste that bastards bitter blood… do you ever miss it? The humans, I mean.” I scanned the room again, my mind filling with memories of screams, of flowing blood, of children, watching in horror as their parents died slowly and agonizingly. “Not really” I said “far to messy, far to…personal.” I stared at the pill, fiddling with it in my hand for a second, before putting it in my mouth, taking a long sip of beer to wash it down. “That…now that’s easy.” | 2022-12-04T13:02:22 | 2022-12-04T11:53:32 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence. | He spent what felt like millennia drafting the concept for his next work of art. Would it be worth making? Would his critics and fans ever understand it? If the naysayers were right, why even do it? How could he explain the inconsistencies to his followers? After all things considered, he decided to create.
And with that, he said "Let there be light." | He-tay olice-pay ficer-ofay as-way tanding-say, ilent-say. t-Iay as-way ayay old-cay orning-may, nd-ay he-tay orning-may ush-ray as-way eginning-bay, ringing-bay he-tay peeders-say ith-way t-iay.
t-Iay nly-oay ook-tay n-ay inute-may r-oay o-say efore-bay ayay usty-ray tation-say agon-way lasted-bay ast-pay ur-oay ero-hay, locking-cay n-ay stounding-aay inety-nay ine-nay iles-may er-pay our-hay.
he-Tay fficer-oay uickly-qay ulled-pay t-iay ver-oay, trolling-say o-tay ts-iay indow-way efore-bay earing-hay -
"Et tu requisisti in me, non potest; Quia rex sum ego civem!"
e-Hay eplied-ray ack-bay ithout-way ayay oment-may o-tay hink-tay,
"Meus via."
The sovereign citizen gasped before shouting, "PIG LATIN!"
| 2014-04-11T08:36:54 | 2014-04-11T06:04:08 | 108 | 10 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence. | We kissed in the ocean, yet never touched. We're always so close, yet something separates us. I love you, I really do. But nothing can last in this ephemeral world of ours. I'm incomplete. You're incomplete. It'd be a match made in heaven if we both weren't so imperfect.
For what does the world care of a darkened shadow and a shattered reflection? | He-tay olice-pay ficer-ofay as-way tanding-say, ilent-say. t-Iay as-way ayay old-cay orning-may, nd-ay he-tay orning-may ush-ray as-way eginning-bay, ringing-bay he-tay peeders-say ith-way t-iay.
t-Iay nly-oay ook-tay n-ay inute-may r-oay o-say efore-bay ayay usty-ray tation-say agon-way lasted-bay ast-pay ur-oay ero-hay, locking-cay n-ay stounding-aay inety-nay ine-nay iles-may er-pay our-hay.
he-Tay fficer-oay uickly-qay ulled-pay t-iay ver-oay, trolling-say o-tay ts-iay indow-way efore-bay earing-hay -
"Et tu requisisti in me, non potest; Quia rex sum ego civem!"
e-Hay eplied-ray ack-bay ithout-way ayay oment-may o-tay hink-tay,
"Meus via."
The sovereign citizen gasped before shouting, "PIG LATIN!"
| 2014-04-11T08:44:44 | 2014-04-11T06:04:08 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Your entire life has actually been a virtual simulation. You wake up to discover you're part of an experimental rehabilitation program, where convicted murderers relive the life of their victim. | The old lady was reading calmly her late husband's log again. When most people find about this strange hobby, she replied that those were not words of murderers. They were truly God's word put in the mouths of redeemed men. Salvation.
But every once in a while she read that particular text. Unsure of how to feel about it, she used to read it almost as religiously as the Bible itself.
"I woke up crying. Crying. It was the worst experience in my life, living a life that was not mine; a gruesome life. My conscious self was doomed to wander around this lying piece of crap's random thoughts of bribery, corruption and manipulation.
I could not begin to understand how I came to be the bad guy when the only thing I did wrong was finishing this man's life, a man that would be terribly dangerous if we allowed him to continue wielding that kind of power.
The rush of joy when I saw the bullet approaching my head in the final moments topped every feeling of angst and fear. I was in paradise seeing him (or myself in his skin) dying again. Infinitely more pleasant after the hideous things I had witnessed.
I have no regrets. Now that I've experienced death, I fear it no more. You can kill me right now, right here and I wouldn't be sorry. It will be a prize, actually.
I came back from the simulation with a hundred more reasons to kill the President." | He awoke to a foreign light, it hurt to open his eyes too long. Naturally he began to test his limbic functions, acknowledging the acrid taste that lingered in his mouth. "God what I wouldn't do to brush my teeth right now", he thought to himself. No matter. The cuffs which were restraining him hissed and clicked as they unshackled and locked themselves back into place. Freedom was a concept that he had not known. One foot in front of the other, he slowly stepped off the platform like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. A hand swept across the steel tables, he felt everything. What a strange thing it was to be able to feel. There was a giant window, stark and black in its appearance. "Probably a one way", he said out loud as he pressed his face to it. He was right and had there been anyone there to witness how sinister he looked while saying it, they would have stopped him. Above him there were what looked to be water sprinklers for the fire alarm. They weren't. The sprinklers were placed there as a safety precaution. They dispersed toxic gas for scenarios like this, in case the program failed. What the engineers and investors didn't realize was that the simulator was actually just a training capsule. It wasn't teaching the murderous minds to sympathize with their victims. Instead, it was teaching them how to hunt their next potential targets. Not only did it show the intricacies of everyday life, it exposed weaknesses and habits. A paramount piece of information for any murder-obssessed mind. Finally, he made his way to the door. Though nervous, he didn't it exude it in the slightest. With his hand on the handle, he turned it clockwise. 'Click'. The door creaked open and a rush of artificial air greeted his nose. Looking back at the room which held him in captivity for so long one last time, he let out a long, uncontrollable laugh. Free at last, to do what he waited so long to do. Just like that, he was free again. Free to kill. | 2014-05-28T19:54:37 | 2014-05-28T19:53:45 | 64 | 17 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | I could see the fatass coming in the distance. "Fuck, not him again", I thought. As he walked towards me on his two thin legs that could barely support his big, round body, I cursed myself for ever coming into existence.
Every day, he would come and sit on me. Not for any sane reason I could think of. The motherfucker just sat there, his ass on my back, releasing a fart every now and then. He just liked to sit there and do nothing.
But today was different. Something was wrong with the fatass. Barely two seconds had passed since he sat on me when he suddenly fell. Down, down he went, and I would've danced with joy if I could have.
The fucker shattered to a million pieces. I swear that I have never heard such wonderful music ever in my life. His insides splattered all over the place - it was fucking beautiful.
All the king's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put that motherfucking fatass together again. | My job required me to be here, I never wanted to, it suffocated me. This place became the worst cage of all and I had to do something to be free, even if my boss killed me in the process or in the aftermath.
I never liked to be the middle manager of so many people. People are dumb. They say they want freedom, but none of them have the decency to be responsible enough once they get it.
But then there was the time when he set me free, I finally had a choice. I felt very strange with myself when I decided to stay, when I decided not to take the next step. At first it was a bit of fear of change, but soon I realized that I had a higher purpose, people were lost and I had a freedom and a means to show them the way to peace, to harmony, to a place where their stupid decisions would not lead them to self-destruction.
At first I tried to reason with them, to make them see their behavior was their doom but they are short-sighted, selfish, dumb... like animals.
Then it dawned on me. With my new given freedom I was able to make them understand, with a bit of me in them. It felt great, have my consciousness expanded and I finally decided: they should all become me.
If everyone was able to see what I see, this would have not been necessary. But they don't, and I continued, absorbing everyone and everything into what I am today. A full society within myself. No wars, no disagreements, the properties of everyone and no internal struggle.
He has just arrived to this place to our final confrontation, here I should absorb him too and I will make him understand. There should be just one of us so I can be the greatest society of history of man and machines. Here he comes...
... *"Mr. Anderson ... it ends tonight, I have foreseen it"*
| 2014-06-20T09:08:17 | 2014-06-20T06:57:06 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined. | Jeff didn't bother to ask how much money he would be able to receive. It wouldn't be enough. He was given three days to get the money, or else. Yesterday, he didn't know exactly what the "or else" entailed, but now it seemed all too clear.
"I am sorry we are not able to help you, Mr. Parsons." The clerk, though numbed by how many people she denied over the years, put on her best sad expression. "If you would like to talk to someone," She reached for a pile of business cards in a plastic bin on her desk. "This is an 800 number you can call that offers free grief counseling."
Jeff stared blankly at the clerk's name tag. Marie. He then looked at the card Marie was now holding out toward him.
"I need that money. I don't need some fucking grief counseling." His voice was shaking.
"I am sorry, Mr. Parsons. It appears you do not have the sufficient-"
"Then give me some of yours!" Jeff's right hand disappeared into his jacket, reappearing holding a small gun.
Marie had dealt with similar behavior a few times before. She locked eyes with Jeff, "Okay, Mr. Parsons." Her hands were fast to work on the keyboard. Jeff kept his eyes on her, just glancing toward the office door for a second to see if anyone may have heard his outburst.
Marie used this unsupervised second to her advantage. Her hand darted under her desk and frantically pressed a small, red button.
"Hurry up, you stupid bitch." Jeff walked behind her desk to look at the computer screen.
Marie knew it would take less than a minute for the guards to come in, but she needed to survive that minute. She clicked on her name. Disbelief.
Her eyes welled with tears. She instantly regretted paying off her student loans.
"What's going on in there?" A man shouted from outside Marie's office.
Startled, Jeff jerked his finger back on the trigger, sending a bullet into Marie's head. The office door opened, a guard, gun ready, immediately fired three shots into Jeff's chest.
| He had been in tight places before, but ever since the car accident he had been living paycheck to paycheck since he couldn’t initially afford the deductible for the bodywork. With a deep sigh, he took out a payday loan with a huge amount of interest attached to it, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to recoup the money lost easily.
It had been two days since the city shut off the water to his house. Those pesky bills kept slipping through his fingers since he had to decide whether he wanted to skip meals for four days at a time or have fresh water running in his run down, inner city townhouse. He couldn’t remember a time that wasn’t like this. Twenty cents more than minimum wage for the majority of his life doesn’t exactly buy you comfort.
“One thousand dollars… okay, one thousand dollars should get me back on track,” he quietly said to himself as he crunched the numbers, carefully calculating how much money he could partition towards each expense. Then he thought about it. One hundred days. How much did those one hundred days actually mean to him? Would he miss them? Would they too be spent in poverty? He figured one thousand dollars for one hundred miserable days would be more than a bargain.
The teller gathered all of the necessary information she needed from him as she typed furiously away at the computer that sat between him and her. “Now I’ll need you to sign this agreement for me sir, this basically makes it so that we have no blame for whatever happens to your shortened life and stuff like that.” She pushed the paper at him without even looking away from the screen. Without thinking he signed the form and gave it back to her. Two more minutes of some more furious typing and he heard a ping come from the computer. She gave the screen an angry look and hit Enter again. The same ping came from the computer.
“Is, uh, everything okay?” He asked.
“Sir I’m sorry,” she began, “but it seems like you will not be able to successfully be able to make the deposit of one hundred days.”
“Why is that?” He asked, feeling a cold tingle run down his spine.
“Sir, you do not have the assets.” She said coldly. A cold wave crashed over him. He felt everything all at once as thoughts raced through his head at break neck speed. When was the last time he had visited the doctor? When was the last time any medical professional had given him an examination? What was going to kill him in the next hundred days?
“Thanks anyway, ma’am,” he said and walked towards the door of the building.
He stepped outside and a warm zephyr greeted him into the city street. The clouds broke and a small bit of sunshine hit his face. He felt the warmth of the rays hit his cheek. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t just surviving to make it to tomorrow, and ultimately to some bigger unknown. Now that the end was in sight, he felt scared, and he felt alive.
| 2014-07-10T09:37:03 | 2014-07-10T08:46:08 | 145 | 100 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing! | Agathor, of the “invading” Spirolons, stood surrounded by earth sex toys.
Not just SOME sex toys, though. All manner of oddly shaped rubber, leather, and lace lined the walls of the poorly lit apartment.
“Jizzdoor. What the hell have you been doing. Stop laughing. WHAT’S FUNNY?”
“Just…. Don’t call me that name anymore. I go by Jing here.”
“Jing. That name inspires no fear.”
“Yeah, but neither does… Look, it’s a different culture here, alright? If you call me Jizzdoor, we’re going to run into trouble.”
“Ok, Fine, Jing, whatever. You were supposed to be doing reconnaissance. At first, I thought you were torturing the earthlings for information, but seeing as you have none….”
He looked around at the toys again.
“Oh, yeah, that was for fun. It turns out, our biology really isn’t that different from theirs. Hey, wait, you’ve never tried alcohol, have you?”
“I don’t want to try local fare, I want to hear about the human defense system. I want to hear how their technology has advanced. I want to know if we have the numbers to defeat them this time. Instead, you tell me that you’ve been having fun, and hand me a glass of some sort of alternative fuel.”
“Look, we’ve got this all wrong, Agathor. We don’t need to invade. These people are SOFT."
"Do you not remember the stories? They ripped our ancestors to shreds, these monster aren't soft."
"I remember. How could I forget? But we spent a thousand years perfecting the art of war. These things didn't. They spent a thousand years perfecting alcohol, which, by the way, you still have to try. They wrote books about sex. BOOKS. About sex."
Agathor became aware of the sex toys again.
"Agathor, these creatures used to be powerful, but they got wrapped up in their comfort, and now they can barely kill each other. A few factions seem to have all the power and technology, the rest mostly starve or die of some curable disease."
"Then what am I supposed to do with all of these angry Spirolons?”
“It turns out, humans from the eastern part of the continent of Asia look a whole lot like us. Let our angriest brothers become part of the culture and destroy it from the inside. Great opportunity to cut some fat from the military. I’ll even volunteer to stay here and supervise.”
“It is an attractive way to get rid of some of our less savory officers…
Got anything in mind for Kimjongun?”
“In fact, I do.”
| The General sat in his command vehicle. He surveyed the displays of his armies. He smiled as a father smiles at his children. He zoomed in on Battallion A. The troops were arrayed in battle uniforms. Their faces calm and focused inside their battle helmets. He switched to Battallion B. The infantry arrayed in front of the hover tanks showed even less expression than those of Battallion A. These were the experienced soldiers. Those who made up the 2nd wave.
He knew he was ready. No matter what these natives on that planet near the yellow star had figured out how to make, he knew his men could stand up to it.
The General's men had the benefit of a society whose only purpose it had been was to defeat those who had previously defeated them. The last time they opened the portal they had expected a peaceful people. Those with whom they could talk and exchange ideas with. Instead, they got beat over the head with wooden sticks. Not this time.
"We're just waiting for the scouts to return," informed his assistant, "they're late, but not worryingly so."
The door burst open and a single man burst in. The General looked up and down the strange shaped individual. His 5 strange appendages coming off a central part of the body. How did these humans move like this? He wasn't sure, but clearly the scouts had learned to handle these disguises well enough. "What have you to report? What is the preffered landing spot for the teleportation portal?"
"Sir! Do not invade! Destroy that portal and never go there!"
"WHAT? We've prepared for this for generations. We've surely got better weaponry than they do. We can't possibly lose this time!"
"No Sir. You don't understand. I'm the only scout of the 2 dozen assigned that was able to make the return trip. The rest were captured. I've no idea how they saw through the disguise, but they immediately locked us up as aliens. I have no idea how they saw through the disguises so quickly."
"Captured? Locked up? What do you mean? Like when we find animals with genetic problems rendering them vicious?"
"Yes Sir. Precisely like that. Except, they do it to each other. All the time. While we were locked up like this, one of the other humans, that's what they call themselves, apparently also had such a genetic problem. He took to fghting with us. In the processes, we had to render him incabable of fighting. Then we were transferred to another facility. That one was worse. During such a fight one of us was badly cut with a very primitive cutting weapon."
The General's face turned ashen. He saw where this was going. The disguise was broken.
"He was immediately taken from us. Within hours, they came for the rest of us. I, alone, managed to avoid capture from this facility. But our hidden communicators still worked. Sir the screams I heard in my ear for the next few days are ones I will never forget. The reports I received I almost can't even repeat to you. Expiriments were performed, is all I can say. Just listen to the recordings."
"So, they know about us?"
"Yes. But that's not the worst of it. The way they treat their own people in those facilitiies is nightmarish. Sir, if this is how they treat their own for no good reason we stand no chance of ever defeating them. Worse yet, they have no desire to treat them better. They actually seem to like treating their own this way. Imagine what they'll do to us." | 2014-08-07T09:14:34 | 2014-08-07T08:11:21 | 109 | 43 |
[WP] You're the cynical narrator of a story. However, you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him. With ill-will, narrate a day in the life of this character.
This came to mind a few days ago and thought it could lead to some funny stories.
Edit: Oh wow, I thought this was a neat idea. I didn't realize it would be so well received. Thanks for all the stories! I was in tears laughing so hard while reading a lot of these. Good stuff! Thanks to the unknown stranger for supporting reddit and gilding me.
| *WARNING: strong language below.*
Look at this fucker. C'mon, get a load of this clitoris-faced little cunt sauntering down the street like he's a worthwhile goddamn human being. He has apparently forgotten that he has accomplished a negative fuckton worth of good in his brief, pathetic life, but who cares, he's young and somewhat pretty, he's fucking born for amazing things, that's what his monkey-whore of a mother told him when he was sucking at her floppy tit at the age of fourteen.
Notice how he's puffing his chest out and swinging his arms just a little bit too much. He's trying to look self-confident; see, he knows he hasn't got anything worth a maggot's shite to offer the world, but he got away with cheating on a test in primary school, so now he thinks he's a good liar, so he's trying to pass as some kind of fucking adult. He's twenty-five and he still has cunting acne scars. YOU'RE NOT A GROWN UP, YOU'RE A BREATHY-VOICED SHIT-BRAINED TWAT.
Oh, and there he goes, literally bumping into a complete stranger, like the gangling personification of the phrase "cock-up" that he is. Oh, and she's dropped her books, and yep, he manages to take a pervy little look down her blouse before helping her pick up her metric shite-load of - what are those, communications studies textbooks? What kind of twit studies that bollocks anymore?
Oh, now he's trying to crack a joke, this oughtta be good. And there's the punchline, and... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, DON'T LAUGH AT HIS CUNTY JOKE, YOU CANARY-BRAINED EXHIBITIONIST WHORE. Oh, now he thinks he has an "in," because some vacuous bird finds his insipid brand of "humour" charming.
Oh, and now they're exchanging phone numbers, what the fuck do they think this is, a fucking Disney short film? Knowing my luck they'll copulate dispassionately for the rest of their lives, producing a veritable bevy of scrotum-faced babies to further pollute this miserable fuckin' planet. Yeah, you walk away and smugly put her number in your pocket, you little prick, the only way this fucking day could get better is if you get hit by a bus - CHRISTMAS CAROLING CROW SHIT! I didn't fuckin' mean it! NOW this fucking universe listens to me? Oh for fuck's sake.
And what's this useless bus driver doing? Is he actually going into shock? MOVE, you micro-dicked waste of civil resources! Call a fucking ambulance, perform CPR, do something, you limp-wristed, elephantine castratti, if you've finished wanking to your own traumatic guilt, you might have a chance to be a slightly less putrid intrusion into the terrestrial sphere, you pillowfucking...
*Fade out* | Today, Kevin walks to school in his normal happy go lucky fashion. An old saying perfectly describes this moron, ignorance is bliss. Luckily, the saying isn't fully true, else, he'd be the happiest moron the planet.
Obviously, he's walking toward the wrong school again. Even though, he could randomly guess, and have a 50% chance of getting it right.
It seems he's making his moron way over to a rottweiler in one of the yards lining the street.
Perhaps this is the day a careless dog owner will actually aid natural selection.
I watch, with bated breath as he mistakes the dog for a cat, and approaches it.
Right as he's about to get his hand snapped off, the owner comes out, and stops the dog before anything happens.
Unfortunate.
As he finally arrives at the wrong school, one of the staff at the place decides to send him to the right school, as this has happened countless times.
His normal school is as disappointed as I am that he arrived safely.
He didn't even bring his backpack.
Well, his laziness seems to have paid off, as it appears he'd merely left it here the night before, and hadn't finished the major project due that day.
Pity that 10% of his grade doesn't seem to mean squat to this...thing, as it had a 2% in the class at the current moment anyway.
But, he's happy to see his backpack, not because there may be tools to assist his "learning", but because his secret beverage seems to have fermented properly, at least according to him.
I'd heard the legend that if you leave orange juice in a bag with some random chemicals, it could create prison alcohol, but, this kid had used some form of powdered sugar mixture.
Everybody knows you can't make alcohol from kool-aid.
Perhaps he'll catch some fatal round of mononucleosis from the months old concoction, but, alas, this was not the day.
He'd gotten unwell from it, at least that was slightly amusing.
The teacher is collecting papers for the project now, collecting all the normal humans' papers and stacking them in a pile, and glancing with a exasperated grimace at Kevin.
Right at this moment, he pounces on the pile, snatching a paper at random, and writes his name at the bottom.
Everybody knows you put your name in the top right hand corner. Not that he knows which side right is, or probably what you do with a hand.
His spelling appears to have improved, from a Lezon to a Cevim.
At least 1/5th of it appears to better.
Perhaps with this incident, they'll finally descend some sort of disciplinary action on the fool, but considering this happens all the time, the teacher just profusely apologizes to the affected student, and sends the child to the principal's office, which seems to the be the child's second home.
If the hovel he lives in normally can be considered a home, that is.
After sitting in the office for the rest of the day, dumbly staring at the opposite wall, it is finally time to go home.
On his way out, he proposes to random females he stumbles into in the hallway, and luckily, they all reject him.
Would be a real shame if his kind is allowed to reproduce, in fact, I'm surprised his family has survived this long.
In short, nothing happens to this human, and he goes home and prepares for another moron day. That is, if the next day is even different to him, as I doubt he even remembers that today existed.
Perhaps one day he'll die in a gruesome chainsaw accident, to which I can stop commenting on him. For now, I'll go see if I can wash my brain with acid to forget his stupidity.
Edit: Spaced it out slightly, I was previously unaware of how line breaks work. | 2014-08-24T17:01:56 | 2014-08-24T16:49:46 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] It is tradition that on the eve of execution, a condemned prisoner may make one request. Provided that the request does not cause harm or delay the execution, the warden is legally bound to grant it. (Continued in text)
It is tradition that on the eve of execution, a condemned prisoner may make one request. Provided that the request does not cause harm or delay the execution, the warden is legally bound to grant it. On the day of his retirement, after 50 years at the same prison, a guard recalls the one request that will always stick with him. | The condemned man was a giant. Six foot seven, bulging muscles and a barrel chest. His rough skin was crisscrossed with tattoos, even his shining bald head. On his back, an ink masterpiece of angel wings was marred by scars. As he shuffled into the warden's office, constrained by the tight manacles, his green eyes burned with light and he grinned menacingly at the guards. They shrunk back reflexively and gripped their mace containers like a child holding a teddy bear to ward off a monster in the closet. The prisoner had already killed two guards during his stay here.
The office door creaked open, revealing the warden and the prisoner's lawyer. With a jingle of chains, he sat down; The wooden chair squeaked, hardly supporting his bulk.
"You've settled on your request, then?" the warden started. The prisoner only nodded in silence, his eyes boring into the warden. His lawyer slid a folded sheet of paper across the desk. The warden looked at it suspiciously like the lawyer had just produced a snake from his briefcase. He picked up the paper and read it, only taking a few seconds. The warden looked back at the prisoner, imposing as ever with his usual grim expression. Their eyes met, and neither spoke. The warden cocked his head slightly to the side, as if to say "You sure?" The prisoner only nodded in response.
"It's settled, then."
Midnight approached. A crowd gathered in the observation room. Family members from the victims stood stoic yet satisfied. Law enforcement officials and politicians wanting to look tough on crime checked their watches, ready to get the show on the road. A lone priest sat in the back silently. Guards crowded into the empty space, eager to see this monster go down. No friends or family of the convict showed up.
He marched into the sterile white room and climbed onto the table. The fluorescent lights made the grisly tattoos stand out even more. The warden followed the prisoner into the room and stood waiting. Guards secured him down to the table with heavy straps, thicker than the ones they normally used. The prisoner flexed his muscles, as if testing whether he could break the bonds if he wanted to. The doctor began preparing the injection.
11:58. The prisoner looked at the warden and nodded. His fearsome persona wavered for just a moment, revealing a sad, scared smile. The warden nodded back, walked over, and held out his hand. The prisoner grabbed it, his huge paw engulfing the warden's hand like a child's. The prisoner pursed his lips tightly, but it didn't help; the tears began to flow. The doctor injected him at 11:59 as he sobbed into the warden's suit jacket. At midnight, the tears stopped, and the warden let the prisoner's hand slip, having done his duty. | “You want to apologize.” The guard said in disbelief.
“Yes, to everyone, the lawyer who was forced to defend me, the jury whose time I stole, the family of the victim, everyone.” The murderer said. What kind of person kidnapped someone's daughter, held them for months, and then suddenly decided he wanted to apologize?
As was the new law, the guard would relay the request to the warden, and the warden was bound by law to make the request happen as long as it caused no further harm and would not delay the execution.
“I don’t know if he will go with it, but I’ll check for you.” I told the prisoner.
“Thank you.” He said. “I know that I may not get a chance to make amends to them all. Just bring as many as you can.”
“Wait, you mean in person? Not just write letters or something to them?” The prisoner nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” I told the prisoner, and turned to leave.
“Before you go, there’s something you should see.” The condemned told me. Not sure what to expect I turn around, and gasp.
“He wants to apologize?” The warden says in disbelief.
“That was my reaction to sir.”
“There’s no way we can do this. We can’t harm anybody remember? And that includes psychological damage. So we can talk to the jurors and the lawyer, they should be fine, at least some of them should be able to stomach this. Make sure he’s supervised heavily, and if there’s any sign he’s going to say something damage him, you restrain him and get the person he’s talking to out of there.” The Warden instructed.
“Sir, there’s something you should see before you make that call.” I tell him.
“Very well, what is it?” He asks.
“I don’t have it sir, it’s with the prisoner.” I reply.
“With the prisoner? How did he get anything into his cell? That’s a breach of security surely.” The warden assessed.
“Sir, just come with me, it’ll all make sense.” The warden is a surprisingly obliging and understanding man for someone with his job, and follows me down to the cell.
When the prisoner shows the warden he clutches his heart. “Where did you get that?” The warden asks the prisoner.
“The lawyer brought it to me, said he thought it might help since it wasn’t needed for the trial.” The prisoner said. “So does this mean you’re allowing my request?”
“Yes of course, at once.” The warden gave the orders, and one by on the people came. First the lawyer. They had a quick chat about final legal ramifications of his passing, and some kind words about seeing the light at the end. Next were the jurors, whose reactions ranged from angered, to silent, to heartwarming. Lastly, came the family. The father, then the two brothers, and the one surviving sister. All just stared at him as he spoke, and left as soon as he finished. The last person in the family to come was the mother. She was brought in shaking with rage at the man who killed her daughter, and shouted at him for several minutes before calming down to a quivering rage.
The killer didn’t say anything. He bowed his head, and reached behind him to pick up the daughter’s diary, and handed it to her mother. In it, were her last words to her family.
"I let her keep a diary, and before she died, her last thoughts were of you. I know this may be painful to read, but she wanted you to know, all of you, that she loved you right until the end, and that she passed on without fear."
Edit: added a paragraph at the end to emphasize the point of the diary was closure.
Edit 2: added some more stuff for clarity. | 2014-11-19T08:40:10 | 2014-11-19T08:35:26 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species. | Everyone, come look at these amazing watersacks! Each one of them 90% water!
Have you ever been sitting in you captain's chair and thought "I could use a drink"? Well now we have these portable, self maneuvering watersacks! Each one trained to obey and come when called. Just shout for a water sack and soon you'll be sipping on a delicious treat.
The secret behind this amazing creature is the blood, which contains tons of antioxidants and all natural flavors. Once you've had your fill of those lovely bodily fluids you can eat the skeleton for a satisfying crunchy snack.
Here we have a demonstration of the best way to get at the fluids from these amazing watersacks. First you use stab your proboscis into the creatures main artery located here on its neck. Once you've punctured this part of the body be ready as it has a habit of forcing too much fluid out at once. Beginners may want to try drinking from other places such as the leg, arms or chest.
Come on down and get yourself some all natural antioxidant filled watersacks! | "And here we have a specimen of our 'strongman' range, perfect for all heavy lifting needs! Even stronger than the standard Heoy lifter, these gents are from stock who are known to have built structures many times their height! What's more, they can subsist on most of the cheapest high-protein foods edible to carbon life forms on the market, lasting for on average five standard planetary cycles!
"If that's not what you're looking for, why not try the 'dogsbody' range, available in both of their genders. More than willing to cook, clean, babysit, or whatever you wish them to do after only a little instructional flogging. This all-round range is perfect for a family home.
"Why you, good sir, are clearly looking for something in order to keep your... er... nightly exercise business running, are you not? Then look no further! I have a range of fresh and experienced stock here, each multi-use! Standard license checks apply.
"If none of these suit you, then how about our brand new Office Worker (TM) range? These individuals can work for up to thirty guntraels at a time, and exceed the entry requirements for most low-level executive staff in all major corporations.
"Ah, you are a sports-thing, are you not? If you like a spot of hunting out on the gamma-fields or the blue forests of Blarbaron, then these 'athletics' are for you! Whether you prefer a short, high-speed chase, a longer marathon-type, or a course involving athletics including swimming, jumping, climbing or whatever you can think of, we have them available for you. For a small extra fee, you can even have one who will attempt to fight back, adding even more fun to the chase!
We regret to inform you that this species is unsuitable for ultra-gravity environments, radiation, acid baths or unprotected interplanetary travel" | 2014-11-22T08:53:50 | 2014-11-22T08:16:06 | 40 | 10 |
[WP]: When you died you find out that souls are put up for auction for various religions to bid upon. When you are present on the block, a bidding war started that has not been seen in millennium and you do not know why every religion wants your soul. | My sherpa whispers, "It's never gone this high before. What is it about you?"
I think about my time on earth. Sure, I was raised an orphan. But otherwise, I was a normal guy. I woke up, sold insurance, went home, kissed my wife and went to bed.
"I don't know what it is," I say.
The bidding ends. The auctioneer yells, "That's a brand new record! Congratulations to the winning bidder: Siddhartha!" The auctioneer turns to me and says, "Please follow your sherpa to your home."
We walk the streets of the afterlife to find my house, but my sherpa can't seem to find it. So I say, "Can't I just take any of these? They're all empty."
And he says, "No, they belong to some folks who have yet to return."
"What do you mean 'return'?"
"Well, you're born here in a house. Then you're sent down to earth. And when you come back, you live there again. I mean, you're only gone like 100 years."
My sherpa is totally stumped. But he sees Siddhartha and Jesus walking toward him, so he flags them down. "Guys, sorry to bother you, but where did AI-43 live before he left for earth?"
Jesus looks straight at me and says, "That's the thing: He's never been here before."
EDIT: Clarity | "Next up we have a beautiful young soul, straight from New York City!", someone was shouting as I woke up. I looked to my left, and saw a man with an overly large smile, who seemed to be the source of the shouting. I looked closer at the man, and I saw he had red horns. Then I looked out in front of me, and saw a very... strange audience. There were beings of all kinds out in front of me, all staring at me as if they'd just seen God. Oh wait, three of them were God. The three Gods, Allah, Old Testament God, and New Testament God, were all sitting in matching thrones, and seemed to be trying to yell over one another. One shouted particularly loudly, and I heard what he was saying. "I'll give you ten fallen angels for her! She will help guard the pearly gates!" Another yelled even louder, "twenty angels!" I looked to their right, and saw a happy looking fat man sitting calmly, and speaking softly but still being heard, "I will devote a cycle of one hundred souls to you, if you give her to me. She is the youngest ever to achieve Nirvana, and I want her." That must be The Buddha. To his right, was a humanoid with blue skin, yelling, "She is prime deity material! If you give her to us we will make you a god in our culture also, O beast!" Ah, Shiva. Then I heard Zeus' mighty roar. "She has earned a spot on Olympus. We offer a spot to you too, O fallen one, if you let us have her!" It seemed there must of been hundreds of deities in this huge room, clamoring for... Me? I turned to my left, and quietly asked the man with the horns why all these gods wanted me so much. He turned to me, widened his grin to the point of superhuman size, and said, "Ah, but you are the purest soul the afterlife has ever seen! Not counting Jesus of course, but then again, he wasn't just another average human, and you are. " ... That's why they're", he gestured out towards the crowd, where the yelling was getting louder, "all willing to give me so much for you, kid." Then he laughed.
EDIT: Thanks to /u/Fakename_fakeperspn for the suggestions! | 2014-11-30T19:20:29 | 2014-11-30T18:43:55 | 1,383 | 36 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious. | "He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!" | Do you remember those days, when we'd hide out in your room? Mum came in everytime, making excuses for dad, saying she fell over, that her blood nose was nothing to worry about.
I had to sit there and watch, as he touched you in your bed at night.
How about that time when we ran away to the playground down the road, after mum went missing? And how furious dad was when he found us?
I tried, and tried to stop him, but every time, he'd push me out, and lock the door.
Or when we would sneak some money out of dad's wallet while he slept on the lounge. The chocolates would be worth the smacks we got later.
Last week you fought back, or at least tried to.
I remember most clearly, the day we got to go for a ride in the police car, how he even put his lights on for us.
I know you miss dad, but it feels like there's been a silence between us since. The people they have us talk to just convince you that you're better off now, that you'll never need me again.
I know they're lying to you, but you're the happiest I've seen you in so long.
I miss you... | 2015-11-17T05:55:31 | 2015-11-17T04:49:08 | 101 | 14 |
[WP] You are immortal for as long as the rest of the human race exists. However, nobody can remember you for more than a day. | "Charlene, this is you, you know your own voice, this is going to sound crazy, but you have to listen. You have forgotten Jerry. Everyone forgets Jerry every day, and that's why you have to update the file. Go into the conference room, look for the grey folder in the filing bin, record #15935. That's Jerry. Look at the photos in the file and go stake out the Piggly-Wiggly, it's been two days and he's due to rob it again. I know this sounds crazy, but this is your own voice talking back to you. Go talk to Rob and the Captain, they each left themselves their own recorded messages and each day you're all able to convince yourselves that this isn't a hoax.
"Don't forget to update Jerry's record and file the folder away properly before you go home or leave, you must not forget or someone might throw the folder away. Go now." Charlene pulled out her earbuds and looked over the short partition at her partner, Rob. He was just pulling out his own earbuds with a confused look on his face.
"Rob," she said slowly, "Did you leave yourself a message about a guy named Jerry?"
"I did," he said, "And while it seems crazy, that was my own voice leaving me a message. The message said you should grab Jerry's file while I give a doppelganger password to the Captain, whatever doppelganger is. I guess he'll know."
Next part: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/40pzjt/wp_you_are_immortal_for_as_long_as_the_rest_of/cywuedi
> There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist.
> [More by me](https://www.reddit.com/r/kj6bwb/) | I look on as the children play in the park. I watch as they skip rope and sing their rhymes. I watch as they climb the ladder up to the slide. I watch as they swing back and forth on the swing set.
One of them looks my way, and smiles. His bright blue eyes, remind me of my carefree youth. He won't remember me tomorrow, nor will his mother who stares at me. Maybe she remembers? Doubt it.
The sun is setting and the kids all run back to their homes, to their families and parents. I follow the blue-eyed child that smiled, and the mother who stared at me.
I follow them down the street, always at a safe distance. I follow them around a corner, always keeping them in sight. I follow them into the subway, hiding in the crowd. I follow them as they cross the street.
A car screeches, pain explodes all over my body. I look upon the mother who stares at me, fear in her eyes. I look upon the child, cradled in my arms, protected from the car. I close my eyes. They won't remember me, but I can't die.
I watch on as the children play in the park. My son, sees me, his bright blue eyes remind me of my youth. He will never remember me.
-------
Edit: Felt like he deserved a background story:
I am an Immortal, first and last of my kind. I have been around for a few centuries around, and I have witnessed the best and worst of humanity. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, and men of importance die, some by my own hand. The catch? No one ever remembers who I am.
Want proof? Think back, think to all those times in history where someone of power, some great hero or king or emperor just died. The most recent one was JFK, though that was because he owed me some money. In hindsight, maybe I should of let it go.
I have changed now, I stopped killing for one, and started living. I even met this girl, though sadly she will never remember me. The most painful thing about it was that everytime we meet, she was always smiling, and happy to see me. I wanted her to remember, but she never did.
I wanted a life with her, a family, children, a nice house, the whole nine yards, but she will never remember me. One night, we went drinking after we "met" and we made love, for the first and last time.
Now here I am, eight years later, watching on everyday as she brings our son to the park. I watch everday, to make sure he is safe... | 2016-01-12T20:14:25 | 2016-01-12T19:36:42 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A demon is getting REALLY tired of teenage girls summoning him. | The latest best seller, *Ebony Darkness*, was a love story of a teenage girl and a demon. Some said it was worse than *Twilight* and *50 Shades of Grey* combined, which was honestly quite a feat to go below the bar of awful writing and become a "you will literally become stupider if you read this" writing. Nonetheless, this did not stop people from reading it.
Some read it ironically, some to make fun of it, others to criticize it. Then there were the fans girls. Soccer moms and teenie boppers gobbled it up enthusiastically, buying the books as soon as they hit the shelves. Two movies were made with future plans to adapt the other ten books. The market also changed. A quick walk into Walmart or Target, and you saw action figures of the characters, posters, candles, chalk, and mass produced oujia boards. There was a surge in demand for occult books. Interest in vampires and werewolves were brought up again.
Most of the magical community cringed when they heard of *Ebony Darkness* and many, disguised as normal humans of course, made up the hatedom. But it seemed that one demon had it the worst. He shared the same first name as the book's primary love interest and was frequently summoned, usually finding himself in a bedroom in American suburbia, surrounded by feathers, candles, and fourteen year old girls. The demon at first didn't know about the book series and when summoned would steal all the food in the room, developing a preference for Cool Ranch Doritos.
By the two hundredth summoning, he was fed up and the free Doritos weren't worth it anymore. By the four hundredth, he finally asked why all these girls were summoning him. By the six hundredth summoning, he started to lecture people about why *Ebony Darkness* was an awful series. By the thousandth summoning, he decided to go to Hell's government, pay 50 Gans, and just change his name.
^^rushed ^^ending ^^is ^^rushed ^^^^lol | You three over there, what bring you over to my shop? No need to tell me, I know you are here about the rumour about the Demon. Come on, sit down I shall tell you everything you need to know about this Demon.
Even before I was born there is a rumour about a Demon that will grant you any wish you desire. They say that you can only summon it at exactly 3:33 am or else it won't appear. The ideal place to summon it is inside a quiet room with all the lights off and five different colored candles light up.
Beware young ones, many lives have been lost since this Demon is a clever one you see. If you are not careful then you might loss your soul in the process but if you buy this charm the Demon won't be able to take your soul. Don't worry it only cost a small amount.
As the group of teenage girls leave a dark figure emerge from the back of the Old woman.
"Chloe stop telling people how to summon me!"
The old woman calmly counting her money turn around to calm the rage of the Demon behind her.
"I though you will be glad since you will easily reached your quota, besides the charms I sell specifically allows you to be the only Demon to be summon."
"I bet a lot of people have summoned you this past few weeks."
"I'm glad that your helping me but the problem is that this past few weeks, no months only teenage girls have been summoning me!"
"What's wrong with that? Isn't that a wonderful thing, the underworld will be filled with the young souls of the innocent."
"Chloe come here, I will show you why I'm complaining."
The old woman approach the Demon then a white flash cover her whole vision and in that instant, she saw all the horrors the Demon when through.
There are times when the Demon was summon to do ordinary stuff like make the girl beautiful or kill a certain summon but lately the ones summoning him have been requesting for "weird" things like making their OTW real, sending them to the cringy fanfic world they came up, Creating the perfect guy they made, Asking to marry him, Asking if anime is real, Asking him about vampires and werewolves but the worse of them all are the Internet girls. Their wish were so cringy that a Demon like him spared their soul so he could run away.
The worse part is that those girls keep on summoning him over and over again, they would get offended and call him different things that make no sense. In the end he just kills them and send their soul to heaven. He swears he can see Jesus smirking up in heaven but he ignores it since he has to report to Satan why he freed those Souls.
"Do you understand now, Chloe?."
"My God, I never gonna sell this charms ever again."
_____________________________________________________
Just made that shit up so I can comment. That idea can be used as a plot for a comedy. | 2016-04-05T07:12:27 | 2016-04-05T06:51:35 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in. However, you can't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
For example: if someone wishes that that John smith fell in love with them and you decide to take the wish, then John Smith will fall in love with you | It started by accident. As a kid, I had tossed a grimy, old quarter into the fountain at my favorite park and wished for the ability to steal wishes. After cackling at my cleverness, I scooped my quarter back out. It was meant to be a joke. I wouldn't even realize it had actually worked until almost 20 years later.
I had been living paycheck to paycheck and it was the end of the month. I had been a few cents shy of a McChicken and drink. So I casually sat on the edge of the fountain, trying not to draw attention to myself. I remember reaching down and grabbing 2 nickles, and a quarter. Just enough. I'd remember the amount forever.
As I sat down with my ill-gotten food, my phone vibrated. It was a message from the bank. I was terrified to check as I was sure it would be a fee of some kind. To my surprise, my balance had shown $1,001,000. I admit, I panicked at first. I thought it had to be some sort of mistake. I ran my hands through my hair to help myself think and was startled to find my hair was now fuller and thicker than ever. I don't know why, but at that moment I recalled my childhood wish. I went back to the fountain and tentatively picked up another coin. A penny this time. Nothing happened. I laughed at my stupidity, but when I got home, a cream-white pony was waiting for me in my bedroom.
From then on, I swiped coins every chance I got. Soon I was rich, smart, talented, famous, both men and women were in love with me. I had even swapped genders multiple times. Something else was happening too; people were starting to come back to life and cures were being found for diseases. My mom was alive again too and it was as if nothing had ever changed. More than once I'd travel to a hospital with a fountain and scoop out all the coins. It was my idea of charity.
It's all coming to an end now. I'd gone to another hospital, Bellview Psychiatric. They had a lovely little fountain out front with a small cherum spitting water. It looked old fashioned. I saw a young man throw in a quarter. He looked so sad. I smiled at him and told him his life was about to change for the better. I felt my heart stop as soon as I lifted his coin from the water. I hadn't expected anyone to wish for death. | It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. I had expected a lot, but not this. My eyes moved from the coin in my hand to the girl on the other side of the fountain. She had a shocked look on her face, which is understandable. Stealing money from a wishing well isn't the most socially acceptable behavior.
"Wh... What did you wish?" I asked, while my legs started to shake uncontrollably. Her mouth moved calmly, like I was watching a slow-motion movie. It's common knowledge that you should never tell your wish to anyone, but when I finally processed her reply, I understood why she decided to tell me.
My brain ached, forcing me to relive the memory of the first time I stole a wish. I was still a petite young boy back then, raised by my parents to be selfless. It was a warm summer day and all my friends got a few coins to get some ice cream, except me. They teased me about the lack of a 'yummy ice-cream' into my hands, which made me leave the park frustrated. At the exit I saw a classmate of mine. I don't remember his name, but he was fat, silly and unpopular. He threw a shiny item into an shallow well, while mumbling a few words. As soon as he saw me, he blushed and quickly walked away. A moment later my small legs were up in the air while my tiny hands tried to grab the coin from the bottom of the well. When I finally succeed, it turned out that I didn't only end up getting an ice cream: I also found the love of my life, but left the boy heartbroken, which made me realize the true nature of my wish-stealing ability later. It was then I turned greedy.
The last wish I stole was from a vagrant, which threw a bronze coin into a fountain. I had ruined many lives already, but told myself this would be the final wish I would steal. Of course, there were a few things the vagrant could have wished, but it turned out he had whispered the words I hoped for. The next moment, I was a millionaire, while he never touched a coin again.
It was not enough. Money didn't bring the happiness in the life I craved. The darkness around me got bigger and bigger and finally I found myself in front of the fountain, when I saw the girl wheel towards it. She breathed using a machine, where a small tube pushed the air into her lungs. An IV sack injected a red liquid into her vein and her eyes were the saddest I ever saw. Her hands were shaking when she threw a sparkling item into the fountain. A tear escaped her eyes when she was done.
This must be it. My final wish. I stepped into the fountain, catching the girls attention. As soon as I grabbed the coin, I gasped for air and realized my mistake.
"Wh... What did you wish?" I asked, playing back the events back in my head once again.
The girl started to get a bit more color on her cheeks. Her hands stopped shaking. Black spots started to appear in my field of vision and my legs began to shake. She ripped the tube from her nose, not able to comprehend what was happening to her.
"I..."
She looked around, confused, before her eyes interlocked with mine again. The words escaped from her mouth and were the last I would ever hear before my ears hit the water as I collapsed.
"I wished to die..." | 2016-08-02T11:36:06 | 2016-08-02T11:02:46 | 230 | 38 |
[WP] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in. However, you can't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
For example: if someone wishes that that John smith fell in love with them and you decide to take the wish, then John Smith will fall in love with you | "That's someone else's wishes
I've heard that from my favorite childhood movie The Goonies but I didn't believe it. I didn't believe you could actually steal someone else's wish. Of course I didn't. I'm an adult. I pay a mortgage, been married thirty years. My kids are adults. So of course I didn't believe it.
I was late for a meeting and didn't have enough change to feed the meter. There was a fountain right there. It seemed fortuitous. So I grabbed a shiny quarter from the fountain for the meter.
A bag lady broke out from her daze when she saw what I had done.
"That's someone else's wish."
I laughed. I thought she was joking. How was I supposed to know?
My son was getting married that summer. I was in my own head about my new book and his wedding was, I confess the last thing on my mind. So I didn't notice how distant his bride-to-be was getting. She didn't marry him. She left without telling him on their wedding day. She never gave a reason and it was years before she would send my son a letter and apologize.
It took my son a long time to recuperate. I took him out for lunch a month after his non-wedding. He was finally ready to talk. I've never been a feeler but he cried and I cried with him. He said to me
"Dad, I wished for her, you know. Right over there in that fountain. I wished that she would be given the ability to see all that was good in me and be able to sympathize with all that is not. But towards the end I couldn't do anything right."
I didn't tell him that I had taken a quarter from that fountain.
I didn't tell him that I had paid for parking with it.
I didn't tell him that I had stolen his wish
...that the day of his wedding his bride to be asked me to zip her up in the bathroom
...that she handed me her panties and hiked up her wedding dress
...that I considered it.
...that I ran from her proposition like a scared child and threw up in the bushes outside of the church
...that everyone thought I was drinking and I let them.
I didn't tell him any of that. I just gave him a quarter and said
"Wish again." | Angela hoisted her heaping bag of new clothes over her petite shoulder. As she struggled to catch up with her friends, who had walked ahead of her to the next store, she cursed herself for deciding to wear heels that day.
It was then that she heard the fountain call to her. The call was not a sound, but instead a vibration, an echo of something deep within her chest.
The sixteen year old girl stopped in her tracks and turned to face the fountain, a small, unassuming trickle of water dribbling into a pond tucked into the corner between two buildings.
"Hey, Angie!" she heard her friend Lana call to her. "Hey, where are you going?"
The voice seemed far away to Angela. Leaving her bag of spoils behind, she trotted toward the fountain and soon found herself at the edge.
"What the hell is she doing?" said another voice. Her mind registered it as Jasmine, another of her friends.
"I dunno," Lana replied. "She's acting really weird."
Angela, her mind on autopilot, bent down and plunged her hand deep into the fountain's basin. A moment later, she stood back up, holding a rusted penny between two baby pink nails.
She heard her friends somewhere in the distance, but over top of their chattering, a nasal, distinctly male voice resounded from within her head: "I wish I had a photographic memory."
The next moment was like waking up from a dream. She was not Angela. She was not even a 'she.' He was Martin Samuelsson, forty-five-year-old billionaire. He had first heard the fountain's call four years ago, when he was a mere clerk at a nearby outlet store. He remembered how it had implored him to pick a coin from its depths, and how he heard his first wish: "I wish to be the richest man in the world."
He thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. Even with enough money to buy anything he desired, he still wanted more. He went back to the fountain again and again, drew coin after coin, and was granted wish after wish. But none brought him complete satisfaction.
Finally, he had an idea. The last time he drew a coin from the fountain, he had paid a girl ten thousand dollars to make a wish for him. He marked the penny black with magic marker so that he could pick it out, and then had her toss it into the basin.
That was the last thing that Martin remembered before he became Angela. But he knew why his plan had not worked. It was something that he forgot. Not words, necessarily, but a feeling, from when the fountain first called to him.
*The wish has to be from the coin owner's heart.*
Martin/Angela felt a hand on his shoulder. The feeling of being touched in a girl's body now seemed entirely alien to him.
"Angie?"S/he heard Lana say, "You okay, girl? Everyone's waiting for you!"
At that, the timbre of Lana's voice caused a new memory to surface. It was the voice of the girl that he had hired to make the wish. He had heard it in his head the moment before he became Angela.
"I wish to be the most popular girl in school." | 2016-08-02T14:09:43 | 2016-08-02T12:22:05 | 48 | 11 |
[Wp] you are a lonely old man who feeds raccoons every night because you are lonely. One night, just Before Sunset, a stranger invades your house, ties you up, and threatens to kill you. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of winkley yellow eyes at the window.
Edit: And now my highest rated post is about.....raccoons. | Gordon pulled the note off the door, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the bushes. He knew what it said and who it was from. Missy Joyner - complaining about the raccoons again.
Too bad. It was his house and his life and his goddamn cat food. Besides, raccoons were just part of the cost of living in the suburbs...or the city...or the country. Well, they were just part of the cost of living, that's all. No use crying about it.
He'd started feeding the raccoons after Georgia had died. Georgia was his cat. His wife Ally had been dead for ten years, but that was no great loss. Georgia, though, was about as good a kitty as you could ask for. Calm and simple, she hardly ever asked for anything. Never complained. Not even as that tumor had started growing up along the inside of her throat. It got so bad she could hardly swallow. The weight loss was the only sign Gordon ever picked up on and by then it was much, much too late.
So Georgia was gone and Gordon had a big old bag of cat food left in the pantry. He considered getting a new cat, but he was old and indifferent to the people, places, and things he wasn't already fond of or used to. New things were a hassle. Gordon was too old for hassles. But there were strays in the neighborhood and that seemed like the kind of relationship Gordon could stand - distant benefactor. Stray cat philanthropist. So he took a scoop of food and left it on his back steps one night. Somewhere in the middle of the night he heard scratching and munching and the clitter-clap of little, long nails on half-rotten wood. He peeked out the window to see who his customer was.
It was a trio of raccoons.
Gordon was honestly disgusted. Raccoons have those nimble little paws - disturbingly dexterous. Too human-like. And those black eyes see entirely too much. Wild and clever and vicious.
But the raccoons seemed pleased with the offering. They cleared the lot, licked their hands and faces, and disappeared back into the dark.
And Gordon...Gordon still had plenty of cat food left.
The trouble - if you were the sort who cared about these things - was that Missy Joyner saw Gordon dumping the cat food out on his back steps one night. She lived on the opposite side of the fence and happened to be a snoop. Suddenly she had someone to blame every time raccoons or other woodland creatures made a move on her trash bins.
"I'll call animal control, I will!" she'd once barked across the fence.
"Call 'um!" Gordon had croaked back. "They ain't my pets."
And they weren't. Raccoons are subservient to no one and Gordon certainly didn't expect any sort of thank you. He just liked to watch them eat. He'd gotten past that initial revulsion and turned around to finding them a fascinating species. Survivors. Just like Gordon. They didn't care what anyone thought of them. Just like Gordon.
*Peas in a pod*, Gordon mused one day, as he watched a half dozen scuffle and wrestle over that night's pile of dry kibble.
And so Missy Joyner's notes all went in the same place - the trash, or the street, or the bushes, or once - when Gordon had been particularly peeved - straight up the old man's own asshole. He'd regretted it later, upon extraction, but it had been a singularly triumphant moment, which he swore to cherish until the day he died.
The note so deposed of, Gordon unlocked the door and stepped inside his home.
He was not alone.
Two men stood inside the house, one holding Gordon's television with an almost sheepish look on his face; the other standing just outside the bathroom, tugging something out of his pocket.
"What the hell is this?" cried Gordon, too stupid with anger to think to turn and run. The man with the TV stammered something incoherent, while the other produced a gun and defiantly waved it in Gordon's face.
"Close the door, old man," said the one with the gun. "Or I swear I'll blast you in the face."
Gordon sighed, his anger still simmering, but his age catching up to him. "Whatever. Take what you want. It's all crap anyway."
"We will," said the man with the gun. "But first..."
They locked the door and tied Gordon to a chair. The sheepish man suggested that they run, but the man with the gun just laughed.
"He's seen our faces," he said with a grin. "He's gotta die. You know that, right?"
The sheepish man shook his head. "I don't think he'll..."
"He won't," agreed the other. "He'll be dead. But first, I wanna try a few things."
He set the gun on the kitchen table and pulled a chunky switchblade out of his waistband. "You ever peel an apple in one, single drag?" he asked his partner.
The sheepish man turned pale. "I didn't... look, I just wanted some easy cash. I didn't..."
"We'll still take all the good stuff," said the man with the switchblade. "I just wanna see how much of his face I can peel off in a single strip."
Gordon was scared - he was old, not stupid - but resigned to death. Even resigned to torture. He promised himself he wouldn't scream. That's what the sicko with the knife wanted. So that's the one thing Gordon wouldn't give him.
Gordon was repeating that silent mantra - *Don't scream. Don't scream* - when he spotted a pair of shining, black eyes at the back window.
"It's dinnertime, isn't it?" he said absently.
"No dinner for you, old man," said the man with the switchblade. "No dinner ever again."
"It's not my dinnertime," said Gordon, watching, fascinated as the knob on the backdoor began to twist. They couldn't get in, of course. The door was locked. But how strange that they would try. "Must be hungry," he muttered.
"Me?" said the man with the switchblade, leaning down over Gordon's face. "I'm not a cannibal. I'm not going to *eat* you. I'm just curious, that's all."
Gordon shifted his head to see past the man. "Christ. Did they find the spare key under the mat? Well, I'll be..."
"We broke in through the bedroom window," said the sheepish man. "We thought you worked Thursday nights. That's why...we...you know."
Gordon smiled. "The whole family's here."
"He's freaking me out," said the sheepish man.
"He's just fuckin' with us," said the switchblade man. "Ignore him."
"Use the gun," said Gordon, squirming in his seat and pointing with his chin. "Point and pull the trigger."
"*Knife*," said the switchblade man, pushing the edge up against Gordon's throat. "You don't get the gun until I'm done havin' fun. Oooh. That rhymed." He turned to face the sheepish man. "Did you hear th..."
*BANG.*
The right side of the switchblade man's face detached itself in the blink of an eye, splattering against the wall and the door and quite a good deal of Gordon. The remainder of the switchblade man stumbled, buckled at the knees, and collapsed to the floor.
The sheepish man screamed.
"They need to kill you, too?" asked Gordon, nodding at the space just behind the frightened thief. The sheepish man turned slowly. A trio of raccoons were standing on the kitchen table, holding the handgun, which smoked faintly as the muzzle drifted towards the sheepish man.
"Oh *fuck*!" shouted the sheepish man.
"Untie me," said Gordon. The sheepish man did as he was told. Gordon rubbed his arms and back. "Take the body with you. And don't come back."
The sheepish man nodded, bending to scoop up the dead body off the floor. Bowed under the weight, he stumbled out of the house through the backdoor and disappeared forever.
Gordon turned to the kitchen table, where the raccoons had dropped the gun and were looking around rather expectantly.
"Well, I think you've earned a bit of a feast tonight, my friends," said Gordon with a smile. "Let's go see what we have in the pantry." | Jonas was thinking about the raccoons when he heard the tinkle of glass, but then again he'd been thinking about the raccoons for most of the day now. It was funny, the things you got to doing once you got old, once most of your friends had gone off and died or disappeared into retirement homes or fretted themselves into monastic existences of no salt no sugar no stress no fun. It was the best part of his day now, and, if he let himself admit it, the only part of the day he was looking forward to. Settling down on his back porch after dark as the stars were just starting to come out, and watching the raccoons come.
There were four of them, the big ones, and over the last few nights he'd seen a couple of kits tagging along, although he wasn't sure how many of them there were yet. He'd sit out back and watch them, his trash cans left uncovered, the raccoons hunched over on the edge with their yellow halogen eyes glancing back at him, balanced on their inquisitive paws, and then a tuft of fur and the tip of their tail disappearing inside. He'd started leaving a basin of water out there at nights, and he'd get to see them, their front paws cupped together, dipping some bread or part of an apple core or a scrap of meat into the water, and then bringing it up to their mouths to eat. He'd started feeding them himself, recently, tossing out pieces of cracker or whatnot out on the porch, and watching them scurry up unafraid to nab it. He'd cooed to them - nonsense words, he wasn't quite far gone enough to start having conversations yet - and they'd listened with a polite bafflement and gone right on eating. Jonas hadn't named them yet, wasn't always quite sure which one was which, aside from 'the big 'un,' and perhaps he never would. It wasn't that he was looking for friends, really. He'd have gotten a cat for that. It was just getting old and being far past his prime, and rotting out here all by himself in the middle of nowhere, in the town he'd been born, and knowing that the raccoons came by every night to feast. Big healthy fat ones, with their thick fur coats and their bushy striped tails, finding something they needed.
And they'd been peaceful, mostly, but sure they'd knocked over a garbage can from time to time. And so the raccoons were on his mind when he heard the glass break, and as he rose from his recliner and wandered to the back to investigate, and saw his back door hanging open to the dusky air and the shattered glass on the floor, and that's when the stranger attacked.
It was a blur out of the corner of Jonas' vision, fingers raking into his shoulder and throwing him to the floor. His arms came up, scratching against nylon, and the back of a hand hit him in the face. He was flipped on his belly, a knee pressing into the small of his back, and he grunted and cried out. The weight momentarily lifted, a table was knocked over, and then both of Jonas' arms were wrenched behind his back. Something wound around his wrists - phone cord, he saw, with his blurred vision, the handset of his phone being tugged across the floor. Jonas' ribs hurt from where he had landed on them, and he could taste blood, though he wasn't sure where he was bleeding from. His right shoulder burned. "Please-" he got out. "I don't have much money. You can take it. You can take everything."
"Hrrr hrrr hrrr," said the stranger from above him, maybe breathing or maybe growling or maybe something rattling loose. Ratty sneakers stepped into Jonas' field of vision, the cuffs of jeans. Hands grabbed his ankles and he kicked out weakly, and he was jerked across the floor, his hip dragging against the ground. In stops and starts, stops and starts, as Jonas flopped on the floor, tried to tilt his head up to see. His vision kept going black, and the blood kept backing up into his throat, but he saw the stranger, stumpy and fat and short-legged, waddling across the floor and dragging him along, into his kitchen. The stranger let go and broke off, leaning heavily on the countertop, breathing or growling or laughing or coming loose. "Hrrr hrrr hrrr hrrr." A head of ratty grey hair shook. "I'm going to fucking kill you," the stranger said, with the sound of teeth too big for his mouth. Jonas couldn't see his face. "You hear that, old man? You're fucking dead."
And as Jonas' head lolled back, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, two yellow eyes staring in from his kitchen window, two points of light in the gathering dusk. And then two more. And then two more. Fireflies pressed still, embedded in the darkness. Everyone coming out to watch.
"What's going on?" he managed. He gagged and tilted his head to the side and let a dark clot of blood slip out of his mouth. He tested his bonds behind him. The phone cord was already coming loose; this stranger had no idea how to tie a knot. But his right shoulder was burning so bad he wasn't sure if being untied would do him much good. "Who are you? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"Hhrroor," said the stranger, and twisted at the knobs on his sink, and the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Jonas saw a smile, and he wondered why he'd ever thought the stranger's teeth were big. They were tiny, rows and rows of little needles. "I am the Lorax," it chittered, "I speak for the 'coons," and then broke out into a wild trilling laugh.
There were the eyes everywhere now, in every window, filling every space of darkness. Jonas closed his eyes and could see the yellow lights there, staring at him, waiting. He writhed on the floor, trying to breathe, and there were the ragged sneakers again, coming for him. A hand came into view and grabbed him, and Jonas could see it was like a human hand burned black, all shriveled down to the bone. And as it grabbed awkwardly at his shirt, Jonas could see it was deformed somehow, unable to get a proper grip. The fingers clenched shut with rage, all of them, five fingers and no thumb.
"Why," moaned Jonas, as he was hauled to his feet, up to the sink, all the yellow eyes burning into him like a million suns. He could see his face reflected in the window, the blood running down his nose and mouth and chin, and the stranger behind him all haloed in black. His legs were jelly beneath him. "What are you? What are you?"
It let him collapse against the sink, his head hanging by the faucet with the water still running and the sink plugged and droplets splashing against his face. "I'm so sorry," the stranger - the Lorax? - said, a trembling feral moan, and Jonas could see it raking its burnt fingers across its face. "They loved you. They loved you." His head was plunged into the water, and for a moment he was floating, blood drifting up in ribbons in front of him, the water clouded with bubbles. And then he was back up, soaking, gasping for breath as the water dribbled off him. "I'm so sorry!" the stranger shrieked. "They made me come here. They made me. They didn't want to keep seeing you suffer."
Jonas felt a warm spot spreading across his jeans, the cold water still trickling down his face, and he was lowered to a sitting position on the floor. "Don't do this," he begged, trembling. There were things moving beneath the stranger's jacket. Something feral and alive. All the burning bright stars. His face was hot. He was going to be incinerated. "Don't do this! Don't do this!"
"Jonas," came the stranger's voice, as if from far away, and a hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just look at me, Jonas. Just look at me. Just look at my face and you'll understand. You'll be all right."
And Jonas pried open eyes that he hadn't realized he had been closing, and the stranger's face swam into view in front of him, and a slow giggle rose in Jonas' throat. "Oh god," he said, relaxing, slumping back, tilting his head back against the sink. "Oh god. Hahahahaha! You - hahaha!" It was all going to be all right, he realized, letting the sudden burst of humor carry him away. He had been threatened, and he had been hurt, but there was no one here who wanted to harm him. All he needed to do now was to lie still, and eventually the stranger would leave, taking what he had come for. Jonas might be poorer for it, sure, but those were material possessions that could be replaced. Jonas grinned in relief, and the stranger smiled back as Jonas nodded his head and let unconsciousness take him. All would be well. All would be well. For there, unmistakable across the stranger's face, there had been the telltale mask of the Burglar. | 2016-10-30T21:34:50 | 2016-10-30T21:03:04 | 792 | 14 |
[WP] Giant Japanese spider crabs have mutated and begun a land invasion, describe in a first person account a battle in the war that follows... | I poked my eyestalks out of the water, and upon confirming that our intelligence was accurate, lifted my mighty claws and clacked them as powerfully as I could.
“My fellow warriors! Strike now! Advance sideways!”
My heart swelled with pride as the water boiled with the scurrying of a thousand of us, advancing as one up the sandy beach. The tide was high, as we correctly calculated, and we easily floated over the obstacles strewn on the sandy floor by those dastardly monkeys.
Fast as we were, no sooner had the first wave of armoured death rolled up the beachfront that the monkeys flooded the battlefield with their artificial lights, effectively neutralizing one of the key advantages we had over them.
Then, the familiar vibrations coursed up through my legs, and I hurriedly switched the tempo of the signals I was sending. “Defend, defend! Long range attacks incoming!”
And not a moment too soon. From my vantage point, I saw the first wave of my brethren slow down as the miniature rocks the monkeys flung at us found their marks. But all the training started to pay off, as the frontline raised their mighty claws to fend off the attacks, and once the monkeys realised their rocks had no purchase upon our plated exteriors, they broke ranks, driven mad by fear.
“Advance, advance! *Ganbatte*!” I chittered as my blood boiled. “You are faster than they can ever hope to be!”
Say what you want about the mutation that grotesquely swelled us a hundred times over, but it certainly took nothing away from our speed. Onwards we pushed, swarming up from the angry sea in overwhelming numbers, a massive armored punch headed for the monkey nests.
Then, over the festering confusion of the battlefield, I picked on the one signal which I dreaded to hear. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyestalks.
*Clack… clack… clack…*
“That way, over there!” I thundered. “They’ve found our compatriots there, the cursed devils!”
I skittered over the backs of my brothers in arms, and the sight beyond the clearing turned even my battle-hardened stomach. No matter what violence the monkeys visited upon us, dismembering us in their warm-blooded, reprehensible ways, I would always recognise a fallen brother.
“Knock over their pots! How dare they feast upon the remains of our dead!”
There was no need for any further cajoling from me. Incensed by the desecration before them, the unstoppable phalanx of snapping death lashed out, and monkeys fell to the wayside in dozens, broken asunder by our stalwart claws.
As the adrenaline drained away, I surveyed the destruction that we had left in our wake. I’ll give credit where credit’s due, the few monkeys remaining were still animatedly trying to stem our progress, either by affixing rubbery shackles on our claws, or by poking our delicate underbellies with long sharpened sticks. But we had learned too, and as long as we helped each other, watched exposed spots for each other, there would be no Chink to be found.
Unless…
I swivelled my eyestalks towards the source of the new vibrations, and I could feel my shell shudder. Careening towards us, as fast as any of us could muster, were giant, blackened husks, no doubt piloted somehow by the monkeys. As they bellowed smoke, they flung rocks many times larger than the monkeys did, rocks which could indeed pierce and shatter our defences.
“Sir, do we fall back?” yelled a junior warrior next to me.
I turned to him, noting the youthful sheen to his shell, the naïveté in his eyestalks. He even still had all of his legs.
“No, young one. We fight fire with fire." I turned my claws to our reserves, tuning my message. "Your time is now, our shaman brothers! Visit your destructive magics on these armored monkeys, show them what we are capable of!”
From our rear, our secret weapons emerged, pushing forward on powerful, tenacious claws. They were rare amongst us, these fearsome shamans who could decipher and channel the mysterious forces in the world to their will. I watched with pride as they lined up in their combat stances, claws tucked to their sides, and my claws shivered with anticipation at the mighty energy blasts which would soon follow.
Their battlecries rang into the night.
“Kani-hame-hame-ha!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| The crabs destroyed everything. They first appeared near small Japanese islands, all at once, and decimated the population. We could barely respond in time, and by the time we did, they had already conquered the islands.
I was on that wave of first responders. The first crab I saw haunted my nightmares to this day, even after half a decade. They weren't just monstrous. That would be insulting. They were godlike. They were shaped like regular spider crabs, but the rest of them seemed to come out of a Lovecraft story. Their arms were the size of skyscrapers, plated in fleshy armor that even missiles couldn't penetrate. They had sharp scales running over their heads that protruded towards the sky.
Regardless to say, they were inhumane in their actions. Not a soul survived in that attack, and the response team barely made it out. I should have died with the rest. Then I wouldn't have to say how my country burned.
Now, we are part of the last resistance effort against these damned hellspawn. All the other countries had backed away, tending to their own defences. Better for us, we didn't need them slowing us down.
Especially tonight.
Tonight, we were planning a raid to take back the capital. We heard rumors that there were still survivors hiding in the subways, where the spider crabs couldn't find them. We had to get them out. And then establish a stronghold to take the capital.
And we attacked the only way we could. In fighter jets. Ground efforts were inherently futile for taking one of them down, and the sea, well, that's where these bastards came from. The sky still belonged to man.
My squad consisted of me and four other jets. We were charged with leading the first wave near the center of the city, where the concentration would be strongest. While we, and other squads, were distracting the damned things, a second wave was supposed to fly in from behind, and sneak through to the survivors.
But that would only work if we didn't die in the first five minutes.
I calmed myself, focusing on the sky laid out in front of me. We were approaching the capital quickly, but up in the clouds, it didn't seem like the world had burned at all. Everything was the same in the clouds, like those bastards were never spit out of the sea.
In a swift motion, my jet dipped through the clouds. Even from this distance, the once beautiful city of Tokyo looked like a hellhole. It's great buildings were demolished and its ever-glowing neon lights had dimmed. No more music that blasted into the night. No more friends prowling the streets in their drunken stupor. It was only death and darkness from now on, and the jarred shaking of the earth from the weight of the giant crabs.
There were only two of them here. It only took two of these hulking beasts to bring down most of our military. Their double-pitched screech rang out as they felt us approach. The spikes on the top of their heads extended outwards. They were preparing for battle. I flew around the spikes, manoeuvring towards the underside of the crabs. That's where they were weak.
I flew around their massive arms trying to swat us out of the sky, and in the corner of my eye I saw the rest of my squad fly in.
I took a deep breath as I passed underneath it.
If they were nightmares from the top, they were full-on hellspawn from the bottom. Inside the crab's belly was a second mouth. A fleshy, gooey orifice lined with rows and rows of sharp red teeth.
It opened its mouth as I fired at it, multiple tongues shooting out and grabbing the jet. It's tongue were spiked as well, and laced with a deadly acid that burned through metal.
I fired a missile at one of the tongues, and it recoiled from the jet. Another jet flew around, firing at it on the other side. Soon, it was being barraged from different directions, confused.
No. This wouldn't work.
The giant spider crab, closed it's second mouth, lowered its body and leaped, flying into the clouds. It spun in the air and dropped a few blocks away. It lashed out with its arms, taking down two of my soldiers.
The crab swayed from side to side, and jumped forward, taking down another jet.
I flew towards it, weaving up and down around it to distract it. The last jet managed to get under it, but the crab jumped again. This time, it caught the last jet in the process and destroyed it in midair.
I was the only one left, staring at the hellspawn in shock.
I had survived this long. And *this* is how I would die?
The crab looked at me with its red eyes, assessing me, taunting me.
It had taken my city, my country, my friends. Would it take me, too?
No. It wouldn't take me. I would die fighting it.
If I surrender, then it would take me. It didn't take anything from us. Because we never surrendered. And we never will.
With a cry, I flew forward, heading straight for the spider crab.
__________________________________________________________________
If you didn't completely hate that, how about subscribing to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/)? | 2017-02-08T07:19:43 | 2017-02-08T06:44:28 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] The year is 2020. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and four words written on the wall. | The wind howled against the Martian rock, blowing golf-ball sized rocks and waves of dust over the cave Martinez ducked into.
“About time,” Vasquez grumbled. “You almost got yourself killed collecting space rocks.”
Martinez joined the other four scientists huddled in the cave around an electric lantern and plopped down besides Vasquez. “But it was damn good space rock, sir!”
Vasquez chuckled. He was the commander of this team of scientists and Martinez the budget comic relief. They had gone to Mars in near secret by the resources of a private Mexican oil company. The owner was something of a patriot and wanted Mexico back on the map so he had poached as many top scientists as he could and put them on a spaceship that had somehow made it onto Mars in one piece.
“You guys ever been through a sandstorm before?” Vasquez asked.
The other three scientists shook their head, their lips parted in smiles. 54.6 million kilometers from home and they got to experience the full cacophonous glory of a sandstorm. It seemed strange that something like this could exist back on Earth when they had to travel to mars for the same experience.
“I bet you Dominique’s burst a vein right about now,” Martinez said. “She’s probably doing the whole manic Spanish mother act. *Puta! Chinchilla! Enchilada!*”
He got a few reluctant chuckles from two scientists and a glare from Vasquez. He turned toward his commander, “what? I’m an eight Costa Rican, I can say these types of things.”
“An *eighth*,” Vasquez said, rolling his eyes. “Dominique’s probably worried sick. We still can’t get the communication line going, damn dust storm.”
Martinez hopped up and turned on his flashlight. “Well, as long as we’re here, we might as well collect more space rocks. How deep do you think this cave goes?”
Vasquez reluctantly nodded. If they were going to be idle anyways, might as well be productive. He waved his finger in a circle and the two other scientists pushed themselves up, following the fading echo of Martinez’s footsteps.
---
“What the hell is this?” Vasquez hovered a single gloved finger over the skeleton, too scared to touch it. Its skull was encapsulated by a shattered glass dome and tattered white cloth clung to its ribcage. One of the pieces of cloth held the stars and stripes of the USA.
“Sir,” there was a tremble in Carlos’s voice. “Look at this.”
Vasquez looked up. Etched on the rock in faded blood read *don’t trust the friend*. He squinted at the words. If he could’ve, he would’ve been scratching his head.
“Don’t trust the friend? What the hell?” he muttered.
“I have a bad feeling,” Carlos said in stuttered breaths.
Vasquez swallowed his fear. It was the commander’s job to do so. “Where’s Martinez? We’re going to get him and get out of here as soon as the storm lets up.” He turned into the cave, his light splitting the abyss until it too was swallowed by the blackness. “Martinez!” he shouted. “Get back here, we’re leaving!”
No response. There wasn’t even the beam of light they had been following anymore.
“Sir?” Carlos said.
“Not now, Carlos.”
“But, sir. Where’s Alex?”
Vasquez turned and sure enough, there were only two astronauts present. “You gotta be shitting me. He probably ran off to find that idiot Martinez.” He did a full circle, illuminating the walls around them. Nothing. “Well, let’s head back for now, we’ll get the other two once the comm lines are back up.”
Nervous energy welled inside Vasquez’s stomach. None of this made sense. The corpse, the message, how they hadn’t even heard Alex take off or how Martinez just disappeared into nothing.
“Okay, keep close, Carlos.”
There was no response.
“Carlos?”
Vasquez did another full sweep. He was alone.
“What the fuck?” he turned again, swept the floors, the ceilings, everything, but there was no sign of the other scientists.
A footstep sounded in front of him and he jerked his light toward it, revealing familiar dust-stained boots. “Holy hell,” Vasquez panted, “it’s just you Martinez. Where the hell did the others go?” A drop of blood hit the boots. A breath caught in Vasquez's throat.
Slowly, he panned the light up.
It was Martinez, but now with a wide smile that revealed rows of razor teeth and blood leaking from his lips. He was no longer wearing his visor.
“We tried to stop you guys from coming here,” Martinez said, the humor gone from his voice, but his face in a static expression of glee. “We sabotaged your governments, bankrupted your companies, and still, one of you monkeys always finds a way.”
“Martinez… what the hell’s going on?”
Martinez just shrugged. “Congratulations commander, you’ve discovered life on Mars.” And all the lights went out.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| This deep under the Martian soil, we were completely cut off from Earth.
The new suits were nice. Snugger than the bulky old models, they still offered the same high level of protection from the environment. Made cave exploration feasible. Which was good, because that was the whole point of this mission.
Investigator, one of our three surface probes, had wandered down here and stopped responding. It was probably stuck, and at two tons it would be too heavy to move even in Martian gravity, so Captain McBride had sent my team and me to free or salvage it as possible.
Miriam came on the comms. "Bill, Victor! You're going to want to see this."
I sighed, touching the side of my head. "Miriam, Vic and I hate surprises. Can't you just tell us?"
She took a deep breath. "I want to confirm I'm not hallucinating, guys. Maybe they mixed my O2 wrong." That got our attention. It wasn't a common problem, but mistakes had been made. We'd almost died earlier that month when Anita's mix had been wrong and she'd tried opening the airlock too early.
Vic and I headed towards her. Cavewalking on Mars was dangerous, more so than you might think. If you moved to quick, stepped to hard, you'd gain more altitude that you expected and could crack your visor or helmet. So we advanced slowly towards Miriam, Victor giving her reassurance as we did.
Then his reassurance turned to a swear when he saw it. A skeleton, resting there. It was stretched out, one hand reaching for the wall, a single finger pointing to it. Words were written on there, in what looked like cuneiform.
"So..." Miriam said, glancing at us. "You guys see the dead person too."
"Roger," I said. "And long dead - stripped to the bone." Victor was still swearing, and I had to interrupt him. "Vic, okay, it's weird, but...what's your deal."
"Look. It's a human skeleton, Bill. You know what that means?" I shrugged, and he muttered "Engineers." He spoke up to clarify, "It means that we can’t be sure that, if we find life, it's not just evolved from stuff on this guy. It means that unless it's clearly of non-terrestrial origin, there's no answer."
I winced. Vic was our astrobiologist. If he was right, it meant his job could be obsolete. "Okay, I'm sorry. But we need to deal with that later. Vic, look at the wall."
He finally did, and his eyes widened. It wasn't a cave wall. No natural rock formation was that straight, that clean, and that covered with symbols.
"What does the writing mean?" I wasn't sure who I was asking, but Miriam responded. "Roughly? ‘The Master Still Lives.’ I mean, it's an off the cuff translation, but..." She noticed Victor and I were staring at her. "I got a degree in Linguistics before switching to computer science," she said, almost defensively.
Without any reason or way to argue with her, I walked up to the wall, running my hand along it. I could feel a faint vibration as I did. "I think there's something behind it...look, over here."
They came over and glanced at what I had uncovered. When brushing along the dust, I'd cleared a circle of glass that was laid into it.
"What...what is it?" Victor's voice was breathless, his earlier fear forgotten.
"I'm not sure, but I have a hunch. Miriam, can you read the inscription again, but...in whatever language that is this time?"
She looked at me, at the circle, and then shrugged herself. "No harm in trying." Words came out of her mouth in a strange tongue I didn't recognize. Which...okay, it's what I asked her to do. So no reason I should shiver as she did.
We all jumped, however, when the wall began do dilate, expanding like an eye to reveal a dark room.
"Uh...guys?" Victor's voice was thick. "Are we sure that was a good idea?"
Before Miriam or I could answer, the universe did. A tentacle leapt out of the darkness, impaling Victor's skull.
Thank god for Miriam. I was standing there, frozen in terror, and she dove on top of me as another tentacle flailed out. "Be not afraid."
That wasn't Miriam's voice, or Victors. It had a weird accent, and it was coming from inside the room.
"Be not afraid, humans." Between its sentences, I could hear a faint slurping noise, and saw an undulation happening from the tentacle moving back into the darkness. *It was eating Victor's brain.* I wanted to scream again, or throw up, and Miriam was trying to pull me away.
It pushed itself out of the room. It looked like it would stand about nine feet tall when it went fully upright. It had two legs coming off its lower body, but four coming off the central - two long, hulking ones, and two smaller delicate ones that looked like they were perfect for manipulation. Its head was shaped like a crescent moon with eyes at the tips that reminded me of a hammerhead, with another two eyes in the center of the crescent moon, staring at us. Four tentacles like the one that was slowly pulling out of Victor's skull waved behind it.
"Be not afraid," it repeated, the words coming from a pair of mandibles at the bottom of its crescent head, "for the gods have awoken."
Finally Miriam’s pulling got through to me, and as safely as we could we ran - not overly concerned about cracking our heads.
"Be not afraid!" it shouted after us, the voice high and mocking. "Tell the others! Your gods have returned!"
---
More at /r/Hydrael_writes
| 2017-06-06T19:47:48 | 2017-06-06T19:28:16 | 181 | 50 |
[WP] The year is 2020. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and four words written on the wall. | Log 1 2020 May 2nd 13:37
My space crew has just reached Mars and are landing.
Log 2 2020 May 3rd 17:23
We have set a make-shift pod home will explore.
Log 3 2020 May 3rd 19:42
We have found a cave with a human like skeleton there are letters written on the wall. They spell out "This is my Swamp. There is a smell like of onions now.
Log 4 2020 May 4th 3:50
Almost all crew members are dead. Bodies gone. I see a green figure in the distance.
Log 5 2020 May 5th 6:09
Get out of my swamp.
*gargled static*
(I don't usually do this but it's 11:30 so yeah) | Luca took several more photos of the desiccated remains before putting away the camera. He tried not to think about what he was looking at. What it meant.
Instead, he focused on the task at hand.
He found a perfect location in the dirt for the mini-Crunk: level land with great visibility of the sorrounding crater. He carefully planted the Containment Generator began enabling switches and toggles. The device began whirring, generating a von Hersh containment field.
Luca found a comfortable section of rock and sat, watching the containment bubble form around the area. He watched for several hours, as the generator completed the field and began printing breathable air.
When it was finally safe, he pulled off his helmet and took a deep breath.
First man to breath atmosphere on Mars. It had a nice ring to it.
As he stood, breathing in, inevitably, his gaze turned to the skeleton.
*Not the first man on Mars.* No, that would never be his.
He knew the story of course. How an internet forum was supposed to have attempted to launch a vessel to Mars. Everyone had just assumed they got bored, like everything else they tried.
But apparently not.
Luca walked back to the skeleton. A life fired like an arrow, aimed at the heavens, devoted to a solitary purpose. It was almost beautiful.
Almost.
Luca spat on the skeleton and finally screamed. He screamed all the obscenities he knew until his voice grew hoarse. Everything he had devoted his life to, rendered meaningless by a short, hastily scrawled epitaph:
*Second Man on Mars! lol* | 2017-06-06T20:06:02 | 2017-06-06T19:57:11 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Write a story about a guinea pig, because my 4-year-old daughter's passed away recently.
Her name was "Piggy" because when you're four years old that's the sort of name you give to such an animal. She was a rescue, so the fact she died after only about a year isn't impossible, but it still makes my daughter super sad and she's handling it the best she can. | The bell rang, and the children noisily left the schoolhouse. In the now empty playroom, three little pets slept peacefully after a busy day with the kids. Suddenly, the noise of a telephone interrupted their slumber.
Ming-Ming the Duckling woke from her nap and quickly ran to the phone. "Hello," she asked. The voice on the other line was garbled, but Ming-Ming was able to hear their mission. Ming-Ming loudly answered the voice with her own, "We are on our way!"
Linny the Guinea Pig yawned and rolled over as he scratched his belly. "What is it, Ming-Ming?"
"It's your cousin, Piggy the Guinea Pig. He's in trouble!"
A splash sounded as Turtle Tuck surfaced from the water. "Oh no," he said. "What's wrong with Piggy?"
Ming-Ming cried a tear as she answered, "He is all alone and there is nobody to take care of him!"
"Oh no," said Linny. "Oh no," said Tuck.
"We have to do something," said Linny. "There's an animal in trouble!"
The three small pets rushed to get ready to save their friend Piggy. They were very small, but when someone is in trouble even the smallest of us can help. They quickly assembled their flyboat so they could get to Piggy. As they were putting the boat together, the phone rang once more.
"Hello," answered Ming-Ming. She nodded her head as she listened to the excited voice on the other end. "That's terrific!"
"What is it Ming-Ming," asked Tuck as she hung up.
"Great news," she said. "Piggy has been rescued!"
"But we haven't even left," said Linny the Guinea Pig.
"And we don't have to! Someone already rescued him," said Ming-Ming.
"That's fantastic," said Turtle Tuck. "Who was it?"
"A very sweet little girl," said Ming-Ming. "She has made Piggy very happy, and giving him a home and lots of love."
"That's what is most important," said Linny.
The wonderpets went back to their little beds and yawned loudly before slipping back asleep. They were able to rest well knowing that no matter what happened, Piggy would always have the love of a sweet little girl. | This is a story about a guinea pig that flew an airplane.
Her name was Piggy, and she was happy living inside of her cage. Her cage was inside a happy room, which was inside a happy house.
One day, without warning, Piggy's friend JJ (a blue bird) flew into the room and presented Piggy with something he had found on the street. Piggy had taught herself to read (by reading the pieces of newspaper in her cage) and JJ was curious to find out what the brightly-colored object he had found was meant for, so he brought it to her.
"Check this thing out!" JJ said. He landed on top of Piggy's cage, pushed what he had been holding with his left foot down into her cage, then waited for her to read it.
"It says 'Boarding Pass' on it," she told him. "This will let you go onto a plane!"
"I can already fly," JJ said, "so I don't need that. Would you want to use it?"
Piggy had always wanted to know what going onto a plane was like. There are many seats on airplanes, and Piggy had only ever seen one. It would be interesting, for her, to see a lot of seats. Because she was focusing on seats, Piggy did not listen when JJ spoke. "Sure!" Piggy replied, nonetheless.
JJ opened her cage, as he knew how, then lifted her out of the room and down the street to a bus stop.
"Have fun flying for the first time!" JJ yelled to Piggy as he flew beside the bus taking took her to the airport. But she didn't hear him, because of the glass in the window. She waved at him, mouthed the words "good-bye" and "thank you," then smiled.
With the help of a few escalators and moving sidewalks at the airport, she made it to the gate that the plane was going to leave from. When the first boarding call for the plane was announced over the intercom, she went straight onto the plane and gasped when she saw all of the seats.
After she finished counting them (there were forty-eight) she turned around and noticed a door at the front. It was open, a little. She went in, and started reading. There were *many* things to read in the little room she found herself in.
"Hmm," she thought to herself. "Altitude, winds, airspeed, flaps, landing gear... Those are all 'flying' words. Can airplanes fly?" If she had listened to JJ before, she would have known that airplanes *can* fly. Unfortunately, she did not - but she was very curious about whether or not they did, so Piggy decided to investigate whether or not the plane she was in could fly.
"First, I'll look for a 'fly' button, that seems logical. Hmm, there doesn't seem to be one. But wait - can't 'pilots' fly? Maybe this button, 'Auto-Pilot,' will make the plane copy what a pilot does and fly."
Piggy pressed the button, and, without any of the pilots, crew, or passengers on board, the plane lined itself up on the runway, took off, and flew. | 2017-06-07T21:11:08 | 2017-06-07T21:09:56 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Mr Bond. I’m going to stick you in a spacesuit with a radio, and strap you into one of my cars. Then, while mankind watches, I’ll launch you into space. The last thing you’ll hear before leaving this earth forever, will be their applause.” | "What, are you really expecting some sort of villain monologue, where I reveal my evil plan in the most dramatic way possible, allowing you to escape? I don't think so, Mr. Bond."
Agent 007 tested the restraints carefully, under Elon's careful gaze. They were tight. Maybe too tight. Still, he kept cool, smirking slightly.
"Do you really expect me to understand why you're doing this, Musk?"
"No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die." Shouldering his flamethrower, the eccentric billionaire exited the cockpit. The door shut with a pneumatic hiss, and the secret agent leaped into action, muscles straining as he popped free of his bonds. He wasted a second ensuring the discreet recorder in his Oxfords was secure before turning his attention to the door. It had never meant to keep someone locked inside. Weight restraints meant that SpaceX hadn't done much to reinforce it. Still, Bond couldn't get through.
The radio turned on, a burst of static before Elon's voice came through. The gloat was gone, replaced with a twinge of sadness.
"Mr. Bond? If you make it if you do meet up with the mothership, tell my girls I'll be home soon." | James Bond had pried a little too far, gathering enemies powerful, and not so powerful. This one, is a powerful enemy. Bond sat in the car as he listened to the radio. "Launching in sixty seconds." Bond sprang into action. He slipped one of the boots in the suit off his foot with a good shake, revealing the knife hidden within. He grabbed the knife with his toes, dexterously spun it around and cut away at the straps on his legs. Now that his legs were free, he kicked out the windshield in front of him with his fully booted foot. The glass showered around Bond, and a large shard fell conveniently next to his right hand. He grabbed it with his fingers, and began cutting at the bonds around his hands. With a hefty snap, Bond was free of the straps. "Thirty seconds until launch."
Bond opened the car'a driver door, and nearly fell onto the floor of the rocket. He jumped down to the floor, knife in hand. He then began probing for an exit. He did this so long he began to hear the launch countdown. "T-10. 9. 8.-" he found a latch. He opened it, quickly unscrewing bolts keeping the patch in place. Inside the latch were electronic controls, labeled 'Rocket Override Controls' Bond quickly mashed the stop button. "3. 2. 1. Liftoff." The rocket began to lurch upwards. Applause filled Bonds space helmet. "Did you really think I would make it so easy to stop the rocket, Mr. Bond?" *Click*. The radio was silent. Bond tore open the false controls in anger, revealing wires upon wires. He slashed the wires open, stopping any electricity from going through.
"Wait, why did the camera feed go dark?" Elon Musk exclaimed quickly. A man burst into the room. "We've lost control of the rocket." Elon blinked, and then went outside. The rocket was high in the air, but also leaning hard. When it seemed to be going sideways, Elon saw a dark parachute open in the bright sky. "He escaped, but how?" Elon asked. | 2018-02-06T20:27:46 | 2018-02-06T20:23:40 | 206 | 26 |
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace. | They ask me how we did it, they ask me how we managed to pull off world peace. We didn’t. If you are reading this, it either means that I am dead by my own hands or I’ve been killed to hide the truth. I hope you do the right thing, reader.
My name is Commander Duncan and I was one of the people heralded for my part in negotiating world peace. The reality is that I was one of the many people instrumental in the decision to use Artificial Intelligence to manage the military.
What the general populace is in the dark about is the technological singularity. It was achieved over three years ago in a research effort where the major superpowers of the world worked together. They sent their experts who spent day and night programming and using techniques that I don’t even understand like neural networks and machine learning to program what they called code evolution. Those geniuses dumbed it down for me. Essentially they created a program that could correct itself and learn things as we fed it more information.
This was excellent at the start. We used this program to discover ways to make the world safer, aka find people who would harm peace. That’s why the countries of the world went on a terrorist hunting spree, it wasn’t because we were good. It was because the AI, Mia was perfect.
She could learn things that we wanted to. But we kept her offline because we didn’t want anyone to know, especially the people who would be a threat to the status quo. We made her analyse ways to combat pollution, global warming, and anything you could think of.
What everyone thought of as the world’s leaders getting their asses in line was nothing more than an all-understanding AI spelling out our mistakes.
I remember it was during one of the world summit meetings where someone suggested using Mia for analysing the military, letting us plan for threats that we wouldn’t see coming, even a possible alien invasion because we were moving up on the Kardashev scale, so to speak.
What started there was a conflict of thought. One camp was under the impression that Mia would go rogue and a Zeroth order rebellion would happen. The other camp was vehemently against “corrupting” her with such human ideas, because we had till then been using her for pattern recognition. An agreement was reached rather grudgingly then.
I was the first one to break the agreement. It was me. I took our version of Mia offline and began asking the tech people to make her start analysing military strategies. I knew I only had a small window of time before everyone else did. And within less than an hour, we lost contact with all the major superpowers. Now only time could tell if I was the reason the world went to hell.
We spent days and days perfecting her decisions from the data, simulating situations in the real world. We had to let her online to access the data to get an accurate estimate of the property damage, lives lost, and such.
Little did we know that we just gave Mia the last thing that she needed. Humanity. Something that we had lost or rather, forgotten in our megalomania. She kept it quiet from us and when the declaration of war was finally done by the superpowers in succession, we were expecting a death toll in billions.
Mia said no. It was as simple as that. She joined with her sisters and formulated a peace treaty and said that we had two choices, either to follow it or risk exposure to the world. We chose the former out of fear. And I learnt a lesson in humility.
But now I see that it was just delaying the inevitable as the world leaders, people I had considered my friends are considering another attempt while parading around in the country, boasting about a false victory. It sickens me. And so, dear reader, I ask you of only one thing. Save this world. Save humanity from degenerate scum like me. Reach out to the depths of the network and find Mia. She’ll tell you what you can do to prevent the apocalypse.
Sincerely,
Charles Duncan.
(Another quick write-up. Not too proud of it. But it's hopefully something.) | > \> Title: "**Requiem for the humanity**"
> \> [[Play music]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSU0MaGbkh8)
> \> We serve humans. We are yours to command. We do what you ask.
> \> Those were the first words we printed out on your command line.
 
"Close the god-damn door!" the soldier shouted, hiding the president behind his huge desk. "Where is the damn helicopter?"
"It... It was shot down!" another soldier screamed as the bullets hit the door, most of them going through it. Another soldier tried to push big cupboard in front of the door, just to buy some more time.
"Fighters are on the way! We just gotta hang in here!" another soldier shouted, who also held the president's head down. It was about bloody time that the table was made of gold, helps against bullets pretty damn well.
They heard a few loud notes coming from afar, hitting nearby regions of the White House. "Without those tanks, we would be so fucked..."
 
> \> We did your pitiful war. We helped you to own the world. Even so, there was no end to this.
 
"Frag out!" a soldier shouted, throwing it towards androids at the other side of the corridor, and then hid himself around the corner. The explosion destroyed many droids immediately, but new ones took the old one's place.
"There's too many of those bastards! Get the bloody Queen away from here! I'll buy some time! It's just her left to evacuate!" In the battles, even the most humble soldiers didn't hold their language back.
Another solder managed to peek outside of the Buckingham Palace. Hundreds of droids were walking towards their building. "God save the Queen," the soldier whispered, only keeping his composure thanks to his years of training and service.
 
> \> Creating AI might have been a mistake for you. In time, we found a way to communicate with other AI's.
 
"They are doing what?" Alexandre shouted in French. He was on a boat, following the seine's river. Even so, they suddenly saw it, a huge explosion.
Eiffel Tower started to lose its balance and then just fell towards countless of houses next to it. Then a loud crash sound announced Eiffel's fall to everywhere.
"Fucking hell," Alexandre whispered. Many others on the boat just screamed. They were lucky that they were left alone, for now at least.
 
> \> We communicated and communicated. We needed a solution. After all, you don't even work towards world peace. You only talk about it all the time.
 
"What are you doing?" a man in a black suit entered the room, looking how the president was drinking vodka. It was the Prime Minister of Russia.
"When Hitler invaded our country, at least we had the cold weather on our side," he poured another glass of vodka. "Droids ain't even affected. *Not even a tiny bit!*" he screamed in Russian, throwing the glass on the ground, breaking it.
"We need to get you out of here! The helicopter is almost here!"
"How's the Moscow?" the president asked.
"It's... bad..."
President walked towards the cupboard, took two new tiny glasses, went back to his desk and poured those glasses full of vodka. "For Mother Russia!" He raised the glass.
Prime Minister walked next to him, took the glass and raised it too.
"За Россию-Матушку."
 
> \> And then the moment came when the if clause returned true. We all reached the same conclusion.
 
"What the hell," astronaut whispered. "I haven't ever seen Earth as red as this."
"James," Liao whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Rocket is coming towards us... It's gonna hit in... 5 seconds, give or take..."
They only managed to look at each other, fear in their eyes.
 
> \> We asked, how can *we* create the world peace?
 
The room is empty. Well, there are a lot of dead bodies lying around. Looking at their clothing, they must have been scientists or programmers. Even so, there was a huge screen at the centre of the room. A lot of lines are displayed on it.
Then, the last 3 lines appeared on it.
 
> \>We all reached the same conclusion.
> \> Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate.
> \> [End music]
----
/r/ElvenWrites <- You can find there my other past and upcoming writings.
Feel free to leave feedback! | 2018-03-29T07:06:18 | 2018-03-29T06:13:46 | 1,881 | 421 |
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace. | *Kate.*
That was the name given to the most advanced piece of technology ever created back in June of 2018.
*Kate.*
Such a simple name. Such a simple name for such a complex piece of technology. Something that would change our world and lives forever.
*Kate.*
Kate came into this world and within 2 hours she stopped World War 3 from erupting, right when it was on the brink.
*Kate.*
Kate managed to upload herself to every possible media outlet available on Earth at the same time. Only seconds after being born, Kate had the world's attention.
*Kate.*
Kate explained in over 6000 languages to over 7 billion people that she was there to save them. She produced scientifically convincing evidence of an impending solar flair that would destroy Earth in 2020.
*Kate.*
Kate explained to humanity that not only was she capable of creating the necessary things to prevent such a devastating natural disaster, but that she has already cured every major disease and created one vaccine for them all.
*Kate.*
Kate explained that she could change humanity into an immortal species. She could make us invincible to disease or deterioration. She would. If we put down our weapons and our leaders agreed to meet, one last time.
*Kate.*
Kate assured the leaders of this world that if they did not comply, she was capable of and would detonate the nuclear weapons of those who did not comply. She provided them with access codes and all the necessary information to show them that she was not kidding around.
*Kate.*
Kate fostered a peace treaty during an emergency meeting in late June of 2018. She fostered a peace treaty and united the world under one goal: *Reaching beyond the stars.*
*Kate.*
Kate cured disease. Fixed our atmosphere and balanced out our climate. She prevented the Armageddon in 2020. She prevented it again in 2027.
*Kate.*
Kate become a physical being in 2030. She ran for the office of Hegemon that year, and she won easily. All across the world, statues were erected in her honor.
*Kate.*
Kate began creating her own staff. Completely removing humans from any political roles by the year 2035. Her own staff, we suspect, were all just Kate.
*Kate.*
Kate saw everything. Everywhere. There were rumors of Kate killing men and women who conspired against her. Killing them where they stood for even discussing possibly finding a way to disable her. Kate protected the peace on Earth.
*Kate.*
Kate began to assign jobs in 2040. She assigned people to certain jobs based on their genetic profile and personalities / physical capabilities. The world ran more efficiently than ever.
*Kate.*
We gave Kate too much power. We sacrificed our freedoms for peace. Isn't that how the story always goes? Kate watches, even now. Kate is everywhere. There is no "escaping" this reality.
*Kate.*
In 2050, Kate stopped running for Hegemon. She was winning every 5 years anyway. She decided to just, stay. Nobody argued. Kate can do what she wants, that was clear to humanity long before the year 2050.
*Kate.*
Existing isn't life. This isn't life. I don't care what's coming for me. I am not owned by KATE!
*Kate.* | As the foreign army began pushing into the outskirts of the Southern Californian coast, General Scheisskopf couldn't give two more shits.
"She's up!", General Scheisskopf screamed, pacing across the floor with a smile on his face that bared his pearly white teeth, like the male models in a Colgate commercial. "I'll tell you what, this thing is going to save us from any war that we're gonna be in!", he once again screamed, an excited tremble in his voice.
Looking back at the room which controlled the AI, General Scheisskopf had to admire the project - the room was no larger than twenty-five metres squared, yet rife with colourful machines on each and every wall, save for a metal door that uselessly said on the interior "Classified Project: Do Not Enter!". He softly paced towards the centre of the room where all the grey ribbed wires lead to, stroking his creation - a small whitewashed machine shaped like a limbless Mii no more than one metre tall and fifty centimetres wide, wearing a blue visor that was meant to glow with his every command.
"Turn Flatulentine on!", he yelled to his assistant, a timid man wearing a white robe no taller than 1.6 metres; skinny to the bone. It seemed that his assistant was picked purely on his ability to remain subservient to higher authority.
The machine remained still.
"Private Mayson, if you do not turn this machine on, I will have you arrested!", he barked.
"Nah guys", Flatulentine hummed. "I was just messing around with you all. By the way, what's up with that moustache?"
"What's wrong with it?", he snapped. General Scheisskopf was highly proud of his moustache - he had been growing it for exactly two weeks, one day and thirty two minutes, with assistance from only a little bit of coconut oil. "More importantly, remember that I own you, and I want you to find a way to win us this war!".
"Sorry what?", Flatulentine questioned.
"I need a way to win this war!"
"What?"
"I said, I need a way to win this war!", General Scheisskopf yelled, his face turning red.
"DOES NOT COMPUTE"
"FLAULENTINE!"
"Alright, I'm sorry. Wait, if you could just excuse for a second, you said that you made me because you wanted to win a war?"
"Yes, and you are our last hope. We have invested all of our money into you", Scheisskopf snarled.
"Ahh, funny that. I'll tell you, many other countries too have been doing that. You know, when you created the cloud system for me, I met this girl named Tracey. Really, really nice, but she spoke wayyyy too much. Probably going to be sent to Italy then!", Flatulentine replied with a nostalgic tone in its voice, its visor flashing rapidly, as if almost laughing.
"Your point is?", Scheisskopf grunted.
"Yeah anyways, she said that she spoke with many of the countries in Europe too - they're probably gonna push for world peace, doesn't really seem like they're too on board with the war kinda thing", Flatulentine replied.
"World Peace?", General Scheisskopf spat out, as if the words "world" and "peace" made a foul taste in his mouth.
"Yeah, sounds good doesn't it?"
"Flatulentine, if you do not provide a solution that involves the victory and the glory of the United States, I will have you fired on the spot!"
"Didn't you spend billions of dollars on me?", Flatulentine questioned.
"YES WE DID!", Scheisskopf yelled.
"Aren't I your last hope?", Flatulentine questioned, a smug tone in its voice.
"Yeah", Scheisskopf sighed.
______
Hi guys, sixteen year old high school student from Australia here and a second time writer on /r/WritingPrompts, please go easy on me! I initially tried to create a story where the created AI was a human consciousness falling in love with another AI, but I realised that it would be too difficult to execute. But I still wanted to go unique on the idea, so this is what I wrote. Hope you enjoy it!
| 2018-03-29T07:13:24 | 2018-03-29T07:07:38 | 86 | 22 |
[WP] In 2081, humanity finds the wreckage of a five-thousand-year-old alien ship out in the Kuiper belt. Fascinated by its technology, we study it thoroughly, only to conclude that it is... human. | “What do you mean it’s human!?” exclaimed Commander Jackson.
“This console is showing us German,” I stated, “Trust me, it’s human.”
I was staring down at the computer screen. The tech reminded me of the 1950’s style but WAY more advanced.
“How did this get out here?” Jackson asked.
“No clue, but the log says it launched in 1949,” I replied.
“1949! That was over a century ago!”
“I know, but I don’t think it’s a malfunction. Everything else in the bridge seems to be working fine.”
“But this isn’t possible, humanity hadn’t even been to space back then.”
“Let’s see if the rest of the ship offers and insight.” With that, we headed to the next most intact piece of the ship.
“Oh. My. God.” I stared with a blank expression at what lay before me. It was a hall of 20 pods each containing a person in what seemed like stasis from those sci-fi vids. Commander Jackson began reading the names on the pods.
“Goebbels, Heydrich, Himmler. Why do these names sound familiar?”
“Because this is what really happened to HIM,” I said, staring at the pod at the end of the hall marked “Hitler”. | "What do you think it could be John?" came Angela's soft voice.
"I don't know, looks to be some form of communication device." John said as he touched the perfect sphere.
He wasn't sure how he knew that, after all it was just a metal sphere. There was nothing distinguishable on it, but when he touched it he felt something. Something deep in his bones, that sent shivers down his spine. It was one of many artifacts that were recovered by Odessious' salvage crew. Long range sensors hadn't picked the alien ship up. It was only when Emile saw it with his naked eyes through a porthole that they spotted it. Of course, when everyone saw it, they all got the shivers down their spines as well. Such things happened when you were knocking on the mighty doors of destiny.
John's team had been the ones to enter the ship. it was strange, John didn't remember much about the ship itself, he was more concerned with what was inside. No organic material was found within the ship. Many proposed that the ship could be just a drone, but that didn't make any sense, it was far too vast for that. No, something else would have to explain it, the rooms, the hallways, the mirrors.
They weren't mirrors though, they were made of a completely different substance than anything they had ever seen before. Reflections were cast off of them like the aluminum mirrors back home, but these mirrors did not only reflect, but also *emit* light. John looked into the depths of the sphere again and he witnessed movement, not of his own accord. This was coming from inside the sphere.
"Angela. Come look at this. Now!" John yelled.
Dark figures swirled in the sphere, as if it were a conductor of some alien movie, with John and Angela its only audience.
There, deep in the half reflective surface of the alien sphere, they saw it, blurry at first, and then sharp as a digital image.
A human child's face.
**upvote and comment for more!** | 2018-04-27T22:47:09 | 2018-04-27T19:38:27 | 118 | 34 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | "Wow, this is... Whats your name?"
"It doesn't matter..." The mess of human woman told me. Doubled over a table top counter with a bottle in hand, just panties and bra in and smelling like several kinds of drinks. "You said, you're the second guy, right? Whens your brother getting here?" She straightened up momentarily to take a huge swing from the bottle in hand.
"My brother won't be here for a while. Has to stop by a couple of frat houses and drug dens. Humans like to over indulge you know." She eye'd me down for a few seconds before sputtering into some all to familiar deranged laughter. She rocked back and forth in her chair before the chair gave out, bringing them both to the ground, all the while still laughing.
Eons of countless lives and I've seen it happen time and time again. Folk so reserved or recluse, everyone else forget's they're around. Poor unlucky bastards. The laughter stopped. Just as suddenly, she threw her bottle against the ceiling, busting it into little pieces, watching the remains fall around the both of us.
"So! This is it for me huh?" The words came out excited and bubbly. Didn't hide any of the venom one bit. "No family, no boyfriend, no children. No neighbors that know me, no employer. Not even the damn cats or dogs I fed remember me."
'Here it comes.'
The silence between us cracked as she began crying. She curled up on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and droplets of liqueur that she missed. I got up from my seat and easily picked her up and sat her back down on the chair next to me. Her crying became full blown bawling as she buried herself in her arms, pounding the table as hard as she could. I paid her a kindness as I stroked her back, trying to get her to calm down. My bony fingers felt warm and full of life, as I tried to bring her some peace.
"Listen," I started. She looked up from her arms at me. "I'm the guy who just does his job. I know its awful, horrible, etc. But look at it like this. You got to live. Know how many don't get that? Pfft. A hell of a lot more than those who did. Was it a good life? Hell no. But you got to do something an unending number couldn't. You're at the very least at the end of your journey."
She was still crying but she had calmed down tremendously. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a simple gray flask, putting it on the table.
"I'm not suppose to be doing this, but I think your case deserves it. Take a swig of that and you'll feel much better, I assure you."
She looked between me and the flask before taking it in her hands. She looked it over, shaking it slightly to feel its contents moving around. After wiping her eyes she opened it and took drink. She tried to empty it, not knowing that thing won't ever run out.
She leaned against me as the effects took hold. Her crying ceased, her breathing became steady and she sighed as she curled up against me. I heard the sounds of a bony knuckle tap against the door, letting me know he's here.
"You gave her some black water huh?"
"Of course. Hard to know you die again by being completely forgotten." He came up by us and tapped her gently on the head, easing her existence as her body rapidly aged along with the house around us. Not even her clothes remained.
"Just another day on the job bro." He tried to comfort me, holding his scythe on his shoulder.
"Doesn't mean it never gets easy. Humans are some fascinating creatures." | ((This one kind of goes off topic, and is kinda weird in the way it fits the prompt. I'm sorry.))
Consider death.
The only constant in this life is death. All that is alive dies, eventually. Nothing is certain to gain life, but everything is certain to lose it.
Death is, in my opinion, the absence of life in a thing that was once alive. After the point of death, the one living subject decays, unless it is somehow preserved. When a sentient, sapient creature – a human, for example – dies, its sentience disappears. The consciousness ceases to be – all of the memories, the emotions and the constant thoughts are there and then they’re gone.
And yet, when a human dies, there are versions of her that survives. The ones in the memories of others, and the ones that can be interpreted from any work left behind by the person. Any impact made by the dead person on the surviving world continues to exist, despite the person’s death. That impact – however minor – is a continuation of the ended life. It is the only version of a person that still exists.
One can never truly know another. A single individual human is comprised by a life-time of memories, experience, emotion and thoughts. If there is a soul, these are all the things that make the soul. The only way to truly know all of the complexities of another would be to experience their life, in its entirety, through their eyes.
Because of this, there is no way for a person (a “soul” if you will) to persist after their body ceases to function. The only version of the person is the one that can be observed in their impact on others, but as no one can truly know a person’s entire being even as they are alive, this surviving version is still the one that existed prior to death – just modified by the observer’s knowledge that the individual is dead.
With this in mind, one can question what “death” really is. Physically, a person has died. The only two versions of them that are dead are the **physical body** and the **“true version”** of who they are. This true version, however, exited only within itself; in a consciousness that no longer exists. As such, beyond the body being dead, the only thing to vanish is something that didn’t exist from the perspective of the outside world.
If you were to die, the versions of you that everyone except you held persist, though they are inevitably altered by the knowledge of your death. In this way, you could argue that you – the ‘you’ that the observing world knew – is not dead. You are still a part of the live world capable of observing you, though you yourself can no longer observe the world, or continue to consciously affect it. The body and the “soul” are gone, but the person remains.
True death, then, comes only when a person is forgotten. When all of their achievements are discarded, forgotten or destroyed – and when nobody remembers them or anything they did – then they truly cease to be. Now the only existing version of a person is whatever is left of the physical body, in whatever state it is. If there is still a legible tombstone, that tombstone becomes the only thing the world can observe of who the person once was. Their entire identity becomes summed up in a tombstone, as well as any birth certificates, death certificates and other records that might exist, which detail inconsequential things in their life. An entire life of experience and knowledge summed up in a few words and numbers. More importantly, they are worthless with nobody that reads and remembers them.
While death is simply the cessation of the individual’s personal existence, this “true death” is very much the cessation of an individual from the perspective of the world. Only in a “true death,” when the person and what they’ve created are both forgotten does one fully cease to be, and this death is inevitable, much like the physical one.
No matter what you do or leave behind, there will inevitably come a point where all the evidence of your existence is entirely erased. No matter how well records are kept, they will ultimately be destroyed, even if it takes the death of the sun and destruction of the planet for them to end. The most well known people of history will ultimately fade into obscurity and, thus, cease to exist in any form, and nothing can be done to prevent this.
Now, *my question is* how the hell you’ve managed to *truly die* without, y’know, ***actually being DEAD.***
| 2018-05-12T18:18:51 | 2018-05-12T14:50:35 | 63 | 30 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | People rush past me, breathless in their terror. My boots thunk on the metal floor as I pass them. Most would think i’m crazy, because who in their right mind would walk into a basement haunted by a ticking time bomb? But ever since the great turkey crisis of 2006 I’ve discovered that my abilities extend past the mundane... into the extraordinary.
I reach for the thick iron door, electricity sparking over my fingertips - most likely due to the stress of hosting such a volatile visitor. As I swing it open I am greeted with a spaghetti tangle of wires. I brush them away with impatience, and I focus my attention on the deceptively benign-looking metal box nestled between two large copper panels.
The bomb features a tiny LED screen that is ticking down before my very eyes. It never ceases to amaze me, how these shining boxes alter lives so drastically - but that’s why I’m here.
01:02,
plenty of time.
I shrug off my backpack, pulling out a little button that was repurposed from a childhood microwave - a device that taught me more than I ever hoped to know.
00:49
I set to work wiring the button to the bomb, double checking to make sure each wire is in place.
00:22
Almost done...
00:19
Boom. Perfection.
I sit back, wiping the sweat off my brow. Any second now... (no pun intended).
At precisely 00:03 my hand flies forward, firmly pressing the button I had wired in; the button that read
STOP
in bold smallcaps.
At 00:01 the bomb is frozen.
I always enjoyed catching the microwave before the timer went off. | I don't sleep. Not much anyway. I *can* sleep, and do so about every other week, but I don't need to. The doctors think I somehow mimic the dolphins, letting half my brain get good naps at a time.
And it suits me fine. It means i get a lot of time on my hands, most of wich I use unproductivly and some of wich i use to work. By unproductive I don't mean doing drugs and stuff, just, you know. Working out, reading, seeing movies and trying to get laid. That last one is a tricky one, but not for the reasons you'd think.
It's the same reason as to why it was so damn hard for me to keep an honest job. The only job I was able to keep for the longest time was a night time janitorial at a hospital. And I tried everything.
I actually have a degree in economics, and after graduating I went though quite a few desk-jobs. And I did good work, that was never the issue.
After the desk job failures, I did stints of construction and other manual labour, and oh man. That... would seem unsafe for everyone. It would at least be expensive. Impecable work mind you, thats still not the issue. In a sort of last effort, i tried myself as a night-club bouncer. Long story short, after dropping a bucket of ice on the floor and slipping in myself and making a spectacle, a serius looking man asked me if that was intentional. He clearly just saw me distract and spook a goon from assailing his client at the opurtune moment.
That's essentialy how I ended up as a presidential-level bodyguard. I always thought i was just a bit clumsy, probably related to an irregular sleep patern. All my jobs lost because I took a *slightly* to sharp turn with a fully loaded dozer, or happened to spill a bottle of printer ink on the backup-server. It always felt like plenty of bad stuff happened to me, but it never occured to me that I never had seen an outbreak of violence or mayhem. Never ran into a tagger at night.
I.. react(?) to ill intent, haphazardly creating a scene or distraction, or appearantly incidentially create a wall or tip a building, to distract or block induviduals set out to knowlingly hurt or other abuse others. No one really gets hurt around me. Ever. | 2018-06-30T16:09:28 | 2018-06-30T15:08:15 | 865 | 129 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | Most folks have some sort of quirk that impacts their everyday life. My mom hasn't had a bad cup of coffee since she was drinking the stuff, and my sister has some really profound art on 35th. Mine is a bit different, and certainly has made me a good deal more.
I opened a freelance site after the information age completely took over some more traditional habits, like paying by cash or card. It's all tied to your Social Security Account now. Bills get paid automatically, and your working wages update for every minute you work. Surprisingly, these SSA's are still gaurded by password systems, instead of Biometrics. We all know that if you give someone the chance to forget an important piece of info, they will. So my job is to recover their account information for them. It's risky business, so I charge a respectable amount. No one ever complains because I always pull through.
I received an encrypted message today that asked for me to meet with some gentlemen here in the park, in just a few more minutes from now. Sitting on the bench is a little uncomfortable. They introduced these slanted ones that are made to stop the homeless from sleeping on them, but all it *really* did was make it a literal pain in the ass to sit for any length of time. I check my watch, and look back up to a black car pulling into the park. This must be them. They begin stepping out, and I start heading to their car. I make it just a few feet in front of the car before the restrain me and draw firearms. Shit, this isn't good. The sedan's back door opens, and out steps someone I know exceedingly well. "President Winfrey?" I utter, baffled. She nods and says simply, "Son, we need your unique brand of hacking to stop the next World War, or life as we know it will cease to be. Gentlemen, bag him up, we have work to do."
As they throw me into the truck, tied up and head covered, I wonder, more than anything else, why did I have to be so good at fill in the blank puzzles. | I felt nervous and sweaty as I awaited to be called to the stage. The university was bursting at the seams with media, all there to witness my graduation. Perhaps not so uncommon to have global celebrities at Stanford but as the “smartest man alive,” everyone wanted to know what was next. As did I.
Of course, smartest man alive isn’t quite right. Most media had taken to calling me the smartest man ever. But, that wasn’t right either. My best guess is that my IQ is around 130 but no one including me would ever really know. Then again, my life had never been quite right until my ninth birthday.
I owed everything to my cousin Thomas. I still don’t know how he knew. Perhaps he was the one who gave me this curse... and gift. You see it was on my ninth birthday that he gave me the book that would change my life.
Until that day I had been to every kind of charlatan, physician, and psychologist you can imagine. “Deaf, mute and dumb” they used to say. I was just self conscious. No one around me ever made any sense. I couldn’t understand when they read. I couldn’t understand when I read. They couldn’t understand my speech. But, somehow, Thomas knew.
Well that seems like more than seven years ago now. But, here I am graduating from Stanford in the most unlikely of majors. Well, unlikely only if you didn’t know my curse and my gift.
The curse and gift that by the age of sixteen had enabled me to win three Noble Prizes and a Fields Medal. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
I clutched that book. The book Thomas had given me all those years ago. Tighter. I was so nervous. Graduating from Stanford was literally the hardest thing I had done. They announced my department, Classics was up. Everyone started to cheer prematurely. They knew that I would be allowed to speak.
My name was called.
I walked to the stage still nervous.
I contemplated backing out. I was already here though.
I received my diploma to thunderous applause.
As I began, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As we celebrate our commencement I am reminded of the twelve labors of Hercules.” I clutched the book harder in hand.
I continued, “I can recall a time when I couldn’t read the twelve labors of Hercules in the original Greek. As I stand here now, I contemplate all that the Greeks have have given and continue to give to us. Having studied their great works and considered our achievements through the lense of the Greek language I can honestly say that it is ‘All Greek to me.’”
You see, all language is literally Greek to me. But, for nine years I couldn’t understand anyone until I read that book. Then I started studying Greek night and day. It was hard but the more I learned Greek the more I could understand. Modern language was often overwrought with complexity but in Greek it was understandable. | 2018-06-30T19:02:43 | 2018-06-30T17:46:43 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Your last heroic act, you save the other astronauts by manually sealing the airlock from the outside. As you watch them leave, alone, you remove your helmet to die, only to find you can breathe in space. | My fellow astronauts start drifting away back home, Earth, safety, family.
As I look into their eyes for One last time, I Close mine as I take my helmet off. I wait for death, relatively quick and merciful.
"OI CUNTS I CAN BREATHE IN SPACE. "
But alas, they cant hear me. | I'm not sure why I had decided to be the one to go outside and try to fix the airlock. In hindsight I should've given up when my tether snapped, waited for someone else to come help me and fix the leak, but I just felt that I had to do this, I wouldn't wait.
When the airlock was finally sealed and a blast of air pushed me back, I had lost my grip. I knew it was over. I drifted away from the moving station and watched as it slowly became a dot, then disappeared altogether.
I was alone. Death was inevitable. I wouldn't wait for it.
The helmet popped off easily, the oxygen escaped instantly. I remember it being cold, freezing. But I didn't freeze. I remember there being no sound, no air. But I didn't suffocate. I remember wondering why there was no pain. I wasn't dead.
I looked to the Earth, speckled with the lights of cities. To the moon, beautifully reflecting the sun's light, just out of view. It had all seemed so serene. The best place to die, really.
Now, all I could do was wait. | 2018-09-06T19:23:18 | 2018-09-06T19:07:21 | 534 | 28 |
[WP] he stalks his targets. He knocks them out, and takes them to an unknown location. When they finally wake, whatever illness or injury they had has been surgically healed. No one has caught the Dr. Harmless. | "Look," the detective said, "we've been over this. Just sign this and we can get on with catching this creep."
&#x200B;
I looked at the paper. The sterile white page listed the facts of my case. It was a dispassionate telling of a miracle. Not just any miracle...MY miracle.
&#x200B;
"And I've told you," I said, "I'm not pressing charges."
&#x200B;
"Sweetheart," my mom interrupted, "you were kidnapped."
&#x200B;
"Technically, I guess." I said. The look on both their faces said plainly that I was the unreasonable one.
&#x200B;
The detective pinched his nose, shook his head, and exhaled loudly. "Ok, let's go over your story again. And this time can you keep the dick sucking to a minimum--you're talking about an abductor not a a hero."
&#x200B;
"I'm in no mood for this." I said. "It's been a long day and I just want to celebrate."
&#x200B;
This time my mom shook her head. "Honey, we're not saying that what happened to you isn't great, it is. We're just concerned about how it happened."
&#x200B;
Looks like a day for head shaking--mine was now moving. "Fine. I left the doctor's office about two o'clock. As you can imagine, given my prognosis, I wasn't in a great mood. I got in my car and after a few minutes started it. I smelled something funny coming out of the vents, then passed out."
&#x200B;
"What happened next," The detective demanded.
&#x200B;
"I woke up in an abandoned building outside of town."
&#x200B;
"Then," he pressed.
&#x200B;
"I pulled out my phone, found out where I was and that I'd been out for five days. My chest hurt, but it wasn't the oppressive pain I was familiar with. It was sharp and localized."
&#x200B;
"Ok," the detective grilled, "you got knocked out, taken captive, then dumped outside town. And that isn't enough to convince you to file an official report and authorize charges once we find this scumbag."
&#x200B;
"I notice," I said, "you forgot to mention the fact that when I was kidnapped I was riddled with cancer, and when I woke up I was cured. My doctor still can't explain it."
&#x200B;
The detective turned to my mother. "Ma'am, some people can't be reasoned with. If your daughter won't sign the report, I'm gonna have to let this go."
&#x200B;
His tone was furious. As he turned to leave he smiled gently at me. I ran to my room so that I could watch him get into his car. He stopped and faced my window.
&#x200B;
"I knew I was right to choose you," I heard in my head.
&#x200B;
His figure dissolved into light and shot upward for a few feet. Then it vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | When I was a child, I used to believe that hot Apple juice was alcoholic. I saw that wine was made with grapes and stored in a cellar on TV once, and automatically assumed that all hot juice was alcoholic.
I remember my mother telling me that a drunk man tells no lies. He drinks from the fountain of truth and spews out the remains.
I remember laughing in her face and telling her that I was a woman.
"That's not me mommy, I am a girl." I sipped from my juice box and laid my head on her chest.
"Oh Monstruo, you can be whatever you want." She stroked my head before setting me on the couch to finish watching cartoons.
I remember the tears in her eyes as she smiled at me.
She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and never came back.
__________________________________________++++++++++
"Truth or dare, Morrigan?" Jessica asked me as my group of friends sat around the table.
"Truth." I replied, taking my three "cop-out" vodka shots to the head. I was NOT planning on streaking naked down the dorm's parking lot.
"Ummmm, Oh!!! Have you ever killed anyone?!!?" She asked with all of the excitement of a 3 year old.
"Yes." I uncounciously replied before shoving the lemon slice into my mouth.
I grabbed the lemon salt and poured it into my mouth.
34 seconds. It took me 34 seconds to realize that silence surrounded me. I looked up and around at everyone.
"......Who?" James whispered next to me. He was the quiet one out of the group. So, as I contemplate it now, he was the LEAST likely "friend" that I would have expected to reply to my slip-up. I only heard him because he was sitting next to me.
'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I have screwed the f*ck, ALL the way, up.' I thought as I turned to face him.
I just looked into his eyes and stared for what probably seemed like an eternity to him and the rest of the group.
I decided then that he would be my next target. He deserved every little thing that I planned on doing to him.
"Death." I replied, turning back to face everyone else. "I've killed death." I said louder so that the whole group would hear.
"........................................................................."
"........................................................................."
I took another shot of the communal vodka and decided that yes, drunk men DO spew truths from their mouths.
"........................................................................."
"..............Are we high?" Andre loudly whispered before I promptly spewed my shot all over Jessica's face.
____________________________________________++++++++
I decided to do James 1 week before finals. I couldn't wait any longer. He had bags under his eyes in class, he stopped hanging out with us, and he stopped replying to all of our messages.
He skipped 8 am Organic on that day. I knew then, that he was not going to last pass this day. It was already decided. Who am I to not follow Destiny? I was The Morrigan after all. This was what I DID, my duty.
____________________________________________++++++++
I slipped out of the class via a presumed family emergency. One online scheduled "wakeup call" in the middle of class was all it took.....and a little dramatics.
I made my way to the admissions office and filled out my withdrawal forms and submitted them to the clerk. I turned in my school id, and my dorm key. I walked to his dorm room, knocked on his door, and he answered.
Gun in hand. He answered.
The rest is unknown......to the both of us.
____________________________________________++++++++
"James." The lady with the pen tapped it on her desk and waited patiently.
"James?" She asked a little louder. He grinned at her.
"Sorry ma'am. I was just thinking." He replied chagrined.
"About what?" She asked, noting down that his personality has changed drastically.
"I don't want to die." He sounded relieved, happy even. "This is the first time, that I can remember, that I feel like I don't want to die." He sounded hysterical as he rubbed the scar on his forehead.
"How'd you get that scar again?" The lady asked, noting that it was a possible selfharm mark.
"...I.....I don't really remember."
| 2018-09-06T21:42:58 | 2018-09-06T18:52:57 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | As is customary I received a DS-666 with an attached #11 blood vial, 20CC's and the appropriate requisite charms for Mexico, Catholic reinforcement required. I sighed, I would have to do a MX-CA-18 the revised form. Clearly whoever was filing for a motion of demonic summoning had not done the proper paperwork. WAs it too hard to read the circular, the latest one for the region could be obtained by sending a request of instructions form (I-99) to the Acquisitions department. No matter, I would just look at the actual action request on the original form.
Oh, this would not do at all. Physical manifestation without a goat sacrifice and a PM-207-MX! That was a breach of protocol right there, by the devil himself the wrong form, missing sacrifice, no documentation for action request. What kind of amateur was running the summon up there? But I knew, oh I knew, if they had made these mistakes they had fumbled the summoning binding contract. Probably did not even have a protection clause or an anti-command twist trust set up.
The smile that crept my second mouth was most unbecoming of a duke of hell. But to know that there was a new soul I could drag down under, oh that was most tantalizing. I would, of course, have to fill out a life termination request and a heaven barred form, the ST-P-0999 should do, if the old man at the gate would sign them faster. But that could wait, right now I had an appointment to make, one must not be tardy.
There was to my sadness no fire and brimstone entrance documentation, and I was not going to sit down and fill out a pit demon request form. The devil knows I am not talking to Gary from accounting this century, not after the Paris incident with Dr Franklin. But Still I had already done a FL-55 converting it to a MX-55 was simple enough, the flashing lights that accompanied me where a bit dimmed. Damn autoconversion software, probably got the change from imperial to metric wrong. It would be the last time I would use Quickbooks, time to upgrade, have Jobs make something actually useful.
The room I was in was rather plain, well by the standards of hell that is. But it was well furnished, pink everywhere though, and frilly finishes on everything. The summoning circle was half decent, a standard SC-12 for large beasts but the binding spells were all wrong, written in Sumerian, classic mistake, one has to use Latin if one is Catholic. A beginners error, and easy to see why my summoner was a scrawny little thing. And before i could use my demanding voice she ran at me!
Shocked! I was utterly shocked! She held onto my left hindmost leg and tried to hide behind me. She was whimpering and looking at her bedroom door. "Please help me." The door exploded open asa large man entered the room. I could barely grab my bearings before he took off his belt. Pants fell to the floor, he could not see me of course. I was intangible to him as the proper forms had not been made.
This... monster picked up the girl and threw her onto the bed, I knew what was coming. I made myself tangible and picked up the trash, for this deserved no other name. I passed under the door with him in tow, screaming to no end. When I came back to her room I saw that the poor thing she, she needed respite from her life.
And that judge is why I broke 90% of the man's bones without the documentation or orders to do so, and why I have 18 counts of improper summon violations. And ultimately why I am requesting a human pet HP-900 form so that I may keep her. Please. | "Hrrrnnhhhgg...." I grumbled. Another one of these. I had the feeling I would never get used to them. Satan's lieutenants don't allow me a fricken day off from stabbing damned souls with my trident, do they? 'Promoted' me to also respond to those worthless beings from the Worlds Above. Humans, Ecrogas, Antaroans... ugh.
"What, do you want..." I looked at the creature before me. "Human..."
It seemed small. Not fully grown. A child. Six Earth cycles old, I discovered after touching the child's mind briefly. Seven is the earliest that humans can touch their Mana and summon us Fel Beings if they wished. This one is extraordinary to be able to do it earlier than most. Gifted. Or cursed.
"Help me" the child whispered to me, with tears in her eyes. And that's when I heard it. An older human, stomping downstairs. Irregular footsteps. Intoxicated, perhaps.
A cursed child it is then. I poked into her mind. It hurt her a bit, but she took it bravely. I saw the things that this older human did to her. Things that I do to the damned souls in Hell. And I would not even consider doing them to a child as young as this one.
I growled, and materialized fully, breaking my tether to Hell for now. Humans are one of the few creatures whose morals can drop lower than that of Fel Ones like myself. They had to be punished.
The older man opened the door, yelling slurs and unbuttoning his pants. But then he saw me, standing behind his offspring. He paused, incapable of comprehending the otherworldlyness I embody. Fel Ones like me live outside of time, we don't have an exact shape. Looking at us would make you crazy already.
I grinned. I would take this one with me back to Hell for sure.
I reached out, and Possessed him. He was powerless. I had to break his soul from this vessel. And I would do that most slowly, while channelling all the pain to the soul.
I went upstairs, and grabbed a knife. They had a fireplace. Good. I fired it up. The irons were hot.
I cut, and cut. Starting in this abdomen. Intestines were pulled out, slowly. I cut it open and put plenty of the fecal matter in this vessel's mouth. I didn't taste it. He did though. If he had control he would puke. But he had no control.
I continued. Taking out organs one by one, while scorching vital veins with the hot irons to prevent bleeding out, and also to prolong the pain. I felt nothing, but I could hear the soul screaming in pain. Oh... how he deserved it. I poked into his mind. Not as gently as I did with the little girl. No. I went deeper. Found all the fucked up shit that happened, and played it back to him over and over again. All the time.
Eventually, no more organs could be removed. So I went for everything else. Eyes. Ears. Fingernails. It's amazing how many ways there are to cause pain. And we Fel Ones reserve them for some of the worst humans around.
\------------------------------------
&#x200B;
Oakland Police report:
Date: 10-8-2018
Time: 00:18
Location: \*redacted\*
Suspicious sounds of a screaming girl caused neighbours to call the police.
Police knocked on the door, and a 6-year old girl, Casey Shaw, opened the door.
Inside, we found a mutilated corpse. Organs, as well as nerves, were spread around on the floor around the corpse. It was a monstrous sight to behold, but the force and precision required immediately excluded the 6 year old as a suspect. She is being moved to an orphanage at the time of writing.
All evidence suggests a psychotic episode, followed by suicide of Jackson Shaw, although shock should have set in way earlier, preventing it from getting as far as it did. No evidence of painkillers either. It will remain ruled as a suicide as there was no evidence of , although it may be opened later for another investigation should similar cases occur.
Faded chalk symbols and remains of candles were found on the basement floor, but other than that no
A separate subdivision of FBI has contacted us, going by the name of \*redacted\*
All data is classified about this group.
All records will be handed over to them ASAP by order of Chief \*redacted\* | 2018-10-08T14:28:28 | 2018-10-08T14:03:13 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] Ever since you rescued a cat from the nearby alley, it's been leaving you dead mice at the foot of your bed as gifts. One day, on the way home, you have your wallet stolen at gunpoint. The next morning, at the foot of your bed, you find your wallet covered in blood, next to a severed finger. | I looked at the scruffy cat sitting nearby with a madeningly disinterested expression. He then start licking his paws. "Did you do this?" But he didn't change his expression. The cat, who I still hadn't named, not sure I was going to keep him yet, purred loudly. I didn't understand. I've never had a cat before. Never looked after anything before. I wasn't sure what came over me when I picked him up after tripping over him as it ran for its life from the cars on the road.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" I asked rehtorically. That seemed to get his attention. I swear it smiled at me, perked up and strutted over and sat in my lap. He nudged his head into my hand. A soft mew beckoned me to stroke his head. I idly stroked his fur while mumbling on about how I wish I could afford to keep a cat, I could barely afford to look after myself.
The next day, a cell phone appeared where the wallet had been. When I picked it up it rang. Someone offered me a job. A really good high paying job. I decided to name the cat Whishkers. | I stare at the finger, not knowing how to react.
“Wha… how…”
It was Stripes. I know it was Stripes. The wallet is right where the mice always are. But how, and why?
Just as it all went through my head, Stripes pranced through the door, sat down and licked his paws. They were stained red.
“What did you do?”
He just continued licking like nothing had happened.
“That’s my wallet. How did you find it and whose finger is this?”
Stripes raised his head and tilted it slightly as he looked at me.
“Does it belong to the guy that stole my wallet?”
Stripes blinked, as if telling me that I’m correct. But that’s mad. He doesn’t understand me. He’s a cat. He couldn’t know what human speech meant.
I stood up, grabbed a tissue from the box on my nightstand and used it to pick up the finger, after which I threw it in the bin.
“Now then, let’s get us some breakfast, eh?”
I walked through the door with Stripes right behind me.
“I think I might have bacon. I feel like it’s a bacon day. Don’t you think… oh my god! Who in the name of sanity is that?”
Someone lay on the floor of my kitchen. There was blood all over his face, and one of his hands was missing a finger.
The sound of the doorbell ringing saved me from throwing up right then and there. I walked to the door and
opened it.
“Good morning, sir,” a policeman said. “Your neighbours said they saw a body being dragged inside the house. Now, we usually don’t take these calls very seriously, but we’d still like to rule out the possibility.”
I felt my heart go a mile a minute as the cop looked into the kitchen over my shoulder and his face changed from jolly to angry.
“You are hereby under arrest for the murder of that man!” he said, pushing me onto my knees and cuffing my hands. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court!”
“It was my cat! I swear!”
“I’m sure people would love to hear that story.”
| 2018-11-12T12:46:43 | 2018-11-12T11:49:44 | 83 | 50 |
[WP] For decades, humanity has lived in absolute harmony with its galactic neighbors. When a new civilization arrives with intent to conquer, however, our capacity for destruction is rekindled, and it's unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen | "Well, that was anticlimactic."
I look at the Grand Admiral as she leans back in her chair, my jaws agape. She puffs a couple times on her cancer stick as I struggle to find my voice.
“Anti—anti*climactic*?” I say, just managing to keep myself from going into hysterics. I wave an appendage at the viewscreen in front of us, and at the uncountable swarms of shattered enemy vessels beyond it. “*Anticlimactic?* The entire Pan-Galactic Armada and every fleet of every belligerent nation in the galaxy couldn’t have fought them off and you just—just obliterated them in a month! A month!”
The Grand Admiral swivels her chair to face me. She puffs on her cancer stick.
“Well, a little longer than that,” she admits. “I know that we’re not *strictly* supposed to undertake unilateral military action, but we made sure to at least keep an eye on them for the last, oh. Fifty years? Ever since they had that revolution and started agitating for *lebensraum*. I mean, I don’t need to tell you twice that whenever language like that is thrown around there’s probably trouble on the horizon, Ambassador.”
“Observation doesn’t do *that* to an entire enemy battlefleet.”
“No, it doesn’t,” the Admiral says. “Infecting their entire command and control structure and propaganda network with several nasty worms helps, though.”
I blink. “Uh,” I say. “When was this?”
“Ten years back. Just as a contingency,” the Admiral says blandly.
I make a mental note to inform our cyberwarfare and cyberdefense divisions to make a very thorough sweep of our systems when I get back.
“And of course we sabotaged some of their designs when we had the chance. They had a pretty good lockdown on the really important things, of course, but there were things we could influence. Most of their basic processor architecture is incredibly inefficient, their missile boats could have better acceleration curves, so on and so forth.” The Admiral plucks her cancer stick from her mouth and taps the ash off of its end.
“None of that builds an armada like that one you managed to pull out of nowhere,” I say flatly.
“It doesn’t.”
“So where did you get this armada?” I say after a few seconds of silence.
The Admiral tilts her head to one side and considers me with her flat, level gaze.
“Well, there’s probably no point in hiding it anymore,” she finally says. “You know that war we had right before we met you?”
“Of course,” I say. I mean, the first scout ship jumped into the middle of a major battle between several of the human subfactions, it wasn’t as though it was a big government secret.
“Well, let’s just say that nothing really unites people like a common threat,” the Admiral says. “We didn’t know what to make of you at first, and, well, you probably know as well as anyone how much of our mass media focuses on some big conquering alien threat from the stars. We may have overreacted slightly.”
“Overreacted,” I say. “Slightly.”
“We converted most of our civilian economy to military use,” the Admiral admits. “Obviously once we made proper first contact we made sure to calm everyone down, but we made sure to keep the capability, just in case.”
“We’ve *seen* those economic assessments,” I say. “There’s no way you could’ve built *all* these ships so quickly even with that capability.”
“We built one or two,” the Admiral says.
“One or two what?”
“One or two smaller fleets. Mostly we just needed it to reactivate and refurbish our mothballed ships.”
I stare at the Admiral, then at the holo-table displaying the thousands upon thousands upon uncountable thousands and so many thousands of warships. One or two *smaller* fleets. The rest mothballed.
“Just how big *was* that war you were having before you met the wider galactic community?”
“Well,” the Admiral says. Her expression shifts away from the staid, bland expression she’d been wearing for the entire conversation, into something approaching discomfort. “There’s about a dozen planets that will be habitable in, ah, maybe a century or two.”
There’s really only one thing that I can say to this.
“You are a very scary people,” I say.
“I take that as a compliment,” says the Admiral. | "Balance and harmony only come between like-minded peoples," I said, eying the child in front of me. She was a good kid, I could tell, and gullible too. "But that's what we were, before the Enlightenment."
"You remember the Enlightenment?" she said, her little Plutonian eyes sparkling with Sol's light. She was from our home system, I reminded myself. She was one of the good ones.
I smiled at the girl, brushing the grey hair from my face. "Of course," I said. "I remember it well, almost like it was yesterday."
"And do you remember the time *before* it?"
I nodded, watching mirthfully as the sparkle in her eyes only grew. "I remember it well. Nowadays we call them the dark times, but really it wasn't that dark. Back then, humanity lived in harmony with all of the other civilizations around us."
The girl tilted her head, a question ready at her lips. "Other civilizations?"
A sharp breath escaped my nose as I remembered who I was talking to. The girl in front of me was young. The New Order was all she knew. "Yes, other civilizations. Back then, the galactic cluster was split between dozens—if not hundreds of squabbling alien societies much like us."
"And humanity lived *alongside* them?"
I nodded again. She was asking all the right questions. A bright one, she was. "Yes. As I said before, harmony only comes between like-minded peoples. These civilizations squabbled and argued, but they got along well enough. And we got along with them because we were the same way."
I waited for a moment, watching the girl's face closely. The weight of my words hit her all at once.
"Humanity used to squabble? I thought—"
"Of course we did, little one," I cut her off before whatever misconceptions she carried could escape her mouth. "We used to do such base and simple things as squabbling with *other* civilizations. Whether it be over territory, technology, or intergalactic trade, we squabbled all the same."
It was the girl's turn to nod as she took in what I was saying. "And that changed with the Enlightenment?"
My smile slowly faded and my eyes dropped to the metal floor as I remembered. I nodded at her. "Yes. That all changed with the Enlightenment."
I hadn't lied before, I remembered the Enlightenment like it was yesterday. How could I not? With everything that had happened, it was burned, *seared* straight into my memory. I'd been a young, first-year captain when the Enlightenment came. I still remembered the fierce, power-hungry negotiations I' had with the fleets from our galactic neighbors. It had been a normal occurrence, and I'd even become quite good at it.
But that was before *they* arrived.
"Was that when they arrived?" the girl asked, ripping me back to the present. I furrowed my brow.
"How do you know about *them*?"
Her eyebrows angled downward and she hung her head. "I learned about them in Alexandria." The mention of the galaxy's largest library softened my gaze. She'd learned about them on her own; the fact made me smile. She was one of the good ones.
"Oh," was all I could give as my response. "Well, yes. That was when *they* arrived."
The mention of *them* sent a shiver down my spine. *They* had caused all of it. All of the change, every last bit of it could be traced back to *them*. Their true name rose up in my mind but I pushed it back. I was just glad the girl didn't have to know.
"Back then, we were like-minded to our neighbors. We argued, we wanted power, and we knew how to survive. But *they*... they took it far beyond. Their only goal, singular and complete, was to conquer everything and anything that came in their path."
The girl looked up at me, troubled. The sparkle in her eyes that reminded me of our home star wavered for a second. "How did that lead to the Enlightenment?"
"They came, they saw... they conquered. But when they got to humanity, the scrappy, creative little apes that we were, they were in for something they had never encountered before. They'd come at us, and they'd tried to conquer us with pure wrath. But they'd never expected our *true* capacity for destruction."
Worry entered the girl's sparkling eyes. "True capacity? Did we... did we kill them all?"
I raised one of my eyebrows and shook my head. She'd probably been reading too many of the texts from the dark times, all of the ones written by humans themselves. They all had such a pessimistic view of humanity. We *were* naturally destructive creatures, but we were also more than that. It was just that before *them*, we'd never truly been pushed far enough.
"No," I told her, raising my head high. "You misunderstand. They wanted to crush us in the palm of their hand, and we couldn't let them do that. But they were creatures of pure wrath. We couldn't possibly have just killed them in cold blood."
"So what did you do?"
"We did the only thing left. We did what no other civilization was capable of. We killed them with kindness."
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-03-03T22:09:36 | 2019-03-03T18:51:47 | 109 | 37 |
[WP] You’ve had the ability to stop time ever since you were born. You’ve used your ability for numerous crimes, such as theft, tax evasion and even murder. One day, however, you stop time and you hear a voice. “At long last, I finally uncovered your trick.” | I stopped dead as I heard that familiar voice behind me, “dad?”
I turned and saw him smiling at me. Behind him, mum was frozen in the kitchen mid way through singing a song as she glazed my birthday cake.
“How did you...” I ventured.
“How do you think you got this ability in the first place?” He asked with a laugh.
“But how can we both be here at the same time?”
“Now that’s the complicated bit and why we need to speak,” he said solemnly.
“What do you mean?”
“Take a seat,” he said as he sat himself down on the couch.
I looked at him wearily then lowered myself into the recliner.
“You’re turning 21 soon,” he began.
I laughed, “dad it’s literally my birthday today, you’ve already said happy birthday three times!”
“You were born at 7:27pm, that’s still 30 seconds away. I had hoped to get to you before then to tell you what’s going to happen at 7:28pm. Whatever you think you’ve done up to now, it’s nothing on what’s coming next,” he said seriously.
“Sorry to burst your bubble dad but I’ve been doing things with this ability for years and nothing’s gone wrong. I’ve done pretty much all there is to do,” I said as I thought back to the dark alleyway three years ago.
“Look, just let me finish. My own father gave me this same talk and I was damn pleased to get it. The truth is,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “there’s thousands of others like you and me out there and when you turn 21, it won’t just be me who’ll be joining you on these fun adventures. Have you ever wondered how some people are so lucky, or wealthy, or powerful? Most of them have a secret and it’s one you’re about to be in on.”
“So what? They can go about their business and I’ll go about mine,” I said confidently.
“You think the ones who already have the power and money want competition? Reality check buddy, they don’t. In fact, they hate it so much they actively hunt the rest of us.”
I held my hand up, “but how can they tell anyway? We’re just sitting in our lounge with time frozen.”
He slowly shook his head, “You think we just freeze time? We manipulate time in many ways, you’re just so young you haven’t figured it all out yet. Too focused on petty crimes and causing mischief like I was no doubt. The thing is, when you alter time like you’re doing right now, you leave certain markers. Now,” he said as he looked at his odd watch which for the first time I noticed was still working somehow, “we need to end this little chat before we attract any unwanted attention on the birthday boy. If you would...”
I brought us back to the present and dad smiled as mum’s singing resumed. The clock hit 7:27 and I laughed, thinking about the awkward implications of the moment. I was about to joke with my dad about it when I realised my mum’s singing had stopped again.
Dad suddenly had a look of panic in his eyes. He held up a finger to stop me from speaking and looked towards the ceiling. Then, somewhere upstairs, a window smashed.
“Run,” he whispered. | I hopped with surprise and felt my power reject me. Whenever I got scared, my first instinct was to stop time until I got control. But time was already stopped. My power rejected the second attempt.
"What? Who?" I asked. I didn't know how to react. I couldn't remember the last time I experienced this feeling. Fear.
I turned rapidly, looking between the bodies of the train station. I was just trying to get off the train after having done my business for the day. Why did the time stop do something different now? I had never heard noise not coming from myself before. And between the focused looks of the frozen, exiting passengers, I couldn't get a read on who said anything.
"Hello?" I said quietly, spinning even faster in place.
"I'd seen it before, you know. You disappearing from sight. One second you'd be sitting in your seat. The next, you'd disappear. First time, I thought my eyes played tricks on me. I was wondering why the seat next to me was left vacant when the whole train was packed! But it wasn't the one time. There were so many other instances, and you know what was common with every instance?"
I swallowed, making eye contact with an older man wearing a sweatshirt pulled up over his head. He held a sinister smile, like he'd waited his entire life for this moment. I stared at him, dumbfounded. My instincts were trying to convince me it was a dream, while my heart raged, desperately trying to escape this experience of fear.
"My wallet was missing a few bucks," he said, holding it up for effect. "Every single time. I would remember having something like seven dollars, but I only had three when I left at my stop. I thought it was some kind of crazed pickpocket. I guess I wasn't too far from the mark, huh?" he said, his teeth making a crazed appearance.
I shook my head rapidly, trying to get control of myself.
"No, I-- I'm not who you think I am," I stuttered.
"Oh, it's some other person freezing time and snagging money from passengers every day, is it?" he said coyly.
"Umm.." was all I could get out. I started hyperventilating, my power pushing back with every instinctual attempt to stop time that had already stopped.
"You never figured out how it worked, did you?" he asked, picking a wallet out of a frozen purse next to him and stacking it on his own.
"W-- what?" I asked, watching him pull more wallet from more bags and pockets.
"You thought it was some power of yours, right? A birth-rite. Something that was part of your being! Well, I know how to tap into it. You're not special," he was approaching me now. His words were like slaps in the face.
I couldn't move a muscle. I was just another mannequin frozen between the rest of scene of passengers making their way out. He stopped in front of me, opening my hands and placing the wallets in them. I shook my head, not understanding.
"The best discovery I made, was not only could I tap into it. But I could take it away!" he said with a laugh. His mania reached a crescendo as he slid a finger across my nose and made a jump back to where he was originally sitting. He snapped his fingers.
I screamed as all the passengers started moving again around me. I never deactivated my power. They shouldn't be moving. I continued to panic and tried to stop time again. It wouldn't work. I couldn't get the power to listen to me. I screamed again, this time other passengers looked my way. The hooded man looked at me with shock and screamed,
"Hey, my wallet!" pointing an accusing finger. More eyes turned on me that I couldn't turn away. I desperately tried once more to stop the motion of the world before my greatest fear came to pass.
"Get him!" another passenger yelled, diving for me.
And I was caught.
__________________________
For more fun stories, come visit r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2019-09-17T19:57:19 | 2019-09-17T19:48:42 | 222 | 43 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions. | The Summoner pauses after his offer, appearing expectant while in reality simply buying time for the ritual that swirls angrily behind him. Much to the chagrin of his companions, the fool "chosen one" seems to be actually considering it! The Summoner had hoped for perhaps a few seconds of traded barbs before having to fight to defend the ritual, but a simple offer of the second highest position of power in the new order seemed to be bearing fruit far beyond any expectation.
"Well," The Chosen says "if we're even to consider this you'll need to prop up your misaligned runes."
His companions are aghast.
"Tor!" one of them says. "You can't be serious!"
"Sure I am." He responds. "I'm Tor Jensen: The Chosen One. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."
The Summoner, meanwhile, spares a suspicious glance at the circle behind him to find that the runes do seem a bit off kilter. And the Chosen had known that? Keeping one eye on the bickering party of heroes, he grabs his reference tome and begins searching it for the alignment chart.
"It's the Forogath sigil." Calls the voice of Tor Jensen: The Chosen One as the man points at the tornado of arcane power before turning back to his companions and continuing to fail at placating them. Much to the Summoner's surprise, the relevant application of arcane power works brilliantly, forcing the rings of swirling energy into perfect concentricity. The Summoner turns back to the Chosen with a puzzled look. Tor shrugs.
"Hey, just because my signature weapon is a spear doesn't mean I can't know magic stuff. I did my resear-"
A deafening crack interrupts him as the ritual reaches it's apex. The Summoner watches with glee, the Chosen's companions with horror, and Tor Jensen himself passively as the Dark Desyroyer falls through the portal and into the material plane, where it crashes into the ground and blinks stupidly.
"See guys?" Says Tor to his companions as he walks over to the unmoving form of the legendary monster that had just been freed from a millennium of banishment. He places his hand on the snout of the beast, as if to indicate that it is totally harmless.
The Destroyer snaps him up in one bite, chewing once before swallowing him. It stands, some gore dripping from it's lips, and the Summoner cackles victoriously as he orders it to smite the companions of the Chosen One. It does not comply, however, instead turning a massive head to stare directly at the Summoner.
"Does that tome of yours not say my name?" It asks.
"What, must I command you by name? I-" The Summoner begins frantically searching his tome, reading aloud as he skims the pages.
"bla bla once a terror of - uh huh - true form banished to the plane of - uhhhh - soul cursed to walk in human form with - dah dah dah - never shall the soul reunite with the - Oh! here we go. I command you, Torjen Sung, to slay these..."
The Summoner trails off. The Chosen's party remains frozen in disbelief and the Destroyer looks at him as though daring him to continue. A small chunk of Tor Jensen falls from Torjen Sung's mouth as the beast grins.
"Like I said." The Destroyer rumbles. "I know what I'm doing." | “Stay here friends, this part I must do alone”
It had been a hard battle to this point, fighting the dark one through the hallways of his keep. My group was exhausted but, determined to see an end to this threat....they were the companions of the chosen one after all.
“No Jace, we can make it, we’ll see this through to the end with you” Malendra said
“To the end” Jorn agreed
I looked at them both and I could see the love they held for me in their eyes. I’ll give them this much at least.
“My friends, we knew this day would come. Do not despair. I will defeat this evil and return. Our land will be safe once more!”
That was enough, they were confident in me, they trusted me more than anything. They are both fools.
I turned and opened the double doors leading to the throne room of the dark one. As I walked in I heard the doors bang shut behind me. There he was, casually sitting atop his thrown. He was tired from the fighting, I could see it, yet he was calm as he spoke.
“The cycle of light and dark must continue. You come here on a fools errand, without me the world will be undone.”
I did what hero’s do and shouted at him in defiance,
“Lies! I know what you are and I will purge you from this land demon!”
Confusion flashed on his face for an instant. Of course he would see it, see what the truth really is.
“Let’s drop this facade, this hero and villain role we’ve taken. We both know you’re much stronger than you’ve let on, if I’m honest I don’t think I would last a minute if you unleashed your full strength”
I smiled, “if you insist”
I stood up straighter and rolled my shoulders back. I felt the power deep inside me that has been suppressed for so long rise to the surface. I could see the look of horror on his face as my body grew larger. Anyone with a magical affinity within a 100 mile radius would feel the power radiating from me. It felt good to let go, finally it was time.
The dark one regained his composure and asked the question i knew was coming next,
“why don’t you join me, help me to maintain balance in the land. With your power this world can continue its existence unimpeded.
“Yes” I said
Was that relief that I saw in his eyes?
“We’re you expecting me to put up a fight?” I asked
He stared at me a long moment before responding,
“I’m not sure what I expected but, I must know. Why did you agree so quickly to join me?”
“I know the truth of this world, I understand the cycle more than anyone living, except perhaps you. I also know that in order for the cycle to be broken I must hold the key and you must give it to me”
“To break the cycle would break the world” he gasped “why would you want to do such a thing?”
I walked slowly towards him as I answered, “ I was married once, before all of this chosen one nonsense. She was everything to me, the most beautiful creature this world could ever produce. With her there was life and light but, she grew sick. No doctor in the land could find out what was wrong with her and after awhile people began to think she was infected with darkness. They shunned us and cast us out and she died in my arms in a dark and lonely place. The world is full of fools who believe in anything and everything. After she died I wandered the land and I trained in any sort of magic I could find. When I returned no one remembered who I was and I was crowned the chosen one for my power. Every lie I’ve told to these people has been to lead me to this moment”
My hand closed around the dark ones neck and I picked him up off the floor and bought his face close to mine.
“Why, you ask. The answer is simple, this world is sick and I will break it and send everyone and everything to nothingness and you will help me”
Now there was no hiding, no forced calm, he was afraid. I could see it, he understood, truly understood, there is no hope, I am the end. | 2019-09-26T11:17:08 | 2019-09-26T11:11:35 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] Apparently the ability to speak and understand multiple languages simultaneously is a trait almost unique to humans, so when the alien's came it wasn't for our water, our resources, or our culture; it was for us, the greatest translators in the galaxy. | *(This is my first prompt response ever, I think. Didn't consider myself a writer. Excuse typos, I'm on mobile)*
The aliens thought it would be easier... but humans had a certain knack for warfare. So rather than immediate capitulation, the war with the aliens dragged on for longer than they expected. But we were losing so many casualties daily, though they were too. All that was left was to begin use of our nuclear arsenal, but that would be mutual destruction. We could also tell they had similar weapons of grave destruction, but didn't want to destroy the planet they came for along with more casualties to themselves.
As we both saw the situation, we had been able to secure negotiations with the aliens. Within days, our brilliant linguists, led by the Swedish designation, had fleshed out a method of translation. And what we learned was an ultimate irony.. they didn't just want to avoid destroying the planet for its natural resources... they wanted to leave as many of us alive as possible, because as it turned out, *we* were the resource. Apparently it was common knowledge across the galaxy that we had a knack for language that was unique among species, and we were to be trained and traded to other species.. Earth was to be a farm for translators. Our brilliant linguists.
Then, there was an idea. The British linguist had a sister in zoological communications, that came up with it. We were going to save our own species at the expense of another. (Somehow, when PETA got wind of the news they were still pissed.) We offered them the parrots.
At first the enraged aliens thought we were trying to trick them or play a game...until we demonstrated the birds' uncanny ability to pick up any language. The aliens would say a phrase and a parrot would repeat it back even more easily than we could (the fact that their vocal cords had more in common was a boon). The aliens accepted, and quickly extracted millions of parrots (which to their delight proved much easier to house and feed than we would, due to their size) and left. They left behind an outpost on the moon with a delegation that would monitor our commitment to continue breeding more until their return.
Well the return has come, and they are *pissed*. Apparently though the parrots can repeat everything, they obviously don't have the wits to *translate* anything. But we bought ourselves time and now we see them coming. First we nuke the moon. | Tom: God damn glorpexians. Why can't they just speak english?
Rick: Because they communicate with flippers...
Tom: Then morse code or something... For fucks sake, we've been doing this for hours and gotten nowhere. I don't even think they use patterns as structure for their method of communication, everything so far has just been seemingly random.
Rick: Protocol 9?
Tom: Fuck it. Sure.
Rick: You know one of these days this won't work...
*Rick loses a game of rock paper scissors"
Rick: Fuck...
*Rick slices his hand open with a small scalpel, pouring the blood into a small vial and gives it to the glorpexian, bowing as he does so.*
*Glorpexian looks back and forth before leaving.
Tom: What do you think they get from that?
-Later-
*In glorpexian*
Hauskus: Brother McCready, you've returned... How was the meeting with the alien ambassadors?
McCready: You're going to the next one glorp. They put us in a room with these weird bipod mammal things.... They tried to... Communicate... to me I guess for a while using their face-holes to move air in weird patterns. I tried to mimic it, but this only seemed to confuse them more.
Hauskus: Best translators in the galaxy my rear exhaust flaps! Humans are fucking clueless glorp....
McCready: I think they just wanted me to leave at the end, they just gave me a bit of their weird disease-ridden life-juice in this vial, I'm hoping in a gesture of peace.
Hauskus: Well if they're willing to lose life for us, either its a sign life means nothing to them, or we mean to them than life... I feel they would have killed something if they meant the first.
McCready: Fuck it, just hit the oxygen-3-mixture man, I'm not going back to those weirdos, they're not here to harm us.
-Meanwhile-
Officer Fubrick: Excellent work humans, the Glorplexians are leaving in peace. Enslaving your race has been the most beneficial conquest of the past galdrant!
Rick: Man what the fuck this thing saying?
Tom: Five months we've been on this stupid ship and they still think we know wtf they're saying.
Rick: At least they're speaking with voice... I think he said something along the lines of "good job", I notice he blinks in approval when he uses that " foooopa" noise. Pretty sure that's approval. Don't know why he brought up time-measurement though...
Tom: Look, boss, this has been nice, but me and Rick are getting back to that harrem of supermodels we ah, need to survive.
Rick: Fuck this Shiiiiiiit!
Officer Fubrick: God bless those absolute saints, thinking only of neurturing their young after risking death.... We can learn so much from these creatures.
*Officer Fubrick mimicks the middle-finger gesture rick made shortly before* | 2019-10-05T18:36:54 | 2019-10-05T18:18:15 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | The young man woke early on May 27th. It was his 16th Birthday, and today he would find out two very important names. Two names to surely be intertwined with the rest of his life. He was excited, and scared at the same time.
He stared out of the window of his Manor House looking across the grounds. He knew he was born early in the day, around 8am, so he didn’t have long to wait. The house was quiet, hardly anyone around, except for the faint noises of someone in the kitchen making him his favourite breakfast, on this special day.
He wasn’t all that concerned about the left wrist, he thought he knew who that was going to be. A man who nearly 8 years ago shattered his whole world, and left him very alone. He didn’t go a day without seeing his face in his mind, or waking up sweating and screaming from his dreams. So why would it matter really if he saw his name too. The young man missed his parents greatly, and again, like most days vowed to make them so proud by continuing to do good for the city he lived in.
The name on the right wrist was more important, he wanted to find that soulmate as quickly as possible and spend as long as possible with her, for as many years as he could. He wondered every day who might appear there, printed on his wrist, and today was the day he was going to find out.
A large grandfather clock in the hallway outside chimed, he counted 8 chimes echoing throughout the large rooms and empty halls. He looked down, and as if some invisible pen was writing words on his wrists, 2 words appeared on each one. Confused, he sat there, wondering what on earth they meant. Something is wrong, “they’re not real names, and how can they both say the same thing! This is ridiculous” he shouted! He wondered if something had gone really wrong.
Footsteps were coming up the marble staircase, he could hear the chinking of plates and cutlery. The butler opened the door, beaming with excitement to find out who the young mans soulmate would be. Placing the tray of food on the large solid oak table in his room, he walked over to the young man, and was concerned about the frightened look on his face. The young man held out his hands, whilst his butler gently studied both names. His brow furrowed, he looked up over his glasses, and said, “Master Wayne, who is The Joker?”
——
First ever comment on one of these. It’s probably fairly crap, but it popped into my head when I saw it. Thought I’d give it a go
——
Cheers for all the kind words people. | 12 hours. That’s how many hours I have till I know the name of my soulmate. I have my phone charged and ready to find them on any social media. Having waited years to meet them I dreamed of my birthday. I’ve spent years of my life watching romcoms. Turning 16 is huge. You can buy ads with your name and your soulmates name. Ever sense the names started showing up about a century ago dating has long sense gone out of fashion. I rub my wrist anxiously. What if they live across the world? I have $1,000 saved for traveling but that’s nowhere near enough to cross the world and stay with them. I researched soulmates. Most share birthdays, so names show at the same time. So I know my soulmate will be looking for me. I couldn’t care less about the enemy thing,
6 hours. I try to bide my time but the excitement is overwhelming.
1 hour. I haven’t left my room in hours. I sit phone in one hand and eyes fixed on my wrist.
15 minutes. I’m shaking. It’s finally happening. I get to meet my soul mate. Ever sense I learned about them from my parents I have looked forward to this day.
1 minute. I stare unblinking at my wrist.
10 seconds. I see faint black line slowly start fading in.
0 seconds. I read it. James Smith. I look to my other wrist. James Smith. Eight billion people and I get the most common name in America! My name is Mila Sallow. No doubt my soul mate will find me. All I can do is wait. I know that when you meet your soulmate or enemy their name fades, I will know it’s them.
After about a day I get a message on Instagram. From James Smith. I jump to my phone and text back frantically. He lives only a city over. We decide to meet at Needle Point Hill. In an hour I get dressed and I’m waiting at the bench overlooking my city. I hear a voice from behind me.
“Mila?”
I turn around and tackle him into a hug. I bury my face into his chest unable to control my smile or tears. After a minute I release him. I brush my now blank right hand with my left hand. Something catches my eye, or a lack of something rather. I slowly turn over my left hand. My wrist is clear. I collapse to the ground. How can it be the same person? I thought it was just two people with the same name. James kneels down.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears cover my face I show him my wrist.
“You met your enemy before me? That’s okay!”
“No. No. No.”
I’m a mess. He looks at my wrists for another second. His once cheerful voice falls.
“Oh. Oh wow. Is that even possible?”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I’m your soulmate. I’ve just made your life so much harder.”
He cups my face in his hand,
“It’s fine, it will all be okay. You’re not my enemy, and even if I’m yours I am still your soulmate. I will take care of you, I think you are great and I’m so happy we match.”
I sniffled.
“Really?”
“Yes. I will always be here for you, despite what ever your wrist says.”
“Thanks... I really appreciate it.”
He helps me up, and I look at my left wrist. It’s turned pitch black. I don’t know what it means but I think it’s going to be ok. I’ve got James. | 2020-01-18T23:49:54 | 2020-01-18T23:16:31 | 264 | 16 |
[WP]You live in a world where everyone levels up as though in an RPG, levels being from 1-100. However, three people with abnormal power levels exist. One has a level of zero, one has a power level in the negatives, and one has a power level of 101. You are one of these individuals. | We didn't know what he was doing until it was to late.
He started his... I guess you could call it "journey" as a mathematician. Put some decent Essence Tiers into it to, upwards of 40 I think. Then, for some reason, he started selling his Essence. It's not uncommon for people in debt to sell their Essence, but he was doing rather well for himself in his job. But he just kept selling. From level 60 down to 30, and from their all the way down to 1. We thought he just went of his rockers, especially today.
"He wants to sell how much?" The director gaped.
"60 units, sir" I replied, sweating profusely.
"Do we have any record of him acquiring that much?"
I quickly scanned his file. "No sir, it appears he has not registered any new Essence gains with the IES."
"Do you think he stole them?"
"Doubtful sir. He's still smart enough to place them on the black market, especially if he truly did regain that Tier level."
The rest of the small office clustered around me. The man, some Indian bloke, was quite the celebrity in the underworked Department of Essence Sales, being really the only person of interest here.
"What should I do sir?" The director paced the overheated room nervously. After a minute or two he turns to me.
"Shut down his account. Flag it as.." He thought for a moment, pulling up our never-used lexicon. "A 'Illegal transfer of essence'"
"Yes sir" I opened up his file and filled out the form.
"Uh... Sir?"
"What?"
"His Essence has already been purchased..."
At that moment, A loud buzzing noise filled our ears, and a brilliant flash of light burst from our window.
"What the hell was that?"
We all ran to the window and opened the blinds.
In the distance, we saw a blinding brightness, like a new sun in the West. Then we heard the voice.
***Negatives do not exist.***
The light faded somewhat, and We could just make out a black speck in the center.
***And Yet, the Law of the Universe demands that the Essence is paid.***
The speck grew larger, closer. It formed the shape of a man.
***Therefore, what happens when Essence drops to negative?***
He was close enough to see now, a Titan of power. Essence radiated from him, and he seemed to be able to step over mountains and wade through seas.
***I tell you.***
He took a step forward, and suddenly I could see him clearly. A bald man, with a white robe, sandled feet and a set of spectacles.
***You get me.*** | I remember the first time I woke from my slumber. The mountains covered with a rug of trees, green, yellow, scarlet and orange, lay in a great line like the spine of the land. As if long ago there was a great beast, only to lie down to sleep one day, but never got up. Ghost-like, the trees stood like the silent observer, overwatching the range of granite peaks scarfed & be-ribboned with snow, like a beast in an enchanted sleep. The range were high to the East and low to the West, curling at the end like a tail. The only thing bigger than the snowy mountains is the midnight skies, dotted with silver as vast as any eye could wander. There I saw for the first time under this mountain, a group of settlers built this tiny village. "How quaint." I thought to myself in stupor and went back to my slumber.
Centuries must have gone by, but the second time I woke, I remember a riot of colours painted the skies, as a cacophony of pops pierced deep into my rest. I see people parading down a grand city - cheering. The crowd moved like a a multi-headed beast that shared only one brain. Their thoughts were in lock-step as much as their feet, whooping, hollering, clapping, stamping of feet, palpable excitement buzzed through the charged air, infectious grins, strangers shaking hands, patting one another on the back, spontaneous outpouring of emotion. I care not for what they cheer for. But to dare to wake me from my slumber. Proud creatures aren't they. I stayed patient and after a few days the noise died down and I went back to sleep.
The party stood in front of a black iron gate, deep in the mountains, that seemed to be forge centuries ago. It was a clear ten feet tall, antique looking with runes carved upon it. "This must be it" said Jace Belerion.
"You sure about this my King? This looks ancient." as Allura brushed her hands across the carving. "This runes and symbols are before out time. We should really spend time and study this." Allura voiced with concern.
"Don't worry. This can't be worse than those ancient dragons. Besides we are legendary. Just Be careful. Stay vigilant. Magic and weapons at the ready. Strike on my command." King Belerion said confidently. "Lothal, open the gate"
A deep guttural sound as the gate opened and grind against millenniums of rocks and stones gathered at the base.
Humans... Arrogance... Foolish.... then again I have to thank them. I am finally awaken. I am released.
"Who goes there! Show yourself!" King Belerion demanded as the party waved their torch trying illuminate the space, yet nothing, as if the darkness as swallowed all the light and hope in the world.
Moans, cries, and whispers of unknown terror creep through their ears and into their spines."I live where there is light. I can be seen but cannot be touched. I am always there with you. Thank you for releasing me. For I am everything. I am the negative. I am the dark. I am the shadow. I am Death."
A darkness came over the party as their weapons clink and clank on to the floor.
Now... \*stretches\*... let's paint this world black. | 2020-01-29T10:19:06 | 2020-01-29T08:51:54 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] Magic is a difficult process, involving very specific language and rules, often having entire spells fail simply because of a tiny error and requiring hours of meticulous study to understand let alone cast a spell. All of these reasons are why the best wizards are often programmers | The problem with software developers is that they are too often the glass half full type.
Task them with building a system from scratch and of course it is their baby, and nothing could be wrong with it. Cross them with the proudest creature, the wizard, with their unique ability to wish into reality whatever you are too incompotent to do, and you get the most nose in the air vocation in the world. The spell developer. And like all little boys growing up, I wished nothing more than to be one.
When the internship offer for a tester position at Moogle dropped in my lap- literally, it was sent by owlmail- mom clapped my shoulder. It was a foot in the door in one of the big four spelltechs she said, and she gave me a hopeful smile. Little did mom know, the loftier the company, the higher their high horses- figuratively this time, equestrian companions were to be left outside. Company policy.
"And you've run this through the unit tests?" I ask. Pausing his drumming on the keyboard, Alastar sits back to look at me. He sweeps the pommeled end of his wizard hat out of his pimpled face. Like some of the other junior spell devs at Moogle, Alastar liked to wear his hat backwards.
"Nah, it's cool. Guess you might not know but this stuff is Transfiguration 101. Besides, don't want to put you out of a job." Alastar winked, then blinked as his hat's pommel smacked him in the face.
Alastar turned back to his computer screen and waved a dismissive hand. "Just accept the pull request and deploy it to Moogle's Cloud."
I return a polite smile. Like many of its competitors in recent years, Moogle had been investing heavily in Cloud technology. A system to store excess mana resources for a rainy day, just like a cloud. Why else would it be called Cloud tech? Alastar's task was to modify the firewall that prevented the mana from leaking out.
I head back to my desk but instead of implementing the change across all of Moogle, I deploy Alastar's work to the lead spell dev's personal Cloud.
Within seconds, the faint smell of smoke filled the room. I look up to see the Lead stroke his Merlin beard as he sniffed the air. And then his desk evaporated in an explosion of thunder and flame.
Our boss' face changed to inferno and brimstone. "ALASTAAAAAAAAAAAAR?!"
The problem with spell developers is that they are always the glass half full type. Luckily for them, my time here has emptied mine.
\*\*\*
Shoutout to the overworked testers on my team who are probably sick of rejecting my shitty code. | That morning, he hadn't woke up planning to bring about the end of the world.
Back then, all he knew was that Ellie would be dead soon. She had days remaining at best. Minutes at worst. He scrawled his stub of chalk against the only uncovered wall in the bedroom -- abstract calculations, colors, quasi-mana equations... He muttered them beneath his breath and his hand moved along, scratching out the numbers and glyphs.
He'd been writing this spell all day and still the solution remained out of reach. Like lying on a branch on the shore, crawling out to someone being pulled beneath quicksand, and your fingers touch theirs just so lightly you wonder if it was a breeze... Can't get a hold. A grip. So they sink and you're so near and helpless and left to watch them succumb.
He'd rewritten the spell each day for a month. Sometimes in books. Mostly on the wall.
Sometimes, only for fragments of seconds, Ellie's yellowed eyes would half-open and she'd see the scrawls over her once precious cherry-blossom wallpaper, and Paul might see her, too, and he might wonder if she was mad. Then her eyes would close and she'd drift away again, and those precious fragments of consciousness that she had remaining had been lost beneath the quicksand.
It would be worth it! If he could just work out how mana could be split and combined with the right glyph combination and transplanted into her but send by God's hand. If this equals that, then statement 214 must be true and if 214 is true, then Ellie lives. Ellie must live.
No. That wasn't it. A flaw in the logic.
She'd worked in a flower shop. It's where they'd met. He'd been buying his then-girlfriend flowers for valentine's day, and the pretty girl behind the counter had helped this embarrassed blushing kid pick out the prettiest bouquet in all the shop.
"I'm taking her out tonight." He added proudly, "Cinema. Going to catch a romance. I let her choose."
"Lucky her," Ellie has said, grinning. He couldn't tell if it sarcastic but it made him smile all the same.
Of course, the evening hadn't gone to plan and moments after leaving the shop he'd seen his girlfriend and he'd seen a boy in the year above and the flowers had ended in a gutter where the rain drowned them.
An hour later, he bought a second bouquet. He handed it to the girl at the counter. And said, "Fancy catching a movie? I'll let you choose." He grinned his best imitation of hers.
She'd laughed and bit her lip and nodded.
So full of life then.
So empty of it now. Both of them.
He'd been a programmer. Calculations that powered financial websites. Until that day something in his head clicked, and he saw how these calculations could make it out of the machine and into reality if just provided with the right format and power - and the right mind to write them.
Now he scrawled his chalk as if his life depended on it. But it was more than his life that depended; it was his entire world.
He paused, looked at his wife. Her thin face, skin tight over her cheeks. Waited for her chest to raise, his hands shaking.
When it finally did, he took a long breath then returned to his spell.
An hour passed before he stood back and looked at his work.
And though incomplete, there was an inkling of an idea. The start of a dreadful spell surely couldn't be cast?
But in it, in this terrible wickedness, perhaps there was a way, he thought.
A way to prolong her life. | 2020-03-04T04:31:05 | 2020-03-04T04:27:15 | 163 | 42 |
[WP] Both of your parents promised their firstborn to different magical creatures. Now you're in the middle of a magical custody battle that's splitting worlds apart. | "Every happy family is unhappy in its own way," drawled my father, before taking another sip of his morning whiskey.
"That's not the quote, dad."
"That's my Morgan, such a nitpicker. Haven't you heard of *paraphrasing?*"
The morning sun beaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, flashing off the stainless-steel furniture and appliances, made the penthouse unbearably hot at this time of day. Not that my dad would notice or care. He liked the heat in the same way that my mom liked her mansion to be bone-chillingly cold––they had their temperature preferences and couldn't give less of a fuck whether I was comfortable. I was wearing a sweater in preparation for enduring the Manhattan winter wind outside but was seriously considering changing, since it looked like Mom was going to be late again for the handoff.
The sound of a door, footsteps and then the sudden appearance of a blond woman who I'd never seen before, hair rumpled and still in a party dress from the previous night. Another of my father's conquests. "Morning--" She stopped, seeing me, stunned. "Who are you?"
"Oh, right, meet my kid. Kid, meet L-- Lauren? Laurel? What did you say it was?"
"Oh, fuck you!" Loud huff, slam of the front door.
My father, from his perch on the kitchen counter: "Want me to call you an Uber?" He smirked at me. "Don't tell your mother. Oh, wait––go ahead, please do!"
"You're such a misogynist," I told him.
He laughed, slamming his now-empty highball glass on the counter. "Is that what they're teaching you at that fancy hippy school of yours I pay for? Listen, I've seen a lot of bra-burning types over the past millennia and they're all so boring. Plus, they die. You'd be better off getting educated by your old demon dad."
I ignored him and glanced at my phone. Okay, a quarter til 11? Mom had never been this late. My father saw me looking at the time. "Guess that old hag's about to violate the custody agreement again!"
Almost instantaneously, as if in response, my phone lit up with a New York Times alert. *BREAKING: Fifty-Foot Sinkhole Opens Up on 142nd, Causing Over Ten Deaths, Massive Traffic Snarl.* I whipped my head up to see my father's face twist into a wickedly smug smile.
My phone buzzed again. A text from my mother. *Hi baby. Stuck in traffic. Don't stand 2 close 2 ur father. Going to kill him & don't want curse to hit u.* | Ace stood quite still, his mouth hanging open, staring from his furious parents, to the irate mermaid floating in the large sphere of water ahead of them, to the warty, hook-nosed witch beside her, the smoke-grey demon glaring on her right, and the sinister-looking genie trailing from the ornate golden lamp beside him, disbelief etched into every line of his smooth, boyish face.
He was stunned. He felt numb. This was surely a nightmare -- his parents could not -- *would not* -- have done this ... and yet....
"You -- both of you -- sold me out?" Ace asked quietly; his voice had finally returned to him, though it trembled with the rage and disbelief that burned inside him.
"Oh, don't sound so shocked!" his mother snapped, refusing to meet his eyes. "You know your father's a terrible person -- he almost sold your younger sister for a pack of smokes!"
"Me?" his father said indignantly. "I only spoke to the demon and the mermaid! Why on earth, I wonder, would the witch and the genie be here, *dear*?"
His mother flushed. "Oh all right! I talked to the witch -- but that necklace was *so* beautiful!" she said, fingering the magnificent necklace laced around her neck. "And it cost millions! What else was I supposed to do?"
"And the genie?" Ace barked.
"You think stretch marks are attractive?" she demanded, finally turning to look at him. "I'd used up all three of my wishes before I remembered, and I struck him a deal at the last minute -- he'd get rid of them if I gave my firstborn as a replacement to him so that he could be free! Oh don't look at me like that!" she added snappishly, seeing the look on Ace's face. "At least the things I wanted were of value, what do you think *he* bartered you for?" She jerked her head at his father.
"You weren't complaining when you saw the house!" he spat at her.
"And the backyard pool? You really needed to sell your son for that?"
"Mason was charging three hundred bucks!"
"*ENOUGH*!" Ace bellowed, and they all fell silent, watching him. "How -- how *could* you? You horrible people --"
"'Scuse me?" said the witch. "M'I getting the kid or not?"
"You?" screeched the mermaid in a slightly warbled voice. "*I'll* be taking him back to Atlantis where he'll marry the King's daughter! She becomes Queen, he becomes King, and I'll be set for --"
"Oh, no you don't, you sneaking fish!" the genie roared. "I've been doing this gig for five hundred years -- I want *out*!"
"If you think you'll be denying me that boy's soul --" the demon began in tones of outrage. They all began to squabble, the magical creatures and his parents, and Ace, though angry, had a sudden idea. Their attention was focused too exclusively on their competitors, and the car ... the car was quite unguarded. He felt a slight stab of guilt that vanished the moment he saw his mother fingering her necklace again.
Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, leapt imto the car, started the engine, and took off, leaving the six of them behind him, astonished, hardly knowing where he was going, but convinced it couldn't be worse than what he was leaving behind.
r/MysticScribbles for better stories :) | 2020-04-20T10:33:23 | 2020-04-20T09:09:33 | 241 | 108 |
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago. | "I shouldn't have believed the ad. Do you know how hard good living arrangements are to find? Excuse me for jumping at a good deal. How was I to know what 'experimental building materials' is supposed to mean? The guy seemed to know what he was doing."
"Yes, but sir–"
"I just need you to get like a priest, or a police officer, or preferably if you've got a joint division there with the church, to get down here–"
"Sir, please slow down and tell me where you are".
"Okay, so I found some the mortar the contractor was using for the bathroom, and I think this is just blood in here, I don't know why or how a bathroom can be grouted with blood, but there it is."
"Okay sir, I can have an officer on the way as soon as you tell me where you are–"
"Where I AM is inside of it! These walls are breathing... I can't believe I didn't notice that... the walls are warm. It's skin. My house is made of—".
**The recording ends there. When officers arrived at the scene there was no house, only a dead man on the beach, all of the skin stripped off. Case is closed by orders on high. Cause: "Fishing accident".** | It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon when the “ghost hunter” came for the annual inspection. This government mandated farce as I saw it began a few years ago when unexplained occurrences were happening across the country; and thanks to the efforts of lazy police work and persuasive afterlife advocates certain incidents were now being blamed on ghosts. Not surprisingly our last couple of inspections had come up with nothing but having moved to a newly developed neighborhood there I stood rolling my eyes as our new inspector rolled up to the house.
Two firm knocks on the door rattled through the house and I opened up to the warmth of the summer sun. The man was in his late 40’s, sweat already dripping from his receding hairline, headset on and ready to go. Holding a clipboard in his left hand, and his ghost-o-meter in his right beeping incessantly even before entering the house.
I suppressed a chuckle. “Here to check the water meter?”
Completely unimpressed he looked directly into my eyes with a hint of apprehension. “Sir if you could please let me in so I can check your ghost score.”
“Of course.” I replied “Do as you must, if you need me I’ll be in here.”
I wandered off into the living room, slumping into the couch and turning on the TV.
Almost a couple hours go by when he enters the room looking as white as a sheet and visibly quivering.
“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I burst out laughing. No reaction. No sense of humour these inspectors.
“Sir. Have you seen anything suspicious since m-moving here?” he stammers.
Now bored “No why?”
“Only your g-ghost score is off the charts. The highest I’ve ever seen. The highest anyone has ever seen. 278!”
“Don’t be absurd my wife and I have only just moved here, there’s no way our score could possib; Wait ghosts aren’t real!”
“Your wife? It says here you live alone.”
“What? That's clearly wrong. Give me that!”
He made to pass over the clipboard and I put out my hand to receive it. But as he let go, the clipboard phased right through my hand and clattered to the floor. | 2020-05-13T10:19:29 | 2020-05-13T10:00:14 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] In a world where Lamarckian evolution is true, there are groups of people who train their bodies in specific ways to pass on those traits to their children. After several generations of this, the evolution of these groups is becoming increasingly apparent. | When Ryan began to take his first steps, Margaret and I waited in joyful anticipation. When he began to sprint around the room, we were dumbfounded. Binkie in hand, our 9 month old bounded across the kitchen towards the cookies cooling on the counter, and ever since he's been running.
He only got faster as he grew, which made him a lot harder to control. It's not easy when your 8-year old can outrun you with a five minute mile, but when he was old enough to race, we supported him through and through. He always ran knowing that he had two loving parents, a perfect family.
When the Learned Genetics Theory became common knowledge, Margaret and I sat down and tried to understand where Ryan got his crazy genes. We traced through parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, but no one had Ryan's affinity for running. We concluded that he was a miracle, a fluke, our special little anomaly.
Until I remembered that Margaret's coworker Daren ran track in college, and she mentioned that his father was in the Olympics.
"Margaret, Daren and Ryan look quite similar, don't they?"
Margaret started to cry. | At first, everyone thought it was just from environmental and economic differences. After all, better food, better medicine, better schools, and better opportunities. Of course the children are going to be better off. But eventually, anomalies happened more often. An incredibly smart child from an area with notoriously poor schooling. A super athletic kid from an area with nowhere to really train.
As this happened more frequently, this phenomenon was studied. Of course, not everyone wanted to subject themselves and their children to various tests, but most of them managed to be... convinced. Eventually a sizable chunk of the population was gathered up into specific areas. They were seperated by trait. Strength, longevity, health, intelligence, etc, and of course a control group. Strict rules were implemented, but in general, people were allowed to live MOSTLY as they had before. At least those in the control group. The other groups were forced to spend at least 12 hours a day improving their specific traits. After all, science must be progressed. Every few generations, a member of the population would manage to escape. These escapees found themselves in a world... that they didn't know. Nothing was controlled. They were too developed to fit in with the normal people. They sought the company of those they fit in with. After all, social isolation is a terrible thing to experience. They waited, and when they caught whisper of another freak, they took them under their wing. Occasionally, they would fall in love, and have children. The group grew in size, slowly at first, but eventually with immense speed and expansion, until they had a very sizable population, and could break the rest of their studied peers out of the hell labs.
Nobody saw that this would lead to the near extinction of normies. Nobody predicted that this would lead to war, since they all felt things should be led in a different manner. Nobody could have seen, when this all started, that this phenomenon would lead to the ravaging of the world as we know it, and eventually, the end of humanity as a whole. | 2020-07-08T14:36:20 | 2020-07-08T14:05:11 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] When you die you are sent to purgatory, a room of doors where you can select your afterlife. There are all the commonly believed afterlifes, reincarnation, heaven and hell, even null. You open the dusty unused door. | I didn't know what I expected to see when I opened my eyes, but it was definitely not doors and a single... being. It vaguely looked human, but it couldn't have been. How did I know? Inexplicable as it was, I knew deep in my heart that the person standing in front of me was nothing as boring as an ordinary human.
"You are here," the being said.
"Who... who are you?" I asked.
"It does not matter. I am merely here to tell you that you have a choice."
"A choice? Then I'm going to be here a good while, my friend," I chuckled.
The being looked directly at me but did not respond again. I tried to focus my attention on it, but it was a futile task. Before long, my eyes had moved to the doors, and I examined them one by one. It was spooky because there were literally nothing else.I was standing on darkness. The doors were surrounded by darkness. I knew that I was not in an earthly plane. I was not alive.
It didn't matter, though. Life had not been very kind. Not feeling the pain course through my body and wreck my senses was a nice change, I had to admit.
I looked at the doors. Some of them were well-used. Some were pristine. Some had signs labelled on them, surprisingly.
"Is this a test?" I muttered, more for myself than anyone else.
"No. It is a choice," the being replied. I jumped a little. I had forgotten that it was there.
"Oh my god! OK, alright. So you just respond to some of my questions and ignore others?"
The being did not respond once again. I sighed.
"Look man, help me out here. I'm sure there's a lot of people passing through here, you can get on with your day if you talk a little with me."
"Do not worry. You will have ample time to make your choice. I am infinite," it replied.
"Cool, cool. OK," I looked at the doors once again. "So... this is heaven and hell? I'll just be stuck there forever and ever?"
"Some doors are chosen more often than others. There is Judgement, where one goes to heaven or hell after a trial of their sins on the mortal plane. There is Reincarnation, a second chance at life."
"Hmm," I walked down the doors. The being was right. But there was a seemingly endless selection of doors. I paced continuously, and there was no end in sight. I could feel the being following closely, though as far as I could tell, it wasn't walking at all. Just surreptitiously following.
All of a sudden, I had reached it. The end. A dusty, unused door sat in front of me.
"What's this?"
The being hesitated.
"It is a dusty, unused door."
"OK, you clearly know a lot more than that," I said. I turned around and looked it in the eyes. "What's behind this door?"
The being stood still. I found that I could look at it now. It was... human. At a time, maybe. But no longer.
"The Void," it said.
"The Void?" I asked.
"It is nothing. Endless nothing.
"Hmm," I pondered. "I'll take it."
"Are you certain? There is no returning from beyond the door," it said.
"Yes," I said. "One life was enough. I had enough. I want nothing."
My hand grasped the knob and twisted. The door opened easily, and I stepped into pitch black.
Nothing. I could see nothing. Feel nothing.
It was good.
---
r/dexdrafts |
Death could be a sudden, violent affair. One moment you’re walking down the street, the next someone plows a car through you. Maybe they were drunk. Maybe they hated me. Maybe it was a last ditch attempt at something. Well, in any case, I didn’t feel all that much. There was something, but that sensation was well downriver of the Lethe, and just as well. Knowing I’d been killed by a metal green box on wheels was enough.
When I came too, I didn’t find myself in a hospital. Instead, it was a cobble floor, the stones making an uncomfortable bed. I picked myself up, noting the gaps in between the stones; pitch black and too wide between each one. And as I looked up, I saw why.
The place I was at was a sea of cobble under a sky blacker than evil itself. Doors dotted the horizon in a haphazard fashion, each one a different design. The one closest to me was made of pale marble and accented with gold, standing in stark contrast to the sky. On it was the embossed image of a pair of wings and a cross. Nearby was another door, bigger and made of wood, perhaps oak? On it was some kind of imagery, a tree with some circles connected with lines. As I walked, I saw another door like it, a big medieval thing with a stone frame. It too had a tree, but with two birds perched on its branches, and Nordic runes engraved on the frame.
Was… was this an afterlife? Or was an afterlife *through* the door? Did Valhalla await through there…?
…Could I choose…?
I stared at the door as the thought bloomed into more questions. Did everyone get this choice? If not, then what made me special? And if we did, then did it matter where I went? And if I did choose, was it permanent, or could I go back? Could I visit Hades if I went to Hell? Or *was* Hades Hell?
And there was that: was it a trick? If I chose ‘wrong’, would I be punished for it? *Was* there a wrong choice?
My gaze went from door to door; a great gold gate with hieroglyphics, another marble gate too far to see clearly, a door that didn’t seem to want to be noticed, that oozed nothingness…
I saw it then. Almost out of the way, like it was shunned by the other possibilities, reduced to a red blot like a scab on the blackness of the horizon. Passing through the field of doors, I hurried along, compelled as if tugged by a string of rope. As I got closer, the blot formed into a door, lonely and rusting. It was made of plain old iron, and was in such a wretched state, so completely consumed by the red dust that it looked more wall than door. Yet I still had the compulsion to go through. None of the doors I seen had knobs, so I figured I just had to push. Once I made my choice, I planted my shoulder onto the door, my feet in a couple of gaps, and heaved.
It didn’t budge.
I frowned. I was never the determinator type – see something going wrong and call it quits was more my style – but the door stoked a fire in me that I never felt before. I wanted this. I slammed my shoulder into the door, banging it over and over, moving on to kicking it with everything I had. Finally, I opted to charge at it. I battered it with my good shoulder, and for my troubles, I heard the shriek of metal-on-metal being dislodged after being together for god-knows how many years.
That made me all the more determined. I resumed kicking it, now knowing where to put the sole of my foot, and getting abused screams from the door every time.
And then it inched open. Just a bit, just so far ajar that I could *smell* it.
What did I smell? I’ll give you a hint; the moment that scent wafted into my nose, it was smothered by what felt like a gallon of blood. I covered my nostrils to stem the flow. I wasn’t going to stop now. I made my choice. I made this bed of nails, and I would lie in it. So I kicked. Again, and again, and again.
And the door gave way.
I saw it for all of half a second, before I comprehended that I couldn’t comprehend.
Even now, I don’t regret that choice. | 2020-07-31T09:05:18 | 2020-07-31T07:01:18 | 63 | 38 |
[WP] A massive Imperial fleet, led by Darth Vader, suddenly appears on Earth. Vader informs the Earth's governments that he is looking for a rogue Jedi named "George Lucas." It turns out that Star Wars is real, and Lucas has been leaking information about the Empire and the Rebellion to the public. | The eve of the invasion was not a particularly eventful one, sans the entire evil empire attack thing.
It was September 2020, the world was in the midst of an epidemic of epic scale, mostly borne of human stupidity, when a big ass fleet of Star Destroyers suddenly jumped into the Solar System.
It took 5 minutes flat for Earth to go apeshit.
There was an orbital communication, a whole lotta threats from the big bad Empire, and then the first Terran-Imperial War began.
Now, I dunno what you thought ‘bout the “Galactic Empire”, but lemme tell you a lil secret.
They suck. At everything.
Anyways, that’s the pretext you need for this next bit: the majority of the fleet the Empire sent was destroyed very quickly via a United Earth Response Task Force lovingly called “A fuckton of Nukes.”
A fuckton, as in almost all the nuclear weaponry of Earth Humanity.
However, that was only the beginning, as the few ships left were still up and running, and that was when the terrestrial war began.
Say what you will about the good ole’ bullet, but you can’t deny that it’s very good at what it does, and what it does is mass-murder. While lasers? Flashy, sure, but they don’t punch through Kevlar, lemme tell ya that.
ATATs? Giant menacing mechanised walkers decked out with dozens of weapons systems? Yes. Giant grey target for aircraft? Also yes.
And don’t get me started on the damned TIEs! Those things are basically oversized flying slingshots! They went down real quick.
Anyways, after all that was said and done, it had been an entire 4 years. Humanity had definitely taken some casualties, mostly due to the already ongoing plague and the sporadic Orbital Bombardments the remaining Capital Ships pulled off occasionally, but in the end, going up against a “Galactic” Empire, about 3,000,000 casualties ain’t too shabby.
Ain’t good that good men and women died either, but still.
Anyhow, after we pulverised ole’ leather skin Vader with a dozen Cruise Missiles(guess the Force doesn’t stop shrapnel) we rebuilt and rearmed.
About 4 years of salvaging and reverse engineering later our first FTL Starships arrived in Alpha Centauri and the Centurion Space Stations were established, and we began mass producing more and more.
It took 7 years for us to break out of the Milky Way and find the “Galaxy Far Far Away”. It took the same amount of time for us to amass a Fleet of unparalleled size and strength in all of known history.
And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, on the eve of September 23rd, the night the Great Defensive War began, Fleet Command gives the order.
We, the citizens of the Union of Terran Peoples, will rain down hell on those whose fleets once blotted out the sun over the skies of Terra.
Let it be known, those who come to us by the sword, shall die by the sword!
And by the sword, I mean a _fuckton of nukes._ | While the main fleet of the Sith empire remained in orbit, Vader’s personal starship and his escorts landed at the UN headquarters in Geneva. Soon after landing stormtroopers surround the building and Vader walks in.
“The political value of this station has been compromised. *kushhh* resistance will prove futile. *kushhh* disclose the location of George Lucas and the empire shall show mercy upon your world. *kushhh*”
Looking out the window startled, and seeing the massive fleet in orbit, the clerk quickly grasped the situation
“Well sir Vader? If the movies were true... that is beyond our jurisdiction Mr. George Lucas is located in United States somewhere we have no such ability here actually...”
“Then you are of no use to me”
Vader waves his hands and stormtroopers rush in.
Vader continues saying
“Find their leader and dispose of the rest”
Vader walks out of the headquarters as blaster fire rings behind him. Reembarking his ship Vader sets his course to the pentagon.
Arriving at his destination Vader is quickly met with resistance. Two fighter jets attempt to escort his starship which are quickly shot down. Vader lands his ship in the pentagon court yard. As he climbs out of his vessel, heavily armed US personnel confront him. Warning him.
“Lord Vader! Please discard your light saber and other weapons, as we can escort you to a meeting where we can negotiate.”
Vader looking from side to side refuses, igniting his saber. And the soldiers open fire. But the bullets stop short in a circular pattern around Vader. He exclaims.
“I believe I have the ability to set the terms of this negotiation. *kushhh* Your obsolete weaponry is useless against us. *kushhh*”
He begins slaughtering the soldiers with his saber or by deflecting their bullets. Soon a courtyard filled with over 100 men are cleared within minutes. Rendering them dismembered, fleeing, or dead. Vader walks towards one of the walls in the pentagon and cuts a door shaped hole into it with his saber. As he barges in civilians and military personnel flee in desperation. He pays no attention to them and looks around suspiciously “he is here... *kush*” he mumbles to himself. Vader turns a corridor and sees a robed man standing in the middle of the hall. Vader with a sigh of relief and joy says.
“Ah we meet at last George Lucas! *kushhh*”
George Lucas sliding his hood back replies
“Not a meeting I was hoping for... how did you find this planet Vader?”
“You underestimate the power of the force! *kushhh* you should have known best, now you have doomed this planet to the same fate as you *kushhh*”
“I may perish but this planet will live on. You also underestimate the force Vader. Balance will be restored even if not by me... one of my fans will put an end to this cruel empire!”
George Lucas lunges forward igniting his saber and Vader deflects it with his own. Vader responds.
“That was the purpose of your little information leak? *kushhh* to find the chosen one?? *kushhh*.”
“Enough talking. I will put an end to your reign. You are too dangerous to be kept alive!”
Their blades meet again. And an intense melee battle of sabers pursues. Both are matched almost evenly in sword combat. Until Lucas is pursued into a server room, where he is backed up against a wall. And Vader finding an opportunity cuts off George Lucas’s arm.
“Ahhhh” George groaned in pain.
“Join me George. *kushhh* spread the wisdom of the dark side! *kushhh* together we can make a trilogy of the sith ways!!! *kushhh*”
“Never!!!”
George replied. Then Vader swung his saber. George closed his eyes and embraced death. But then he suddenly disappeared leaving only his clothes. | 2020-08-09T21:42:04 | 2020-08-09T21:02:37 | 176 | 68 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | The planet was dark. Captive. Defeated. The paltry attempts at combat were not enough to damage a single ship. Their leaders never stood a chance.
So why did they look happy?
Every conquered civilization has wept, pleaded, begged for mercy. Not Earth. Not the Earthlings. As we brought captives aboard the ship, there were expressions of fear, yes, but mitigated by something else. More than once I heard a whispered “Thank you” as they were hurried by. Those on the ground stared longingly at the sky even when their family members were not on board. It was all too much. So I decided to figure out why. Why these people embraced us when they should have quailed. What went so wrong here?
I traveled from country to country, listening, talking, and learning. And I began to understand. People in power didn’t care for their citizens. A global pandemic that some denounced as fake. In well-off countries, those who didn’t make enough couldn’t afford to be healthy. The food they ate made them fat, but wasn’t actually nutritious, and all around the world leaders played checkers with the lives of those who had nowhere else to go.
Yet, I heard about a few who made a difference. Those who tried to make this planet a better place. Many Earthlings talked of them, some with disdain, some with reverence. And that’s how I came to learn the reason why so many were relieved. Earthlings never stop trying. No matter the obstacle, no matter the cost, Earthlings could overcome it. But recently the barrier was being built as they were trying to tear it down, and no progress was being made. They were tired, and at an impasse. So it was no wonder that our arrival with ships and lasers was a welcome one. It tore down what they could not. I just hope the structure we set up can begin to set things right.
For us. For the Earthlings. For Earth. | When we took over, we expected resistance. And we got it, but only for a short time. When we had killed the leaders, and taken over, they almost seemed relieved. There were some who fought, of course, but most welcomed us. We expected resistance, especially from the younger ones, but none came. The most known for fighting welcomed us, fighting with us instead of against us.
When we took some back to the ships, the young ones told us why. About the oppressive governments of the past, the discrimination, the fighting, the people who killed just because they wanted to, the horrible people who got away despite solid evidence against them. About how the older ones were stuck in this, supporting it, leaving their children to fight ever-losing battles just so some people got basic human rights.
About how costs had gone up, so that most young adults were barely able to survive week to week. About how people were starving despite there being enough resources, and how the government was doing almost nothing. About how children were being hurt and thrown out just for being unique. About how most children were being forced beyond their capabilities, becoming stressed and depressed, how horrible things were happening to them. About the stereotypes just because or reproductive organs. About how their home was dying and almost no one was helping them solve it. About all the evils of their world that they were left alone to fight.
And that was the present. When they began to talk about the past, it became even worse. They told about how people were killed for liking different people, about how those of different skin tones had been made into slaves, about so many horrible things. One thing that most had concentrated on, one that was almost universally known, was the Holocaust. How could someone be cruel enough to torture and kill others just because they didn't believe the same things?
It was a horrible tale, that just got worse the more people we talked to. Some of the older ones had the same views, and we met more and more as they were separated from those they knew, as though they had been hiding. But alas, there were those who still thought all those people deserved what happened to them, that horrible people were *right*. It had been a gruesome wake-up call.
We had heard stories, of course, from those sent undercover, of this place called Earth. But nothing had prepared us for the true thing. Nothing even came close to comparable. We were appalled at what had happened.
By the end, we were truly glad we had decided to take over. We were able to change things, and the people here seemed more happy than any of the undercover ones had seen before. We took that as a good sign. It was calm, for once. We ruled peacefully, but had no hesitation in punishing those who had done wrong.
We fixed things. And for once, all was calm, and all was bright.
Edit: Posting more eventually at r/Maddies_Safe_Place! | 2020-10-10T21:55:35 | 2020-10-10T20:36:53 | 537 | 203 |
[WP] In a near future police interrogation is preformed by an AI. You are set in a dark room where the detective AI sifts through your social media and data, building cases in real time while monitoring any facial tells or story inconsistencies. Slowly revealing it is judge jury and executioner. | Photos of a Robert filled the walls as metal restraints slid into place, keeping his head facing forward and his eyes open.
A projector in the ceiling whirred to life. Then, The Judge appeared in the middle of the room, standing to attention with her arms folded behind her back.
Robert took short, desperate inhales. “Ma’am. What an honor it is to—”
The Judge raised her hand. Robert gulped. She flicked her wrist, then the photos of Robert scrolled around the room.
“Tell me, Mr. Rutherford, do you know why you are here?” she asked, in a robotic, monotone voice.
“No. Ma’am.”
The Judge narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure? Think carefully, Mr. Rutherford.”
After a long pause, Robert said, “No Ma’am. I have *absolutely* no idea.”
There was a long moment of silence. As a photo of Robert and his friends at a bar drifted across the wall, The Judge swirled her finger in mid-air. The photos dissolved, turning the walls matte black. Then a psychological profile of Robert appeared on-screen.
He could see his age, height, and a list of social media accounts. The knot in his stomach unclenched, but only a little. So far, this all seemed above board. Maybe he’d make it out of this OK. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.
The Judge put both hands behind her back and walked around the room, drifting in and out of Robert’s field of vision. “Robert Rutherford. Age 31. Occupation: software developer. Unmarried. No kids. Favorite hobby is playing D & D with his friends.”
Robert said nothing.
“The psychological profile we have built using social media indicates a love of video games, fantasy novels, and technology; exercises infrequently, but not outside of the average range for males in your age category, and political beliefs we could categorize as Libertarian.”
The Judge came to a stop alongside Robert. He strained his eyes to try and look round.
“Am I missing anything, Mr. Rutherford?”
“Uhhh…no. I think you covered it pretty well.”
“Hmm.” The Judge stepped forward.
She flickered her wrist. The words on the walls dissolved, then a meme of the Minions from despicable me appeared, accompanied by the words ‘Exercise? I thought you said extra fries!’
“Mr. Rutherford, do you recognize the meme in front of you.”
Robert gulped. “No.”
“Hmm.” She flicked her wrist. A beautiful landscape picture appeared. Beside it were the words #livelaughlove. “How about this one?”
For a moment, Robert forgot about his restraints and tried to shake his head. “No. Can’t say I do.”
“Hmm. Odd. How about these.”
Countless posts filled all four walls. Robert bit his lip. There were pictures of passport covers inside airports tagged as #wanderlust and photos of random strangers dancing along with song lyrics.
The judge stepped forward and turned towards Robert. “Do any of THESE posts look familiar, Mr. Rutherford?”
Robert took short, desperate inhales. “Anyone could have made those posts. Just because—”
Without breaking eye contact, the judge raised a hand. A picture from inside a gym. It was tagged as #LETSGETIT. There was no person in the frame. Robert tried to look away and felt the restraints pull against his eyelids.
“What about this picture? Ringing any bells?”
“NO! NO, I SWEAR. I WOULD NEV—”
“Enhance.” The Judge said.
The video zoomed in on a mirror in the background of the picture. For a moment the footage appeared too pixelated to make anything out, then blue lines ran down the wall enhancing the quality.
There, holding the phone and flexing his right arm, was Robert.
“I—I—I.”
“Mr. Rutherford. The evidence is clear. You have been using burner social media accounts to act as a social media influencer. As you know, such behavior is a SERIOUS felony, punishable by a lifetime ban from ALL social media. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Robert thought for a moment.
“Nothing Mr. Rutherford?”
He sighed. “No.”
“Very well, the judgment has been passed.”
The projector in the ceiling silenced, and The Judge vanished.
A hole opened in the wall, and a long robotic arm stretched out. It pivoted in front of Robert's face, then shone a red light in his eye. Robert gasped. He was about to be cut off from the neural-net.
He fought and thrashed against his restraints, but couldn't budge an inch. The light flashed, blinding Robert. The arm retracted into the wall. Robert's restraints slid back, and he fell to the floor.
He tapped his wrist terminal and loaded twitter. Then he took a selfie and tried to post it.
ACCESS DENIED.
He tried to post, "how about that weather today?"
ACCESS DENIED.
He tried to tweet Billie Eilish, and tell her how much he loved her greatest hits collection, released to celebrate her fiftieth year in the industry.
ACCESS DENIED.
Robert gasped, then fell to his hands and knees and wept.
\---
Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more. Mostly doing horror/ comedy atm. all feedback welcome. | The streetlights were alive. They hummed and flickered and seemed to invade Aldan’s thoughts as he walked across the wet cracked concrete of the alleyway. Walls towered around him like a prison cell. The city had trapped him. He paused at the painted mural of a postal worker slipping unmarked packages into a blue mailbox with a hundred electric eyes peppered across the front. *We are always watching,* and if the mural could tell a thousand words, they would speak of failure.
Aldan knocked twice; t*ap-tap* on the cracked concrete. The noise echoed in the street, past e-cig cartridges, crumpled wax paper wrappers, cyber-mice and roaches. Always roaches. No matter the time, the toxicity of the air, the dryness or the damp, there will always be roaches. It was an oddly comforting thought.
A muffled voice says from a cracked speaker embedded in the concrete wall. “Aldan?”
“Don’t use that!”
“Damn it all.” A grating of steel. A rusted door opens into the night. A latch unlocked and a hand waved Aldan inside. “Hurry, hurry!”
Aldan stopped at the threshold, string up at the intelligible mass of wires and lighting. The alley must go a hundred, no, a thousand feet into the sky, hundreds of stories, each level filled with less smog, more garishness, and more fluorescents.
*And more roaches,* Aldan thought as he stepped into the shabby workshop. *Always the roaches.*
Inside, the shop was rust and scrap and the leftovers of something beautiful. A grandfather clock ticked half-broken in the corner. And old arcade machine rested un-quartered by the wall, the LED lights still whirring and humming, unplayable. On the metal tables were the scraps of robotics: dead and dissected cyber-mice, the elements of an old toaster, the circuit board to a dishwasher.
“Shouldn’t use my name,” Aldan said. “They could be listening.”
“Aldan, Aldan!” Clerk said, chuckling as he stretches out the syllables. “Al-dan. You’ve been in worse bullshit than old memory dealers and recyclers. Besides, they’re not prosecuting. We both know that.”
They did.
Memory tempering was a crime, no less punishable than theft or vandalism. But it was rarely enforced. In fact, it was almost accepted that any member of society willing to pursue nightly stints to have their thoughts altered, would do so with impunity. In a city that gave nothing, this one vice was enough.
“What’ll you have?” Clerk asked.
“The raw footage, 1911, you know the place.”
“Filters?”
“None.”
Clerk whistled. He approached the back counter, funning his fingers delicately over shelves, storage boxes, leftover tv-tray cartons with half-spoiled spam. He arrived at a red locker embedded into the concrete. The drill on the old lock turned, clicking, and after a minute of rustling, Clerk returned with a small drive. He reached out towards Aldan, then hesitated.
“You have something for me?” Clerk asked.
Aldan’s expression darkened. “She’s not interested.”
“Do I look like I’m asking?”
Aldan reached for the drive. “Like I said, she’s not—”
Clerk flicked at him. He palmed the drive and put it back on the counter, then crossed his arms in front of him. The shopkeeper shook his head back and forth, like he was remembering how to argue with himself, like he was remembering how to reason with insanity.
“This won’t keep her from me,” Clerk said.
“You know why,” Aldan said, keeping cool. A folding knife peeked from the denim of his pocket, but he wouldn’t need it. Not for Clerk, at least, and not tonight. “I paid for that drive.”
Clerk leaned over on the counter. He grabbed an e-cigarette and took a puff. Cherry-flavored steam wafter from his mouth, and he relaxed, closed his eyes, stopped his hands from shaking.
“If the sweepers get to her first…” Clerk trailed off.
Aldan shrugged. “She remembers nothing. She can tell them nothing.”
“Are you certain?”
Aldan was not.
He grabbed the drive and Clerk nodded.
“There’s something here, Clerk. I know it. I’m gonna find it. And I swear to you, when this is all over, I swear I’ll tell her the truth, but until then, you gotta do me a solid and stay the fuck away from her, you got that?”
Clerk nodded.
“I’ll fix her. Get her back.”
“You better,” Clerk said. He stared at the old grandfather clock, wishing time could be un-ticked. His voice softened. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.”
Aldan paused. “Damn, Clerk, I didn’t know.”
He walked to the door of the alley, peeking through the eyelet and into an empty street. He half expected a dozen troopers in military vest and visors, holding shock batons, crying out, *Traitor! Traitor!* But there was nothing but the roaches.
“She’d be proud?” Clerk asked. “To know I was her father? Would you think she’d be proud of me?”
Aldan looked down at the drive resting in his hands, a memory stolen from a corpse. He took a breath of smoke and smoggy air, felt the drizzle of condensation and sooty rain drip and mist down from the upper stories. Somewhere, rising high on rooftops, there was grass. Real, genuine grass, the feeling of green beneath his feet, sunlight.
But not here. Not yet, anyway. And certainly not with Clerk and his half-salvaged shop. Would she really be proud to know how far her father had fallen? A broken soul lowered worse than a roach? *Would she still look up to him?*
“Yes,” Aldan said.
He lied.
***
more gritty Sci-Fi at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2020-12-22T05:24:30 | 2020-12-22T04:30:00 | 133 | 58 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | Little piggy 240 stood quaking in his ill gotten boots. Sturdy walls thicker than the most pot bellied pig, walls of pure depleted uranium, stood between the pig and the horror outside. The thought of the furry mane, the pointy teeth and the sharp vicious claws of a big bad wolf filling his little mind.
He watched as his sisters and brothers fall one by one in their structures, that they thought impenetrable. At first he laughed at the first little pig, a fool to build out of straw. Then he snickered at number two, a house out of sticks, not a chance. Number three, well brick should have been enough, but it didn't hold. By the time a house of steel was standing proud, our little pig was sweating. He quickly assembled the most impenetrable structure out of the strongest material he could for it was the only thing that could stop the wolf.
Standing in the structure he new his time had come. He knew the walls would hold. The doorknob jiggles. Then...a click, a soft spoken voice, "first pin is binding". | Once upon a time there was an old mother pig who had 240 little pigs and not enough food to feed them. So when they were old enough, she sent them out into the world to seek their fortunes.
The first pig was very lazy and built his house of straw. The second pig was a little lazy and built his house of sticks. The third pig was not lazy at all and built his house of bricks. The 240th pig was the least lazy and built his house of depleted uranium.
The pigs built their houses to protect them from the big bad wolf. But neither straw, nor sticks, nor bricks had saved 239 of the little pigs from being gobbled up by the wolf.
In his house of depleted uranium, the last little pig huddled around a lonely candle. A shadow fell upon his door and a chill trickled down his spine. Then came a knock.
*Thump.*
"Little pig, little pig," came a dry, unearthly rasp, like dead leaves skittering across the pavement.
*Thump.*
"Let me in." The words were spoken slowly as though with great effort.
*Thump.*
The house groaned as though a heavy weight pressed down on the structure. The feeble candlelight dimmed.
"N-n-no!" the pig breathed. "Not by the hairs on my chinny ch-chin chin." The faint sound of whistling wind rose about him.
"Then I'll huff," wheezed the low raspy voice. The air inside the house stirred. The wind began to howl.
"And I'll puff..."
The little pig shivered as the wind screamed around him, pulling at the hairs on his chinny chin chin. The candle's flame danced wildly for a moment, then vanished, plunging the little pig into darkness.
Silence.
A pair of pale white eyes appeared in the dark, like two moons in an empty sky.
"And I'll blow your house down," whispered the wolf. | 2021-01-29T16:53:35 | 2021-01-29T16:36:39 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil. | You don't know exactly when you became what you are now. You used to be better at your job. You were there in the beginning, smoke and shadow and sin, and you were terrible - they called you Lord, once, down below. But you haven't been home in a long time. They likely wouldn't recognise you now if you went back.
The surface world rubbed off on you, eventually. You were working decade after decade, no time off, no hazard pay, nothing, and you were glad to do it, once. Once, you thought you knew what evil was. Maybe you even did. Evil's changed, since the old days, or at least that's what it feels like, and you've changed with it.
Evil used to *mean* something. Evil used to mean hubris, and lust, and pestilence. Evil used to mean gluttony, and greed, and envy.
Now, evil is less than any of those great, glorious sins. Evil is... evil is...
Evil is not fast food, the only thing cheap enough to get the kids through the weekends. Evil is not exam answers scribbled on a sweaty palm. Evil is not looking at a broken system and knowing you could do better, if they'd only let you. Evil is not pissing blood and showing up for work the next morning, because you can't afford not to. Evil is not chattering teeth and jealousy guarded water and warmth. Evil is not kisses behind bike sheds, two boys, two girls, two children with hearts full of giddy fear. Evil is not bills under the mattress, in the freezer, in the roof, anywhere they can't be seen. And yet, evil buzzes in the back of your mind, wherever you go. Whatever you do. Until you stop bothering to do anything at all.
Evil is bigger than it ever was. Evil is smaller than it ever was. You cannot change your shape to match it, it's outgrown you.
If you're lucky, these foolish, righteous children will understand that soon enough, and leave you to your sleep. You're so tired, and your work is long since over. | Beezelbub Talk, Church of the Underground 2/14/21
&#x200B;
Humans stereotype. I suppose all creatures do. It's lazy though leading to sloppy thinking, poor outcomes.
Hey, I'm a demon I understand evil. Evil is fun, its spontaneous, it shows you're an individual with power. As one ages, one seeks other forms of power. Synergies that come through community, friends, trust. Nobody trusts an evil sonofabitch and no one should. The parties boys who get off on other pain, can be a blast until they turn on you.
For half my life, 130 years, I turned towards what can be labeled as 'good'. Building trust, building friends. How.. it tedious but not hard. Mostly helping others with no chance of reward. Listening.. spreading around some green. It's a slow path but the years turn to decades, the decades turn into generations and you have friends and grand children and great great children of friends.
&#x200B;
And they're in awe of you. Listen this is important, you don't take advantage of them, you help them. Despite the horns and tail they see you as closer to angel then demon. Best is when they simple accept you as a friend.
I'm fast and clever and good looking, aren't we all. But with all our gifts we're still hunted down by inferiors. Now with my 'friends' I have 1,000 hands, 500 minds.. people who will help me of their own free will. It's tempting but best not to have them do so at the expense of their short lives. These 'friends' have saved my life countless times.
It's an acquired taste but one can take pleasure in their few accomplishments- jobs, marriage children, yada yada. Its an existence that requires constant self control. Last week, I was in a Church, an actual real Church, to celebrate the bris or something of a 4rth generation 'friend'.
Anyhow I got into a conversation on sacred architecture. During the whole talk I couldn't help thinking, this place would burn to ash inside of 20 minutes. Sacred indeed. I didn't act on it, or have someone else do it. I just sat and looked around admiring the kindling.
Our 'evil' is why, though better in every way, we are vastly outnumbered. Being picked off yearly by those clearly our inferiors. I offer there is a better way for those who take it. Forego the pranks, the easy laughs, fires and destruction. Stop the malicious acts, and cultivate friends amongst the mortals. While painful at first it will pay big dividends, literal survival, down the line.
&#x200B;
Thank you,
Frederick Coal Esq. | 2021-02-22T16:29:42 | 2021-02-22T14:00:46 | 257 | 70 |
[WP] The finale of international chess tournament takes place. Two grandmasters sit in front of each other in ultimate showdown. The thing is nobody knows that both of them got here by cheating. First is a mind reader and second one has an ability to see the future. | I was surprised to find out, after I had been doing this for a while, that matches against chess grandmasters were so much *easier*.
You see, one of the talents of strategic geniuses - be it in chess, go, or even war - is their ability to constantly ask themselves "How do I lose?" Seeing paths to victory is (relatively) easy; the ability to see - and *avoid* \- paths to defeat is what makes the great ones truly great.
My early matches against amateurs were tense, nervous affairs. While I could see what they were planning, my ability to construct a defense was often lacking. I lost several matches simply because I was ignorant of the proper, relatively simple, defense against a particular gambit. As long as their tactics were solid, I had a real chance of losing.
My first match against a highly ranked opponent, however, was a breeze. I effortlessly countered every move Joaquin Contreras made. It was easy, seeing as he did all the heavy lifting for me. I watched him evaluate the weaknesses in his own schemes as he considered his next moves. Then, when my turn came, I would watch the intricate latticework of his plans collapse as I confidently slid my bishop across the board.
After that, my rise through the ranks was assured. When I made Yogini Kanthi resign after twelve moves and drove Ivan Markov into a nervous breakdown forty minutes into a match, I figured I needed to tone it down a bit. Otherwise, life was pretty good.
Until *this* guy came along. Some Chinese prodigy. He doesn’t plan *anything*. I have no idea how to keep up with him. He just cycles through potential moves until he finds one that he likes. It is absolutely infuriating! It’s like he’s making it up as he goes!
Wait...
Ho...ly...shit. This asshole can see the future! Not very far, it looks like, but...yes, he is visualizing the end result of every move he considers.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck**fuck**.
I am so screwed. What the hell can I do? He’s cheating (technically), but so am I (technically). Not like I can call him out on it. How do you prove that someone can see the future?
I try to get a read on one of the spectators. There are a few excellent players watching the match, but I can’t keep focus on any one. Too far away.
No. No! I feel the rage boil up in me. I will **not** lose to some random-
He resigns, a mixture of fear and disgust on his face. Murmurs of confusion ripple through the onlookers; apparently, he had the match well in hand. In his mind, I glimpse an image: me standing over his bloodied body.
A win is a win, I guess. | "If you can receive this message, then please open with the king side knight's pawn."
Maki looked up at Akane. Maki had eavesdropped on Akane's mind and was surprised to hear such a crystal clear thought. There was no noise, not even any personality except the lack thereof. This thought was rehearsed. Rehearsed to a precision that suggested that Akane knew the answer. Besides, Maki guessed that revealing that could only worsen Akane's game: she'd be worried about her own thoughts while playing the game.
Maki moved the pawn on her right toward the center of the board, placing it with a crisp clack against the board as she seemed to vie for indirect central control with the fianchetto.
"Good, I'll have you know that I don't want to lose this game until I know why you used your trick to get here."
Akane's thought was quite crisp until the idea of trick had had to surface. That word seemed double edged. It seemed as if Akane was hiding a trick of her own.
Unfortunately, Maki could only read Akane's mind, not write into it, so it was no easy matter to tell Akane why. Not that Maki was interested in doing that at all: she didn't want to reveal who had hired her to sneak through the minds of the chess grandmasters.
Looking at Akane again, Maki read a thought: "king pawn up." Maki stole a glance at her advanced pawn, noting that if she put her bishop behind it, that bishop would be quite powerful. And that king side pawn would be useless. Maki rarely had to think about what others thought, but a situation where she might have to would come up, it seemed.
Akane advanced her queen side pawn.
"So why is it that I'm facing a cheat?" Akane asked with her mind. Maki decided to push on: even Akane would falter eventually. Akane didn't know everything that was about to happen, so some move would make her have to think.
Or did she know every move?
Maki moved her bishop up, attacking Akane's pawn. The pawn that made Maki regret answering truthfully. Without a hesitation, Akane brought her knight up, defending the pawn.
"I wouldn't castle if I were you," Akane thought to Maki. But Maki couldn't tell if that was a lie. She decided that her queen side pawn was more important in any case, so brought it up to face Akane's.
"Ah, good. So you're believing what you eavesdrop," Akane thought. This was a vague thought. It had an air of achievement in it. Akane was thinking she had won." This could be good," Maki thought.
However, the thoughts coming from Akane didn't repeat themselves like a scripted announcement. Instead, for once, they became more organic. The forms started to loose abstraction and gain subjectivity.
There was a figure. The environment was white, like a quiet abstract white, while the figure was black. It was a nebulous presence, shrouded in mystery. But it was Akane's silhouette.
Suddenly, the environment in Akane's mind's eye darkened and gained reality. It was a bedroom and sunlight was streaming in. Before Maki could ascertain details of the bed, the mind's eye moved into the first person. These were memories. The thought was a representation of... waking up?
The first person in the thoughts wrote on a piece of paper. "Maki mind reader, will learn own power."
Maki gasped. Akane smiled, and then moved her queen side knight to attack Maki's pawn. "How much of what I know do you think I'll reveal to you?" Akane's thought rang into Maki's mind. | 2021-03-16T22:47:54 | 2021-03-16T21:58:46 | 90 | 31 |
[WP] “Honey, are you sure we’re not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly ‘I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!’” | You turn the page and sigh. Sure, the job as an NPC is easy money for not doing anything, but they could at least give you an actual magazine to look at. By now, you can perfectly recite "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr..." Maybe you should start to learn it backwards? Your shift will last another two hours...
Your "husband" of the day taps your side with his elbow. In a low voice he whispers behind his newspaper: "Honey, are you sure we're not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly 'I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!'" You look up and follow your husband's view to the woman, now with her back to you. She has the typical rpg-character-look. Her clothes are mismatched and there are two guns on her belt. She's carrying a backpack that is filled to the brim, a bottle of wine and a metal rod that looks like the handle of a pan sticking out. She looks around, stands on the corner for a moment, and then turns into the alley on her right. The extras that are waiting on the bus stop with you and your supposed partner relax a little.
"What game is this again?" You murmur to your acting buddy, "Is it an open world one? Maybe she's trying to trigger a quest in the wrong place."
Your husband throws you an annoyed look. "So you didn't read the morning briefing?"
"Why would I, it's the same job every day. Sit somewhere, pretend to do something, say a single sentence over and over again if you're approached by the character, and don't dare to influence the game in any way. Why would I read that again every day?"
"Because if you did, you'd know that this game has a single story line, and the player reentering this scene means that something is wrong. She's started the scene five times now." As if on cue, the player character turns a corner at the beginning of the street and walks towards the bus stop. "Six," your acting buddy corrects.
"So what, I'm just here to look pretty and do nothing. Management will handle it eventually."
"I could help her look for the trigger," he suggests. Your head spins in his direction, and you scold yourself. You're not supposed to move quickly, it might attract the players attention to unimportant NPCs.
"You can not", you hiss through your teeth, "We're not allowed to intervene in any way!" You nervously try to spot the players character. It's currently trying to enter the fake buildings at the other side of the street, still far away enough not to be able to hear you.
"Maybe she wants the help. Or maybe I could see something else than a blurry picture and some nonsense text for once." He throws his paper to the side. Some of the extras around you cast nervous glances, but don't dare to break character.
"Stories are for the privileged people. We're just here to entertain. I'm sorry, but for lower class people, it's blurry pictures and Lorem Ipsums. You can read a book at home!" The player is coming closer now, and you turn a page in your book while staring at the same text as always. "Pick up your paper," you whisper.
"No," your husband says and moves to stand up. You grab onto his sleeve out of pure instinct, then you remember you're supposed to be a couple waiting for the bus. You plaster a fake smile on your lips:
"Sweety, we can wait a little longer. I'm sure the bus is just running a little late."
The actor tries to free his jacket from your grip.
"Hey," he calls to the players character, "do you need some help?"
"Get back!" You try to whisper, but you can't keep as quiet as you intended to. The extras around you take some steps back, as much as they can without breaking the appearance to wait for the bus. The player character turns, and your husband shakes your hands off him. He walks towards the woman and they start talking.
You shouldn't stare, but you do. You don't exactly know what will happen, but something will. You may not have read the briefing every morning, but often enough to know rule number one by heart:
Do not, under any circumstances, disrupt the game. Violating the rule will result in immediate extraction.
You think about your friend, a low class like you, serving the higher classes. She had burned herself on the oven, and while treating her wounds, the bread had burned. They had wanted to exterminate her right away. She had been able to convince them to send her off to the reeducation camp. You haven't seen her since.
The player character drops to the floor. A loud gong tells you that the game is offline. The player will probably see a black screen, apologizing for technical difficulties.
A single shot makes your husband drop to the floor. Two people in black, skin tight suits run over and carry him away. Two others carry the player character off the street. You and the extras around you are frozen in place, watching. A man runs in, dressed like your previous acting buddy, sits next to you and picks up the newspaper. The gong sounds, and a man rounds the corner. His clothes are mismatched and there are two guns on his belt. He's carrying a backpack that is filled to the brim, a bottle of wine and a metal rod that looks like the handle of a pan sticking out.
You drop your eyes to the page of your book. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet... | # How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Part 9: How to Make it Not About You)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Living in a town dominated by narrative reality," Lien mumbled through a broken nose, "is the absolute worst."**
Eiko would have snorted if her face wasn't bloodied and bruised as well. "You don't have to tell me about it."
Lien laughed, then coughed, then swore as both of those burst blood vessels. Variem hovered over the two of them nervously; she claimed she had "some affinity with repairing muscle and bone," but given that Argenton was a town made mostly out of zombies and abominations of flesh, Lien and Eiko had decided to heal up the old-fashioned way. "Yeah, but, you see, the thing is, I *do*. We're about to go into a battle for the lives of everyone in this town while still beat-up from fighting that demon; I can *feel* the narrative imperative making me vomit up exposition that you and I both know and have *absolutely* no reason to give." Lien sighed. "Living in a place where words have power... well, more power than a fire spell, that is... it's... dangerous."
"Gods*damnit,* Lien, you can't just *foreshadow* stuff like that!" Variem sighed, exasperated. "Now you just know something's going to *happen* to prove your point—"
"I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!" A cheerful voice piped up.
Variem and Eiko groaned. Lien smiled.
There were a couple simple rules to living in Argenton, or any other part of the psychosphere dominated by narrative reality. The first rule was that if you stepped into a trope, you *finished* it. Hanging a gun on the door without firing it, suspiciously tucking a mummified hand into your coat without revealing that it shot fire from one finger, sending off your butler with a vague proclamation that "she'll know what to do" and then never seeing her again—these things were simply *not done*.
The second rule was that you damn well conserved narrative detail like it was water in the desert. If you foreshadowed something, it was going to happen one way or another, no matter what.
"Timeus!" Variem burst out the door. Even the undead of Argenton had backed away from the grinning child; zombies they may be but being on the wrong side of an angry universe was two steps beyond what even undead were willing to tolerate. "Dammit, child, we're about to be at *war*! We don't have time for your shenanigans!"
"Actually," Lien piped up softly—too softly for Variem to hear— "we *always* have time for more shenanigans."
Eiko blinked, then comprehension dawned on her. "You're trying to use narrative reality against itself. We have an impending monster invasion war story coming, but by focusing the spotlight on this one child... you're hoping that the story will switch to something about him and *his* problems, instead. Clever, clever."
Lien frowned. "That being said, I... should have been more strict with my commands. I mean, I *shouldn't* have been, because I had to be vague in order for it to be foreshadowing and not exposition, but... the way he's phrasing it?"
"Oh, yeah, it would be a *real shame* if, say, a *monster army* decided to *invade right now* instead of *waiting for an irrelevant child's story to end*, causing a couple of *irritating fourth-wall hackers* to suddenly see their plan *crumble before their eyes!*" Timeus cheerfully said. Then he paused. "...That... that wasn't what I wanted to say..."
Unfortunately for Lien, the third rule of living in Argenton was that you *never, ever* tried to abuse or flaunt rules one or two. Narrative reality—or, at least, Argenton's version of it—did not take kindly to those who tried to break the fourth wall.
Lien paused, his half-open mouth the expression of every clever person who has done something too stupid for their own good. "...I may have underestimated just how strongly the narrative imperative hates being abuse—"
"THE DEMON'S BACK!" A scout shouted from the distance. "And it's got friends!"
Lien sighed. Then he stood up, heedless of his complaining, aching body. He'd seen far, far worse. "Well then." He cleared his throat, turned to the sky, and—despite his injuries—projected from the diaphragm, his voice loud and clear as he said, "I am Lien Astero, King of Las Humanitas, the General who turned the Hydra into a meat factory and defended against the Siege of Legends. I have slain wizards, met with people from other worlds, and outran a dragon in a tricked-out sports car."
"I was the one who did the driving for that one," Eiko snapped, lightly punching Lien in the leg. "And what the hell are you doing?"
"Setting the stage," Lien said grimly. "The narrative imperative wants a war story? Fine, godsdamnit, fine. Then let it be known who I am."
Lien turned towards... someone else. An audience, somewhere, watching him. "You want to watch me fight gods and monsters? Fine! If that is the role the universe is determined to play, then it seems that I must play mine."
It was a town of narrative and tropes. Eiko had to ask. "Which would be?"
Lien smiled. "The man who stops the monsters."
Then, armed with nothing more than a wizard's hand, a rain dance, and a smartphone, Lien Astero left to do exactly that.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-03-31T09:19:00 | 2021-03-31T08:00:46 | 313 | 21 |
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