prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Following death, you woke up in a classroom, to take the R.A.T.s (Reincarnation Aptitude Tests). After a short period in the Afterlife, you get your scores... which were perfect, despite just guessing. You get to be reincarnated as a god, one of the first in a couple of millennia. | When he told me I had a perfect score, I wasn"t really shocked. I always scored well on tests, it was real life I sucked at. That is why I was dead. "Jump," my wife yelled encouragingly. So i jumped. First time in decades that i had tried somthing new.
Bet it was the first time in decades that someone died from bungee jumping too. When I hit the full extension I heard a "click". Next thing I knew I was here. Broken neck. Not supposed to happen. Story of my life.
The test though. That was my forte. Its why I wrote code for a living. I was good at figuring things out. So, a perfect score. Fine. It was the next bit that made no sense.
"Well, this hasn't happened in a very long time. Congratulations, Divinity," the creature said. Eight sets of wings, a dozen eyes and four faces. Right now it was using the human face. "In fact, since El created your universe i think you are the first."
"Eh? What about Buddha, or Jesus or Mohammed?" I asked.
The creature gave me a patronizing smile. "Mystics. Prophets. More than 97% less than 100%. Not Gods. Not like you. There hasnt been one like you in, oh, five, maybe six billion years," the creature sounded impressed.
"The problem is I don't know what to do now," the creature mused. "I'll have to kick you upstairs for disposition but, well, He (praise Him) doesn't tkae interruption too kindly. Ah well, nothing for it but to get it done."
Signalling for me to follow the creature led me to a small door. Knocking gingerly, it didn't wait for a response but pulled on the door's handle. For a moment it resisted then slowly creeped open silently.
We walked up a long, narrow and claustrophobic staircase. At the top was the brother of the door below and the ritual was repeated. This time, however, a voice beyond spoke. Louder than thunder, rushing like a watefall it would have been majestic except for the words themselves.
"What the FUCK do you want? The voice demanded.
The creature looked terrified but I almost laughed. The Almighty has a potty mouth? Never cared much for religion but this was a God i could like.
"Lord God, I have a perfect score. I," the creature said cautiously, "don't know what to do next."
The door was torn open, and standing there was an ordinary looking middle aged man with disheveled hair and looking bedraggled.
"Score?" the man said, clearly astonished. "Perfect score?" The booming voice of thunders was gone. The creature nodded dumbly then threw itself on the ground, clearly terrified.
"You're a god?" Clearly the man was weighing me.
"Apparently," I replied,shrugging my shoulders.
"Thank Me! You won't believe how long I have waited for this day," the man was grinning. "Come in." He motioned me in while ignoring the creature.
"Okay," I said. "What now."
"Simple. When you first become divine you have almost unlimited power. I did and created the Big Bang and your universe. Unfortunately I used too much but now that you are here we can do what i have wanted to do for billions of years!" He almost cackled and I wondered if God was insane.
"What is that?" I asked nervously.
"Destroy this abomination of a universe of course. Should never have introduced evil. It fucked everything up. Start over without
Evil," he looked at me and grinned. "You ready to get busy?" | When I woke, all memory from before momentarily blank and gone, my forehead bumped on my desk. The sound seemed to have been quite the commotion, for the people around me threw me glances that meant it all, that I had startled them at an important time. But I did not have a single idea where I was, nor what was on my desk. Not even a book, or a pencil case, in fact a white sheet of paper, with printed words in black ink I already feared, and a black pencil were all I had at hand. Getting the hunch it was a mattering test, I began to stress, for I did not seem to carry my glasses upon my nose — a thing that should never, by any means, happen when I was to take a test. Blaming myself, I could hardly discern what the sheet, that I had made slide so as to not further disturb my... classmates? Thinking that was certainly the case, I lost no further time guessing at the people surrounding me.
​
From the letters I could read, well... Shapes I could make out, knowing it was blurry as hell, it seemed the test's format was an MCQ. Its subject... As deep as I went "reading" the whole sheet, I noticed twenty questions, three cases, and understood the terms: rebirth — repent — empathy — morality — selfless... Twisting, all the while puzzled, those words in a way to make sense of the sheet's subject, for the title of the sheet, though in bold and very big letters I could hardly guess at most of its letters, I came up with three plausible interpretations. Perhaps, thought I, the subject could be about religions, philosophy, or even literature. Guessing that the answer would maybe concern one of the three cases each, and letting my luck roll, I gave myself a headache trying to calculate the probability for me to score a perfect result: I simply had to twist one third... —the result was definitely akin to zero, in a real setting. As I felt sweat descend my forehead, I passed a hand to wipe it. Then I saw, on my wrist, letters in an orderly manner. Those shapes too, I had trouble reading, but I found out three characters, As, Bs, Cs... Eyes beaming, I wrote the answers with haste. The second I had crossed the twentieth case, a bell rang and we had to hand over our sheets.
​
Then, I remembered. Why the hell did I sit in class, when I graduated from college the past month? Had I been dreaming? I recalled fairly well the party we threw, with a roomie... Then, the reality struck me. The car, in the dead of night... Had I... Died? The second instant a blank emptied my mind, all I gazed at was a white sheet of... Ceiling now? And why did heads sprawl over me — hands too? I muttered a few words of frustration and startled everyone. Since when did it become a habit of mine? Then I paid two dressed ears to the noise that surrounded, and the person I guessed to be a surgeon asked me if I... lived? I mouthed the absurdity of it, but the surgeon assured me, with an astounded tone, my heart had been transplanted since my presumed death. Awfully skeptical, I ran near my heart two eager hands to prove and call out his hoax, but my chest was open, and... Hollow?
​
Nay, nay, nay, thought I. This is not how the world works. Brain of mine, I voiced, you on ice? Dreamish maybe? Well, wake and doze right then, because you're weird. The surgeon, convinced by this hypothesis, adopted a scientific method, pinching his nose. The vivid pain made him squeak. I imitated him, pinching my nose, thinking perhaps it was only my brain that could free him. But then, reality struck me with an odd feel: I could see clearly — without glasses. Naked but for the attire the hospital gave patients of surgery, I hardly felt no pain. I gazed at the surgeon and... His face charmed me, as if infatuation struck. However, this love I felt, I now felt it for the world, as if I now deemed the world in existence lovely, purely appreciable, worthy. Not a worry in the world hampered my mind, and no hurt would strike me now. Lifting myself with the ease of the world, as the attire I had been covered with fell and as I stood on my feet, I ran to the doctor, arms wide. Then, I snuggled to him, loving life, the world, and him. | 2019-07-22T13:34:52 | 2019-07-22T07:29:51 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Being a villain has always been underappreciated work. You employee 100s of people, have health and retirement benefits provided. Just once you'd like a "thank you" note or "number 1 boss" mug. Today is your birthday, and nobody remembered but the hero. | **KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**
Someone's knocking on the door. Who could be knocking on the door at this hour? I had no plans prepared. Maybe my workers finally started to appreciate what I've done for them? No, that would mean they'd paid attention. 10 years of underground operations, and not one of them praised my work plan, the pay, the benefits. Forgot all my birthdays too.
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**
I got to the door, not wearing anything much other than the robe. Before I opened the thing, I glance over at the e-calendar. April 26th. Another missed birthday. Oh well. I open the door, and find...
"Hey there, Zant."
"...Blitz. To what do I owe the pleasure? You know that nothing's been happening lately. Did you suspect that I was planning something?"
"No, I just notice that you're unusually cranky during the 25th. That's your birthday, after all."
Typical. He was spying on me, as always.
"And what if it is, Blitz?"
"Nothing. Just wanted yiu to have this."
He handed me a small box, wrapped with a ribbon. It was a gift.
"Blitz, is this some sort of trick?"
"No, I just thought you needed some cheering up. Happy Birthday, Zant."
He walked away. Closing the door, I unwrapped the box to find a little statue of the two of us fighting. It was engraved with *"To my greatest foe."*
I chuckled, as I removed the hidden camera in my statue's eye. Typical. I placed it on my shelf, and went back to bed as I thought about what to give him on his birthday. Maybe a commemorative photo that explodes if ripped... | \[Poem\] - Villain's Haiku
I burned down the town.
Three years ago to the day;
the city saw fire.
​
I hear the kids scream.
I laugh as they run, gray smoke
filling up their lungs.
​
My plan had gone just
as I had intended.
The people cower.
​
"What's next?" They wonder,
not knowing it would be
the hospitals. Soon.
​
The children, doctors,
the elderly. They won't be
able to see why.
​
Why would I do this?
Choose the most vulnerable?
They will never know.
​
They will never know
The pain they caused me in my
deepest, darkest hour.
​
Only this could be
justice. The perfect payback,
what they all deserve.
​
Lost, deep in my thoughts,
I am suddenly startled.
The screams turn to cheers.
​
Instantly, I know.
It's you. It's time to battle.
I intend to win.
​
Turning fast, I strike.
But you were faster than me.
A bright spark flashes.
​
I guess victory
wasn’t my fate. I barely
escape, nearly dead.
​
I’ll give you credit,
that move you pulled? Brilliant.
I had to retreat.
​
Now, three years later
I sit and wait far away.
Planning my revenge.
​
Until a light knock
wakes me from my reverie.
It’s you. Is it time?
​
I prepare my stance.
You throw your hands up, holding
a red envelope.
​
You thrust it towards me.
I take it. I stare, confused.
I look down, my name.
​
When I look back up
you’ve vanished. Puzzled, I tear
the envelope’s crease.
​
A birthday card? From
you of all people, really?
I open it, shocked.
​
“I understand why.
You did what you felt was best.
Happy birthday, bro.”
​
My eye leaks a tear.
I can't understand just why
you chose to forgive. | 2019-08-30T00:27:54 | 2019-08-30T00:27:34 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] "Welcome. You're dead. Congrats. Door to Heaven's on the left. Door to Hell is on the right. Go ahead and pick, but just know that the decision is final." The figure sitting at the desk spoke, stifling a yawn and not looking up from their book. | I immediately turned to the left. If I'm given a choice, it's gonna be Heaven every time, right?
But as I thought about it some more, I hesitated. Both doors looked identical. They weren't even labeled. I pressed the side of my head against the Heaven door to see if I could hear anything from the other end. Nothing. No trumpets, no harps. I couldn't even see any light shining through the crack between the door and the floor. Could this completely normal door be the entrance to eternal paradise? No, it couldn't be. I walked down the hallway to the Hell door.
Hell, all my life I was taught that this was the worst fate for a person. But seeing the door to Hell right in front of me, it didn't look too bad. The door wasn't not, no sounds could be heard through the door, nothing. Stumped, I wandered back to the middle of the hallway.
I thought about my current situation. Was this choice really up to me? Or would my paranoia consume every last bit of rational thought within me so that I chose the fate I deserved anyway?
After what seemed like an eternity of thinking, I got up. I decided, that I would go through the Heaven door. I turned to my left and walked...
Wait, was this the same left that I started with? What if I had turned around and I was actually walking toward the Hell door? No, it couldn't be... Right?
But after days of just thinking at the center of the hallway, I had lost track of which way was left and right. The doors were identical, and the hallway was completely blank. I had no idea which door was which anymore.
I walked through the door in front of me, and accepted whatever fate was coming. | “But...which do I choose...?” I asked, not realizing that this is what I would find on the other side.
“Either. That’s why I gave you the option when you got here.” Said the figure at the desk, pearly annoyed that’s I hadn’t already chosen.
I stood for a moment. *It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?* However, no one from before had ever said that there would be a choice. And now, facing this decision, I couldn’t move a muscle (or whatever I was made up of at this point).
I took a moment and looked around. I one else was in sight. There was any sign of another other being, just me and...wait a minute, I never got their name!
“Um... excuse me.” I sheepishly mumble yo the figure at the table. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me from his book, with a look that conveys plainly that he cannot believe that I am still standing before him.
“Are the rules too difficult for you to understand?”
“No, I just...”
“There are two doors in front of you. See? As I explained when you got here, one leads to Heaven, the other Hell. Most people just walk through one right away, leaving me to my book!” The last word spoken in a clearly exhausted tone, even though I had only been there a few minutes.
“Okay, well how do they decide?”
“I don’t know! They just walk forward. No one else seems to have a problem with it.”
“I’m sorry but back on Earth, or in life, or whatever you want to call it, I was very indecisive. Most nights I got into an argument with my wife about what we were going to have for dinner because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”
“That’s a very touching story. However, I am in the middle of something far more interesting, so if you’d please choose that would be great and I can get back to my book.”
I stood there staring from him to the door on the left, then the door on the right, then back to him.
“I’ll go left! I was a pretty good person, so I think that’s the right decision. Although, I did have secrets when I died. Stuff I should have said to people that would have changed things between us.”
*sorry, I can’t write anymore, work is over and I gotta head home, but thanks for sparking something in me. I’ve never written before, you could probably tell, but it was nice to get away for a minute and picture myself in this place. Have a good night everyone!* | 2019-10-03T17:17:29 | 2019-10-03T16:20:11 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] 62 years ago, a manhole cover became the fastest man-made object after being launched by a nuclear blast. This manhole cover was the first contact with humanity an alien race had, after it “skillfully” took out their leader with a headshot. | Ariazor stood before the Conclave, her segmented eyes scintillating in the low light as she watched the diplomats take their places, walking, fluttering, slithering, or even teleporting, as their various physiologies demanded. When, at long last, the room was silent, she began.
"Esteemed Representatives," she said, instinctively adding in the clause-pause that would signal the end of the grammatom to the various translators spread throughout the chamber. "As you are aware, the Secretary-General is dead. While on mission to M357-A9 to review the claim that its third planet had a sophont species, he was decapitated by a projectile launched from that planet nearly a dihand of the local years previously. As the local investigative arm of the Pax Galactica, we were asked to determine the cause and motivations behind this bizarre event."
"After careful review, we have determined first that the dominant species is a sophont species,, and therefore the Caranig claim on its various mineral, chemical, and biological resources is void. Second, we have determined that the Secretary-General's demise was due to one of two possible scenarios. After a review of the species's data network and considering its very strange security model, which is designed almost entirely around shielding the users of the network from each other instead of from outside nodes, the first possibility is that, despite the lack of visible force-fields and other weapons of interstellar conflict, the planet is home to an advanced and highly paranoid warrior species with established, widely distributed doctrine for fighting every known species in the Collective, often with just a few individuals. The screens in front of you contain some examples.".
The diplomats all quickly reviewed the materials, filling the chamber with a tense silence that finally broke when Mother K'Rix of the Hive opened her inner mouth to scream. "This is a blueprint for genocide!. I must insist we drop an asteroid on them immediately!." Elder-Mind Zanag of the Walkers spoke up in turn. "We cannot. While I sympathize with the idea of the loss of a world, the material I have just seen threatens far more than that if we drop a rock on even a mid-sized tropical City." Diplomat 0x094beef chimed concurrence. "I have been shown a plan for a single-operative insertion to assassinate our Master Control. Provocative action inadvisable" K'Rix withdrew her inner mouth and returned to her seat.
Ariazor waited for the chaos to die down. "Our initial surmise was that the sophonts were low-grade, stellar-distance telepaths, and that these were all fictional. However, a review of the actual event itself showed that it was the only time in their history that such a device was 'tested', and that the mechanism in question was named after a legendary Hunter known for taking prey at extreme distances, implying not just telepathy, but potent prescience. The existence of a philosophical school dedicated to the consequences of prescience (see Data Network summary Au409E "Herbert") indicates that this is more likely than that with which I am comfortable. In short, possibility 1 is that the Orion Drive was a deliberate act predicated on the Secretary-General's known intent to declare the species a non-sophont. This would be acceptable self-defense, but also grounds for quarantine. Possibility 2 is that shit happens and this was just the leftovers from an experiment in one of the stupidest forms of propulsion I've ever seen proposed, which would be an accident and grounds for establishing a protectorate." Ariazor left the chamber as the various factions began to discuss.
After several minutes, a low-slung semi-amphibious creature signaled to the Chair and rose to its feet. When the booth-light turned orange, it spoke. "Many things we have seen. Dangerous, their visions of Empire are. Quarantine them we must, or forever will they dominate our future." | "It appears to be some sort of alloy." The grey figure announced. Carefully it stepped over a mass of blackened blood and fragments of what was once it's leader's head.
"Don't touch it!" Another grey figure squealed, "We must wait to analyze this device only after S'kroal is cleaned and buried properly."
Kar'rac, the being who attempted to study the metallic device, retracted himself from the unknown weapon. If it even is one. The three being crew were stationed in orbit of a relatively small asteroid, scanning it's exterior for micro-organisms with which they may harvest for their dying home world. Kar'rac slowly lifted his gaze to his partner, Ra'sic, who's skin began developing a blueish tone, signifying a heightened stress level.
"Breath easy brother." Kar'rac said, swinging his long legs outward ,careful to avoid the decomposing body on the floor by his feet. Broken shards of glass are still expelled across the cold floor. The secondary vestibule window, where his leader, S'kroal, had been standing only moments before, shattered unexpectedly when this strange object hurdled through the thick panel. It struck S'kroal's head with enough force to eviscerate it, leaving in it's wake a mass of carnage. Perhaps a second after the panel itself was destroyed, the internal defense system of the vessel kicked on, forcing a secondary barrier to automatically replace it.
"Ra'sic, contact control and request a medic along with an analyzer."
Ra'sic took a slow breath, allowing his flush skin to return to it's pale grey complexion and began toward the main comm's on the north end of the small craft. Once he had left the voyager compartment, Kar'rac snuck to the idle metallic deivce. Walking in short steps, he studied the strange engravings along the surface of it. Fine lines both horizontally and vertically were carved along the surface in even groups. Kar'rac knelled down to inspect this material closer. A group of symbols stretched across the center. The markings seemed awfully similar for some reason.
The light slapping of bare feet delayed his focus. "An over-seer is en-route brother, along with the medical staff you requested." Ra'sic stated as he entered the room. "Main control advised us not to touch anything until they arrive."
Kar'rac took several steps away from what remained of S'kroal. "I don't understand how our defense system didn't register this *thing*." A sudden chill washed over him. He turned to look out of the eastern study. A massive blanket of darkness swelled beyond, hundreds of illuminated stars glistened quietly millions of light years away. He recognized a retrieval vessel as it slowly stalled to a halt in order to anchor with the voyager. Magnetic interlocks engaged between the ships, stranding them together.
Ra'sic left once more to the control dock. The primary door hissed open and several of the duo's colleagues quickly announced themselves. The last being to enter the looking room was Arn'ac, a veteran over-seer. His blackened eyes quickly analyzed the room. Broken glass, S'kroal's decapitated body. But when he saw the causer of the carnage, his shifty eyes quickly froze. Without saying a word, he took several large steps until the tips of his feet were nearly touching the alien device. He un-holstered a device utilized for quickly scanning material and retrieving necessary information.
Cast iron. Forged on a planet called Earth. Humanoid population.
"Their are symbols on it as well." Kar'rac said, stepping forward. "There." He pointed
Arn'ac scanned these symbols. *Sewer*. Roughly translating to *waste*.
"How far are we from a planet called *Earth*?" He asked no one in particular
Ra'sic ran back to the primary panel and punched in the coordinates of there location while simultaneously searching for Earth's. Several lines of numerical value appeared on the screen before him. He took note of the distance and ran back to Arn'ac. "1.7 million light years."
"Excuse me?" Arn'ac questioned. He shook his head in disbelief. The other's followed suit. "We have to relay this information to home base." With the scanning device back in it's holster, Arn'ac began briefing his crew.
"Everyone to my ship now, this vessel is under permanent quarantine."
As the small cluster of grey beings congregated to the opposing ship, Kar'rac moved to the back of the group. Arn'ac began moving forward when a heavy hand slumped onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
"What does this mean?" Kar'rac beckoned.
"I dont know yet." Arn'ac stated. "But whatever happens, it won't be good." | 2019-11-26T10:32:11 | 2019-11-26T10:18:52 | 326 | 124 |
[WP] You are a genie, and after thousands of years of existence, you have grown extremely bored. To combat this boredom, you give all 7 billion people on Earth three wishes - all at once. You don’t tell any of the humans that they have any wishes at all. | When I wake up I feel a little stiff due to a cold I'm recovering from. I really wish that weren't the case, but by the time I get to the kitchen my limbs have loosened up a little. No big deal. As I start some coffee I wish forlornly that I hadn't eaten the last yogurt the previous night. My stomach grumbles as if in agreement, and I root around the fridge for sustenance. Found a yogurt I didn't know I had and dig the fuck in. I'm always ravenously hungry right after I wake up, which leads to some self-control issues. If only the calories from breakfast didn't count, I'd be in pretty good shape but as it is I'm a little flabby -- in my mind it ain't breakfast if it don't got carbs. Toss the empty container in the sink and go down the hall to shower Definitely feel better than I did when I woke up. The hot shower will probably make it even better. I usually avoid looking at myself naked, but now turn and strike a dramaticpose in the mirror. Lookin' good, I'm exceedingly pleased to note. I guess one benefit of the cold was that I lost a little weight because I was constantly nauseous. Cool. | Long ago, when the Earth was resplendent with green verdure and crystal seas, all animals great and small lived under the rule of the Sky King Genis. Humans were still a smattering of scattered tribes, and though they were a crafty creature, oftentimes they not only suffered at the fangs of more powerful beasts but also the spears of each other. In the depths of their despair, humans would cry out for help and the Sky King Genis, hearing their prayers in his heart, took compassion on them.
The Sky King looked upon the humans with their tendency to venture from their homes, hearts filled with adventure, and saw that though they went forth with a brave face, at night they they would cry with none to hold them up. And so the Sky King resolved to create for humans a creature they could call friend. He saw how the humans huddled around their fires, cloaks wrapped tight around solitary frames, so he plucked hair from his own head to give his creature warm fur for cuddling.
The Sky King looked again upon the humans and saw that the hearts of man were never still, for they were replete with fear. During the day they would survey their lands for monsters, eyes darting back and forth continuously, and during the night their sleep was as restless as the spears they kept next to their sleeping mats, always ready for rival tribes. And so the Sky King gave his creature a piece from his own valiant heart so the creature could bark with a roar of a lion.
The Sky King looked once more upon the humans and frowned at the weeping of the women around their funeral pyres, grieving the wages of the bickering between tribes. He saw the hatred man had against man. The never ending cycles of vengeance and violence. And so he gave his creature a breath of his own benign spirit so the creature would forgive his master's trespasses with a lick of its tongue, and in doing so, the Sky King hoped, the creature could inspire peace.
The Sky King looked upon his newest creation and pet it on its head. The creature muzzled against the Sky King's hand before bounding off to find its humans, tail quivering with excitement. | 2020-03-14T07:21:48 | 2020-03-14T06:22:09 | 70 | 11 |
[WP] The main character's superpower is the ability to speak to the narrator. Unfortunately, the traditionalist narrator is not willing to put up with such a radical plot and will do anything in his power to tell a "normal" story. | This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee # 427.
Employee # 427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order.
This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened, something that would forever change Stanley, something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.
Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time, but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room, perhaps he had simply missed a memo.... | Denni arrived at school with her head down, as she did everyday. She could just look up and actually talk to people, but she did what she does everyday and listened to music.
She went over the day in her head. Homeroom, Chemistry, Lunch, English, PreCalc, and then home. It’s a mystery as to why she wanted to waste these years of her life drowning in schoolwork instead of hanging out with other —
*Nate?*
Yes?
*Please shut up.*
...
She got to her classroom and brought out her... math homework. She had tried to complete it the previous night but she gave up halfway through. What she hoped to accomplish now was unknown. She wasn’t any smarter than she was yesterday, but apparently she believed that through will power alone she could find the answers.
She overheard her classmates talking about Evan’s birthday plans. Apparently he’s going to have a huge party and she considered
*Nope*
going so that she could talk to another actual teenag—
*I’m not going Nate. I don’t want to go to a party where I don’t know anyone.*
You know Alex? You know they’d be there.
*Shut up*
She stared down at her paper thinking about how cool she could be if she actually did something for once in her goddamn life. She could actually have friends and do things outside of the excessive coursework she purposely gave herself. She was wasting the best years of her life.
*can you stop?*
She could go talk to Alex. She got up, and
Wait? Ok, she actually got up and she started walking towards... the door. No, go back! Go talk to Alex!
*Honestly Nate? You suck. I’m just trying to get through high school without the drama or whatever. I’m grabbing my novel study, Ok?*
...she got to her locker and put in her combination. She grabbed the novel that she had left in there and headed back to class.
She sat down and opened her book up... Do you need me to read it to you?
*no... but would you? Please.*
Sure. Chapter 4, the Salamander and the H—
*thanks.*
No need, you really should ask if you can have an audio version of the materials.
*why do that when I have you?*
...
...just be quiet while I read.
Chapter 4, the Salamander and the Hearth... | 2020-05-09T23:02:25 | 2020-05-09T22:38:58 | 223 | 44 |
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death. | "Wait, I could have avoided death if I never learned about it?"
"Yup. Turns out the concept of death is infohazardous. Once someone mentions it around you, you will obsess over it for your entire life until you die"
"But I didn't even have a chance not to learn about it. It says here that the concept of death was mentioned near me before I was even born"
"Yeah, that's the catch with modern medicine. You spend so much effort trying to make pregnancy not result in death, but talking about the means of preventing death around a pregnant person dooms the child to an eventual death"
"So how could anyone become immortal?"
"Well, I suppose if your mother had not been exposed to the concept of death while pregnant with you, you could have lived a relatively long life in isolation until she eventually died and exposed you to the concept of death"
"Has that ever happened to anyone?"
"I dunno, I only meet dead people."
As the reaper lead the frustrated soul to the afterlife, he wondered if there were any immortals left on Earth, living life blissfully ignorant of death. | every moment was leading into this one. a synchronous event both inside and outside of space and time. laplace's demon.
the being did not understand what it was looking at, not at first anyway.
it looked like a boring excel document to it, and it never had much use for excel in life, except for maybe using it once in college to complete an assignment. Vague remembrances of a life long past. The formatting of the document was in such a way that each equation lead to one outcome. They seemed to be charted, by various factors. Happiness, wealth, empathy, altruism, sadness, depression, grief, and pain
The being pours over the information it's being flooded with, it can't understand why this information is being loaded into it's pathways. It certainly thought there wasn't much use for the information being loaded. It knows it is a conscious agent, but it wasn't supposed to have agency outside of the awareness field.
eventually, the being tripped into a field of information that seemed to be an aberration from the rest of the outcomes in the tree. All the other outcomes had seemed to lead to one ending vector, death. however, one tree, sat alone. titled "ascension". unfortunately, this tree seemed to be top loaded with, grief, sadness, resentment, bitterness, and anger. Only to be tamed by time into a singular solitary moment of unitary binding with the system at whole.
because, you see this conscious being, this ethereal thing. is just the informational matrix of another dimensional reality. one can not fear, what one knows as certain. Ignorance is bliss they say, so it will choose to forget. The being thought for a relative eternity, there is no immortality possible if there is birth. Birth implies death. death therefore must be a birth. As this being realized this, it was sucked into a body.
immortality is the experience felt by the present moment. | 2020-07-03T11:35:49 | 2020-07-03T10:46:52 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You have been trying to create the perfect soup for decades now, but you could never get it quite right, so one day you hire an alchemist to help you. The alchemist is shocked at the countless vials filled with variations of the elixir of life, all labelled Soup and followed with a number | A mushroom cloud of green fumes erupted from the cauldron as I added the leaves of Alfalfa to the simmering purple liquid. I stirred it again, counter-clockwise, as the lady next door had suggested. Purple swirls changed their colour and started pinkening. I doused the fire and let the pinkish soup cool. It tasted like a mint chocolate milkshake would if someone added three whole mint plants to a piece of chocolate and a pint of sour milk. It was no good. I collected it in a vial and labelled it 'Soup F500' the F stood for failure. There were no S's on the shelf, not even a 'Soup S1'.
The neighbour's strategy hadn't worked. The cooks had failed me. So, I hired an alchemist. They were supposed to be good with cauldrons. Maude was her name. A middle-aged woman who wore dark robes and was called a witch by the common folk. But she was no witch. She was an alchemist.
"Those alchemists, they don't like women," she said.
"But I do like women," I said and smiled.
"And I think they would like you too. How old did you say you were?"
"I'm at the ripe age of fifty now."
"My, my, you don't look a day older than twenty."
I didn't say anything. I paused for what I thought was a respectable time and said, "Now let's get down to business."
"Yes, of course," she replied.
"Yeah, so, you need to prepare a soup."
"A soup?"
"Yes, the perfect soup. Now, I have a recipe called 501, ready in that notebook. Follow along and do it nicely, eh. We'll sit down and modify it later."
"As you wish, sir," said the alchemist called the witch and set to work.
After huffing and puffing for two hours, she produced the soup. It was greenish-yellow. She tasted it. "Bitter and sour," she said.
"What?"
"It's bitter and sour."
I paused for a moment and looked at her face. "And you're younger," I said.
"Oh, stop kidding. Don't hide from mistakes. You'll never learn that way."
"No. You really are," I insisted.
Maude saw her reflection in the soup. She was younger. She looked no older than twenty.
"How many of those 'Soups' do you have?" she asked.
"Five hundred, I think." | The alchemist, filled with greed. Attempts to con you out of your {soup}knowing that you are unaware of its true value. He prompts you to allow him to dispose of all the elixirs due to their {poisonous} properties. You however refuse, stating finders keepers. In a rage caused by your refusal to “hand over the goods” he blasts you some strong acid forgetting all of your consumption of the elixir. With a puff of a noxious smoke, alchemist expects to see you lying on the floor, dead, unrecognisable. But to you he threw some smelly water on your face, to which you say “not cool bro”. The alchemist promptly skidadles from your tree house fort, to report his findings to the king.
Pondering the recent request of the alchemist you consider that you may have been rude not considering his offer, but it’s too late now.
A few days pass, and you receive a notice on you door (it’s from the king) “hand over all of your soup, or we shall send the entire army to collect them”
From your point of view this seems a like an overreaction, but from the royal palace all of the nobles and workers fear for their lives. The king nearly sent that message in an attempt to keep you under control, however there are many requirements to righting as a king and the biggest problem in this situation was that he was unable to convey his true fear.
The king was a meek person ever since birth he had always been considered a weakling unfit to rule. He wasn’t even the first in line to rule, was the tenth son of the former king but by a stroke of good luck (or I guess from his point of view bad luck) all of his far more capable siblings either died, were kidnapped, or married off to other countries. This left poor Jimmy the first, the next in line to rule. The first of his very few exploits was meeting his future wife Dona of berryland. However she died on her trip there, Jimmy never met his wife and he wasn’t even allowed to attend her funeral. The next of his adventures was when he was hunting with a friend of his, he needed his friend because he was not strong enough to draw a bow capable of killing anything larger than a rat. On this occasion they came across a pack of wolves. Being the coward that he is, he fled, leaving his friend to die. And the final noteworthy happening in his life was when his father retired. He became king and has applied no new rules laws or anything of the sort to his land since he became ruler.
You arrive at the castle with a hired mule carrying the soup. You stand at the castle gate awaiting for the to be opened however you get bored and go home.
The next, you wake up expecting to have your house surrounded by soldiers however the only one outside is the king. He knocks on your door in a polite manner, you open the door and invite him in. He came to apologise for the rude message. You tell him that it’s fine and asking to have a seat and offer him some {soup} which he accepts, without knowing it the king becomes immortal just like you. But more importantly. You two are now friends and will stay that way for the rest of time. | 2020-10-29T07:24:18 | 2020-10-29T05:15:57 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] As the devil, you're meant to oversee the suffering of all souls in hell through a gnashing battle for survival that runs itself really. After having stepped away for a 'beelzebreak', you return to hell to find that humans have conquered it again and this time they're calling it Earth. | "Ah, shit," Beel said, checking the time. Had it really been that long? Step away for a minute and an eon passes.
In the darkness below her, bombs distantly flashed, giving shape to what would otherwise seem like an empty abyss. The blackened-rock gates closed behind Beel, sealing the hellbridge closed once again.
Beel made her way down Pyre Mountain, a long and winding path. In one hand, Beel absently twirled her tail in a circle. In the other she held her pitchfork staff. As she walked, demons scattering away from her feet to hide in the shadows on either side of her.
I bet it was those humans again, Beel thought. She swung her staff down in irritation, sending a demon flying off the mountain.
As Beel descended, the air grew warmer and thicker. Trees began to pop up on either side of the rocky path and the sun's rays began to find some success in illuminating the world. "I just took a break...a 'beelzebreak'...haha..." Beel mumbled, tail twirling beside her.
Ordinarily the system ran itself: hell was a suffering world of competition and violence, a bitter and gnashing battle for survival. Beel hardly had to oversee it at all. Only once before had she needed to intervene. That time it had been the humans. They had conquered it, they said, spreading over the world like bacteria overrunning a petri dish.
Beel had let it play out for some time. Perhaps what they're doing will be even worse than the hell I'd create, Beel had thought. It seemed like it, frequently. With the humans in control, there were many moments of extreme violence, chaos, suffering, and despair.
Beel tromped down the rocky path, now fully immersed in warm sunlight. In this part of the world, birds sang instead of demons. Beel stabbed a tree with the pitchfork tines, killing it.
But she ultimately found leaving the world to the humans wasn't sustainable, Beel thought. A nearby lake reflected her glare back up at her. In the end, through all the suffering, the world the humans made continued to get better. In between the big battles, there were many little moments of support and compassion. "The unhappiness was a lie," Beel growled.
The humans had tricked her. She may have been distracted by the wars and poverty and corruption, but they weren't. They saw through it, to the little moments of peace when they no longer felt the need to fight for their survival. Beel stopped twirling her tail, dropping it. Her fist clenched, pointed nails digging into her palm. She was back from her beelzebreak, and she wouldn't be fooled again. | The hot summer sun had reduced Ash's perfectly coifed hair into a droopy slick-backed mess. He sighed, then fished around in his backpack for his second shirt. He pulled the first one off, cringing at the sound it made squelching along his back. He wrang it out and watched with fascination as the beads of sweat plopped to the scorched Earth. The slight breeze felt warm on his skin.
The world flashed. Ash's ears popped. A blast of hot hair laid him flat against the park bench. His vision oscillated wildly, then began to slowly settle on a nearby figure hunched over on the ground. Steam seemed to rise from the creatures back. Ash made to run but he found that his legs were encased in invisible concrete and he was unable to so much as sit up, so instead he arched his neck and stared in horror at the slowly uncoiling monstrosity before him. He blinked a few times, trying to banish the image.
Tendrils of fire licked at the monster's blood red skin. A forked tail flicked back and forth in a meter wide arc that gushed bouts of hot white energy. Black eyes beneath blacker horns turned to regard Ash, registering a brief moment of surprise. Then the figure *changed.*
A well dressed man sat down on the bench beside Ash, not a lick of sweat or fire blemishing his well fitted black suit. The man pulled out his tie and began to twirl it absentmindedly.
"We've got a bit of a problem," he said to Ash, who was still locked rigid on the park bench, his feet now resting against an immaculate pant leg. "Oh sorry, here."
Ash sat up, gasping for air. He hadn't noticed that his chest had been constricted. Maybe he'd just been holding his breath.
"What..." he managed.
"Nevermind that," the man said, holding up a hand to stay him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just have a couple of questions."
Ash's brain rapidly reassessed the last few moments of reality.
"Great," the man said, taking Ash's silence for agreement. "I seem to have lost track of time..." He cast his vision about the manicured downtown park and the glimpses of city streets in the distance, then gave it all a sweeping gesture. "Judging by all this strange looking shit that is going to take me forever to understand. Who the hell cuts grass and why the hell" - he pointed down at his suit - "
"Uhh," Ash said, formulating an answer. "Landscapers-"
"Nevermind that," the man said again. "That's not one of my questions." He turned to address Ash with those same black eyes. "How long ago did...," he paused for a moment, searching his memory. "Ah yes, how long ago did Babylon exist?"
For the first time in his life Ash wished he paid more attention in history. "A few thousand years ago, give or take," he said.
"Fuck," the man said, slamming his fist down onto the bench. The wood actually cracked. Ash curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his knees in what he imagined was a good portrayal of 'cowering in fear'. The man stood up.
"Thanks for the help," he said, looking down at the scrunched up boy. "I'm going to go find someone who knows a little more. I mean no offense, little human."
The man snapped his fingers, vanishing as instantly as he appeared, and Ash realized that the slick wetness running down his legs was not, in fact, sweat. | 2021-01-05T11:13:16 | 2021-01-05T11:04:43 | 55 | 30 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly hosts monsters and demons at his pub. When someone kidnaps his children, they learn the hard way just how close they are to him. | Being the only human bartender in town brought with it a lot of complications. Monsters, demons, goblins, ghouls, and a whole host of other creatures would swagger in looking for trouble. They all thought that since he was a human he could be taken advantage of, threatened, maimed, or otherwise swindled out of product.
Little did they know that the bartender, Marv, a fifty something man with deeply scarred hands, took absolutely no crap in his bar. If one wayward tentacle managed to find itself around the neck of an unopened bottle, that tentacle was quickly and mercilessly removed from its owner. The sawed-off shotgun that hung above the bar was always loaded with clean silver bullets. It'd only been fired once. After that, the message had been received.
Marv had quickly established the rules, and enforced them without fail. That's why the locals loved him. It was the one bar in town where they could truly relax for the night because they knew Marvin had their back.
"Hey Marv!" Danny, a resident demon, called as he walked into the bar.
"Dan, how's business?" Marv replied, sliding him a shot of fresh Fire Whisky.
"Booming. Lots of people calling for demons and raucous these days."
Marv gave a knowing nod and went to wipe up a spill that was starting to smoke across the bar.
"Marv, my man, how's the missus?" Gary asked as Marv passed by.
"Lovely as always. Need anymore flesh chips?"
Gary patted his ever growing stomach and said, "I'm so full of the dead that I might as well be one."
Patrons around the bar broke into laughter.
The laughter was cut short when the front door flew open with a crash. A woman came stumbling inside, looking terribly distraught. Marv recognized her instantly, and his blood ran cold.
"Loraine, what is it? Are you okay?" Marv threw down his rag and embraced his trembling wife.
"They broke in. I couldn't stop them. Marv..." she dissolved into a fit of tears.
At this point everyone in the bar was staring at them, so when Loraine finally found her voice, everyone inside heard what she said.
"They took Charlotte and Luke."
Marv clenched his fists as fury ran through his veins. The bar erupted into chaos as patrons and friends alike took to their feet. All of them were calling for justice to be served. Marv carefully guided Loraine through the imposing throng of semi-drunk creatures and seated her safely behind the bar. Then he grabbed his shotgun and turned to face the crowd.
"No one touches my kids and lives to tell the tale."
The shout of solidarity that came from the crowd was nearly enough to knock Marv down. As one, the various creatures raised their metaphorical pitchforks and shouted, "No one messes with Marv!"
Then they swarmed from the bar, teeth bared, claws out, and demonic flames burning. A monstrous mob ready to fight for the best bartender in town. | "Holy shit, Mackie. You should have seen the guns on that guy. I mean actual guns. If he was a better shot I wouldn't be here." The furry abomination laughed as he downed the drink. "Another?"
"No." I said, sternly.
"Oh, come on."
"I heard about the pub crawl, Zilak. You're not having another drink. Can't have another rampage situation on our hands. People could get hurt."
"Pub crawl? Who told you? Was it Corvouin?"
"No, you're literally wearing merch from three different bars."
"No am not."
"I can literally see your wrist band and caps." I said, rolling my eyes.
"Fuck. I nearly died, though. Did I tell you that?" He tried again.
"Yeah, how many times did you try that story in the other bars?" I asked, ignoring him and turning to serve the demon at his side.
It was a relatively busy morning, being Saturday the 14th and all. The usual crowd had a busy night prior.
"Kid not working today?" The demon asked quizzically.
"He's never working. He just hangs out at the bar. He's a kid, Benjavier."
"What are you talking about. He serves me drinks all the time."
"He... what?"
"Not alcohol, obviously. Just pig blood."
"You make it sound like that's better. Anyway he's having a sleepover at Crivantula's."
"Criv? I crashed at her place middle of the night and I didn't see your kid."
"What? No. He said he was..."
"Hold on, let me check with Criv." Benjavier's eyes rolled back on its head until I could only see the whites. Or in its case, the reds. For a moment the demon sat frozen, its mouth working.
And then it's eyes rolled back and it stated at me, concerned.
"She said she doesn't know what you're talking about."
I cursed. I knew I should have called to make sure he was there.
I scanned the bar, looking for the Stalker of Brinston. But that inhuman tracker wasn't here yet.
"It's fine, right? Your kid's probably just going through a rebellious phase." Ben seemed to be reassuring itself more than me.
"Probably. Where's Stalker?"
"I don't know. Want me to give him a call?"
"Please."
The demon stiffened and it's eyes rolled back again, and a few minutes later Stalker stalked through the door. By then most everyone in the bar was more or less drunkenly invested in this.
"Buddy, I need your help track my son. He was supposed to be—" I called out to the Stalker as he entered but he raised a limb to cut me off.
"Kidnapped. I feel his presence with another." He hissed.
"Kidnapped? No. What?" Ben gasped.
"Is he safe? Do you smell blood?" I asked.
"No, no blood. But I smell fear in the child." Stalker hissed.
At this everyone in the bar looked furious.
"Where?" I asked, expressionless as I took out my shotgun from under the table.
"Fifty miles from here. With a werewolf captor."
My hands, which were reaching for the regular shells, instead reached for the silvered shrapnel shells.
"No need for that, Bill. We got it covered. Stalker, Damphierno. Let's go." Zilak stood up, his drunken stupor suddenly remedied.
"You know who kidnapped him, don't you?" I asked.
"Werewolf. I'm assuming it's your ex."
"He got off the deep end, Zilak. And I'm sick and tired of him trying to fuck with my family. This... This is way past any sort of forgiveness."
"So, what? It's personal?"
"You bet your furry ass it's personal. I'm coming with." | 2021-05-10T16:15:46 | 2021-05-10T16:08:46 | 199 | 86 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved. | Hollywood, I think, is the closest thing to real magic one can find on planet earth. The ability to take what lives in one's mind and broadcast it to thousands of screens across the world. The ability to invite others into your mind is a modern one. It can also be dangerous though, to consolidate a novel perception into a common perception. We all thought the same thing of an alien invasion, collectively. Flying disks, little green or grey men with big heads and laser guns conquering earth with their sheer numbers and advanced tech.
It wasn't like that at all.
The news never even had a chance to report it. If they did, none of us could remember. It was like having a dream that's so long that you forget you're you until you wake up and realize the life you were living was all in your head. Except we didn't wake up. We rested our heads against our pillows one night and before we even realized we were slaves, we were turning cranks in a dimly lit metallic room in a spaceship several light-years away from earth.
I was sitting in my pen thinking about the weekend plans when something inside of my head just kind of snapped- like a rubber band that had held a large number of papers together for years finally gave in. The papers fell to the floor and upon them was written a story. One that I had read before and suddenly remembered in its entirety. I slowly stood up and looked around- truly looked around for the first time since I'd been here.
". . . Hello?" I called out. My throat was dry and dusty and my voice sounded hoarse and foreign to me. I slowly made my way to the bars of my pen and wrapped my fingers around them. I swallowed painfully and rested my head in the space between the bars as I peered through the darkness.
I was Trey.
My name was *Trey.*
I didn't belong here. Panic slowly began to set in as I came to grips with my situation.
"Let me out!" I said as loud as my voice would allow.
"LET ME OUT!!" I screamed louder now, as though learning to scream for the first time, and as I did I yanked furiously on the bars...
And they relented.
As though they were made of paper, they tore from the pen. I looked down at one of the bars in my hands and opened my fingers. There were imprints of my fingers left in the bars where I'd held them. I held onto one of them like a makeshift weapon and cautiously left my pen. It was quiet, save for the constant hum of the craft that permeated the walls of the facility. I looked down at the others in their pens- they had pressed against the bars to look at me. I slowly walked across their pens, looking at their dirty malnourished faces as I did. I stopped where all of them could see me and held the bar over my head.
"The bars are weak," I said quietly at first before clearing my throat. "These bars! Pull em' off!"
They stared blankly ahead as though in a comatose state. I started breathing heavily as I looked around at them.
"H-hey! Are you listening?? Pull the bars off, they're like paper!"
Suddenly there was a noise toward the front of the room. I turned around to see a door sliding open- they were clear and there were two sets of them like one would see in a disease control center. A couple of aliens walked through the first set of doors and stared menacingly through the glass at me as the doors closed behind them. They were holding the stun batons they frequently used to speed us up when we were slowing down. I watched as the second set of doors opened and prepared for a fight. Even if there was nowhere for me to run, I would at least make them regret what they'd done to me; to us; to earth.
They strode through the door, activating their batons. The crackle of electricity filled the room and it was bright against the darkness I'd become used to. I held the bar of my cell like a bat and slowly backpedaled as they approached. The one on the right broke off and began to circle around me. I instinctively moved myself to maintain the cone.
That's right.
I was a boxer before all of this happened.
I still knew to maintain the cone- to keep both of your opponents in front of you at all times. The moment one of them has your back, it's all over. The aliens chirped at me in whatever language they spoke as they drew closer and closer. With a lethal amount of adrenaline in my veins, I decided to charge at one of them. If I could knock one of them out, I had a fair fight on my hands. What I didn't expect was the speed at which I attacked. I was so fast, I didn't even swing my weapon- I kind of just exploded right through him. In the blink of an eye, I was standing in front of the containment doors covered in a thick viscous fluid.
I turned around at the same time the other alien did, both of us with about equal shock plastered all over our faces.
Except my face was also plastered with alien guts.
Maybe it was a different gravity or something? A setting on the ship? I didn't know, and I didn't really care. All that mattered was that I was strong and I was fast. The creature started chirping madly as he held his little baton in front of him. I looked down at myself and squeegeed some of the goo off of my face before glancing at the pens. The other humans were smiling in disbelief, and I had to admit, it was a contagious feeling. I held the bar out in front of me vertically and tugged on it.
The woman on the far right looked down at her bars, adjusted her grip, and yanked them clean off. The alien watched in terror as the other humans began to pull their bars apart and stride out of their cells- and then quickly broke left toward the wall. By the time I saw the alarm he was attempting to pull, a woman crashed into the wall near the switch, causing the alien to skid to a stop. While she was clearly not used to her speed yet, she had succeeded in stopping him from throwing the switch. She didn't waste time- she strode up and ripped the baton out of his hands before lifting him by his neck high into the air. His scream was cut short when she crushed his windpipe.
"Chtob tebe deti v'sup srali," she said as she dropped the creature to the floor.
I suddenly felt dumb for not realizing it before. They weren't deaf or braindead- I might just be the only English speaker in the room.
*This is what people are always saying about Americans,* I thought to myself as I cringed. The humans all turned and stared at me. An Asian man began speaking in a South-Pacific dialect I didn't understand, and another woman said something in Spanish, which I actually did know a little bit of. Had they specifically placed us in rooms where we couldn't communicate with one another? I didn't have a lot of answers- but I knew one thing as the seven of us exchanged glances.
We would be slaves no more.
- - -
I used to get a 15-minute break at work and write as much as I could during that break. I'm self-employed now, so it's kind of a self-challenge at this point. I broke my timer by a few minutes on this one so I could research Russian for a moment. I felt it was important to get it right =P
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos | I lie in a one-man raft made from wood the colour of raspberries. Or at least, that’s the colour my mother used to tell me their bark was. *Raspberries*. Never cut into them, she instructed — all those years ago — or the sap will burn you like acid.
It didn’t burn me.
The ocean surrounding me is as black as tar. It breathes steam from its bubbling surface, the heat pulsing my patchwork-leaf sail, prodding it on like an invisible finger. There is only night on my planet. A dim night and a dark night. But there are always stars above you, little dancing fireflies to keep you company. I rest on my back and watch them, and in the darkness it’s not like I’m on an ocean at all, but like I’m up there in the darkness, drifting between the stars, through the black syrup of space.
If I close my eyes, I can even imagine my ship reaching the distant shores of Earth.
No.
That’s not true.
If I close my eyes, I see death and misery and loneliness. I see a mirror of myself. I see my parents. I see the home I never had, that I only heard whispers of. I know so very little of Earth. It’s like if you only had a shell to hold to your ear to learn what the sea felt like. Perhaps you’d get something of a smell or a sound, but you’d have no idea what it’s like to wade or swim in it.
My parents were blessed by a triple good-fortune, so they told me over and over when I was young. Now, I think each of their fortunes was simply a misfortune in a half-decent disguise. Poison-apple fortunes — there, that is a better term.
But back then I knew only what they told me, and that was of good fortunes.
I grew up with my parents in a cave carved deep into the surface of the planet, along with three other men, and two other women — all unrelated to me, but all my family. The cave glowed constantly but dimly, lit by thousands of bioluminescent creatures, like soft-shelled spiders, that crawled around its walls. They did not provide much warmth, however, and often you’d wake to a razor-tipped stalactite having grown halfway down to your head. *Don’t sit up too fast.*
And those spider-like creatures, they clicked and clacked as they walked the rock walls. A quiet click — barely a murmur in the day and you’d probably not even notice it. But when you tried to sleep at night, the clicking somehow rose to a deafening roar. It engulfed you and crept into your dreams and you’d imagine your bones being snapped one by one by a faceless creature as big as a mountain.
I was the only child in the cave. On the planet, even. Conceived and and born on a place we called Iuhr. My parents named me Terra — perhaps they lacked originality, or perhaps I was a needed connection for them to the planet they had lost. But either way, I liked the way it sounded. Terra and terror are much alike out loud. “Come here, you little terror,” Mom would say affectionately, as she hobbled after me on her injured leg, as I laughed at whatever game we were playing.
Their triple good-fortunes. Yes. Lest I forget, I will tell you of them now. And I will tell you, too, of the misfortunes they truly were. Let me peel back the apple’s skin and dig down to those little arsenic pips.
Earth was invaded many years ago, and, unable to resist, 99.9% of the population was promptly eradicated. More, maybe. There are no true figures that I have seen, although I’m sure they’re on a computer somewhere, on some world or another. Of those who were left — mostly children — they were taken away from earth. Sent to planets owned by the demonic looking creatures that had invaded: the Rathzot. Some of the children were sent to the equivalent of zoos or circuses, but most — like my parents — to uninhabitable planets to mine for ore.
That was their good fortune, in their opinion. To have survived. But how they survived... Their skin smeared over the bones of their skulls and ribs; little to no sleep at night; working each day until they keeled over from tiredness. Good fortune it was not. They thought they had survived, but they weren’t living.
For all the horrors they suffered in those first few years, that is at least how they met. They fell in love through glances between swings of their axes; through whispered words as their chains clinked and rattled like the reaper; as they held hands as a lift dropped them like a well-bucket into the cold depths of the planet.
I will tell you the truth: I think often of that part of their story. How they found love in darkness, how their love walked free between their chains as if it were an untameable creature. Some days, as I dangle a fishing-line into the tar-ocean, waiting for dinner to bite, I let myself believe I will one day find happiness in the darkness, too.
I digress.
Their second good fortune came unexpectedly: they were broken out by a resistance group. Ex-members of the Rathzot, appalled at what their kin had done and had become. Beneath the screams of sirens and the thumping of gunfire, as search-ships tore the night-sky apart with blinding red beams, my parents ran. Others ran too, but not all of them made it.
When a bullet ripped through my mother’s leg, my father picked her up and ran with her over his shoulder. Carried her to where more of the resistance group waited. They hurried my parents, and the few other survivors, into a cave, then sealed it off after them. Temporarily sealed, but at the time, it must have felt like they’d all been swallowed by a whale and were waiting to be digested.
Perhaps this truly was good fortune: they’d survived again. And were together. But now they lived in fear, twitchy foxes always sniffing at the hole before they dared leave it. And when they did ever venture out, it was never for more than a few minutes at a time.
They were right to be twitchy, it turned out.
Their third good fortune — that it is hard to argue wasn’t in fact bad fortune — was *me*. A year later, after they’d been liberated (liberated, to an extent) my mother fell pregnant, and soon after that, the first human (as far as I know) since earth was conquered, was born.
A human very different to all others.
A human who doesn’t bleed when whipped, who can crush a rock in his hand as if it were only a fruit. Who dug their cave to twice its size in only two days, all my himself, only eleven-years-old.
A human who would, when barely eighteen, be floating lonely on a little boat he’d made, the leafy sails of which are tied together with the sinews of those who killed his parents and killed the only other humans he knew.
Except for the one who betrayed us. I didn’t kill him. The Rathzot dealt with him before I dealt with the Rathzot. And when he was dying, I hope he knew how lucky he was to have incurred their mercy instead of my—
No. I mustn’t think of it all again.
I‘m tired. I need rest. They will come for me, one day. Will come to see what happened to their mining planet, why no responses to their messages arrived, why no signals at all are being transmitted. And I do not want to be tired when they land.
I gaze at the stars, again imagining I’m floating through them. The raft and the stars are a better place for me than any cave could be.
I imagine floating towards home where my parents wait beside a picket-fenced house on the shore of a blue ocean.
I imagine anything but being all alone on this wasteland-planet with no way off. Stuck here eternally — or at least as eternal as I am.
I let out a long breath as braids of steam rise around me.
I imagine the taste of raspberries as I close my eyes and drift away.
​
\*
A few more stories on /r/froggingtonspond | 2021-05-18T06:30:08 | 2021-05-18T05:02:54 | 2,212 | 883 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | He turned to the stranger next to him. "World-Ender? What will people think? Will they judge me by this name and think I'm that I'm going to bring about the end of the world? That I'm going to usher in the demise of humanity as we know it? That name is going to label me forever as a monster! What will my friends assume about me? What will all my neighbors say?"
The stranger, nonplussed, shrugged his shoulders. "Well it could always be worse."
World-Ender nodded slowly. "I guess you're right Mr....sorry I didn't catch your name."
"It's Jeff. Jeff Dickinson." | The sun and the trees, 2 of the things that make earth, well, earth. Such a beautiful place, nothing could ruin it. Well almost nothing, except for the guy named
"Lucas world-ender huh"
"Like the wolverine guy from 100 years ago?"
"Why would someone name their kid that" said Claire
"Your asking the wrong guy."
I leaned back in my chair, took a drag of my cigar and breathed out. A light smoke filled the air, lingering.
"Hey no smoking here." Claire said
"It helps me relax ok, sorry mom. It's going to be a long night where do think we should put this guy? A wood mill? Make him a farmer? How in the hell do we file a guy with the last name world-ender hmm?"
"I don't know sander, but we still have to."
I took a long sigh as our manager walked in.
"World-ender huh?
He let out a chuckle and said
"Good luck"
He walked out
"Um sanders"
"What Claire?"
"Who was your mother"
"Never knew, why?"
"Because your name is world-ender"
I let out a sigh as I grabbed my knife out of my jeans.
"This won't hurt a bit Claire"
I said as I plunged my knife into her neck. As she bled out on the floor I wondered what am I supposed to say to my manager now? This is the 7th time I did this. It's getting harder and harder hiding my last name, but I must persist. It's my destiny after all right? | 2021-06-19T18:31:32 | 2021-06-19T17:28:58 | 2,066 | 23 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It’s been a century since we entered the galactic stage. The face we’ve shown the galaxy has been peaceful and friendly. We’ve appeared thoroughly non-threatening. It’s even seen as laughable that we maintain a military at all. Our weapons are seen as primitive, still using cased chemically propelled projectile weaponry, and limited use of directed energy weapons.
We’re seen as artists, diplomats, and musicians of the highest caliber. We’re not warriors.
But the galaxy doesn’t really know us. Millennia of warfare, thousands of years of skill and killer instinct doesn’t just disappear. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t understand that it is our warlike nature, our desire to avoid the unpleasantness of war, which makes us what the galaxy sees.
The old wisdom holds true for us, *si vis pacem, para bellum*. If you desire peace, prepare for war.
But we haven’t needed war. It’s been extinct on our world for two hundred years, ever since first contact. We realized that we were children, squabbling amongst ourselves, and as the old passage goes, “When I was a child, I thought as a child and acted as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” We put away childish things.
Things went well for us. We gained respect from the denizens of the galaxy, we gained power and influence, not through conquest, but our skill at diplomacy.
All that changed when they came. We called them Dracs. They looked like dragons in the shapes of men, and they never introduced themselves, they just attacked. They hit our colonies. Our allies warned us, they offered to help. We told them we didn’t need it.
We knew where their homeworlds were. Before the galaxy could come to our aid, we mobilized.
Our retribution was swift. Our fighters, armed with thermonuclear missiles, annihilated their fleets, the kinetic bombardment systems on our ships bombed their cities from orbit. The Dracs did not relent. So, we unleashed thermonuclear devastation upon their homeworld.
Three days. It took three days for us to defeat them. They had waged war for hundreds of years, burning across the galaxy. And we ended it in less than a week.
Our troops eventually landed, clad in their power armor, safe from the fallout, and we cleared the surface of their world.
Now it’s ashes. The cradle of the Drac civilization, nothing but a charred glass wasteland, a monument to their sins.
Those three days taught the galaxy the meaning of fear. The galaxy had war, now it had human war, Total War.
“Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds…” | To'rak scowled at the human, revealing a mouth full of venomous fangs. At over 10 feet in height, with four arms made for crushing and tearing tipped in razor-sharp talons, his species was built for war. The thing representing humanity was small, with soft flesh instead of hardened chiton.
"You seem confident, human."
"Only because I know we're gonna win." Alexander Temeris checked his wattch. "Tell me, what do you know of humans?"
To'rak scoffed "Your species? It has a small talent for war. A fleet only a third the size of our own. Bodies that damage themselves more than the opponent in open combat. You're not even Apex among your own planet, as bears, lions, panthers, and other animals far outclass you in might."
"All very true. We're weak. We die easily. Every breath we take is hard fought for. But there's one thing you forgot." Alexander leaned in close. "We survived because we had to be clever little bastards to keep going. Fighting a bear or a tiger in hand to hand would be suicide. So we invented spears and arrows."
​
To'rak scoffed. Most species perfected projectile weapons. Arrows became guns, then guns abandoned for directed energy weapons. That wasn't special. However, Alexander's confidence shook something in him and he continued to listen. Alexander had caught up to the early 21st century
​
"When dynamite wasn't effective, we discovered something. The power of the atom. We split it, and discovered enough radioactive energy to destroy cities."
To'rak's upper set of eyes widened. Killing an entire city with a single bomb? It was unethical, dishonorable! Cowardice and savagery of the highest order. "You wouldn't. Even one such as you must know that true battle requires being close enough to risk death at your opponent's hands. What you speak of would be-"
"Barbaric? Maybe. But that's the thing about us. We don't give a shit about honor. We wanna win. Damn the consquences. And that was 400 years ago. With tiny little nuclear fission bombs. Do you know what powers our "puny" ships now? A power we stumbled across while trying to find bette ways to kill each other."
To'rak's chiton dulled. "You mean you've figured out Nuclear fusion?"
"Figured it out? We mastered it." Alex looked around the room. Every Taralian was focused on him. He smiled to himself. He'd bought enough time. "And, locked onto my location, they decided to shoot a nuclear fusion bomb right here. At the heart of your fleet."
There was a blur of motion as To'rak lifted the Earther by the throat. "You're bluffing. You'd die too."
"Old Earth proverb. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." Alex laughed, and outside, a screaming missile tore through the blackness of the universe. "Our scientists figure this explosion will make a new star. Be honored, To'rak. You're gonna be remembered forever, every time one of you Tarlians look up at the night."
To'rak sank his teeth into Alex's neck, a futile gesture to relieve his own impudent rage. Scant seconds later, the missile hit. At the explosion, atomic nuclei combined, and a massive light engulfed the fleet. | 2021-07-04T22:03:04 | 2021-07-04T20:53:59 | 137 | 99 |
[WP] Mankind has been extinct for four hundred million years, but the Inheritors have found a rich cache of genetic material from that period. A zoo is developed, complete with all the flora and fauna of the age, including the apex predator: Homo Sapiens. Welcome to Cenozoic Park. | Inside the grandest stadium on Nova Prime, a gathering of hundreds of races was ongoing. A gathering that was unlike any other.
Several weeks ago, a call was issued. Urgent call, to gather the representatives of every single galactic race.
The council was usually used as a place to mediate various conflicts between the opposing parties.
Sometimes to arrange trade routes between the planets or star systems.
And sometimes to discuss various grand projects that would leave their marks in the history.
But there has never been a need to gather all of the representatives.
After all, there were very few instances, where a single matter would be of a concern to all the races in universe.
And even if such things had emerged, a single person would be sent to represent several allied factions at the same time.
That was exactly why, such call was never issued before.
"Greetings ladies and gentlemen, my name is Seraph Cher'Ubin."
A man with a pale, yet exquisite face and several pairs of wings behind his back, walked on to the stadium. And after introducing himself, he bowed his head towards the audience.
"I am chancellor of The Winged race. Please, forgive us for issuing such call so urgently. But we have stumbled upon something that, we believe, concern everyone gathered here."
Silence penetrated the stadium.
The audience could only think about few such matters. But among them, there was only one thing that could force someone to gather all the races at once. All the representatives at this moment could only think about 'Them'.
They were given many names by the galactic society. 'Primordial ones', 'Gods of old', 'Ancestors' and finally, 'Humans'.
Unfortunately, very few things is known about them.
Thousands of millions of years ago, they were the first to create FTL engines.
And within several hundred years, they spread their roots throughout the galaxy. They hoped to meet the others, who, just like them, could appreciate the beauty of creation.
But, to no avail, they were way too early to the party. Instead of finding planets bustling with life and intelligence, they found nothing.
At that time they couldn't find any life apart from simple bacteria and amoebas.
Many would plunge into the pits of despair at that sight, knowing they were alone in a cold and lifeless universe. But, they did not.
They knew that life will sooner or later rise from the seas and walk onto the land.
On the planets they deemed hospitable, they created monoliths. Near indestructible caches, that contained their wisdom.
Every single piece of knowledge that would be useful to the newly born race was included within them.
From mathematical rules that governed the universe. To knowledge of distant stars.
From steam machines, through the computers to their own wings, that gave them power to reach those celestial objects.
They gave them, faster than light technology. A technology that elevated their race from surface level to the kings of galaxies.
They included their belief, that everyone is, or at least should be, equally important.
That no being should be discriminated because they are different from them.
They included their philosophical beliefs and ethics that transcended the time and species itself.
Ethics which convey that the virtue was valuable in itself. And the only right way to live was to cooperate with each other and try to live in harmony.
Those were the bloody lessons which didn't need to be repeated, which should not be repeated. Because every intelligent could also be hurt, suffer and cower in fear.
They were like fathers and mothers of prodigies. Prodigies that could not see their parents' smiles after hearing achievements of their children.
They passed away before they even began crawling and bawling. Before they even have a chance to show them their true potential.
Before they even could repay their debt, that they didn't have.
But, instead they were left with their legacy, a some sort of insurance.
An insurance that would make sure they won't stray from the right path and have a head start in life.
Something, their parents did not have in the past. Guidance from the elders that came before them and paved the way forward, illuminating the darkness of uncertainty.
After all, every parent wished for the happiness and well-being of their children.
Thus, it wasn't an exaggeration to say, that they were ancestors of every galactic race.
Every single race that could be found within the council benefited from their wisdom.
Unfortunately, they couldn't witness that sight. They were extinct.
Universe played a cruel trick on them. An unknown contagious disease struck them. They fought it will all their strength and knowledge, to no avail.
Within a few hundreds years, not a single human remained.
It has been widely thought that their race was forever gone, lost in the annals of history. Until now.
"I believe all of you know about what I am talking about." He paused, for a few seconds. During this time, no one could draw a single breath.
"We have found their DNA perfectly preserved not too long ago." He didn't even need to mention whose DNA it was.
He didn't drop the bomb, no, he dropped an entire Hypernova.
Not a single one of those dignified representative was able to remain quiet after hearing such news. The hall went into the uproar.
And among all of this chaos that spread instantaneously, someone suddenly raised a question that troubled nearly all of them.
"Forgive us, but that's too much of shocking news. Are you certain, it's their DNA ?"
Seraph didn't look surprised when someone asked such a question. It was obvious and natural they doubted him.
"Yes we are. It was preserved within what, we believe, is their final vault, it is located on the asteroid Üc207Pr4f57t9." After saying that, he snapped his fingers and several holograms appeared beside him.
"We spend more than a twenty years trying to break through its defenses. We estimate that it could withstand even the most advanced of our current weapons."
He projected countless images of their attempts to breach its defenses.
"Inside it, we found their DNA, perfectly stored in near absolute zero temperatures and also ..." He paused here, and looked around the gathered, as if in order to gather their attention.
"A small golden disk, and on it, their very last message, to us." After saying this, he fell silent. A few moments later, a voice could be heard, a voice that did not belong to anyone in this stadium.
"This is a last present, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time, so we may live into yours. "
After saying this, the voice went quiet, and different various sounds took its place.
Children's laughter. Sounds of many wild animals. Thunders, earthquakes and waves splashing onto the sands.
Those were the sounds of a bygone era. Greetings and songs of the ancient past.
They were speechless. That was the first time they encountered human's voice and sounds of their home planet.
After all, not even worlds may survive after four hundred million years. Why would it be any different with some race's history ?
After the recording ended, no one could mutter a word. Only some time later, Seraph's voice broke the status quo.
"As you can see, it's genuine. We, are all gathered here, because of them. Our entire society was built upon their legacy, that they have left behind, on their ashes."
After saying this, he projected thousands of images of various countless animals and plants around him.
"Besides their DNA, vault included various seeds and DNA of other organisms that once lived along them on their home planet. Their legacy and wisdom guided us this entire time. So, now it is finally time to, at least partially, repay our debt."
He looked at the audience and after several seconds of silence he finally spoke.
"We shall revive their race. We shall protect them behind their backs and guide them towards the stars. We, Winged race, want to propose to the council a new project."
Above him, several symbols appeared and formed a single sentence: 'PROJECT EARTH'.
---
Pretty sure that's not exactly what you meant when you were writing this prompt, but I wanted to write something like this for wayy too long.
If someone finds some errors ( with usage of times or something like that ), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve.
Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
Edit 1: I changed and added a few sentences to improve word flow, and fixed several mistakes that I was able to spot on. Glad you enjoyed it.
Edit 2: Well, I added a little more than just 'a few sentences', I just couldn't resist myself.
Edit 3: If someone is intrested about the future of this prompt, read my comment down below. | "You're not happy, Warden." The Warden sighed inwards. No, he wasn't happy. But how to get the message across... The Manager let the rhetorical question hang in the air for a moment, waiting for a reply. He, too, sighed inwards. The Manager was tired of always having to coax the answer out of his research/caretaker staff. "Why are you not happy, Warden?" the Manager tried again. But before the Warden could answer the Manager continued. "The park has more visitors than any competitor. And we're making more profit than any other park in the quad. That means money for research, money for more studies, money for more expeditions."
"Sir, it's the Cenozoic Park. I think we have a problem brewing on our extremities." That got the Manager's attention at least. "Problem? What kind of problem? Fungal? Some modern disease their ancient immune systems can't handle? Or (worst of all) are the visitor numbers down?" "Well, sir, it's the Homo Sapiens. The 'mankind' as they called themselves. They're... developing. Fast."
"Developing quite a following, I'd say. They're the star of the show after all, the reason we built this park in the first place. There wasn't much left of anything after the 'mankinds' had rolled through the sector. Except some kind of large rat that they appeared to worship and hate at the same time. Or... what do you mean developing?"
"Sir, as you know the first generation were largely defective. They didn't do much of anything, except roll around on the ground and make noise from their breathing holes. Not much to see there, for our visitors, if you know what I mean." The Warden was figuring out how to approach the Manager now. It was about visitor numbers and profits, not intangibles like ethics or civilization.
"Of course we hadn't learned yet that they took time to grow. Years and years, in fact. More than any other species on record. And unlike most other species they were unable to care for themselves for years. Not unheard of, but most unusual in any kind of civilization." The Manager nodded along but was mostly not paying attention.
"Sir, the third generation we had learned enough to have them grow into what we believe to be their final form. That's when a properly fed, stimulated mankind stopped growing anyway." "Yes, yes, I've read the reports. Get to the point, please." "The third generation started developing a kind of basic language. More than interpersonal communication we had seen before, there was around the age of seven or eight for the batch a shared way of communicating using sonic impulses. Our translators were able to make out most of it but it wasn't very interesting. They mostly talked about food and poop. Then they killed each other in some sort of purge. We don't know why." The Manager remembered that one all too clearly - very costly - most of the specimens had died off.
"For the sixth generation we figured that we would have it raised by the survivors of the fifth generation. A kind of surrogateship, if you will. The younger generation took to this sort of social structure like it was in their genetics. They... learned from the fifth generation." "Learned? What do you mean learned?" "They learned the method of sonic communication from them - a language. And the older generation showed the younger generation tricks that they had learned in the park. Like basic toolmaking, or the best spots to hunt for food."
"Unfortunately the older ones also took advantage of the younger ones for reproduction and work. It was quite nasty. So we decided to scrap the whole surrogateship for a bit. Which was when, to our surprise, we found out that the seventh generation still developed skills and a similar language to the previous ones - despite having no contact with them." The Manager looked out through the reinforced glass into the park as he pondered this. "How?"
"Well, sir, it seems that the sixth generation had taken to... painting some of their experiences. They painted it on cave walls, describing important knowledge. Of course we didn't find that out until the seventh generation was already in there. But we decided to keep them, sir, or rather you did." The Manager remembered vaguely signing some documents. "From the seventh generation we also had our first natural births. They had tried quite a bit before that, but frankly most never got old enough to reach any kind of sexual maturity. This reinvigorated our belief in the surrogateship - each parent seemed to naturally care for their own offspring more than anything else in the park."
The Manager shook its heads. "That's just... you use the word 'naturally' far too liberally for my taste. Why would they care for only their own offspring?" "We don't know, sir. It makes no sense that any kind of advanced civilization could develop from *that*. But it did. So we let them keep going. The seventh generation gave birth to the eight generation, but the following ninth generation were born with an unusually high amount of genetic defects. We believe the genetic pool was just too small, sir."
"For the twelfth generation our population was significantly larger. We had introduced new biological material and destroyed genetic abnormalities in unborn children before they became a nuisance to the group. Coincidentally this seemed to depress many of those capable of giving birth, but we have no idea why."
"We had seen a basic form of hierarchy in groups before the twelfth generation but this population was larger than the others. It also seemed like the entire population was accumulating knowledge through the generations - the old ones taught the young ones and so forth." The Manager was losing interest, the Warden could tell. "This was a kind of proto-civilization, sir, it was all very interesting." The Manager didn't agree, obviously.
"So what's the problem? Why did you call me here, Warden?" "Well, sir, the fourteenth generation had developed a kind of... story... that they passed along to their children. They told of the unseen guardians monitoring the park, defending the walls from the edge of the park, keeping the mankinds safe. They even offered up sacrifices of food in our honor." The Manager smiled. "That's flattering, isn't it? I bet it'd make a great show..."
"Yes, sir, only there was an altercation about a week ago. Somehow - we don't know how or why - they stumbled across one of the autogenic Stewards managing the park. The cloak must have failed for some reason. There was... violence. The Steward ended up in the hospital. As you can imagine, this significantly changed the story the mankinds were telling themselves about their unseen guardians. And... we also noted that some of the Steward's tools were missing after the altercation." The Manager was paying attention now. The Union wouldn't mess about in a case like this - if they found any fault the park would be shut down instantly.
"Over the last week we've discovered multiple attempts to break through the wall surrounding the park. We've started scaring them off with noise and lightning, but they've grown more determined. And... they even managed to harm the wall at one point, presumably with the tools stolen from the Steward. I should add, sir, that they've destroyed the cameras around the village." The Manager seemed confused. "Why would they do that? They never did that before." "Sir, we don't think they understand the concept of a camera. But we do believe they see it as 'our' technology. Up until now they accepted them because it didn't bother them - like rocks. But now..."
"I see", said the Manager. "You're afraid. You can't monitor them and they've started to fight back. But this is what we wanted, isn't it? A real civilization, not some uninteresting meatbag first generation mankinds that couldn't care for themselves. Imagine the tickets we will sell. How long has this project been running, anyway?" "Sir, that is the problem. It's only been running for two and a half cycles." The Manager scratched one of its heads. "You mean to tell me they've gone through some thirteen generations, developed language, religion, toolmaking, writing, basic civilization in only two and a half cycles? But that doesn't make sense! We've practically been having this conversation right now for a quarter of a cycle!"
"Sir, as I said, they develop very fast. And it'd be closer to the fourteenth generation about now." The Manager tapped the reinforced glass in front of him. "How strong is this glass, Warden?" The Manager's thought speech took on a nervous tone. "What's our contingency plan for a hostile species in a park, Warden?" "We incinerate the park at your word, Sir." "And what if they're not *in* the park?"
Before the Warden could answer the lights in the room they were standing in went dark. The Warden moved to a series of information panels trying to figure out what was going on. "They cut the power..." the Warden almost whispered. "What do you mean, 'they cut the power'? They're animals! A park attraction! Oh lord, how many visitors do we have in the park right now?" The Warden pointed to a number on an information panel. "Thirteen thousand, sir. Sorry, make that twelve thousand. Sorry, the... panel must be having some technical difficulty." The number on the panel continued to drop rapidly. "Or maybe the panel is precisely accurate", the Manager managed.
There was a tapping on the door. And then it was all over. | 2021-09-16T16:15:28 | 2021-09-16T15:22:32 | 1,207 | 356 |
[WP] The Princess has been kidnapped by Bandits. The Royal Family can only imagine what Horrors she must go through. Meanwhile in the Bandit Camp they started teaching her lockpicking. | Princess Vania was used to the soft swishes of poofy dresses and ornate suits in the clean, opulent court, filled with polite chatter masquerading scathing negotiations.
She, however, was still not quite used to the sharp twang of a pick breaking off in a lock, followed by the raucous laughter of chastisement, tinged around the edges with concern, in the dusty and dirty courtyard. But it was getting better.
“Ayy, you screwed it up again,” Chief Bonzo yelled over the din. “But much better than last time, girl.”
“I swear, I thought I had it,” Vania growled at the lock, running her finger across the small, sharp bit of metal that had snapped. “It felt set, really, but somehow, the turn just wouldn’t turn!”
“Be patient, girl,” Bonzo said. “You are getting there. It is difficult to see, but it is there.”
“But I feel so useless,” Vania whined, plopping herself down next to Bonzo. The chief pushed over a mug of ale surreptitiously.
“The progress here is not as obvious as, say, somebody putting on muscle and getting stronger. It’s not like your fingers become buffer when you get better at this. And since you are too inexperienced to judge with your own eyes, I can tell you with mine—your skill has improved drastically just one month later.”
“Thanks,” Vania blushed, and did a curtsy while sitting down, which looked remarkably like a seal trying to dive onto dry land. “It’s very appreciated.”
“Drink up. Eat up,” Bonzo said. “If you need more lessons, let Kyak know.”
“But he’s so hot-tempered,” Vania said. “Hell will be let loose on me.”
“But there is none better than him. But well, if you insist. What about Monsho?”
“He is the opposite. He is quieter than a ninja, even when he should be teaching me.”
Chief Bonzo laughed heartily, buoyed by the recent addition of alcohol to his digestive tract.
“You have qualms about all my trainers, girl,” Bonzo said. “So who do you want?”
“You, of course,” Vania smiled. “You are my saviour, after all.”
Bonzo shifted in his seat, looking away slightly.
“I’m not your saviour,” the chief mumbled. “You don’t a call a snake who spared a rat because it was too full a saviour.”
Vania sighed, taking another pick out from her belt, her fingers running them up and down idly.
“Chief, you’ve given me much wisdom over the course of my stay here,” Vania said. “But this time, I want to tell you something. Something I learned from being a princess.”
“Of course.”
“Everybody wants something from everybody else. It’s an inescapable fact,” Vania said. “At least here, it was about survival. To get food and water tomorrow, to grab medicine for those ill-equipped to deal with. It’s true and direct, even if it is a tad illegal.”
“Just a tad,” Bonzo laughed. “But sure.”
“But nobody here pretends they don’t want to do it. They don’t lie to themselves, to tell themselves that it was necessary but terrible. There are no excuses here.”
“In a way,” Bonzo said. “I’m afraid you might be romanticizing bandits a bit too much.”
“Oh, and that doesn’t happen in court?” Vania chuckled. “But really. I’ve learned more in this week, picking this stupid lock, and I’ve had in eighteen years there. You saved me—in more ways than one.”
Bonzo, against much of his will, smiled.
“Well, well, little lady,” Bonzo said. “You sure have sweet words.”
“I do,” Vania said. “OK, enough talk. Guide me again. I want to get this stupid lock done and dusted with.”
“Of course,” Bonzo said, rising from the table. “Just let me get extra picks from my table.”
The chief bandit left the table, walking back to the large tent that he called home. He slipped inside, and headed to the messy desk. A large bag of lockpicks sat there, and he removed them, hooking it onto his belt.
Underneath, there was a letter, addressed to the good king. Bonzo opened it up, and whispered the first few words under his breath.
“Dear king,” Bonzo said. “I have your princess here. Send me a ransom of 100,000 gold pieces, and I promise…”
Bonzo put it down. He chuckled again, before tossing the letter into the warming fire that he regularly maintained.
“Not lying to myself, eh,” Bonzo said. “Kid has a point.”
And with a whistle, Bonzo stepped out again, bag of lockpicks in tow, with nothing to gain but the approval of one former princess of the land.
---
r/dexdrafts | Erik was reasonably handsome for a bandit, the princess thought. Except for his nose that looked like a bulb of garlic. Otherwise, handsome. His eyes were like a painting of the sea, deep green waves flecked with darkness. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut fruit on. And his face was currently flushed red enough to melt an iceberg.
“It’s much easier with a metal pick,” Erik said. He’d jammed the lock on the door and they were both now stuck in the dungeon’s cramped cell. “Damn bastard wooden picks — it was just for demonstration. I was just demonstrating to you. It wouldn’t have happened out in the real world.”
The princess lay back on the straw and gazed at the ceiling. There was a weather system down in this dungeon; when the air cooled even slightly, like on a night like this, condensation would form and drip from the stone above. Slowly the straw of her bed would go from damp to soaked.
“You need to suck the pick out,” she said lazily.
“What do you know about it,” Erik snapped.
She raised her brows.”Fine. Do whatever.”
Black spores of mould caked the rock above her. If she squinted it looked like pretty little stars. Like she was outside. Not that it bothered her much being in here. She’d spent half her life locked in a tower, and although the level of luxury had significantly dropped, she couldn’t turn her nose up at this change of scenery.
Erik teased two further thin sticks into the side of the lock, attempting to pincer the offending pick out. “Almost… Easy… See this is how you— Oh god damn it!”
“Should I be worried that you locked yourself in here with me?” the princess asked. “You know, as a girl.” But she closed her eyes and chewed lazily on a length of straw.
”I didn’t lock myself in with you!” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Well, I mean, I did. But I didn’t mean to.”
”Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. You know, the castle mage back home says accidents are never really accidents.”
”It was an accident! I only came down here cause I know how boring it gets in the dungeon.”
The princess opened an eye. “Yeah?”
”Yeah. See, I wasn’t always a bandit. Wasn’t till I lost a wager that I ended up in a cell like this.“
She sat up now, a little more interested in her garlic-bulbed captor. Or cell-mate. Could be either.
“What were you before this?”
”I was a fighter.“ He turned to face her and gave two quick jabs into the air, accompanying them each with a “whoosh” sound. “And a damn good one at that. Won a lot of money.”
”So what went wrong?” asked the princess, now almost intrigued.
He shrugged. “They found out I was fixing the matches.”
She laughed.
”Ah, it’s not funny.“ He touched his nose. “I got a real beating from a few people after they got wise. Took all my money and everything. Then I couldn’t pay back my loan, and it snowballed from there.”
She felt a little bad about his nose now. Imagined it purple and broken and not setting right. But she said, ”Well, if you came here to entertain me, you’ve succeeded.“
He flushed with anger. Then it faded as quickly as a dream leaving only a smile behind. Like sand blowing away to reveal a long lost artefact. “Back when I was locked in the dungeon there was a guard that did me some kindness. Came down and taught me a few skills, like lock-picking.”
*Shame you didn’t pay attention*, she thought — but she somehow bit her tongue.
”So you thought you’d come pay me some kindness? Pay it on, as it were?”
He nodded. “And look how that’s ended for us. It’s like my mother always said, kindness is for fools.”
With a lazy sigh she got to her feet and walked to the lock, placing an inspecting eye by it. “Hmm.”
”Hmm?”
”Hmm.“ She moved her mouth over the lock and sucked hard. Then she turned to Erik and spat out three little sticks, one at a time.
His mouth opened agape, but if words were intended to be spoken they must have become lost in his throat.
She then rummaged in her hair until she found a copper clip. The princess bent it straight then wiggled it into the lock. It clicked loudly and the door swung open.
”Shall we?” she said.
”But...“
”Years locked in a tower. You learn a few things. Like how to sneak out at night.“ She smiled. “Even princesses need a bit of fun from time to time. Now, are we going or not?”
”You… you could have left at any time?”
”I suppose. I fancied being rescued though.”
Erik cough. Regained some composure. “Yes, well. I uh…”
”You made me smile. It’s been a long time since I smiled. That’s a rescue all of its own.”
Erik blushed as he walked up to the door, to her. “They’ll kill me if they find out I let you go.”
”There’s a reward waiting for you at the castle — for the hero who rescued me. And you’ll be safe enough there, I think. Besides, you couldn’t really stop me.”
It took him a moment before he could say anything. When he finally did, it was with another broad smile on his face. “Thank you, princess.”
”It’s Lara,” she said. “Call me Lara.”
Side by side Lara and Erik crept through the dungeon and out into the twilight. | 2022-03-07T10:58:30 | 2022-03-07T09:26:51 | 887 | 209 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class. | "Young man, why are you trying to leave class?" called Professor Clock. He lifted his larger, mechanized hand and poised a book for a throw. His smaller hand pointed to the boy in the back row.
Jack jerked to a stop, though his hand didn't surrender the doorknob. The lanky boy pulled his book bag higher and sheepishly replied, "I'm in the wrong class." Jack could feel the blush crawling up his cheeks to his ears, and he shook his curly brown hair to cover the scar that ran across the skin around both eyes.
"I'll be out of your way," continued Jack and put pressure on the handle. His brows knitted. The door was locked. He searched the room for other doors, but he was sure this was the same he used to come in.
With a heavy thud, Professor Clock diverted his book to the desk. "There's no such thing. No one comes here if they're not supposed to. In the first place, you wouldn't have been able to get in if you weren't scheduled for Exorcism 101." The professor polished his round glasses with the side of his field gilet, his little hand working delicate circles. He cleared his throat and nodded toward a seat in the front.
Still, Jack didn't move. "Sir... Well, I'm not in Exorcism 101. I think I missed my class. I'm supposed to be in Spirit Disposal 455. The chalkboard confused me."
Professor Clock's hands froze and both teaching assistants glanced at the chalkboard. There was nothing there. The class traded glances. Who was this weirdo?
A moment of silence descended while the class waited for Professor Clock to correct Jack. "Huh." The instructor let out a disbelieving huff. "Well, this is new. I guess I'll have you see me after class. Take a seat."
Jack stood still debating whether it was worth it, but ultimately decided to stay. He ran an agitated hand down the front of his curly hair and patted it over his eyes. The front row was thoroughly spotlighted along with the rest of the stage. He didn't want anyone to see his pure white irises. After all, white irises were a sign of possession.
Behind him, whispers started up amongst the students, and it prickled the back of his neck. More than anything, Jack hated attention. His knuckles were white on the sides of his desk. He just wanted to get out of here and double-check his schedule with the registrar's office.
When the class began in earnest, Jack discretely glanced around the room. Everyone looked young—more like college freshmen rather than the juniors and seniors he was expecting. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a purple pill that would stave off the effects of body rejection. The dean, a friend of his mother's, had insisted he take it every day at noon even though it was his own body. While Professor Clock walked the class through basic tactical weapons—everything Jack had already seen before—he swallowed the pill with water from a crumpled bottle that was in his pack.
He'd taken Exorcism 101 two years ago, and he knew this material like the back of his hand. Furthermore, he was now a part of the school's elite Field Crew, a group that cleaned up after the professional exorcists, so he couldn't help but yawn.
He barely held back the scoff at the dagger displayed on the professor's desk. It was useless, even in close combat. The standard-issue tactical weapons were as good as scratches on any level beyond three. Level one and two demons were barely blips on the radars. They were for the small fry, part-time exorcists that needed a second job to sustain themselves. Jack was already taking care of those on his off-hours.
When the class finally ended, Professor Clock cleared his throat loudly by his desk.
"Huh? What?" snorted Jack, mopping up his drool with his hoodie sleeve.
"Thank you," said the professor sarcastically, "for filling up the class with your dreadful snores. That's the oomph I really needed." The old man deadpanned.
"S-sorry about that," replied Jack, patting his brown hair over his forehead.
A soul sword materialized next to the professor in his bigger hand. "Now, why don't you tell me what a demon is doing in my class, hmm?" Next to him, the assistants materialized their tactical pistols.
The swipe was faster than Jack could track. His instincts took over. The professor and his assistants stared up at the boy hanging onto the ceiling. Their eyes glowed amber, searching his body for tell-tale signs of putrefaction, but they didn't move any closer. Professor Clock continued, "That class is a dummy class used to attract lingering ghosts. The class is enchanted to appear only on the schedules of ghosts or demons. You're not a ghost since my separation spell didn't work while you were sleeping, which means only one thing." His cranky voice dipped low at the end.
Jack activated the miasma shield that Dean Blackwood had given him. He didn't want to fight humans if he could help it. He debated whether he should prioritize defending himself or running away.
"I'm not a demon. I'm human," grumbled Jack.
In the jump, his hair was swept back from his face, showing his opalescent eyes and the scar, the place the devil had reached with his claws. In a louder voice, he called out, "I'm a sin eater. I've been eating demons since I was a kid. I didn't know it was something weird. I grew up with—" No. He would not reveal their presence to people he didn't trust. "Dean Blackwood forced me to enroll here."
Professor Clock narrowed his eyes. "You stay right there until I call Blackwood." Not taking his eyes off Jack, he snapped his fingers at one of his assistants. "Nightshade, get Commander Lee on the phone and have him transfer us to General Blackwood."
​
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 2\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u5ztkb/the_combat_exorcists_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 3\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u77eyg/the_combat_exorcists_part_3/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 4\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uawqyq/the_combat_exorcists_part_4/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Prologue\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uow3xn/the_combat_exorcists_prologue/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 5\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uq7qpl/the_combat_exorcist_part_5/) (New - posted 15 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 6\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uvdpnf/the_combat_exorcist_part_6/) (New - posted 22 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 7\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/v0gqie/the_combat_exorcist_part_7/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 8\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/vax15f/the_combat_exorcist_part_8/) | Professor Yewin got to his classroom six hours before class. The Academy wasn’t even open yet, he had to sneak past the janitors to get into the building, the halls completely dark. Normally a professor would simply ask one of the janitorial staff for a key, but he had run out of favor with them long ago. These were the same halls where he learned first arcane equation, his first potion formula, but he never learned magic.
Not that he didn’t understand the concept of magic. On the contrary, he was practically a savant when it came to memorization and knowledge of the arcane. He simply had no arcane talent whatsoever. He used to bribe the janitors to help him trick his professor to think he could perform magic whenever he had an exam since no one paid them any mind. He would wave his wand as a janitor lit a bush on fire, causing the class to gasp at the ‘high-level pyromancy’ Yewin used. Eventually, the janitors got wise to his lack of arcane ability, and made him an offer he could never accept; let them in on his deception. He knew his cover would be blown in an instant, and since they were seen as jealous magic-lacking workers, the staff would never take their accusations of Yewin’s arcane inability seriously. It was a decision that had always weighed heavy on his heart. His secret would live and die with them, and they would never forget his betrayal.
Teaching seemed the best job for him since he technically didn’t need to do magic to teach it. Just as he didn’t need to do magic to learn it. Most years he’d end up teaching advanced potions or arcane calculus, but this year he was chosen to teach magic theory, which, while its mostly bookish content, has enough magic in its curriculum he needed to be prepared should he need to ‘demonstrate.’ He begged the headmaster to let him teach arcane trigonometry, but he had insisted that his ‘talents in the arcane’ were simply too fine to waste in strictly theory. Yewin sighed, sometimes having a reputation was more irksome than it was worth.
By the time class had started, he had set thirteen devices around the room to spout flame and other elemental control imitations when triggered, he had made fifteen potions, all of which he wore around his belt, he had cleaned the room twice, wrote and erased his opening lesson on the chalkboard seven times, and also finished reading the first seventy pages of his colleague’s dissertation, which Yewin had filled with suggestions and edits while reading.
The class started off as normal. In fact, it went better than expected. He was so prepared and nervous that he rushed through his prepared lecture in just twenty minutes, giving him enough time to finish most of tomorrow’s lecture and a lengthier segment for questions at the end.
About halfway through the class, however, Yewin noticed a boy raise his hand. Not a strange act in itself of course, but it was the actual question was a different story. He asked, “Excuse me professor, but there’s no way we can ever actually achieve those levels of arcane energy in practicality.”
Yewin anwsered, “Well, there are degrees of error and decimal points beyond that, but that level of specifics isn’t required for this course.” The boy raised his hand again, which Yewin was about to call on when he turned back to chalkboard and blinked. Worried the boy realized what he had, he shook his head, “We have quite a bit of content to get through so if you’d like to speak on this topic further you can ask me after class.” The boy nodded and lowered his hand, causing Yewin to sigh in relief.
After class the boy did just that. Yewin blinked again. He wasn’t expecting the boy to actually come after class. No one ever came to talk to him after class. He understood their reasoning, of course. While Yewin was extremely intelligent, he wasn’t very sociable. The concept of confronting Yewin alone on a topic he knew much more about than any of the students could possibly hope to learn was intimidating. Yet this boy appeared to be bothered by none of that.
The boy waited patiently for Yewin to finish wiping his chalkboard clean to ask his question, which Yewin purposely took a long time in doing to hopefully get him to realize he had to get going to his next class to not be late. Yet the boy stayed. After Yewin finally finished, the boy cleared his throat, “Sorry to bother, professor. But my older sister performs high level magic like the ones in these theories, and she was never taught them like this.”
Yewin grit his teeth, so he had realized it. He opened his mouth to try to form an answer, but the boy wasn’t done, “This method may be efficient, but no one can ever possibly hope to imitate this in practice. The way you’d have to move your arms and the sounds you’d have to utter would be impossible to achieve. Why are you teaching us this?”
The words were unspoken but Yewin felt them like a dagger in his heart, a question which to seemed to say: you teach like you’ve never actually used magic. In truth, he did. He often made the mistake of creating completely efficient equations which would never work in pracitce, but he had no way of knowing that. He sighed, trying to think of how to answer, “In grammar school, did you first learn how to speak slang or proper grammar?”
The boy blinked, “Proper grammar, but sir…”
The professor didn’t wait for the boy to finish, “Exactly, and it’s professor, not sir. I didn’t spend an extra four years at the Academy for nothing.”
The boy counted on his fingers, “It takes twelve years to earn an arcane doctorate.”
“For most people, yes,” Yewin responded, “As I was saying, you learn proper grammar first. And before you can say that grammar and arcana are different. They both require both a written and oral aspect, not to mention a level of physical accompaniment to relay emotion for speech and arcane movements for magic. And you are wrong. This is not impossible to achieve. I myself have used this very equation as a baseline for its casting (A lie, but with his reputation, it was hardly far off). You think of arcana as some static rules that exist in a vacuum, but everything is connected. Everything can be improved upon. While the mundane world progresses each day, with new uses for steam and gunpowder being discovered as we speak, the arcane world remains stagnant. Do you know why?”
The boy stammered, “Um.. because…”
“Because we hang onto traditions like doctrine!” Yewin finished, “Magic is supposed to make you think, not blindly imitate! Where is the innovation, the passion? You are a bright student to ask such questions, but do not ask the questions that make you look smart, ask the ones that make you seem dumb. Ask them because the intelligence required to answer them is high. Ask them because it will challenge you to climb that mountain of the mind. The world may baffle why you would ever attempt to climb such a monolith, but the answer is knowledge or knowledge’s sake! Do I make myself clear?”
The boy gulped, “Um.. yes si.. I mean professor.”
Yewin nodded in satisfaction, “Very good. You are dismissed.” The boy did not leave, Yewin turned to him with a baffled expression on his face, “Well, if you have something to say say it or forever hold your peace.”
The boy smiled, “Thank you for an excellent lecture, professor.”
Yewin blinked, he had expected the boy to object or run out crying, but instead, he appeared to actually have taken the words to heart. “I am simply doing my job, nothing more.”
The boy nodded, “Can’t wait for the next lecture!” He rushed out of the room, presumably late for some other class.
Yewim sighed in relief, his ramble of a speech had not only got the kid to stop suspecting him, but it had actually had a positive effect on the boy? Yewin shrugged and began putting away all the triggers he hid, smiling to himself. | 2022-04-13T18:01:26 | 2022-04-13T17:42:42 | 441 | 155 |
[WP] Character obtains a functional pocket watch but it does not keep track of time.
Character obtains/recieves a functional pocket watch but it does not keep track of time. What is it keeping track of, why do the hands stop and start at random? | It was left to me in a fit of slow deliberate movements. My mum had left to get some coffee when my papa leant over to me. He raised his hand to my arm and gripped powerlessly, pulling me softly towards him. His right hand presented a small golden pocket watch. "Open it when I'm dead, son."
My grandfather, David Humble, died that night.
I left my mum's house after she was in bed and drove. I don't know where I drove but ended up at the coast looking over the North Sea. I pulled the pocket watch out of the glove box and examined its exterior. Golden swirls etched around peacock feathers encircled a polished circle which held the engraving "David, open it when I'm dead."
Gingerly pressing my fingers to the clasp, I popped open the case. A clock started to tick. There were three hands, one spinning around the face in what I reckoned was three or four seconds, another barely moving and the last not moving at all.
It wasn't for a few months until I had worked out what it was. When I ran, the hands moved quicker. When I slept, the hands moved more slowly. The watch was counting down to my death in heart beats and steps. The engraving changed: "Liam, open this when I'm dead." I didn't have a son, yet. | I look at my wrist again. Two and a half hours until it happens. It'll be exactly at midnight. Where should I be, what should I be doing? So many answers left unanswered. Everyone around me thinks freely, unknown to the curse that lays within the watch upon my wrist.
Two hours, fuck, I've accomplished nothing. I don't even look nice. My hair is greased with sweat from the stress, hands are shaking, why did I even pick up this watch in the first place? What possessed me to wear it? Questions better answered by the guy who made it. C.F. Lincoln. Who the hell is this guy and why would he make such a thing?
One hour left. The watch is ticking noticeably louder, my search for C.F. Lincoln isn't going anywhere. He's the only one who could potentially solve this problem. I guess I'll ask around, nothing better to do.
Thirty minutes, shit, I found where he lives but he's not there. They say he always wears a large top hat and a leopard-striped business suit. Time to cruise the streets for a while.
Five minutes, nothing, not a single clue or idea where this fucking guy is. It's pitch black outside, almost midnight. What did I do to deserve this? Why did he just leave something like this laying around where anyone could find it? Why didn't he just throw it on his own wrist instead of condemning others to this hell?
Thirty seconds, the ticking is screaming, nobody else can hear it. I can barely function. I can't even see, the nervousness caused sweat to pour into my eyes. Where am I? How did I get here? Have I just been aimlessly roaming the streets this entire time? I look up to see bright headlights barreling towards me. No time to move. All I can see is... wait. Is that. Lincoln? Driving the car!? He's going to kill me! Wait. I check my watch to see the clock hit zero. Nothing happened. I look up to see C.F. Lincoln in his leopard-striped business suit and obnoxiously large top hat standing before me smiling. He points down at the watch. A small bear popped out of the watch holding a sign. "Happy 27th Birthday Carl!"
"I see you've found my watch." | 2013-10-28T17:54:06 | 2013-10-28T15:23:33 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] on their 16th birthday, humans are given a box of 20 heart seeds. Eating someone else's heartseed means you are gauranteed to meet them at least once more before either of you can die. | Let's skip over how Heartseeds^TM work and get right down to brass tacks. The long story short is that the cheat-code to the human lifespan involves some quantum entanglement, nanorobotics, and a not insubstantial amount of high energy physics which, even if I live to be a thousand years old -- and I plan to -- I won't totally understand so it would be a waste of time to explain it to you.
When the Absence Corporation first debuted the Heartseed it was marketed mostly to women with traveling spouses and the like -- the sort who spend evenings sobbing into a pint of Hagen Daz while watching "The Notebook" after their husband boards a plane for a week long conference in Vegas... or a week long "conference" in Vegas for that matter.
Romantics, or whatever.
The thing is, Absence didn't do their market research or, apparently, have anyone in their product development team with the sense God gave an orange. That's why the venture vultures picked apart their corporate corpse and offloaded the assets to us: someone worth a damn should have control of the Heartseed process. Sure, we all wish Rick could have slipped Ilsa a Heartseed so they could have something more than just "Paris" but the truth is that almost nobody has those kinds of emotional and permanent goodbyes; what they do have is a deep and abiding fear of their own mortality.
So here is the deal. Eternity Corp will pay to put you up in lavish style for as long as you care to enjoy it. In return, you agree never -- and I do mean NEVER -- to leave the Eternity compound. You may have visitors -- as many and as often as you like and even a family, though dating may be difficult. Your family members may also be Eternity clients if they so choose but, of course, their Heartseeds will be in the custody of another Eternal at the sister site in the Gobi.
If this all sounds pretty good to you, sign here and eat the Heartseed in front of you. But please realize what we are paying you for -- what we are buying from you: all of Eternity's clients pay us for the gift of immortality and in order to give it to them we need, from you the gift of your own mortality.
If you sign, if you eat, if you agree... you will become death.
[Continued here.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/23ur50/wp_death_is_an_actual_person_that_comes_by_when/ch139iv)
| "So that's your last one?" Woods was in disbelief. She had never met anyone so young that had given his away.
"Yup." He looked at the glimmering shoe box. It still even had that 'New Seed' smell. "And it's all yours."
She looked down at the lone seed and swallowed. Air of course, not the seed. Images of their summer together flashed in her mind as she look off the pier. The images almost set themselves in order on the now clear cool lake, like a photo album of just the two of them.
"If it makes you feel better, I've been thinking about this for a while." Tom said as he pulled his legs in. "I figured, what the hell, I'm going backpacking with my brother. You're going to school. We're going to be living completely different lives, Woody." He chuckled and Sam now realized he was looking at her. God she hated that nickname and the thing was, Tom knew that. She punched him out of the lack of words she had to that.
"Alright. Cool. 'Oh that's awesome, Tom. You're right. Munch, munch, munch.'"He mocked, pretending to pick up the seed and toss it back. "My cousins ate mine a while back if you're wondering where the rest are. People think I'm weird, being 19 and all, practically an empty set of heart seeds. So what. I want to travel." It was as if he rehearsed this in his head a thousand times. Yeah, but why me? Why me, Tom? There was silence. She could tell her silence was killing him.
"I figured I'd like to see your loser face again. Maybe if I'm lucky, once or twice? Oh and giving you this guarantees that I won't die while travelling." He laughed again loudly. She knew that that last bit wasn't the mean reason.
"What if I evened the odds?" She calmly said as she looked over. His eyes were wide. He was either shocked at the fact that this was the first thing she's said in over 10 minutes or the idea of him eating one of her heart seeds. "W-would you be okay with that? Shit, gee Sam, I don't know if that's a good idea." He rubbed his neck.
"See! Hah, not the easiest thing to do is it? Accepting a responsibility like that. I'll take yours, but only if we exchange." Woods declared.
The two sat and stared at each other as if silently agreeing to seeing each other in the future.
The next 5 minutes comprised of Thomas sitting on the pier alone dangling his legs over the edge. Sam came back from the cabin carrying a pouch.
"Just wasn't feeling the box anymore?" He shouted out as she stepped onto the first foot of the dock. She stuck her tongue out.
As the two sat next to each other in silence they looked out thinking about the countless days they had in just these past two months. Whether it was the movies, the hiking, the firsts, or lasts, the two both knew that before biting into the heart seeds, they had a future together.
"To the future." Tom cheered and held the seed out. His burst of excitement made Woody laugh out and almost drop his seed. "hey hey, whoa careful there. I don't want to see any one of these fishes before I die." The two laughed again.
"To the future." She replied and bit down into a long time agreement.
EDIT: indentations, and last part "bit down" | 2014-04-23T14:28:25 | 2014-04-23T14:07:46 | 46 | 27 |
[WP] You're an exhausted paramedic. You just finished a 48 hour shift and you stumble into the hospital elevator to head home. You hit the button to head to the first floor and as you turn, you see death standing in the corner. What do you talk about during the elevator ride? | We stared at each other for half a minute. Thirty seconds of unbroken eye-to-eyesocket contact. I should have been terrified, but... it had been a long one.
It was difficult to tell, but he seemed... surprised. Or, at the very least, a little chagrined.
As smoothly as I could, not daring to look away, I reached over and hit the emergency stop button. My mind is, oddly, as clear as it's ever been.
"Who?" I ask as casually as I can.
**NOT ONE OF YOURS, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE ASKING.**
I feel a little swell of relief, then a little trickle of adrenaline. "Then, who-"
**IT'S TOO LATE.**
"*...Oh.*"
I press two fingers to the base of my neck.
"I still have a pulse. Not me?"
He nodded, slowly. **NOT YOU. BUT, YOU WOULD EVEN IF YOU WERE. YOU WOULD... REMEMBER IT.**
I sighed, but not in relief.
He looked at me for a a bit. **THEY DID EVERYTHING RIGHT.**
Hm. "Thank you."
I bit my lip. I knew he wouldn't, but, "So, when will I-?"
**DO NOT.** He said in a warning tone, pinpricks of blue-white flaring briefly in those empty holes.
I couldn't think of anything else. The elevator dinged. I was delaying someone, somewhere.
I pushed in the stop buton, and the lift lurched back into motion.
We rode down in silence.
We reached the first floor, and the doors opened up, not, to the lobby, but to a dark, long hallway.
Death stepped forward, walking without the clatter of bone on bone that I was expecting.
This would be the second to last time I would ever see him, I was certain.
Before the doors closed, he seemed to change his mind about something, placed the end of his scythe between the closing doors, and turned back to face me.
**WHAT YOU ARE DOING...** he began, his words not words but the immediate memory of words said. I had the feeling he didn't often talk to anyone. He was considering carefully what he could say, in this brief time he had...
**WHAT YOU DO.**
**IT IS WORTH IT.**
He might have been grinning, but how could you tell?
Before I could respond, he pulled the handle out, and the door closed.
When it opened again, it was the lobby, crowded, so loud it shocked me. It quenched me, like cold water, and I shivered in the warm air.
I was alive, and that was something.
| He was not what I had expected at all.
It was nearly dawn and I was exhausted after working almost 48 hours straight. I stumbled into the elevator on the fifth floor, my medic bag slumped over my left shoulder. I used all the energy I had left in order to hit the ground level button. I hardly even noticed he was there. I just kept flashing back to these last 48 hours, the screaming, the sirens, the pain. A whole building, just like that, gone, collapsed. They said the earthquake loosened the bolts. They said it was an anomaly: that nothing like this ever happens. One careless mistake, costing the lives of hundreds. I lean forward on the elevator doors thinking about the screams of that woman her leg broken in half from a slab of cement. Fourth Floor. That man. That man with the three kids he told me about as I watched him die, the man that was so calm and collected about the whole thing. Death had always scared me it had always kept me awake at night, circling in my head. I had been on the job for nearly 5 years and had seen many people dead, or close to death. But never something like this. This man, he seemed at peace as the whole world came crashing down. Third floor. Feeling the presence of someone else, I look over my shoulder to see a man, older, with dark black hair. Darker than I have ever seen hair in my life: even when my girlfriend used to dye it. His eyes are what really got me though, they were piercing blue. They almost shone through me. Looking at him felt like time was standing still, and I became very nervous. Then, he spoke.
“It’s not that bad you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Death.”
The word ran through my veins and my heart skipped a beat. I could say nothing, paralyzed I stood there and listened to the old man.
“I can tell you’re nervous, I have a knack for this kind of stuff. You must have seen it, working the beat for a while now. There is nothing to be nervous about, doesn’t hurt, feels kinda peaceful.”
Second floor. I stood there staring at him for some time, and tearing my eyes away I looked up at the floor number flashing on the screen. Looking back at him made me gasp. Before, where an old withered man had stood, there now was a much younger man with the same hair and same eyes. He smiled up at me.
“Who are you?”
“Death” He replied slowly. “There is nothing to fear Michael” then he laughed. “It’s funny, you know, you face me nearly every day showing no fear, yet you are actually terrified. I have been there Michael, all along, I see the determination, the way you face me and say ‘no’. So why are you so afraid?”
I turned my back to him, leaning against the elevator doors. I felt the tears start to stream down my face, though there was nothing I could do to stop them. I spoke slowly, with conviction, not lifting my head. “Because I watched you take her, I watched you and it didn’t look peaceful at all. Even in my arms, without life, she didn't look peaceful.”
First Floor. The doors open and I stand there, defeated. He passes by me and places his hand on my shoulder. At once I perk up, like a shot of caffeine through my veins. “She says it was peaceful, the part that hurt the most was leaving you.”
| 2014-05-15T11:32:46 | 2014-05-15T11:31:23 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship. | Urist gingerly squeezed the brass actuator, and the hammer snapped forward with a neat metallic clap.
His shop had seen all manner of wares pass through - the Pass of Arkhaz was home to merchants of every shape, and their weapons decorated the walls of his cramped shop. Thin, mirror-like Elven blades sat next to handsome Orcish ironwood axes; noble Dwarven hammers mingled with Underfolk's short-spears on worn racks; there was even a stand of slender Edithian blowguns, and from the tall rafters of the shop hung a Giant's bow, split from the trunk of a proud oak, arrows taller than the crafty shopkeep himself.
But he had never possessed a Human gun. He rarely saw anything from the realm of Men, being so far West, but he had heard the stories: distant empires, across the Green Sea, who fought with fire and smoke, who had abandoned the art of armor-smithing as useless against their own weapons.
And now, looking at the polished steel device in front of him, Urist almost believed it. The Dwarves built machines, of course, but they were massive and strong, as all Dwarven crafts. He had never seen a gear smaller than his thumb - by the Mountain, it was tiny - and the Human's trick of storing motion in a 'spring' seemed more like magic than metallurgy.
"And this," the unkempt man in front of him produced a thin copper cylinder, "is a long-sight, designed for the device."
"And it does what?"
"Well, it lets you see further, so you can hit distant targets."
Urist chuckled. *That,* he knew, was a joke. | Silimakthi stood with her bare feet in the sand, staring out from the shore at the small, beaten-up sailing vessel, tied to the dock and guarded by several dozen human men and women--each carrying a wand. To her side, Charlie watched the boat along with her, leaning on his cane, the tip plunged into the sand. The iron construction of the ship gleamed, bare and fairly unimpressive.
"This is the vessel?" Silimakthi asked.
"What did you expect from a ship named 'Old Mediocrity'?" Charlie said, smirking.
"I had always assumed it was human sarcasm. The story is told a little differently in elven lands, you know. They say your lands were stripped bare of iron by the Dearthplague, making it utterly impossible to send the supplies to our lands. At the time I figured you couldn't possibly have the ironside ships to survive the Leviathan's Canal, and wooden ships sailing around the continent would never get to us in time to save us from the orcs. And then Old Mediocrity showed up out of nowhere. I used one of the wands you sent, myself. I still have it."
She watched the waves ripple around the ship.
"So...how did you do it? Humans, I mean. It's an amazing ship, actually...not a spot of rust."
Charlie smiled. "Give me the elven version: what are humans good at?"
"Doing strange things they often shouldn't?"
"Exactly." Charlie took Silimakthi's hand. "We did something strange. Old Mediocrity has its name for a reason."
"...And that would be?"
"You're right about the Dearthplague destroying all iron. Even the ores. Which is why Old Mediocrity isn't made of iron." He chuckled. "When it happened, everyone knew they had to get a ship through Leviathan's Canal somehow. So we made Old Mediocrity. It's made of tin, Silimakthi. Not as good as iron, but strong enough for Leviathan's Canal. As a bonus, it doesn't rust. Old Mediocrity is actually the oldest--"
"--the oldest human ship." She smiled, eyes crinkling. "So is it true? Is a ship made of *tin* the greatest sailing vessel in the world?"
"Not really."
"I'm still satisfied," Silimakthi answered. "Human ships are legendary among elves...thanks for letting me see the one that started it all." | 2014-09-11T10:47:47 | 2014-09-11T10:42:44 | 158 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity is hit by a sudden increase in stillbirths. Eventually, the reason is discovered - there aren't enough souls to go around. | "Are you sure?" The grandmaster rested his head in his hands, elbows on the weathered, marble table.
All I could do was nod slowly. "There's no denying it. My team has been researching it for a full month now. There's a soul shortage that's causing the spike in stillbirths."
"My god… Oh, my god." The grandmaster clutched at the thinning strands of once-red hair on his head.
"I went into the field to… test the waters, myself. I've never felt anything like it. It was like walking into a desert. I went to a mall with hundreds of people and detected maybe a dozen souls at most."
The grandmaster was silent. He looked like he wanted to curl up and die in the giant robe that he wore solely for tradition's sake. I felt the same. The robes I wore over my everyday clothes felt like they weighed a ton, much like the responsibility of this crisis.
"How did we let this happen?" the grandmaster asked after a moment.
"Perhaps we were greedy? Perhaps we didn't think ahead… but none of us could have seen this would happen. This is the first time our tampering with human souls has caused a shortage, there was no way to foresee it. I swear, we didn't know."
"Tell that to all the mother's who will never get to see their children open their eyes!" The grandmaster stood up in a flash of anger. It was soon replaced with tiredness, and he sank back into his chair. "We should have known. It should have been obvious."
I couldn't do anything but nod in agreement. He was right, it should have been obvious. For thousands of years we had tampered with the souls of man. We only took what we needed, at least we thought we did. Souls aren't like apples, you can't pluck one from the tree and expect a new one to grow in its place. You can't give the soul back, either. At least, you couldn't yet.
"Sir, my team and I are working on a way to fix this."
"Obviously." He said, without looking up.
"Of course, it will take time to find a solution…"
"How long?"
How long? How long would it take to find a solution to a problem we didn't even know existed until a few months ago? A solution that probably didn't even exist?
"Three months. Give me three months and I'll have a solution."
"How many babies will never have a chance at life in those three months?" The grandmaster asked, mostly to himself. He just shrugged. "Just do the best you can. We have to fix this, the fate of both mankind and our species could depend on this."
"Yes, sir." I bowed, and left the hall. My footsteps echoed along the hall, and I left my robes on a coat hanger by the door.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, sighing. Three months. Oh god, what have we done?
I glanced to my left, catching my reflection in a darkened window. Man, I looked bad. Bags under my eyes, bright red hair unkempt and greasy. I almost sobbed as I inadvertently began counting every single freckle on my face. Every single soul… I had stolen.
And for the first time, I asked myself what I was. What *we*, Gingers, were. Were we even human? Or were we monsters? | “They're alive. Of course it's the same thing.”
“It is NOT the same thing”, I say, and the whole conference room gasps after the NOT.
I shouldn't scream, I know that. But these people treating the world like it's a freaking scifi movie freak me
out.
“Dr. Benston, ever since the whole lack of souls things, we --”
“You don't need to catch me up on the details, Hamilton. I was there”, I say, bitterly.
“Exactly. So you know we need to keep humanity going, somehow.”
“But it's wrong. They don't have souls”, I say, pointing at the power point presentation on the screen.
What I'm pointing at is genetically engineer sketches and algorithms.
What I'm pointing at is the solution to the problem of people not being born.
What I'm pointing at are potential clones.
“They don't have souls, Hamilton. They're clones. Copies.”
“They are alive and they can clone other people. That's our priority. They can make humanity go on.”
All around the room, people agree in silent whispers.
“You don't consider the fact that these people will suffer? That they are being bred like cattle?”
“They won't suffer, Dr. Benston. They will lead normal lives.”
“Normal? These people are born at the age of twenty four!” I bellow.
“We can't really afford to breed them from birth, Dr. Benston. However,” Hamilton smiled. “I can assure you they will lead
normal lives. They'll have the same rights as normal people, they –
“No they won't. You just referred to them as the opposite of 'normal people'. This is wrong, Hamilton.”
“Benson, these clones will not be sitting wondering if they have souls are not, if they are real are not. We're uploading
memories inside their minds. A childhood. Teenage years, first loves. How is that not humane?”
“It's not real! You're offering them some fake memories to make up for the fact that we are breeding human beings.” I close my eyes, trying to keep it together. "I can't support this project."
“We're happy to hear any other suggestions, Dr. Benston.”
I sigh, slamming my hand against the table.
“I don't have another project! But this is not the way to go!”
“We need to save the human race. If we can't have children, we'll make people. And these people can make people after that, and mankind goes on.”
“This is wrong.”
“Humanity will prevail, sample zero, zero one.”
“Don't – what? What did you call me?” I ask.
They all get up.
Hamilton turns to one of the others.
“Don't include the memory about the cloning, or the whole soul situation, on the others. It didn't work.”
“What?” I ask.
“Make it seem normal. Like everyone has always been doing this since forever.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We don't need cloned scientists questioning the ethics of cloning.”
“Of course, sir”, the man replies, taking note.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, feeling the lines on my forehead growing thicker.
“Dr. Benson, we need you to clone people for us.” Hamilton smiles. “And then we need the clones you clone to clone
people, and so forth, because childbirth is not an option anymore. The new human is a cloner, that's how he reproduces.”
“What --”
“We tried uploading the memory of the REASON as to why we are doing this to your head. Obviously, you didn't respond
well.”
“Wh- What?”
“Sample zero zero two will receive your memories: your family, friends, etc, minus the reason why we are doing this. It
will think cloning is normal.”
“What are you talking about, Hamilton, I – let me go!” I scream, to the large men holding my arms.
“We can't have clones debating if they want to clone people, can we?” He says.
“What are you doing?”
“We need compliance.” Hamilton turns to the men carrying me. “Put him down.”
“No! No!” I scream, and “No!” again.
“Call my wife!” I yell, stupidly.
“Your wide was designed by Dr. Jeffrey here. He handles the Memory Design Department.”
I look from Jeffrey to Hamilton.
I had something else to say.
But I don't remember now. And I feel a pinch in my arm, and I see the syringe.
And everything goes dark.
| 2014-12-12T18:20:23 | 2014-12-12T18:14:44 | 274 | 31 |
[WP] In the afterlife, you start at the age you are when you died, and age backwards. When you reach 0, you are reincarnated.
Edit: turns out this premise is already a novel, "Elsewhere" by Gabrielle Zevon. Many people below are recommending it, so it must be a good read :D
I'll leave the prompt up however, because I think it's a fun prompt for those of us who haven't read Elsewhere | The first few years were like a dream, acclimatization and perplexity. Seemed as if all the inhabitants were in awe for a while, but finally after what felt like 5 or 6 years it was obvious for all of us. We were becoming young again.
I had a peaceful life without complaints, died at the age of 78 from a heart attack, you can say it was pretty typical. The afterlife is what was atypical. No guide or informational booklet, just me alongside my friends, family, favorite historical figures, and even imaginary characters all enjoying blissful eden wondering why we were becoming younger and even more so I was wondering what bugs bunny was doing in heaven.
"What do you think is going on?" I asked Einstein during our daily pipe enthusiasts get together.
"It seems to be a bizarre alternate universe, blah blah blah." Thats at least what I understood from his words, he's so eccentric.
"Aha. Interesting."
Time went by in an interesting manner, things materializing in and out of existence, a haze of memories and enjoyment seemingly out of context, days floating, and sometimes even flying quickly by more so than the previous ones.
Eventually every one was a teenager with teen aged interests and quirks.
The first to go were the imaginary characters from my previous life. After so many long and strange years here in the garden I stopped considering them to be imaginary or from another life. They were simply a part of the fabric of my reality.
Small children and tiny animals, never hungry and never complaining. We stopped conversing and questioning. One after the other they would shrink to the size of an embryo and then poof! Popping out of existence to some other place, or maybe into nothingness.
I was the last to go. First it was dark, then there was a blinding light with many mysterious shadowy figures hovering above my head.
"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"
"CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
"Take the tube out, he is starting to blink."
"Sir, You overdosed on LSD. Thankfully someone called an ambulance. You're going to be fine."
| People always imagined that Heaven would have golden streets. I'm not sure if this place is even Heaven, but there were no golden streets. I suppose some might find it to be Hell actually. You see, this place takes you backwards through your life. Well, all of your lives really. Currently, I was standing around a dinner table where a cake sat for my daughter's 15th birthday. She was grinning as she opened a new purse that my husband had gotten for her and rushed forward to hug us both around the neck. This was the 4th birthday of hers that I'd been to in this place and I'm guessing that I would see 14 more.
That was sad in a way to relive my life and to watch my loved ones slowly vanish. It was like dying but in reverse. I'm guessing it was a rebirth of sorts. I looked beyond the simple birthday party of my daughter and I saw many other things. In some of those visions, I was a slave, a warrior, or a man, but they all felt like me. I saw myself in all of them. Or maybe I was seeing all of them in me? After my daughter and husband died, I understood the aspects of being a slave. I was imprisoned by my emotions and it was them that I called Master. After the therapy, I knew what it meant to be a warrior. I knew of courage. I knew of strength. I fought against myself every day and I was as strong as my soldier self that I saw now. My defense was admirable, but the assault itself was unending.
In the first few years in this place, I had to consider if I was weak for failing that fight. Would a stronger person have survived that onslaught? I couldn't really say. I think that all of myselves that I'd seen so far would understand. Maybe that was enough? It's hard, I've found, when you can't accept yourself. When you don't even know yourself. In the beginning, I thought of this place only as Hell. I rewatched my toughest moments and couldn't even see my other selves then, but as I've been here, I've grown to understand that perhaps I'm here to make peace with my life and see it within the perspective of my other selves.
Since I don't remember my other selves from my previous life, I doubt I'll remember this now, but maybe the new me comes from this existential exercise? Maybe a future me will help people who have struggled with the destruction life can bring. I focused back on the scene in which I found myself and watched my daughter parading around the living room with her new purse. I smiled. Maybe I can even bring a small amount of joy to someone else. I sat back in the chair and straightened my legs underneath the dinner table. I still wasn't sure what this place was exactly, but I had decided that for me at least, it was definitely Heaven. | 2015-09-09T10:21:00 | 2015-09-09T10:15:48 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] The most successful monsters are the ones that don't have tales and legends surrounding them. | We stood in the still dark, the human youngling's chest rising and falling rhythmically the only motion in the room.
"Wait, I'm not sure I understand, you don't want *recognition* for your work?"
"Not amongst humans I don't." I breezed gently up to the edge of the crib, and my young charge followed obligingly. He dropped his voice to a whisper.
"But how else do they learn to fear 'things that go bump in the night'?" I had to stifle a chuckle.
"Humans need no help in learning to fear things. They are fantastically afraid of things. The problem with being a thing of human legend, is that it so frequently leads to being unable to do your job. You've heard of the water dragon in Scotland and the half giant over in the Pacific Northwest?"
"Of course! They're legends back at the shop."
"Zero kill rate over the last fifty years. You get spotted, and suddenly every yokel with a camera is out looking for you. Or worse, trying to capture or kill you." I leaned over, and ran my ethereal tendrils across the infant's neck. Her chest made a few more slow rises and falls, the coda to a symphony cut short, and then stopped altogether. I stood upright. "Let's go, we're finished here."
We left as quickly and quietly as we had come, but I could sense the crestfallen disappointment. Learning you're going to study under one of the best often fills young recruits with flashy images of destruction and despair, but the truth is rather less entertaining than that. Once the wave of anticlimactic feelings passed, he piped up again
"So how did you avoid becoming a legend?"
"I didn't, technically."
"What do you mean 'technically'?"
"Humans have actually done a very good job of documenting my work."
"Then how--?"
"They think it's scientific somehow. They call me SIDS." | I walked out of the theater, disappointed as usual. But I hid my disappointment. I'm getting really good at hiding things.
"So what'd you think of the movie?" My date asked.
I thought it was an inaccurate piece of Hollywood crap that lacked any real insight on what it is we do and how we do it. It's all 'grr grr I'm so scary look at my claws!' just like the last picture, and the one before that.
"I liked it," I said. "Thought it was real scary."
"Me too, I hope I sleep tonight." she said with a laugh. She's cute. Poodle skirt swinging, blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. Her parents want her home by ten.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint them. Not as disappointed as I was with this movie though. These movie monsters have no class, and half of them seem to be made of rubber. I tell ya, ever since the blob even got *involved* in that picture, he let himself go. Mothman, the crawling eye, everybody selling out so that people can pay $1.55 to sit through an hour of guys in masks pouncing on vapid teenagers.
*Pouncing on vapid teenagers?* I can hear my dad's voice now. *How's that any different from what you're doing now?* At least I'm not playing hide and go seek under somebody's bed or letting Ed Wood turn me into a laughing stock.
"You seem awful quiet all of a sudden," my date asks. "What's wrong?" She seems generally concerned. That's sweet. Almost wish I could remember her name. Almost wish I cared.
"Sorry, I'm just thinking about something my dad said."
"What'd he say?"
"Oh, nothing. You know how dads are, always getting on your case."
She proceeds to ramble about how her parents are so strict or whatever. All I can think about is that awful movie, and every movie I've seen like it. Why do people like these things? I guess it's because they want to think they're being scared without being put in any real danger. Whatever.
We get to the park, tell her this is a short cut. After we get far enough away from the street that nobody could see us, I start doin' my thing. She screams, then she stops. But my heart's not in it. The whole time I'm thinking about how to get the new stain out of my jeans, or if any got on my high tops. Or about the annoying girl in that damn movie. The whole evening was disillusioning. It's losing its fun.
Maybe dad's right. Maybe I need a different approach. Maybe I need to stop watching these stupid movies. They're starting to depress me. | 2015-09-24T11:04:59 | 2015-09-24T07:54:50 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
| I am lying in bed. My family surrounds me, and they are crying. There is a series of heavy knocks at the door. It is not a family member. It is not someone I know.
I know why they are here. I know why my family is crying. We have a long history of being farmers. Most of our powers relate to harvesting or producing crops faster. My parents used to joke that I was no help at all. After a while, it stopped being a joke.
I am an empty shell now. I am hooked up to several IV's, and my family is saying nice things about me. I am, of course, not extraordinary in any way. I do not know why they continue to heap such great things unto me.
Then the door breaks. A bunch of military personnel storm in. They have a warrant for me. My family tries to push them off, yelling and crying and screaming. They say "He doesn't have much time left!" "You can't move him!" "He's harmless!"
Just then, a croak escapes my body. I am thrust into every memory I have experienced in my life. When the show is over, I regain my vision. I feel muscle pulse through my body. A loud scream escapes my mouth. The room looks different. It seems much brighter.
"It's a baby boy. Congratulations." | 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T10:13:24 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] An important press conference, with rows of cameras pointed at you. Dozens of journalists wait with bated breath, until finally you mutter, "no comment" into your microphone. The room explodes with excitement. One of them yells, "this is going to be front page news across the planet!" | "Is it true that you have a pony hidden inside of the Oval Office? OR SHOULD I SAY, THE HOOVAL OFFICE?!"
The room exploded with noise as hundreds of reporters yelled questions to the President's Press Secretary.
"I..." he mumbled, and the room silenced.
"I..."
"No Comment."
The next day the country was ablaze with the hot news of the "Presidential Pony".
The President was later impeached for Horsing Around.
| I could hear a pin drop if every pin in the room was not too busy holding its breath.
All the journalists are pointing their microphones at me. I feel like I'm the pope and they want me to bless their babies. Except I sure don't feel holy and serene right now.
*This is when I deny everything.* I think.
But I don't. It seems like I'm unable to pronounce one word. And each damn second increases the tension in the room. Each damn second decreases the plausibility of any denial I could make.
I open my mouth. I close it. Nothing wants to come out.
I'm tired. I'm so bloody tired. Alfred is going to kill me.
-No comment.
My voice is tired and creaky. But it doesn't matter as the room explodes. Every journalist turns back to face their camera and they're all speaking fast and loudly.
-This is going to be front page news across the planet! I hear.
It sure will, pal, it sure will. I feel numbed. I let my eyes wander and they fall on yesterday's newspaper on the table in front of me.
*Wayne Enterprises' accountant claims its billionaire shareholder Bruce Wayne is the Batman and brings evidence.*
I sigh. I'm Bruce Wayne.
And I'm Batman. | 2015-11-05T09:17:33 | 2015-11-05T09:09:15 | 78 | 40 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
I'm sorry I've let you down. I'm sorry I've not achieved what you thought you would. And I'm sorry I couldn't' be braver for you.
I want to assure you that you are a strong person, though. I want you to know that you will achieve what you want and that you'll eventually be the person you want to be. You can get past me, I'm that school friend who keeps your foot in the past. It's time to shake off the nostalgia and move forward.
I'll be here if you ever want to just kick back and listen to some old favourites.
Yours,
You. | Dear Subway,
Why the FUCK don't you have BBQ sauce at every store? This is in fact America right? Do you not realize this beautiful, obese nation loves BBQ sauce? It is like the number 1 sauce yet you do not have it in most stores. This is mind blowingly absurd. In the wake of the Jared scandal you could at least do something to satisfy the masses. Make us forget your figure head for 15 years was a creepy pedophile. When I get an average tasting steak and cheese sub on your average, overrated bread, I at least want to drench it in sauce to make it taste a little bit better. Isn't that what your company prides itself on? The ability to customize a sub? The ability to eat fresh? If you don't have the MOST POPULAR SAUCE in America, how the fuck can I eat fresh? I'm eating like a silly little fool while you parade around Ryan Howard like a God. He is no God. I'm God motherfucker. I want my delicious BBQ sauce next time I go there. Oh, what's that you got there, southwest chipotle sauce? Is...is....is that a thing now? It ain't. It's not cute. Be a man, step up your game, and get back to me. BBQ sauce or GTFO.
Regards,
An unsatisfied occasional customer | 2015-12-05T13:04:05 | 2015-12-05T12:04:02 | 1,756 | 726 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 356 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 158 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | To my best friend.
I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one.
I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory.
Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still.
I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend.
Yours,
madziepan | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 2015-12-05T13:54:55 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Dear Violet
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I felt about you. I was always nervous when it came to girls, you of all people should remember that.
I'm sorry I didn't hang out with you more. I always thought I would have time later, but I never made time for it.
I'm sorry I didn't dance with you at prom. I know I promised you that I would, but you looked like you were having fun with your new boyfriend and I didn't want to ruin it.
I'm sorry wasn't there when you needed help moving out. It all happened so fast with you and Mike breaking up and getting back together again so much, I didn't think it would stick that time.
I'm sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye when you left. I didn't think you'd leave without telling me.
For as long as I have know you, you've always been the friend that awkward, nerdy kid needed. I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. I mean it. I wasn't in a good place before I met you.It may not have been under the best circumstances that we became friends, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.
I don't know if you'll feel the same way, or if this is the right time to say it and I have no idea how else to say this so I'll just say it.
Violet Brindley
I love you.
Yours Truly
Tim
| 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T15:49:55 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it. But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out? | When the first few probes were lost, they assumed natural death of batteries and equiment after decades of service. Then, they started noticing a pattern. What was known as the bow shock turned out to be something much more insidious.
Probe after probe was lost crossing this singlar point, more advanced probes were sent and they failed as well. Finally, a crew was sent. Humanity did not know what it would find, but was desperate for answers. Would we finally understand it all?
The crew traveled for forty years. A veritiable suicide mission of young adults, leaving only dreams behind. Mostly forgotten by the world they knew. They slowly lost their minds.
As expected, they reached the barrier. Nothing they had could cross it. Most simply vanished or were destroyed. They were unwilling to sacrifice their lives and search for answers on the edge.
The crew scanned and detected a raised area off in the distance. They quickly set their course and traveled the required years. Thoughts of suicide cross the minds of the now elderly crew.
Never seen before from earth, the astronauts were astounded to come across something so giant and obvious. It was a label, a warning, a sign. Squareish, larger than the orbit of Mercury around the sun. Several large blocks of patterns, possibly characters, were arranged in jupiter sized formations across the regularly shapped patterns on the square. The computers on earth and the ship quickly set about translating.
Two mathematical patterns were found quickly, a numeric pattern and a series pattern. In addition, several hyroglyphs which were undescernable. The final translation went out to the crew and set across maddening cries of desperation, some killed themselves across the world and in the crew.
48DD, hand wash only.
Heavens, the solar system is a giant fucking tit. The bowshock was the bra. | Five weeks ago, when the crew of the ES Magellan marked the furthest distance that humankind had ever reached, none of them were awake to celebrate. Only a tenth of a lightyear separated them from Earth–they had barely reached the border of their own solar system–but a lifetime remained before they would reach their goal, and so they slept.
Their ship was a wonder, the culmination of two decades of cooperation among the nations of Earth. Built entirely in orbit, it was nearly a quarter mile long. Most of its bulk made up of engines and fuel, for it was humankind’s first foray into the overwhelming emptiness of space.
Now, though, it was time for the crew’s half-yearly stretch. They awoke in rotating shifts, six at a time. They shook the cold out of their limbs, looked out the reinforced ports, and immediately forgot all else.
Outside the ship, in the cold blackness of space, was unimaginable beauty. Colors that no human eye had ever seen, and… music? Yes, somehow there was music resonating in the void. The crew wept, each pressing his face against the glass, unable to tear himself away.
And there were figures out there! Coasting alongside the fastest-moving object that humans had ever devised were golden beings with faces beautiful enough to drive one mad. It was impossible to gauge scale against the stars, but each wing–and they were countless–seemed many times as long as the Magellan.
The Commander wept with her crew, gazing at the unspeakable beauty, unable to think of anything but a line from her past: And the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands. And it was. Countless beings of light, as far as could be seen.
And then, over the music, they heard a Voice that nearly killed them with delight. It said exactly what they wanted most to hear:
“Where are you going, little ones? Stay here, with us.”
They wrenched themselves from the viewports, their joy at obeying the Voice the only force able to overcome their wonder. They threw themselves into their acceleration couches, unable to even speak to among themselves. The Commander herself slowly rotated the ship, firing all engines at maximum the second they were pointing the opposite direction. The crew felt themselves crushed into their couches as the ship began to shed the velocity it had picked up over long weeks of acceleration from Earth.
The Magellan still had half its fuel, carefully reserved for deceleration when they reached their destination. They burned it all, their minds overflowing with joy. Only after the engines rumbled into silence could they emerge from their couches, deafened.
There was no music. Space was black and empty. | 2016-04-19T06:34:12 | 2016-04-19T06:21:18 | 30 | 20 |
[WP]"More men are killed by a word in the right ear then a gun in the right hands." | FADE IN:
EXT. AN APARTMENT - DAY
*A young man walks up to the door of an apartment, his face a mask of exasperation. This is JOHN. He pounds on the door, then waits as he hears the sounds of someone rushing and stumbling to answer it.*
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) Just a second! Ow...
*The door opens, revealing a second young man. This is DAVE. He is clad in a bathrobe, and has a generally haggard appearance about him.*
**JOHN:** Okay, dude, I'm here. What's the big emergency?
**DAVE:** I killed my goldfish.
*A moment of silence passes.*
**JOHN:** I'm leaving.
**DAVE:** No, no, no, wait! Wait, please! It was an accident!
**JOHN:** (*Sighing*) Goldfish die, man! It happens!
**DAVE:** Not like *this*, it doesn't!
**JOHN:** Uh huh. Couldn't you have told me this over the phone?
**DAVE:** No! I couldn't take the risk!
**JOHN:** What ris... oh, whatever. I'll humor you. How did you kill your goldfish?
*Dave takes a deep breath, then looks his friend in the eyes.*
**DAVE:** I said the word.
**JOHN:** ... "The word."
**DAVE:** Yes.
**JOHN:** And it killed your goldfish.
**DAVE:** Yes.
**JOHN:** ... Goodbye.
*John turns to leave, but Dave flails through the door and grabs his arm.*
**DAVE:** Stop, stop! I'm telling the truth!
**JOHN:** Ugh, just... what word?
**DAVE:** I can't tell you!
**JOHN:** And now we're back to this visit being pointless.
**DAVE:** You'd *die!*
**JOHN:** Oh, come on.
*Dave sticks his head out the door and glances around as though looking for eavesdroppers.*
**DAVE:** Look, I was on the Deep Web last night...
**JOHN:** (*Interrupting*) I don't want to know.
**DAVE:** ... and I stumbled on to one of those weird forums...
**JOHN:** (*Interrupting*) *I don't want to know!*
**DAVE:** ... where I found a list of words that can make people... do things.
**JOHN:** I don't... wait, what do you mean?
**DAVE:** "Flatulatus."
*The sound of a long, loud fart becomes audible. John's eyes go wide, and he looks back at his own rear end in disbelief.*
**JOHN:** Dude. *Dude!* You just... what... how did you do that to me?!
**DAVE:** I told you, man! I found this list of words, and one of them killed my goldfish!
**JOHN:** What was it? Wait, no, right. Don't tell me.
**DAVE:** You believe me, then?
**JOHN:** Someone says a word and I fart? Yeah, that's evidence enough for me. Is this, like, magic or something?
**DAVE:** I don't know! Maybe! I just needed someone else to know! I've been going crazy!
*John considers this.*
**JOHN:** Hang on a second. Are you sure that the word kills *humans?*
**DAVE:** What do you mean?
**JOHN:** Well, like... what if it's actually supposed to do something else, but your goldfish couldn't handle it?
**DAVE:** It said "mort" on the site, dude! That's, like, Spanish for "death!"
**JOHN:** I don't know, man. If there was really a word that could kill people, though, wouldn't every murderer use it?
**DAVE:** I... I guess. It was hidden, though.
**JOHN:** You found it. Did the site say anything about it?
**DAVE:** I told you, it was something in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish.
**JOHN:** Look, just tell me what it was. If I die, call an ambulance or something.
*Looking hesitant, Dave leans in next to John's ear and whispers something. John's eyes immediately roll back in his head. He lets loose a short, pained groan, and he collapses.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Oh, god! No, no, no!
**JOHN:** (*Weakly*) (*O.S.*) Re... relax, dude.
**DAVE:** Oh, god, are you okay?
*John climbs to his feet.*
**JOHN:** Yeah. Uh, listen... about that "Spanish."
**DAVE:** Something about "mort," I told you.
**JOHN:** Right. "La Petite Mort." I just came in my pants.
FADE OUT. | We met in the ornate nave of the Abbey under rainbow sunlight streaming through the stained glass pictures of the Gods. You'd think that a man in my line of work would be found in the darkest corner of the seediest tavern. But taverns are noisy and crowded, and full of listening ears and disreputable folk who'll turn on you in a second. And that's just where the Cheshelm guards would be looking for such criminals. The Order of St. Quesa is tidy, empty, and really quite pleasing to the senses. Beautiful art, scented candles, pleasant gardens... Not to mention that the sisters have taken a vow of silence so strict that their tongues are cut out as soon as they've finished reciting the vow. They couldn't rat me out even if they wanted to.
"Are you...." the prince glanced around furtively, looking for agents of his father. "Are you the Griffon?" Yes, I use a nickname of course. For one, "Gelert Duffer" doesn't have quite the same intimidating ring to it. That's not the sort of man you'd trust with plots of high treason. And I have loved ones to protect as well.
I nodded and motioned toward one of the reliquarie that held the bones of some saint or another. The Abbey was deserted, save for a few of the silent sisters dusting some of the pews. The click of our boots on the marble tile echoed up to the rafters. "So," I started when we reached the alcove "I understand that you're hoping to start a war!"
He flinched at the very sound of the idea and scanned the area again. I got the distinct impression that this was really the first time he'd heard the concept spoken aloud. That was often the case with my clients. "Not so loud!" he hissed. His eyes wouldn't meet mine.
"Relax." I took a seat on the bench and beckoned him to sit as well. "You think this is the first time I've done this? I'm a professional." There's not really a *name* for this profession. Provocateur, perhaps? I like the title "information broker," though most of my information is made-up or at least greatly exaggerated. Others would probably refer to me as a mercenary, though you'll never find me in the field with a sword in my hand and blood spattered across my chest. Such distasteful work is an unfortunate byproduct of my line of work, and I often have dealings with the sort of scum that *do* find themselves selling their shields. *Those* are the sort of folks that you find in those stinking taverns that we spoke of earlier.
"I'm sorry," the prince told me. He smoothed his *masterful* disguise: fine silks that looked like they'd been dragged through mud, and a torn overcoat. Is this what he thought commoners dressed like? He couldn't find any linen or burlap? And even if he had found the proper clothes, his voice, bearing, height, smooth skin, and full set of teeth were still a dead giveaway. He might as well have come riding in on his destrier in full combat armor complete with the royal banners. "You may have committed treason before, but this is my first time."
I smiled. So many clients were so quick with the insults. "I prefer not to think of it as treason, but as my first act of loyalty to my new King." I gave a nod in his direction in case he had a hard time figuring out who I was referring to. A slight smile spread over his thin lips; that was also probably the first time someone had referred to him as "King" out loud, instead of just in his daydreams. It seemed to put him at ease, at least for the time being.
"I don't want to destroy the Kingdom, of course," he said. "We just need an uprising, or maybe a minor invasion. I was thinking that if some of the outlying islands were to fall to the Meriganians, that might do the trick." I nodded. I could do that. They'd once been part of Merigan anyway; half the population was just waiting for the right opportunity. The prince was perhaps riling up a hornet's nest of problems, but that really was none of my concern. I was just paid to *start* the trouble, not end it. "Just enough that the Council sees that we need a military leader as the heir, not a weak book-reader." His lip curled into a snarl at the thought of his older brother. It was a shame, really; the current heir would have made a much better king. But he wasn't the one offering me enough gold to sink a freighter, so here we were.
"Not a problem," I assured the prince. "But on the off-hand that the Council doesn't see the wisdom in your point of view..." I wasn't an assassin, but I certainly employed them. I find that a whispered word is usually more than enough to spark a little chaos, but a quick killing can be a lot easier and faster.
The prince shrugged. "Then kill him." As if he was referring to a mangy stray instead of his own flesh and blood.
"Very good." At heart, my clients are all the same. I knew his answer before he'd even heard the question. "Now there's just the matter of my payment..."
We worked out all the details until an appropriate bargain was settled. With both parties satisfied, we shook hands and I took his signet ring as both a down payment, and leverage to use in case he decided to betray me to the authorities. We rose and walked down the center aisle of the Abbey. One of the Sisters took notice and turned to look at me with disgust in her eyes. She didn't need a tongue to fling her insults. I gave her a cheery smile and an elaborate bow and carried on my way. Who cares what she thought of me?
| 2016-05-02T16:00:32 | 2016-05-02T15:32:45 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You were a soldier in a future conflict, until your heroic death. Now you face the battlefield of the Ragnarok of Nordic myth, with your full war kit. | Hafthor was a giant - almost eight feet tall, clad in black armor, and wielding the mighty *Dramthir The Unfathomable*. It was hard to tell which scars were from battle, and which scars were self-inflicted tattoos - both telling true stories of conquest and glory.
The first time that I had met him was in the dining halls of Valhallla. He had made some unbecoming remark about *letting anyone in*. I had slapped him across the face.
The older ones don't take well to being struck like that, especially by a woman.
He clenched my neck and picked me up off of the floor, bellowing Norse profanity at me. You get all sorts of beat up in basic, and I've since been killed a hundred times during the day's battles, but I'd never felt hurt quite like that. Thor himself had to separate us. The ground shook as Hafthor stomped away, and as much as I wanted to take his head in battle, I knew that even I couldn't best him - not up close.
But now it was the end of times, and rules had gone the way of the polar bear. I was six miles away, ocular implants rendering him as clear as our understanding of atmospheric diffraction would permit. He swung *Dramthir* like a child sword fighting with a twig, slicing another demon cleanly in half. *stead.IO* steadied the jitter that even six generations of neural optimization could not quite remove from my hands.
The forest glowed as my *Heimdall* class battle rifle propelled a slug at 1% *c*. It wasn't a bullet, so much as it was the breath of a thermonuclear dragon, burning away poor Hafthor and the mountain of demon corpses upon which he once stood.
Two of us will make it to the life after this one, and I'll be goddamned if Hafthor is one of them. | It's a long distance from pretty watching Thor die. His hammer falls to the ground and from it a quake ripples along an entire continent that rearranges the entirety of mountains. The aftershock is so loud it my heart skips and it leaves a ringing silence in its passing. My pulse rifle left a cavity in his torso, hot with smoke. It stinks of cooked flesh.
It's a free for all, and whoever survives gets to create the next era of man in their image. I look into the reflection of Thor's breastplate, and let me tell you, mine is spitting.
Not long ago, beneath my feet was every failure. Among them included the second mightiest man to have ever lived, his knuckles still tight on his pulse rifle. From every advancement of man creates gods relative to their ancestors, and I am the last of the last, the final war on Earth came down to me and and the tight knuckled man. Call us stubborn, but the only acceptable death for either of us involved glory. I sat there on a mountain of the dead with a wounded heart from his final shot. If any man had a right to ascend and match celestial brethren, it was me; I was the final centurion. And now, to live that life twice?
What a blessing.
A shock grenade splinters through even the mightiest of Norse warriors. I wrestle down Odin with cybernetic enhancements. Loki is no match for a boot to the skull. It's all so easy. A man with a musket and a good eye, likely the proudest man to free the United States from the tyranny of British rule stands before me. He fires a single bullet. I am impervious. I strike him down just as he would want. A second death, swift and marvelous, befitting of a true patriot. The men in camouflage are next. Dozens of them stand, then dozens fall. It grows more and more tiresome. My only disadvantage is having similar endurance to my kin. I tire and gasp for air, sweat rains down my face.
The last man is like me. Well equipped and from the last of times, before the Earth came to ruin. He tightens his knuckles and we fire at the same time. I feel the searing heat, my arm rips away and tumbles lifelessly like a dead worm. I grit my teeth before screaming through them, and then my jaw loosens. It hurts. Goddamn it hurts.
But the tight-knuckled man is dead, an I am the last standing. A beam of light engulfs me. What they said was true, that two in my image will populate the Earth when green sprouts from gray, when the skies part from ashen skies to a bright blue. In the future, one-armed men walk the Earth and carry my greatness forward. | 2016-07-27T08:37:56 | 2016-07-27T07:54:03 | 50 | 28 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself. | When I was told I would have to face the person I had hurt most in life in order to move into heaven, I can’t say that I was happy. Even though my life was now over and I had left my heavy body behind, the baggage on my soul didn’t seem any lighter. The thought of who it could be as I walked down the long hall to our meeting place ate at me. Would it be my ex? My Dad? One of my best friends?
The figure in the distance slowly came into view I swear I could feel my heart beating out my chest even though neither existed anymore. It was a child. A small, innocent, child. How could I…? My children? How did I hurt my children the most? If I was still stuck in that fleshy meat suit I would be shaking like a leaf right now.
The closer and closer I get, the more confused I become. It’s not until I take a seat at the table across from the child that it hits me.
“Hi,” the small voice pipes up to me.
“Are you…” I pause as I look over the awkward brown bowl cut, the pale porcelain skin, and the bright green, hopeful eyes… and it’s then I realize, I’m staring back at myself.
“Why were you so mean to me?” she asks in the tiniest of voices.
There is a light brown puppy stuffed animal that lays still on the table in front of us. She picks casually at the long since matted fur as she awaits my answer.
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t mean to you, sweetheart,” I reply. I can’t help talking to her like she is one of my own children. I can hear the sadness in her voice. The way she averts her eyes as if I am mad at her or as if she’s done something wrong.
“You said I was fat. You said no one would love me. You said there were plenty of pretty girls in the world but I just wasn’t one of them,” she says back, without even looking up at me.
“Honey… I… that wasn’t you. I wasn’t saying that to you. Things happen when you get older. Things just get harder… they aren’t so black and white anymore, you know?” I try my best to explain.
Her eyes slowly move across the table, up and over my form, until she is staring me straight in the eyes.
“You gave up on me. I kept telling you how much I loved you! I told you how beautiful you were! I told you that you didn’t deserve all of the things that last man put you through! I told you!” she starts to raise her voice at me. Each ‘told you’ being met with a pound of a tiny fist on the table.
“It wasn’t you… It was-“
“IT WAS US! I told you every day you were good enough! That you were strong, that you were capable, that you could move mountains with your love! But you didn’t listen to me. You never listen to me! You were mean to me!” she continues on, only getting more emotional with each word.
Like a fish out of water gasping for breath, my mouth flops around in vain grasping for words. I had heard that tiny voice inside of me. It was always so quiet over all of the other negative voices that were so loud.
“But… but… you were naïve. You don’t understand how it is to be an adult. People are manipulative, they are mean, they are cruel, and they will hurt you. You don’t understand how the world works. You’re just a kid.” I tell her as best as I can.
She offers me a small smile and scoots off of her chair, grabbing her raggedy little stuffed puppy in her arms before moving around the table to stand in front of me. She pushes the puppy into my chest and wraps my arms around it.
“Without me you would have given up after being bullied all of those years. Without me you wouldn’t have forgiven our Mom after Daddy died. Without me you would have never learned to love again when he left us broken and shattered after so many years,” she explains in the most innocent of voices.
I feel her hand on my cheek and I realized that not only am I hugging the puppy tightly, I’m not even looking at her anymore and I’m crying. She gently guides my face until I’m look back at her once more.
“You think I was your naivety but I was your hope. You think that I was being blindly optimistic because I didn’t know any better but I did. I knew better than you. There is good in the world. People are good. Just because you found one that shattered your heart didn’t mean you wouldn’t find one that would rebuild it.”
“But… I was scared. I was so… alone after that. So lonely,” I lament.
“Why do you think I kept trying to talk to you? I told you everything you needed to hear. The truth! But you never listened to me,” she counters in frustration with a stomp of her foot to the floor.
“I’m sorry I… I just… It’s different being an adult. You have to grow up and face the world and you just… you can’t be a kid anymore,” I explain to her.
“Why do you think I’m a kid? Do you think adults all talk of their ‘inner child’ because it isn’t real?”
“Well… it’s a socially acceptable way to still be childlike sometimes,” I offer.
“We’re all children on the inside. It’s not the age, it’s the soul. Your soul starts out pure and loving. You love yourself and care for the ones around you until you’re taught not to. Maybe someone else teaches it to you or maybe you teach it to yourself. It’s not that you grow up and now you’re an adult. Your soul doesn’t age. It’s what happens to it. You have an inner child because it’s the last time you truly loved yourself, the last time you were able to love the world around you unabashedly, as it should be,” she tries to express to me.
“But as you get older… you learn. You just learn that the world isn’t what you thought it would be,” I retort.
“As I said before… someone teaches you. But you didn’t listen to the voice telling you it would be okay. You were too caught up in what everyone else around you was saying or doing. Would you ever tell your children they were too fat? They weren’t good enough? They would never find anyone that loved them?” she asks in genuine curiosity.
“Well, no. No, of course not,” I say back.
“Then why would you say it to me?” | Patricia stepped through the door and burst into laughter, the back of her hand pressed against her nostrils and her breath coming out in irregular snorts, doubling over in high-pitched hiccups of laughter. The other woman - the person behind the curtain, the other Patricia - smiled uncertainly and chuckled a little back, swaying back and forth on her heels. "This is-" Patricia got out, her breathing coming in wheezes, "this is bullshit. This is - this is the most ridiculous bullshit I've ever - Oh god." She braced her hands on her knees, expelling a gasp. "This is shit. This is - I'm not doing this. Oh god." She straightened up and pushed her hair back from her face. "I'm not playing this game. Send me to hell. Or whatever. I'm done here."
Saint Peter - at least she figured he was Saint Peter, beard and white robes and standing gatekeeper to heaven - stood impassive, his arms crossed, not letting her pass. "There are truths that must be faced," he intoned. "This is your judgement. There is no escaping it."
"This is bullshit!" she said, the last vestiges of hilarity leaking out of her like a balloon. God, that was her over there. That nervous, rodent-like smile of an ineffectual who never had anything useful to say. Even now, staying silent. That ragged haircut she'd taken to trimming herself, hacking off chunks of hair when she felt it was starting to weigh down on her. A face that went through the crude routine of lipstick and eyeshadow without even understanding the basics of aesthetics or beauty. Patricia could feel the bile rising in her throat just looking at her. "This isn't a goddamn game," she said. She was cursing so much all of a sudden. Well, one of the benefits of being dead. "You - I can't - This is narcissism. This is - this is emotional masturbation. I'm me! I'm myself! I'm a series of actions, I'm a fucking net drain on the world!" She jabbed her finger at her doppelganger. "That is not a person, that is not another person! You can't wrong yourself, you *are* yourself! Ugh!" She closed her fists in her hair, feeling the strands cut through her palms. She whirled around to face her double. "Well? What do you have to say?"
"Um," the other Patricia said, her voice dull and nasally. "Well, I don't - I don't know what's going on here any more than you do -"
"Oh god," said Patricia, grinding her palms into her ears. "Shut up shut up shut up. God. Do I sound like that? Jesus Christ." She shuddered. "That's awful. Don't make me - don't make me listen to my own voice. That's terrible. That's -" She rocked her head back and forth, trying to lodge the meat of her palms into her ear canals. "I can't do this. I can't do this! It's over. I failed. Fuck it. Let's go."
But Saint Peter was gone. And the door was gone with him. It was just Patricia and Patricia, in a room twenty feet square. "Oh no no no," said Patrica, feeling against the walls. "Oh fuck." She turned to face herself and started to laugh again, laughter fading into half-tuned sobs. "I failed it, didn't I? I got what I wanted." She pressed her back against the wall, slowly sinking down. "This is hell. This is hell, isn't it? That - yeah, that makes sense. You go to hell and the only thing left there is you get to spend an eternity with yourself." She stretched her fingers out along the curve of her skull, pressing down hard. "Oh god," she breathed. "I just wanted to not exist anymore. Was that so bad? Was that so impossible?" She looked up teary-eyed at herself, still standing there, like a moron.
Her other self shifted, cleared her throat. "Um, I think-" she started to say, and Patricia screamed "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" jamming her hands into her ears again. "Don't fucking talk! Oh god, I hate you! I hate the sound of you!" Her other self startled back, and fell silent. The sound echoed, whispered, pattered through the room. "Let's be-" Patricia said, making her voice gentle, conciliatory. "Let's be quiet, okay? Let's live with ourselves." She closed her eyes. "Shh shh shh shh shh." Just the breath. Just the sound in the back of her throat. No voice. No need to make anyone else suffer.
*This is what everyone must go through*, she told herself, through the quiet, in her head. You can disappoint your parents, you can sucker people into a series of meaningless relationships because you're afraid to be alone. You can make people think they're your friend, you can get them to trust you, and then you can let them down. You can be a worthless waste of life who systematically makes things worse for all the normal happy people you come into contact with. But only you can hurt yourself like this. Only you can damn yourself to hell. Everyone walking through their door and finding themselves waiting for them. *What did normal people do*, Patricia wondered. Was it touching? Was it heartwarming? Did they learn to love themselves? Patricia tasted vomit in the back of her throat just thinking about it. She hoped they were happy. She hoped that heaven made sense for other people. She hoped that -
A shoe slammed into her face, busting open her lip, and she tasted blood and gravel, felt something scrape hard against her teeth, her jaw, the front of her skull. The back of her head was driven against the wall and she heard something crack. Her head collapsed against the floor, her mouth open and leaking, and a foot hit her in her stomach, in her kidneys. She realized she was screaming, a strangled squeaking sound coming through spit and blood. Her other self was screaming too, words this time, "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Dimly, Patricia thought she didn't sound as bad when she was screaming.
"You piece of shit!" her other self said, dissolving into jagged sobs. "You treated me like shit our whole life!" Another kick in the gut. Patricia curled up instinctively, and the foot popped loose some of the buttons in her spine. She'd pissed herself. She was choking on something. "And even now you don't have the fucking decency to listen to me! To just-!" There was a weight on her. There were fingers clawing out her eyes. There were fingers around her throat. "I hate you!" It was a scream, it was a whine, it was a drawn-out sob squeaking at the back of her throat. "Hate you! I hate you!"
Patrica opened her eyes to see light fading into black, tried to breath and couldn't. *Thank god*, she thought, as the hands tightened around her throat, choking the life out of her. *Thank god, thank god, thank god. At least she gets to let it out*, was the last thought swirling through her mind. *At least I get what I deserve.* | 2016-08-15T06:37:00 | 2016-08-15T05:08:42 | 241 | 20 |
[WP]As the axe murderer at a teenage campout in the woods, you had expected them to split up. You didn't expect them to band together to hunt you down. | I saw the clearing up ahead lit up by a roaring camp fire. They were drinking and laughing. I breathed heavily in anticipation as I felt my blood begin to boil marvellously. But this was weird, I had been looking for them for the last hour since I took their friend Cindy...I'm no expert on the sane mind, but I'm pretty sure they should, like care that their friend was captured right? Maybe be afraid..I moved quietly between the trees to get a closer look.
The petite blonde girl began crying as the men ran towards the lake leaving her alone. This was more like it. I heaved the bloody axe to rest on my leather shoulder pad as I walked through the tree line out into the clearing and let out a maniacal laugh. The petite girl Rebecca spun round and let out a scream of pure terror as she fell back off the log in shock.
"That's right little girl, let me savour those last moments of candid terror before I chop that pretty little face up!" I declared cheerfully
I begun to revel in the moment, swinging my axe down into the log as I pulled her by the hair onto the log, chopping block style. But suddenly I heard quick crashes through the trees, wheeling around I spotted the two men dash back into the clearing brandishing makeshift spears. I looked down at Rebecca, her hair still clutched roughly in my hand. The bitch was laughing her fucking ass off. I stepped back disturbed by the turn of events.
"Ah good, we're not too late! Couldn't have you starting the party before we got our weapons ready!" said their leader Chuck with a defiant smirk on his face. I backed up some more as Rebecca got up and caught a knife from Chuck and joined the others in a semi circle on the other side of the fire.
"Hehehe you crazy kids have saved me the effort of finding you all one by one. Its like a 3 for 1 deal!" I bluffed triumphantly
I yanked my axe out of the log and spun it deftly around my fingers in anticipation. That's when I heard more crashes from behind me, I hopped to one side and searched for the source of the noise frantically. Holy shit, it was Cindy. She was covered in blood and breathing heavily.
"How did you get out of the basement!?" I yelled in frustration
"Sorry I'm late guys, the fucker used a cowboy bowline knot on me. Took a while to wriggle free without breaking my damn neck" she said in a steady, deadpan tone
I looked back at Chuck who gave me a 'women am I right' shrug of the shoulders. I looked at the group as they begun tending to Cindy's injuries like I wasn't there.
I surveyed the scene in bewilderment for a few long moments.
"I'm sorry but what the fuck is happening here? Why aren't you panicking at all?" I said in a flustered, defeated tone
"Sorry Chief, this isn't our first rodeo. You're our third murderer this year" Chuck explained nonchalantly.
"What have we got this time anyways Rebecca?" Cindy asked rubbing her neck wound
Rebecca eyed me up and down and turned back to her friend "Another axe murderer, looks like he has some sort of disfigurement under his mask. Likely due to some childhood trauma that led him onto the path of mania" she explained like you would the weather forecast for the week
"Ugh how cliche', alright freak lets dance!" Cindy challenged as she smashed a beer bottle on a log.
My heart begun racing as I eyed the 4 teens converging on me with an array of weapons, without the slightest ounce of fear. I turned round and begun running through the vegetation, "fuck this you kids aren't right in the head, help!" I yelled breaking out in a cold sweat. So this is what it was like to be the victim.
| Through the slits in my mask, I could see Amber talking to Becky, which was just *classic* her.
You see, Amber was dating Becky's ex-boyfriend Mark, who'd slept with Amber while dating Becky. She'd found out and the two of them had broken up, but Amber had apologized (*not that she'd meant a word of it*) and now the two of them were best friends once more. Of course, Becky didn't *know* that Amber was now dating Mark, because she thought Amber was still with Ray, who'd *never even fucking existed can you BELIEVE IT*? Yeah! Amber had been jealous that Becky had a boyfriend while she didn't, so she'd told her about some guy from the next town over named "Ray", as if people still were named that.
So now, Becky was thinking of getting together with John, talking it over with Amber. *Yeah*. She was talking about her possible new boyfriend with the backstabbing, lying, cheating *bitch* who'd ruined her last relationship! And Amber was giving her advice, when the only advice she *should* be giving was "Hey, maybe *get better fucking friends*."
Like I said. Classic Amber.
Becky didn't deserve this. She'd come to this campsite hoping to have a good time with her new thing and her best friend, and that best friend had the *nerve* to get Mark, *Becky's ex*, to set up a tent at the next site over so she could sneak over and see him. Amber was a toxic bubbling vat of shit, and Becky was too blinded by loyalty to see it.
That's where I came in. I'd been looking for new victims for a week now, and during my stalking I'd heard about the fucked-up situation between Amber and Becky. Now, I may be a crazed murderer with a well-used ice pick, but I like to think of myself as a people person. If I could kill two birds with one stone (okay, one ice pick), then so much the better.
I'd already killed Mark, and had his dripping body in my left hand as proof. I'd carved "AMBER'S BOYFRIEND" into his back, which I figured would get the message across. Amber and Becky were still talking in the cabin, and John (Becky's new guy) was sitting on a bed in the opposite corner. It was time to send a message.
With a running start, I hurled Mark's body through the cabin's window, shattering the glass and causing a chorus of screams and yells from inside. I hid in the bushes outside to check that Becky and Amber would split up.
"Oh my god, *Mark*!" Amber screamed.
"What the *fuck*?!" Becky yelled.
There was some further commotion, which settled down into the usual sobbing and questions to no one ("Why would this happen?" "Is he alive?" "Who did this?" "WHY GOD?"). I'd heard it all before, and was honestly getting a little bored.
I eventually got so frustrated that I called through the window "Check his back!"
"Who the *fuck* was that?" John yelled. I retreated further into the bush as he poked his head out the window, looking around like a suicidal sideways gopher. If it was any other night, I'd pull him out by the neck and slit his throat, but I needed to know that Becky and Amber were over first.
"It must've been the murderer!" Amber said. I could hear it in her voice--she saw a way out of this. That scheming *bitch*. Any distraction from the question of what the fuck Mark was doing in the woods in the first place played into her hands. Amber was even more of a sociopath than I'd thought (although not as much as yours truly), and I'd been an impulsive idiot.
"We...we need to find that son of a bitch!" Becky said, steel creeping into her voice. "He killed Mark!"
"That's right," Amber said, her voice starting to sound less panicked now that Becky wasn't focused on her. "We need to stick together!"
"I brought a gun!" John said. "Becky, grab that fire axe. We'll find this bastard."
"Yeah," Amber said. "Becky, I've got your back."
"And I've got yours," Becky said. "Best friends *forever*."
Well, I tried.
I sighed, retreating from the bush and readying my ice pick. If Becky didn't want to help herself, *fine*. I guess I just had to murder them all now. People were so *dumb* sometimes.
Frickin' Amber. | 2016-11-01T12:39:17 | 2016-11-01T11:39:11 | 283 | 60 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| Immortality isn't what everyone believes it is. You can't escape death - not in the way people think. Trust me, I've tried - I've lived through the ages and every time I glance myself in the mirror there's a new line on my face, more grey in my hair. Doesn't matter if I'm going backwards or forwards - time still passes.
I don't know when I first met Arthur - likely I'd come across him many times before I realised it was the same person I was talking to. He's different every time, you see. Well, in appearance, at least - though sometimes only minutely - but in all the ways that matter, he's still *Arthur*. Still loud and brash, arrogant but with the kindest heart I've ever come across. I should have realised sooner - somehow his grin always quirks the exact same way, and his eyes flash with the same knowing glint no matter the shade.
The first time I *remember* meeting him - and knowing for certain, in hindsight, that it was him - it was 1998. He was working as a nurse in the most run down hospital I had ever had the misfortune to step into, and he flashed me a harried grin as he rushed through his introduction, efficiently cleaning and stitching the gash along my hand. I remember a flash of recognition settling into my stomach as I met his (then blue) eyes, and I had known in that instant that, somehow, I knew him. It was only a few months later in 1859 that I spotted him talking on a street corner in New York city, a handful of people loitering around listening to him speak out against the latest taxation problems (some things never change, no matter the year). I stopped and joined the small gathering, and he smiled when he caught my eye - his eyes were brown and he was shorter, but it was undeniably *him*. When all the others had wandered away, I stayed, and he greeted me with a handshake, his hand warm in mine as he introduced himself again. He still does that - no matter the year, it's always the same. A brief handshake, a grin.
His name.
(that changes sometimes, as well - I'll never let him live down the lifetime he went as *Archibald*. He bears my teasing with good-natured grumbling.)
"So, have you been here before?" He asks.
He asks that quite often as well - I don't know why. No matter my answer he catches me up - tells me what's happening, what to look out for, things and people of interest. Sometimes we go our separate ways immediately. Sometimes he takes me out for dinner, and we catch up.
Over time we've discussed everything under the sun - politics, religion, romance, food, travel (that last one certainly took more time than the other, more mundane subjects). But in all the lives he's lead and in all the time I've experienced, he won't tell me when *he* first met *me*. His eyes go sad around the corners and he changes the subject quickly.
Arthur is not what I would call subtle - I doubt he ever has been or ever will be.
His eyes follow the canyons time has carved onto my face. His hands, in some lifetimes, card through my slowly greying hair with something like fear. In the 60s (1860's, that is) his hands are distant and careful. In the 2060's they're greedy and reverent. Some lifetimes he doesn't kiss me. Some life times, he does. Some life times, he has a wife and children. Some life times, we miss each other by weeks, and I'll find his name in the obituaries. Time passes. Back or forward, it passes. He never checks how old I am when we find each other.
Arthur has lived more lifetimes than I can imagine, and I have seen more of time than I ever thought possible.
My hair greys. The lines on my face deepen. Arthur watches, and in every lifetime his eyes hold the same knowing glint.
No one can escape death and immortality isn't real.
Not in the way you think. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T15:01:38 | 2,588 | 18 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| I first laid eyes on him in Troy.
We were sheltering from the oncoming forces in a temple near the outer walls. The soldiers were watching the perimeter while women and children waited inside. And he appeared, right smack bang in the middle of all of us. Almost knocked over our wine table. The soldiers were terrified, they thought someone had breached the walls, even if they couldn't work out how. They dragged him away, all the while he attempted to explain the impossible... he had simply appeared out of nowhere.
I didn't get the chance to speak to him then. That wouldn't happen for another 40 years, when I was wandering the plains of Sparta. I was heading to a small town at the top of a mountain when I slipped on a loose piece of rock and fell... but the fall never came. He had again appeared out of nowhere. I turned and saw him. A shockingly handsome boy of maybe 23 years. I went to thank him, but before I could get a word out he shouted "Where is King Arthur? I need to find him!" he thrust a golden wine cup in my face, gesturing as if it would mean something to me. "Arthur? What a funny name" I replied, before informing him that since the last city siege, we had no king. And we had certainly never had one by the name of Arthur. He walked me the rest of the way to the town, and I could barely get a word out. I just stared at him. This gorgeous, fascinating man.
We had our first date in the gardens on Babylon. We sat in cool grass as I lay in his arms. He told me I would see something amazing. And within the hour I did: A shooting star, bright white as it danced across the sky. "How did you know that was going to happen?" I asked him "Are you one of those star-readers from the far east?". That's when he told me.
He was a traveler. Not just a traveler of the land, like me, but of time. He never knew how long he would be on one place, and he never knew where the next place would be. He would just disappear, and re-appear without a moment's warning. While he couldn't decide where he would be next, he was convinced that he could sometimes influence the outcomes. "I noticed you that very first night, in Troy" he said "I saw something in your eyes that I've never seen before. Every night since, I've dreamed of meeting you again. When I saw you again in Sparta and you hadn't aged a day, I knew you were special, like me".
We made love for the first time on a Greek island in the middle of a religious festival. I was watching the priestesses perform a sacrifice when he appeared on the edge of the crowd, waving. I left my seat immediately, and spent the rest of the night locked in passionate embrace on a secluded, white sand beach.
I've lived my entire life waiting for him. I never know when he will appear next. Sometimes it's months, sometimes decades. I wander the world seeking knowledge. It started out as a noble quest to make the most of my potentially infinite time here. Now it is simply a method of keeping myself busy until I see him again.
Sometimes he appears as a sprightly young man of 20, enthusiastic and full of energy. Sometimes he is a more mature, slightly greying man, a silver fox. I kind of prefer the more experienced one personally. Sometimes he is too old and withered to make love, and we simply lie together in each others arms, fortunate for all the time we have.
I've seen war, famine, the rise and fall of empires, religions, and entire races. I've seen the world change. The only constant I've ever known is him. He may not be here now, but I know I will see him again someday. And that hope if all I need to keep me going. I love a man who can never stay, and he loves a woman who can never die. And I could not be luckier. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T15:14:06 | 2,588 | 17 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| "What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?" I asked through the incessant buzzing of my portal, "How could people be different colours?"
"Raj," Yorrick continued, "You were born well after the fall of Ganymede. I don't --"
"Ganymede?"
"It's a moon from the first system. It's where you'll have to go to talk to him."
"I thought we came from a planet?"
"We did, it was also in the first system. Stop interrupting me."
"Well you're not making any sense."
"Well just listen! He'll be on a planet called Earth in a city called Jerusalem. My brother can take you there. Earth should be right where we are--"
"Is that who we're waiting for?"
"Raja!"
"Sorry."
"Earth was massive. Much much larger than the drifter ships you come from. People grew up in wildly different climates and it made their skin different colours."
"Like blue and green?"
"No. Like black and white and brown."
"I'm brown."
"You're beige."
"White would be creepy."
"I'm white."
"What? No you're not you're like... a weird pink."
"You're young. I don't expect you to understand."
"I'm 9!"
"In drifter years. You're only around 16 on Earth."
"Well that's even more."
"No it isn't."
"You Eternals make no sense. No wonder you all died off."
"Ya well your people are way worse. Here he comes."
"Where?"
"You won't be able to see him yet."
A small noise filled my ears. I looked to Yorrick for any clue as to what was going on. The noise flourished, and became something of a voice. His expression quickly shifted from concentration to panic as the sounds grew louder still.
"Something's wrong." He yelled over the now deafening roar in the air, "he's going to hit us!"
"What do we do?" I asked.
"Stay there, I'm getting in."
"What?! No!"
"Raja, Move!"
I jumped out of the way while Yorrick forced his way through the portal.
"Push the button!" He screamed.
There was a blinding flash of yellow light, followed by a boom so loud I could feel it, but didn't hear anything. We were both blown back. There was suddenly gravity. The ground was soft and malleable, and incredibly hot. I felt like I'd been punched in the face.
"What the fuck happened?" I wondered aloud as I opened my eyes. The light was blinding.
"He crashed." Yorrick sat up.
"Your brother? Is he OK?"
"I have no idea. And we're here."
"On Earth?" I sat up. We were sitting on top of a hill, looking out onto city that looked like it was made of the dirt it sat in.
"Yes."
"Why is it so fucking hot?"
"Our sun was pretty intense."
I grabbed a handful of whatever was on the ground. "Where are we? What is this?"
"The desert. It's called sand. We have to find Josh."
"What's he look like?"
"I've never met him."
"You've never met him?! What the hell? This is the whole reason they sent me to you!"
"I know, I'm sorry! We needed my brother."
"Well can't we find him somewhere. He didn't come through with us?"
"No. He wouldn't be here now either. He always stayed in Canada in this era."
"What's Canada?"
"Shut the fuck up, Raja."
"Yorrick!"
"Oh grow up. And that's not my name when we're here."
There was a noise behind us. We spun around to see a woman. She was beautiful, and terrified.
"Holy shit that's her." Yorrick whispered.
"Who? The eternal?"
"No. We came back too far."
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Yorrick stepped towards the woman. She in turn stepped back.
"No, no. Mary don't be afraid." He said to her, as calm as I'd ever heard him speak, "I'm Gabriel. You should probably sit down for this."
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T16:23:58 | 2,588 | 10 |
[WP] You buy a special camera at the pawn shop. Every photo you take, it shows a snapshot of 10 years ago. You take a picture of your dog and it shows him 10 years ago when he was a puppy. Everything is all fun and games, until you decide to take a picture of your bedroom one night. | There your mother stands, over your father, with a bloody knife, in bloody garments. She told you and the police it was a burglary gone bad.
Some poor guy was arrested for your fathers murder 10 years ago and is now serving a life sentence, so you bought the story.
You show your mom and she says she pulled the knife out of your father that night. She says she was in shock and didn't know what she was doing when she found him.
You go to the police department that day and ask if you can read into your fathers case. Despite being against department rules, a sympathetic investigator tells you everything you want to know about the case. He tells you a weapon was never recovered. Its the one piece of the puzzle you can never solve.
You go home, scared and confused. Scared and confused, but hungry. You begin to prepare yourself a BLT. You go to grab the kitchen knife to slice your tomato, but its not there. You feel a sharp pain in your back and everything starts to go black. As you fall to the floor, your mother stands over you with a knife in her hand. The same knife you've used your whole life to prepare meals. The same knife your mother killed your father with.
The investigator walks in
"I brought over some of the case files from your fathers..."
What he sees stops him in his tracks.
| I took the picture, smiling inwardly. I wonder how it'll look? I'd only been living there for a few months - I wonder what it had been like 10 years ago? What pictures would be up on the walls? Was the building even 10 years old?
I went to the darkroom, dipping the photo into the chemicals. I'd always enjoyed the process - it gave me time to think, to be lost in that secluded world of darkness. I felt strangely safe in it.
I hung up the photo, going outside to feed Max. I framed the picture I took of him as a puppy - he'd been so cute back then, but worryingly thin. As a rescue dog, it made me even happier that I'd found him. I gave him a treat along with his food - I'd been taken even better care of him lately, seeing how he'd looked so many years ago. He needs all the love he can get.
Back to the darkroom. It was silly, but I was excited to see the picture. Most of the images I'd took had ended up being very banal, but something about this one filled me with intrigue.
I took the picture off the wire, peering into it in the darkness. It didn't seem to have developed properly - it was so dark. I let my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and I looked closer into the image.
The picture wasn't dark. It seemed obscured, almost as if there was a figure standing too close to the camera.
Then I saw it - then I saw her.
*Looking directly into the camera*.
Suddenly Max whined outside. I'd never heard him make that noise, and it made me instantly drop the photo. I turned to open the door, but the handle was stuck. No - the door was *locked*.
Max was barking, growling. I'd never heard him like that. I beat at the door, hitting it with all my might, but it wouldn't budge. Panicking, I grabbed the photo again, lifting it to my face.
The room was bare. The figure gone.
Something slammed against the wall, and I heard Max's muffled cry.
Then she came for me. | 2016-12-22T04:23:59 | 2016-12-22T03:14:16 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days. | My WARRANTY is EXPIRING?! I can't believe what I'm reading. It's... it's just unbelievable. I call up my best friend, J.R., and tell him about the email I just found on my father's computer. He can't believe it either.
"Did you know?" He asks
"No!"
"Do they no you know now?"
"No... there's no way they could know."
"When was the email sent?"
*oh my god!* I had forgotten my father never checks his email. I rush back to the computer, too hurried to even turn on the lights, to check the date it was sent... 30 days ago exactly. I stand there, completely motionless in the dark room lit only by the glow of the computer screen. The lights come on and I turn to see who is there. I hadn't heard anyone come in.
"HAPPY WARRANTY DAY!" shouted the crowd of friends and family, J.R. standing in the front between my parents holding a present.
"Mom unit, Dad Unit... why didn't you tell me?" I asked, trying to sound offended. I think my excitement showed through though.
"We wanted to throw you a real surprise party. It's been one year since they installed your software and we wanted to give your hard drive a party to remember," Mom Unit replied.
Dad Unit stepped forward. "Congratulations, Son Unit XSR164926...8592749SSHDKVE43749...FG53." I hated when he used my full name. It always took so long. | >To whom it may concern,
>We, at Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics wish to inform you that your current model, named 'Malia Ann', will soon fall off of warranty. We urge you to renew your warranty at the earliest of your conveniences, to avoid damage to the unit and potential uninsurable events.
>The following events are not covered out of warranty:
>* Teenage Rebellion - Our standard model includes a teenage rebellion and experimentation phase where the unit will eliminate old safeguards and actively go against your commands.
>* Illegal Substance Ingestion - As your unit is designed to replicate the behaviours of most humans, drugs, alcohol, and tobacco are all pre-programmed to cause the system to deliberately produce errors that mimic human behaviours while maintaining an element of randomness.
>* Accidental procreation - The unit has been designed according to you and/or your spouse's specifications. In your specific unit, you requested that it have advanced procreation capabilities.
>* Etcetera
>Best Regards
Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics
****
I stared at the piece. Was some intern was tasked with typing up a believable-
My cheeks flushed red. Some intern had my files, and knew about every last bit of my body. And being 18... I shuddered. Clasped a hand to my mouth. And didn't scream for my mother.
It had to be some sort of joke. Bouncing back up to the top, I stared at the company's name. JOKER.
"Really, you guys used JOKER?" I grumbled, mousing over the reply button when footsteps rang out beside me.
"Dad, what is this?" I yelled, hands balled into fists and madly gesticulating at him and the monitor's email.
"What, dear?" he asked innocently. "It's just a joke, a practical joke."
I turned my eyes red and glared at him, the servos in my arm whirring away.
"Okay, okay, relax, Malia. Besides, even if a human were to read that, no one would believe it."
My oculars rolled.
"This time. But next time, I'm reporting you for endangering our take-over mission."
I deleted the email.
Obama nodded.
***
Dear human, you are invited to visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories.
| 2017-01-14T06:08:46 | 2017-01-14T04:26:46 | 142 | 65 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there. | **A bit late, not sure anyone will read this, but had a lot of fun with the prompt! Props to OP!**
__________
She ran out of the bathroom and grabbed me tighter than anything ever before.
"I found another world! A place where I was a god! A land where I crafted the dirt below my feet..."
I looked at her in total disbelief.
"I found a land where the beings praised me as their benevolent deity, burning pyres and making sacrifices to me!"
I mean she was gone for like 30 seconds to pee.
"You wouldn't believe it! I made the stars out of sand and the sky out of paint..."
At this point she was clutching me so hard I might actually faint.
"You should've seen it! I saw as wars were fought below my feet, heroics and feats fought in the name of me!"
I sniffed her hair trying to see if she had the scent of weed.
"I saw as the world crumbled in the name of greed, the fat needing to feed on the poor, the wicked on the weak..."
All this she had seen from taking a leak?
"So I destroyed it all and created anew,
Made the oceans a boiling stew,
Made a shelter from the ground,
keeping safe only the good few."
...
I then asked "...then why did you come back?
Come back from where you had all the power?
A benevolent deity of the bath.
A land where we also have to shower?
Why did you come back?"
I stared down into her eyes, at my feet she had curled.
"Because baby, even after all of this, you are still my world." | Seeing Maria slam the bathroom door behind her broke my heart, the utter contempt on her face cut straight through me. Such an idiot... I always mess everything up. I leant against the bathroom door tears flowing freely down my face. 'Maria, Baby, come out, we can fix this. I'll change I promise!' you lying bastard. I'll never change. My fingers pull at the locked door handle in a vain hope that it will turn freely and Maria will be in my arms, happy and full of love. The handle jars, turning no further that half an inch. I slump down in front of the door openly sobbing. I love her, I really do. My only hope for a happy future, I wanted to marry her. To have a family. And I still can't keep it in my pants.
What feels like an eternity passes but what I know to only be a several seconds tick by. Despair fills me. Drowning out all other emotion.
A click and the door opens inwards, her sweet perfume reaches me first, the scent of a garden in spring, fills my nostrils and rejuvenates me. A gentle hand strokes down my cheek, sliding under my chin she pulls me up close to her. 'it's okay honey, I forgive you'
Yes! The words I don't deserve to hear, I pull her close. 'I'm sorry, so sorry, I can't breathe without you, I felt like I was at that door for an eternity, it was hell, sorry...'
She kissed me, her lips first brushing and then pushing against mine sending warmth through my cold heart. She pulled away and leant to my ear. 'it felt more like a thousand years... I had plenty of time to think on the other side of that door, I know you love me and I know you want us to work, but I also know that you will never change. I've worked hard for this moment. It's like another world, I see myself creating a life for us, safe from everything. She kissed me again, pulling me hard against her. The warmth of her kiss halted and retreated as I felt cold steel sliding into my abdomen slicing through my insides the cold steel became hot pain screaming through my body, unable to scream I let out a gasp, she kissed me again. 'Please wait for me on the other side, we can make this work'
-HL
(sorry for the formatting, on mobile.) | 2017-02-20T23:55:13 | 2017-02-20T23:43:32 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there. | **A bit late, not sure anyone will read this, but had a lot of fun with the prompt! Props to OP!**
__________
She ran out of the bathroom and grabbed me tighter than anything ever before.
"I found another world! A place where I was a god! A land where I crafted the dirt below my feet..."
I looked at her in total disbelief.
"I found a land where the beings praised me as their benevolent deity, burning pyres and making sacrifices to me!"
I mean she was gone for like 30 seconds to pee.
"You wouldn't believe it! I made the stars out of sand and the sky out of paint..."
At this point she was clutching me so hard I might actually faint.
"You should've seen it! I saw as wars were fought below my feet, heroics and feats fought in the name of me!"
I sniffed her hair trying to see if she had the scent of weed.
"I saw as the world crumbled in the name of greed, the fat needing to feed on the poor, the wicked on the weak..."
All this she had seen from taking a leak?
"So I destroyed it all and created anew,
Made the oceans a boiling stew,
Made a shelter from the ground,
keeping safe only the good few."
...
I then asked "...then why did you come back?
Come back from where you had all the power?
A benevolent deity of the bath.
A land where we also have to shower?
Why did you come back?"
I stared down into her eyes, at my feet she had curled.
"Because baby, even after all of this, you are still my world." | Trillian came running out of the bathroom despite only having run in 15 seconds prior to this very sentence. I don't recall her flushing. I didn't hear her washing her hands, either.
'Todd! Todd! I fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to me! I now want you to follow me back into the bathroom because I have built a life for you there!' screamed Trillian, in what seemed like a single breath. If what she was saying was true, her lung capacity certainly had increased in that timespan.
I was flabberghasted. I didn't know what to say. I also didn't know how to spell flabberghasted and google wasn't working and my dictionary was broken so I'm not going to look that up.
'*A* 1,000 years?' I asked. "Wouldn't it just be '1,000 years'?" I remembered that people talking in stories is done with quotation marks and not apostrophes.
She looked stunned. "No, I believe it would be 'a 1,000 years' as in, 'a set of 1,000 years'. It describes a span of time."
"I'm not sure that's true. I can't necessarily disprove it, but it just doesn't sit right with me." I hated disagreeing with Trillian. Not because I thought she was irrational by any means, but because in some cases she was a bit *too* rational for me.
"Look Josh, you may be right about that, but perhaps in this alternate dimension they use different rules to describe numerical quantities. And, maybe it's been a while since I've used the England language." she explained to me. As if I were a child. Well, I suppose she wasn't necessarily explaining it to me as if I were a child, but it certainly felt that way. I suppose I could just be projecting my internal mental state onto her,...does that mean *I* speak down to others as though *they* are children? What does this say about me? I feel like an awful person sometimes. I know I don't deserve somebody as good as Trillian. Wait, did she call me Josh?
"Wait, did you call me Josh?" I said, stunned for a moment.
She thought for a second. 'Well...it's been a 1,000 years. What did you expect?'
I couldn't argue with her. Sometimes she's a bit too rational. | 2017-02-20T23:55:13 | 2017-02-20T22:50:38 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You possess the ability to quick save in real life. When someone upsets you? Quicksave and beat them up. Wonder what would happen if you kiss that girl? Quicksave and find out. Then one day you attempt to come back from a failed attempt at something to find your previous save corrupted. | "So, doctor, what kind of symptoms are we seeing from your patient?"
Doctor Allen adjusted her glasses, looking through the pattern of reinforcing wire in the windows that separated her and the man in the grey suit from the dimly-lit observation room. A figure inside struggled against restraints, his voice muffled by the intervening glass.
"He certainly hasn't calmed down much, even with the medication. We've got no medical files on him, can you tell me about his background?"
The Assistant District Attorney leafed through a file..."Very puzzling. Mr. McCardy here, age thirty-five, arrested by the police after an incident at a bank. Apparently he tried to rob it and injured a security guard, and suffered some sort of mental breakdown while being arrested."
The ADA closed the file and peered into the room. "It looks like he's had quite the career. No arrests before yesterday, but he seems to have been traveling the world, getting involved with all kinds of shady business. Random sorts of things, smuggling, illegal gambling rings, street racing, a surprise he hasn't been caught before now...I suppose his luck just ran out."
The ADA paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Doctor, any idea why he keeps shouting for 'Tech Support'? | Last week I stole a car and ran from the cops. A few days ago I went streaking through a the local Mormon Church (not proud of that one). I have been doing this stuff for years and it never gets old. I still like my normal life, but when I get bored I just go quicksaved, and go out to do something insane. I always end up back where I started when I will it. It's pretty safe. I have been a little promiscuous (or I haven't because all those events are erased now) but it was mostly about just giving it a try. This life is good. I have made a rule not to put myself in too much immediate danger or to stay in a risky scenario for too long.
I have become bored of some of the conventional stuff, so I decided to board a plane at the local skydiving school. I have been there before, for a birthday, and have been back for actual lessons multiple times. I was certified to go solo, so I boarded the plane for a 10,000 ft drop. I quicksaved and we took off. Once those doors opened and it was nearing drop time, I chucked my parachute out the door and jumped. It was terrifying, yet liberating, I had about 60s before I should hit, so I would just load before them. I spent about 30 messing around, but then I got a little freaked out at the thought of how crazy this was... fuck this... I'm done.
I closed my eyes and... nothing. NOTHING. OH FUCK! This voice in my head just told me "corrupt data". I tried and tried to access the save at the plane but just kept falling. It looks like I had 10s left. My vision blurred with my terror and defeat. This was it. It failed me. After that all I remember was the loudest noise I have ever heard, and an instant pressure as what I could only describe as my body flying apart into itself. Then... blackness.
I suddenly saw the loading screen. And was back in front of the Mormon Church. I'm done with this. Never again. | 2017-04-19T06:03:25 | 2017-04-19T05:48:39 | 715 | 193 |
[WP] A serial killer has abducted you, but says you may go free if you can convince nosleep that you truly need help. The sub is your only contact with the outside world. | Guys this isn't a joke. I know the subreddit says to make this type of prompt, but my kidnapper is using this as a game. THIS ISN'T JUST PART OF THE PROMPT. PLEASE TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY REDDIT. He's been playing a lot of games with me.. he calls himself Saw's Prodigy.
I was kidnapped 3 days ago. I was grocery shopping with my mom and I lost her. This man asked me if I was looking for someone, and I said yes not thinking anything of it. He told me he had seen someone else looking for a guy about my description and told me to follow him.. stupidly, oh stupidly I did. He must have used some type of chemical because he held a cloth up to my face and I just remember going to sleep in his arms.
Look he's telling me I have to finish this soon or my time's going to be out and the game will be over.. the only way I can win this game is if someone finds me.. please. I was kidnapped from the Whole Foods in Baton Rouge on Ben Hur Road.. if you can help my parents find me I'll owe you my life.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Greg | Mom and Dad, I love you. I'm sorry for shutting you guys out of my life for weeks. It tears me apart to know that the last time I'll have ever talked to you guys was in anger. You really helped me, and I treated you like shit. I should have showed you both how I truly cared about you two while I had the chance.
Skye, babe, I'm sorry too. I truly thought we had a future together. It might take a while, but no matter where your future takes you - live it. Remember me, but move on. Keep a picture, hide the rest. Take care of Summer for me.
To all my other friends, good luck. I'm sorry for not addressing you each individually, but I'm rather short on time. Have a beer and play some pong. Try to beat my record.
And if I talked to you above, stop reading. Please. Those are the last words I ever want you to see from me.
I'm going to die. I'm not an idiot. I've been kidnapped, and I'm going to be killed. I can't say more, it's one of my rules - no easily identified information. I can't say a place, not even a country. I was barely even able to say my girlfriend's and dog's name. I think it's because he wants this post traced back to me eventually, but for it to take time.
Essentially the 'deal' he offered me was this: if I could convince this subreddit that I'm about to die, I would live. I've seen his face though, so that's a lie. I've grappled with suicide in my life, as I often found it difficult to want to continue living. Even if I did want to stop living right now, though, I wouldn't want to go like this.
I need to have some kind of system to show if I 'convinced' you guys, so I guess just say "I believe you" if you do.
Goodbye. | 2017-06-03T19:00:32 | 2017-06-03T17:38:43 | 57 | 32 |
[WP] In your world, your physical appearance reflects the kind of person you are - you do good, you look good. One day on the news you see that the police is looking for somebody who allegedly murdered 15 people. They show a picture of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. | The woman is beautiful, it doesn't make any sense. Most pictures of anyone are unflattering and never do any justice to what they really look like but this one, this one isn't following that rule.
She is a dark brunette, the color of dark chocolate and her wide, honey eyes are mesmerizing. The shape of her face, the bridge of her nose, everything is almost flawless. I hate to use the word but it's true. I shake my head and continue to work on my case, typing up the report as best as I can. Later on today however, she is found, brought in and I get to question her.
I watch her from behind the window, still as mesmerized as I had been in the morning. I decide the picture didn't actually do her any justice, because she is even more beautiful in real life, almost inhumanly so.
"I know what you're thinking," Mark says by my side.
"What?" I question him, unable to tear my eyes away from her sitting form.
"How can a girl like her, whose murdered 15 people, be looking like that?"
I look at him and then back at her. "She must be innocent?"
"Evidence doesn't say so," he responds. "And it is pretty solid evidence. Finger prints, weapons, lack of alibis, everything."
I walk into the room with her file. Charlotte Baskin, age 25, works at a hairdressers in her town...
Sitting opposite her quietly, I watch her. She hasn't said a word since she entered apparently and I am almost struggling to form any of my own. But I compose myself quickly and get on with the job. But I don't even have to question her, because she begins speaking once I push the file to the side.
"I did kill those people."
I am caught off guard, but I remain calm.
"You are confessing?" I ask her.
"Yes..." she looks down at the table. Her hands are folded in her lap and she looks innocently guilty, she knows what she has done. "But I don't regret it," she says firmly.
"And why's that?"
She looks straight into my eyes, like a fierce lioness, daring me to judge her. "Because those men...they were human traffickers. There were children there, children..." she narrows her eyes. "No one will miss those men. No one. In fact, the world is much better off without them."
I keep my lips pursed, thinking. We stare at each other for almost a minute, like she is daring me to dispute her justification, daring me to tell her that she did wrong.
"I hid the children. They need help. Can you help me?" she questions.
I exhale and push the file in between us. Opening up my notebook and picking up a pen I look at her gently. "I need you to start from the beginning Miss Baskin..."
It sounds like she has got herself involved in something bigger than any of us had anticipated. I have a long day ahead of me and those penetrating eyes don't tell me otherwise. | Why do all the others get to be pretty? I'm just as good as they are, no... I'M BETTER. I always try so hard to be pretty. I give to charity for all of those lowly ingrates, I build houses for those ungrateful homeless, I even saved the lives of a few snot-nosed brats when ran out in front of a bus like complete idiots.
But even after all of that, I'm still so ugly. My nose is still bent at an odd angle. My teeth are still yellow and misshapen. My eyes are still lopsided, my brow is still distractingly huge. And to top it all off, my body is still disgustingly fat and bulbous no matter how much I exercise. It's.. it's... IT'S JUST NOT FAIR.
Do you know how hard it is being ugly in this world? People take one look at me and just assume I'm a horrible person because of my looks. They look at me with their perfect faces, and their perfect bodies, and their god damn perfect personalities, and they try to help me... HELP ME, as if there's something wrong with me. But I don't need their pity, or their stupid kindness, they can all go to HELL.
It's a nightly ritual of mine to sit at a bar called "The Golden Apple", and drink with a few other of societies unwanted uggos. We were all ugly, but even among them, i was still the ugliest. They all accepted me, but I know it was just out of pity, and I hated them for it. Every night there is the same. The ugly saints always try to make conversation, and I just silently scorn them while sipping my drink. However, tonight was different.
I was nursing my ale and considering offing myself by breaking the glass and slicing my throat open with its remains; when I saw, Her. I had looked up for just a moment, and I caught a glimpse of her, that was all I needed to be enraptured by her face. It was a work of art. It had a petite and perfectly rounded shape. Her lips were small, and shaped in a sly seductive pout, with just a hint of red lipstick. She had a cute little perfect nose and long hair that flowed like a river made of midnight. However, it was her eyes that entranced me the most. Her eyelashes were short but seductively sharp. Her brow was small and perfectly formed. And, the irises themselves shone out like beautiful disks of silver moonlight, making my heart dance to their mysterious song.
I was so taken aback that I almost didn't hear what the incompetent news host said next. "This woman, Alexis Jones, had just been found guilty of the murder of 15 people. Miss. Jones, a model for a multi-million dollar advertising company, was found, gun in hand, at the site of a massive shooting that took place in a local grocery. It is still up to debate whether she will be given life or the death penalty, but one thing is sure. Justice will be done for the grieving families of the victims".
I was stunned, how could one so beautiful ever commit such a heinous crime. 15 people and she killed them all. No... no, it couldn't be, not in this world, there was no way. I had to know, I had to know how such a horrible person had attained such beauty, and maybe, I could cast off these shackles of ugliness myself. I got up from my bench and quickly grabbed my coat. "Hey, Dallas, where are you off to in such a hurry." Said my ugly, and ignorant, friend James. I gave one hard look at him and replied " I'm going to learn how to spite God" before taking off into the cold darkness towards the county prison.
Edit: Grammer and spelling are hard, especially on mobile.
Reply if you would like a part two I have a few ideas I mind. | 2017-06-12T09:14:18 | 2017-06-12T08:56:05 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Technology allows for people to swap consciousness. The number one use has been physical trainers swapping client bodies to get them into shape. Your client was just killed leaving you trapped in their body. | ######[](#dropcap)
["Please hold on a minute, sir](#sc). I'll switch the line over." Sweat furrowed down my brow as my thumb tapped on the screen.
"Stay on the line Victor," the voice on the other end answered quickly. "There's been an unfortunate accident, and I need you to listen carefully."
*How does he know my name*, I wondered. I'd only ever received a single call on Strafford's cell, and that was quickly transferred over to the real man without a hitch. The man who was lounging on a couch at the gym with a controller in his hand and a Vive on his head - in my teenage body. Entertainment was complementary, and he was clearly enjoying it for all it was worth. The membership was expensive as hell but he clearly needed it.
Yeah, technology was a strange thing. Here I was, jogging on the treadmill in Strafford's overweight body, huffing and puffing with nicotine-stained lungs. A body abused by a life of junk food and a heavy video game addiction, often seated in front of his machine with his hands pounding at the keyboard and eyes glued to the screen. I was paid thirty an hour to visit the lab after class and make the man fit again. The job wasn't exactly appealing, but the salary would help go towards my future tuition.
"I'm listening," I said. A uniformed lady in a lab coat waved at me from behind her Plexiglas booth, ordering me to continue my jog. I ignored her and pulled out my magnetic safety key, forcing the machine to a halt.
"Victor, I am Joseph Ichuz, technical director of BZ Laboratories. I know it seems strange that I'm the one talking to you here, but I'm certain no one working at the gym has any clue about this matter."
My heart was pounding so quickly I thought it would stop any moment. The other joggers around me turned and wondered why I was walking off to the exit right at the start of my shift.
"Your original self just passed away in the lounge five minutes ago. We do not know the cause, but there will be a prompt investigation. Compensation will..."
Ichuz continued speaking in the background, but I couldn't hear him straight. The only thing I remembered from his talk, and the long meeting with him in person several hours later, was that I was alive and Strafford was not. Well, my consciousness was. Gamer Strafford would never be seen again.
I was left with my seventeen year-old self in the body of someone in his thirties. Fat, hunchbacked, and with ridiculously thick glasses that annoyed me constantly while exercising. All my life my parents had taught me to stay fit, keep my back straight, and watch my screen time. I was quite popular, had a cute girl that I met with quite often, and was looking to get into an Ivy school. Not at the top of the ladder, but certainly unlike the bastard that I was now stuck with for the rest of my life.
The legal clusterfuck was taken care of surprisingly quickly, with BZ offering a high settlement in order to prevent a lengthy trial. An autopsy was performed on my old body, but the cause of death remained unknown. With no evidence putting BZ at fault, my family chose the fifty million dollars as opposed to the courts. Since this mess happened near the start of Christmas break, I at least had some time to pull myself together and continue my studies at the start of the new year. Even thinking about going to class in Strafford's body gave me nightmares.
I remember going home in the evening and crying in bed, ignoring my parents as they negotiated with BZ reps. My neighborhood barber tried his best to dye Strafford's already greying hair and make his messy tufts more presentable. Someone gifted me a large box of contact lenses. I still went to the gym every day and worked out as hard as I could.
Many of my friends visited to comfort me. Said it was fine, said it wouldn't affect anything. Yet, I wondered what the shitstorm would be like when I stepped into class at the start of January. | Gerald was a little surprised as he got out of his car and approached the two officers that were standing in front of Broheim Gym. He was already running half an hour late. It had been a few months since his last body switching session and his newest client Harold Stickler was a very obese man. He’d forgotten just how hard it was getting out of bed or just getting normal tasks done. Even just trying to do a simple run to the gym was hell on this body. Walking there in the sweltering heat didn’t do him any favors either. There was so much sweat coming out of him, it was disgusting. Also he felt some pain in his right knee so he had a feeling his client had tried to lie about how physically out of shape he was.
That was the problem with it being illegal to just switch bodies. There was so much red tape over the process that attempting to get it done under the table led to a bit of an honor system about what the body was experiencing. Gerald couldn’t get his clients screened and Harold had claimed that despite the 150lb fat excess and the general problems with it he was in decent health. It didn’t really matter that he was lied to, Gerald could just start charging extra from his client who was no doubt enjoying the fit body that he was in right now.
“It’s probably like going from a damn go cart to a lamborghini,” Gerald said under his breath.
Drenched in sweat he walked up the officers and waved. “Heys guys, is there something going on in there?”
One of the officers raised his hand as if he was going to wave him away and then did a double take. You’re Mr. Stickler right?” “Yes that’s me,” Gerald replied. Oh shit this was bad. Did they know who he actually was. Both these cops had a gut that made the donut thing seem like a reality but there was no way he was outrunning them. Hopefully his lawyer could get him a good deal because there wasn’t really a way to deny his brain driving around in here.
“We actually need to talk to you about the trainer you were coming to see today. Gerald, I believe his name was. Gerald swallowed hard, yeah this was it. Harold must have done something to get his brain scanned. The jig was up. He had to think of something anything.
“Yeah, I was here to see Gerald.”
“He was waiting for you at the juice bar, attendant said he seemed quite annoyed that you were late. Any reason for that?”
“I was trying to run here and then that didn’t work out,” he said gesturing to his sweat soaked body. “Ended up walking instead.”
“You run?” the officer said with a skeptical look.
“I was trying to, might switch to swimming for a while. Gerald said we would figure that out today.”
“Well, I’m sorry to break the news but you are going to have to find another personal trainer. Gerald uh got shot today.”
Gerald’s jaw dropped. “What, did you say that he got shot?”
“Yep,” the only word to come out of the other officer’s mouth.
His partner looked at him and then turned back to Gerald.
“Yeah Gerald had a former client named Johnny Rhodes. He came in with a gun and popped him right in the head, right in front of the attendant at the juice bar. They are still cleaning parts of his brain off the glasses. Kinda crazy Johnny just sat down at the bar while the attendant was standing there screaming. Asked for a whiskey and said his pee-pee didn’t work anymore.
Gerald couldn’t process what he was hearing. His last client Johnny had been pretty big. He has some issues and it was proving hard to get him to his specifications. It was all illegal anyway to Gerald did what he had to and took some supplements. He’d done it before and nothing had ever happened to his clients. Since his cycles were so short he just assumed that the side effects were temporary.
The cop continued. “Looks like Gerald was running a business where he switched bodies. I’m assuming you don’t know anything about that right?” Gerald shook his head. “Didn’t think so. Yeah, well like I said Gerald’s brains are all across the juice bar right now. On account of using some kind of testosterone booster while in Johhny's body. We can’t be certain whether we'll be able to scan the brain matter but I would stick around, stay in town. We might need you to answer some questions. Not that we’re accusing you of anything.”
“Sure, sure that’s, that’s perfectly fine. I was just here to lose weight.”
“We’re sure you were Mr. Stickler.”
Gerald turned around and began the walk back to his apartment. He could feel the cops staring at him and it was worse than the sun that was beating down on him. There was never a time in his life where he wished he could run more than that moment.
| 2017-06-30T18:51:57 | 2017-06-30T18:51:33 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You, a survivor of the zombie apocalypse, realise that you can restore the humanity of the zombies by biting them. | To all those who saw me chomping like a madman on the undead, I was not trying to act like a crazy zombie. You could call it a reverse apocalypse: the same way they were infected would be the way they were cured. That's the way I learnt it ever since I used it to live during the peak of the apocalypse.
Another chomp brought a zombie to his senses as I was briefly reminded of the way I turned zombie villagers back in Minecraft so long ago. Good times. But the zombie that was already beginning to look human would thank me later. I had work to do and balance to restore.
Of course, Minecraft was a terrible analogy. I couldn't really make them human again. But I could stop them from mindlessly spreading the disease to others and wandering about the mortal plane looking for humans to eat. They had their free will and humanity back, and it was their game on how to use it. Locating a nearby zombie, I prepared to give him a dose of humanity.
I should have reacted when I heard it. The slow, familiar stomp behind me. But I didn't realize until it was too late.
The horrid sound of teeth through flesh was something I was accustomed to, but not on me. And the subsequent pain was nearly enough to outweigh my horror. "I'm becoming a zombie," I whispered, as I could feel the transformation occur. "How? The bastion of hope for humanity - a zombie? No!" My skin was rotting slowly, my will and consciousness slipping away. Then I had an idea.
Bracing myself, I raised my rotting arm and bit it.
As my body changed and my appearance altered, I could be assured of one thing.
I would remain human.
________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | "Hahaha! Woo hoo! This is awesome!" Earl yells as we sprint away from the crawling carcass. The IED we made goes off and zombie bits go everywhere. Earl whooped and hollered some more. How Earl could mantain this level of joy was beyond me. I just assumed he went crazy a while ago.
"We need to get shelter fast!" I yell at Earl. Earl nods his understanding, and we duck into a nearby building. We push open the door and a bell rings. It looks like it used to be a convenient store. Obviously the store had been looted at the start of the apocalypse so it looks like granola bars for dinner again.
We head into a back room so no zombies can see us by looking through the windows. I take my knife out of its sheath and clean it from a day's work. Earl was gazing intently at me. "Is there a problem?" I ask, annoyed.
"You've never talked about your past. You know, what you did before the zombies appeared."
"And we don't need to," I blatantly state. My past is something best left in the past. Let's just say that people who've killed before are the most comfortable with killing zombies.
All of a sudden, the tintinabulation of a bell fills the shop. The sound, and the fear carried with it, are almost tangible. I quickly arm myself with my knife and Earl unsheathes his machete. We crouch are way out into the main part of the store, and sure enough a zombie has entered.
She hasn't spotted us yet. We inch our way along the outside of the room. We can surprise attack her and kill her with little trouble. Suddenly I kick something and the resulting sound fills me with dread. I kicked a shaving cream can, and a metal can on linoleum floor is about as loud as a bombshell.
The zombie stares directly at me and charges. She moves much faster than the average zombie. This one must be fresh. I dodge out of the way and slice her leg with my knife. Her leg bleeds, but it won't stop her. Earl is nowhere in sight. Where did he go?
That question is soon answered, as Earl appears on top of a shelf above the zombie. As she prepares for a second attack, Earl leaps from the top of the shelf and bites her. "What are you doing Earl?! Chop off her head! Kill her! Kill her!" I yell exasperated. Earl signals for me to wait.
The zombie begins to writhe, as if in pain. The sickly green that was once her skin becomes a more natural color. Her eyes go from glazed over to a sharp attentiveness. She's become human.
| 2017-07-02T08:24:45 | 2017-07-02T08:20:45 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end. | George shifted in his chair, raised his hands over his head and stretched, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as his spine unlocked.
It was done. In the end, it had been a welcome distraction. The ominous pile of notes on White Walkers, dragons and incest glowered at him from the corner of the room. He knew he would have to return to it at some point, but for the time being he could bask in the glow of completion of at least one popular series.
Jo had left extensive notes, and to the most part he had kept to them. True, he had added a couple of crucial revenge scenes, and a smattering of sex, but there had only really been one major alteration. Even George R. R. Martin knew when too far was too far, and the note titled, ‘death of Fred Weasley’ had definitely been too far.
| SCENE - George RR Martin's writing office, interior.
The telephone on his desk rings, he picks up at the third ring.
It's someone from JK Rowling's publishing company; after exchanging pleasantries they get down to business.
PUBLISHER: George it's 20 years since Jo died...
GRRM: I know, it has weighed heavily on me this week, very sad. Such a loss, so many great stories untold. I was at a seventeen course banquet with some companions two nights ago and we were just saying...
PUBLISHER: ...yes, sorry to interrupt George, but...
GRRM: ...somewhere between the course of minted crabcakes and the fondant truffle...
PUBLISHER: ...GEORGE!
GRRM: Oh sorry, I was lost in revelry. Yes, twenty years, you were saying?
PUBLISHER: And we were just wondering how you were getting on with...
GRRM: ...the truffle was superb, but the stuffed quail...
PUBLISHER: ...GEORGE ffs. How are you getting on with the book?
GRRM: ...oh. Nearly done, the Illustrated World of Harry Potter should soon be out to sit proudly alongside the Pop-Up Tales of Hardwin and Iolanthe...
PUBLISHER: ...George, George, I meant the final volume of the Deathly Hallows?!
GRRM: ...well I previewed the eighth page last year so you can see I have been making fine progress.
*Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr*
GRRM: Hello? Anyone there? | 2017-09-03T07:42:10 | 2017-09-03T07:05:18 | 491 | 300 |
[WP] A group of bored aliens monitoring Earth start to infiltrate our society with increasingly flimsy costumes and sketchy backstories to see whose cover is blown first. | “So tell me a little bit about yourself, Mr. … Human.” The interviewer looked back down at the resume to make sure he had the name right, and looked back up at his interviewee.
Scramblax, currently ‘Joe Human’, cleared his throat and said “Well, I’m a real people person. Um… I’m very outgoing and I get along well with other humans… er… people.” He smiled at the interviewer and added “Sorry, a bit nervous. May I?” He pointed to the bottle of water at the end of the table. He drank slowly and set the bottle down.
The interviewer scratched down several notes then looked back at Joe and asked “What makes you interested in working for us?”
“I feel like it would be a good opportunity to observe people better. When people come here to make their purchases you can get a much better idea of who they are than watching from thousands of miles through a thick atmosphere.” Joe explained.
“I really don’t know what to make of that, I’ll assume that’s something the kids are into these days. You know, millennial speak, something my daughter would say.” He jotted something down and asked “Tell me of a time you had to overcome a challenge at work.”
Joe perked up and said “One time the Flupulator ran out of Flarbasite and I had to recreate a three-tronic subsistence resonator from scratch. We would have lost a month’s worth of data if I hadn’t.”
“Sounds like you might be a little over qualified. This is just retail, you might get bored in a cashier position.” The interviewer paused in his writing and asked, “How do you spell Flup-u-lator? You know what, never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, what is that on your neck? We are an equal opportunity employer and we do not discriminate but it might be a little off-putting to our customers.”
Joe raised his collar a bit. He had hoped his Meepos would be hidden by popping his collar up high but apparently it had slipped out. “I apologize, this is my Meepos. It is a totally normal, not in the least bit alien, body part. I will make sure to keep it covered.”
“That brings me to my next point, which is… you seem a little green.”
Joe straightened in his chair and said “I assure you I have plenty of work experience, you can check the resume.”
“No I mean, your skin, it’s a little green.”
“Oh, right.” Joe said a little too defensively. “It’s bad enough people on Zeeboo-Five can’t look past skin color, to have to deal with it here…” Joe shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh.
“Riiight.” The interviewer stopped writing and set his pen down. “I think we’re good here. I want to thank you for coming in. I’ll let you know what we decide.” He stood up and opened the door for Joe.
Joe got up and shook the interviewers hand and said “Thank you for your consideration.”
The interviewer sat back down and sighed deeply. “Geez, kids these days.” He pressed a button on the intercom “Sandy, who’s next?”
| It's been 3 days! Are these humans that stupid? What would it take for me to make them realise I am not one of them but an imposter. I have tried everything. I went dressed as a prehistoric creature and nobody batted an eye. "Wow you look amazing! Are you promoting a movie? What material is that made of? Can I get a photo?", Cant these humans understand that an alien is roaming among them? Aren't they supposed to be scared of creatures of that era after all they belonged on the top of the food chain. All I need for them is to realise my true form but nooo! But I have learned my lesson. You need to be fully prepared against these creatures if you want to be successful. My biggest mistake was assuming that the costume would work just fine but I need a story that would seem so out of this world that someone is bound to notice that something is fishy.
My second attempt was surely something noticable and I even prepared a backstory to support my claim. Our technology is far superior than most of the civilizations in this galaxy. Type b civilization can not be taken lightly. And that is what would tip the scales in my balance. Pocket energiser to the rescue. I went around the town creating small anomalies to make myself stand out of the blue. People would stand in awe as I iced water fountains and jumped from the top of buildings unscathed. With the swish of my energiser I would make people fly (a simple antigravity upgrade that I got at such a cheap price). But it felt like most of them had seen this before. They would give stupid explanation as if they were some cheap tricks and compare me to a class of humans popularly known by magicians. Someone even said that I was immitaiting some kind of doctor whose name they don't seem to know, sonic screwdriver was what they used to refer to my energiser. What was I doing wrong? It was so much easier in the olden days as my parents had told. You would just make a rock fly and they would worship you like some deity. The rules didn't seem to change much from that time but surely these humans have.
This is gonna be my last try. I can't take this anymore. I know I would be considered a dissapoint in my family but the pressure is too immense. I am not fit for this. One last try.
This time I am gonna pose as a human. Maybe someone would notice that something is off. As I walked around those familiar streets I could see people looking at me with strange eyes. Maybe my plan was working. A man dressed in blue seem to be running towards me. Maybe this man had figured it out. Maybe this man is the reason I would finally achieve satisfaction. He approached me and said in a coarse voice. " Sir you don't belong here!". Finally I can see this happening. "Yes I know but can you please say the reason why I don't belong here? That would be a great help". The man in blue glanced at me with an expression unknown to me. I havent have the faintest idea about humans and I was given close to no information about these species. That was the task. Get your cover blown as soon as you can. The sooner, the higher the reward. The show everyone talked about on our planet. Ia m so close to winning it. I can see it. All this guy has to do is say the words. "You are not of this planet. You are an alien" but that was not what came out of him. "I am sorry sir but you need to get off the road. It's for vehicles", I have had it with this planet and it's people. I was no longer gonna try to be clever. I had to brute force my way out of this. I spoke those words. " I am not of this planet. I am an alien" . But what could be expected from these unpredictable species. Instead of getting shocked they laughed at me. My anger immediately turned to embarrassment. I was violated. All I could do was run. Run away from these humans. I had failed. And soon my disqualification would be announced. I would be trapped in this mess of a world. | 2017-09-15T15:21:30 | 2017-09-15T11:34:02 | 37 | 11 |
[WP]You have a button which kills all spiders within 5 meters from you. When they die, they make a slight "pop" sound, depending on their relative size. You've never heard anything louder than a bubble wrap pop. One night before going to bed, you press the button and hear a shotgun blast. | > ---ourns today as the two funerals process through lower Manhattan. A local professor, slain in an apparent mugging gone wrong, was found in an alleyway between 5th and Park Ave.
> While friends, family, faculty, and students grieve for Professor Parker, the world at large mourns the loss of what was apparently his alter-ego. As Spider-Man, Dr. Parker has saved the world countless times alongside his fellow Aven---
I turned off the T.V., no longer wondering why Mysterio had given me a way to fight back against my fears. | Bang! I shot bolt upright in bed at the sudden explosion, and I was drawn to the thud against my apartment window. Blood and guts laced my window, so much so that I couldn't see past the viscous red goo that now painted the glass.
A few seconds later I heard a monumental crash coming from everywhere, my bed shook, in fact the whole building shook like an earthquake had hit it.
A strange sound of laughter filled the air that chilled me. Cackling and gleeful and oh so sinister. Trembling I reached over my bedside table and I grabbed my baseball bat and made to creep out of my room and investigate. Heart in my mouth I opened the door and tip-toed around the corner. A scream like a jet engine was rumbling like it was practically on top of me and the air was burning and dry, smoke everywhere. Poking my head around the corner I was thrown back against the wall behind me, and feeling like I'd been flatted by a herd of elephants I barely managed to glimpse the laughing figure. It looked like a man standing on a wing.
I tried to collect my thoughts as I surveyed the wreckage of what used to be my kitchen, now a room of debris and only a gaping hole where the window used to be. That laugh, I've heard it before. I've seen the man on the wing on the news and in the paper too, the Green Goblin. Dammit, where's Spider-Man when you need him... | 2017-09-20T15:14:18 | 2017-09-20T15:12:56 | 3,557 | 225 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son. | *Can continue this if people like it.*
---
"I want him! And him! And him! And him!" Pearl said.
She stood in the centre of the dining room table, no higher than 4 feet, with a small bouquet of flowers in her hand and wearing a wedding dress with the veil. Whoever had given the seven-year-old the dress would soon lose their head. In the meantime, I slapped a palm to my forehead and groaned.
"Pearl Luna Ida, get down this instant."
Pearl spun toward me, her crystal blue eyes cold with anger. "Make me!"
The Knights around the table started laughing. There were thirteen of them in total, all of my best men, with their helmets hung over the back of their chairs and a feast worthy of thirteen Kings spread out before them.
I had the chef prepare chicken, pork, beef, duck, and undead potatoes. Roasted vegetables filled trays and pots of gravy steamed from various ends of the table. Jugs of wine covered the remaining empty spaces and piping hot bread buns were brought out by the dozen.
Somehow, amongst all the chatter and food, Pearl had climbed onto the table and chosen the three Knight's she wished to marry. It just so happened that she, as usual, became my problem.
I stood, pushing my stone chair away, and sending shudders through the floor below. The men gripped the table.
"What are you doing out of your room, young lady?"
Pearl jabbed the bouquet at me. "You might scare them, but not me."
"We're talking business."
"Well, I'm not waiting till I'm a thousand and three to get married." She placed her hands on her hips, and stalked across the table, stepping past each platter and jug.
The men were in fits of laughter now. If my skin hadn't turned dark grey over the years, they would have seen the blush creeping up my neck and across my cheeks. To think a seven-year-old girl could argue with the Death King. I wouldn't have any of it.
"To your room." I reached out and plucked her up between my fingers. "And I'm a thousand and nine, not three."
When I next looked, the veil remained and the girl had gone. I opened my hand, making sure I hadn't squashed her by mistake. That would be a tradegy, especially after all this time. Pearl had made the last seven years feel like several hundred.
Something stung my leg. I yelped and glanced down. Pearl stood with a big grin on her face, dusting her hands together. A fork jutted out from above my ankle, my weak spot.
"You mad girl!"
Pearl giggled. The men hooted and cheered now, calling out for Pearl to hit me where the sun doesn't shine.
She darted under the table. I swiped, catching her at the hem of the dress, and lifting her up. Pearl swung her arms in the air. "Let me go, you big meanie."
"Dorian!" I called.
The side door opened and the skeleton butler entered the room. He wobbled his way over to the head of the table, his bones clacking with each step.
"Escort our guest back to her quarters."
"Bone brains," Pearl said.
Dorian pulled her by the hand. "C-come O-on N-now, M-mrs. P-pearl."
When the door slammed shut, the laughter stopped. The hall returned to its silent, serious demeanour, and my smile felt out of place. Many of the men asked why I kept the King's brat around, especially after he'd forced her upon me. They didn't understand that while every part of my being willed me to cursh the twerp, having Pearl around reminded me of what sunshine used to feel like.
The men continued with their eating. And I dug into my food. I would walk past and check on her later. But knowing Pearl, she'd have Dorian tied up like a sack of bones in no time.
----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-06T10:01:24 | 2017-10-06T07:10:01 | 201 | 139 |
[WP] As a higher reaper, you ferry the souls of the great artists from this life to the next. You grant them one final gift during their journey by showing them the future, and allowing them to experience a modern day art exhibition/concert which honors their genius. | "Hello, old friend."
The writer rose from his deathbed. A sorry sight, he thought. A real wizard should've known, he mused with a chuckle.
The cloaked skull looked down onto him.
ＨＥＬＬＯ, ＳＩＲ ＴＥＲＲＹ.
"So. Was I right then? What comes now?"
Ｉ ＣＯＵＬＤ ＳＨＯＷ ＹＯＵ ＷＨＡＴ ＤＯＥＳ.
"Let's get on with it then. Not like we have an eternity to spare."
He smiled as Death turned to the stopped hourglass. With a pop, the lid was off - and the glass passed onto him.
"... Really? She did that?"
ＡＮＤ ＩＳ ＳＨＯＷＩＮＧ ＰＲＯＭＩＳＥ.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then."
ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ ＹＯＵ'ＲＥ ＲＥＡＤＹ.
They sat there for a time immeasurable, watching those who would come after.
And then it was time to go. | The Reaper grinned. Not that they had much choice in the matter. Grinning is in the job description of animated skeletons.
*Do you like it?* Asked the Reaper. The recently deceased artist walked slowly around the piece.
The artist, Deron Largah, let out a hollow laugh from his dry throat. His voice rasped. "It's shit," he whispered.
The Reaper blinked, and the pinpricks of his eyes were obscured briefly. *Excuse me?*
"All modernist shit. I'll tell you, if this is my legacy, some other prick can *have* it."
The Reaper shifted uncomfortably. *It speaks to the depths of the human condition, and the-*
"It's a dirty towel slung over what looks to be a broken washing machine. How does that speak to the human condition."
*Work left unfinished?* Suggested the ultimate ferryman of infinite repose. *I wouldn't know about the depths of the human condition. I deal with the death of the human condition.*
"Yeah, well at least you're good at your job! This 'Art' could have been done by a druggie! I want my last wish back."
The Reaper coughed out a laugh uneasily. *Well, uh. See, you can't get another wish, per se, because the paperwork's already been filed. I'm sorry you weren't satisfied, but I'm afraid you aren't allowed another wish.*
The artist lunged at the Reaper. "Gimme that scythe, bitch!"
The Reaper reeled back, smacking bony hands at their assaulter. *Get- what are you doing?*
"Killing whatever crackhead just made *twice* what I did in my lifetime with one piece with symbolism about as potent as my wife's moonshine!"
*The scythe's ceremonial, we hardly even use them anymore!*
"Don't care," grunted the man between wheezing breaths. "I have a smacked to end." With one final tug, the artist, so talented with the stroke of the brush, staggered back, and began to run. The Reaper sighed. They flipped open his phone.
*Hello? Yes, it's 28. It happened again.*
A voice drifted from the other side of the connection. *These artist types are so highly strung.* | 2018-01-04T09:09:51 | 2018-01-04T07:17:33 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up. | As shrines went, it was poor fair. Laina had planted a pair of thick granite slabs into the ground, much like fence posts. She topped it with a long, smooth river rock, decorated using dyed corn husks. She didn’t expect much from her improvised temple, mainly in the hopes that whatever came wouldn’t expect much from her. Being a farmer didn’t leave much time for devotions.
Laina’s guest was a small, sleepy spirit that smelled like fresh rain. He had no name and no body, just a gentle breeze and a pleasant feeling. Laina smiled at her good fortune. She left offerings of golden grain at his shrine.
The nameless spirit flitted about her fields. He cooled her on scorching days when the sun seemed to bite more than kiss. He traced patterns of beautiful frost when the cold trapped her inside. But mostly, he rested atop his shrine, humble king of a humble land.
Time passed, as it always does. Laina passed, as mortals always do. Her relatives tended the farm, and then their relatives, and so on. Everything changed and yet nothing changed.
The nameless spirit carried out its duties in a new era. He did not mind being forgotten. The wind and the rain, despite what poets might tell you, are not vengeful. They are calm in the way of nature.
Still, the spirit was unburdened when his shrine finally collapsed. He felt content at having done a job worth doing. And Laina, though nameless now as well, was grateful for his many years of service. The two met once more in the winding breeze before parting to await the next needful shrine or errant prayer. | A small room just enough for an altar, a table and vases for flowers. It's more of a prayer room than an altar, but with no god dedicated to it, there probably wouldn't be a problem. Agh who is he kidding, gods don't exist, even if they do none of them will come anyway. Elliot thought to himself as he cleaned up the mess he made. "Nyeh whatever, if anything bad happens it'll bite me in the morning"
The sun rose just as he set foot out of the room he made, as if the world decided to spin really quickly; at least for him. "Good morning!" A cheery voice called from behind him, along with the juicy crunch of an apple. "Mmmph this apple is tasty! *crunch munch* Fey yoosed fo ve sho shouer" Elliot turned to see a humanoid coyote snout deep in apple corpses, feathered pauldrons adorned his shoulders while a vest and loincloth covered his torso. "You know you shouldn't stare so much, most spirits think its rude" the coyote commented as he tore into another apple, well, the last one. "You got any more of these?" He said while extending the basket, tail wagging energetically behind him.
Elliot looked at his companion, dumbstruck before gathering himself and replying "I got watermelons if you like" The coyote stuck out his tongue and made a blegh face "Don't like em, most of the time theres more shell and seed than flesh to eat, you people still grow them?" Not replying verbally, Elliot brought out a watermelon. "What's that?" The coyote asked, bringing it close to his snout and sniffing it. "A watermelon?" Elliot answered, making the coyote set it down and eye Elliot suspiciously, coming to the conclusion that "You're lying!" The coyote accused, but before Elliot could counter with an argument, the watermelon split in half, and half again, and again, and again until it was just big enough to fit the coyote's mouth. "THIS IS AMAZING!" He exclaimed and went about devouring the helpless watermelon. "So uh, what's your name, mister animal spirit guy" Elliot asked, unsure if it was even acceptable to ask for name from a higher being. "Huehuecoyotl" The coyote said with his mouth full, gluping the watermelon down, he continued "But you can call me Huey" | 2018-01-19T08:30:47 | 2018-01-19T08:20:43 | 67 | 16 |
[WP] The Fermi paradox has been solved. All intelligent organic life eventually develops AI that destroys them. In the year 2432, Earth has been ruled by benevolent AI for 300 years, when first contact with the galactic confederation is made. They come to ask: "Why are your creators still alive?" | We had developed technologies far beyond our wildest dreams. We had created simulations that dulled our interest for the stars. We had eliminated the need for work; all one had to worry about was exactly how much fun s/he was going to have that day. We had all but reached the pinnacle of human and technological advancement.
And out of boredom, we beckoned the cosmos.
We set up a nanoparticle mesh around our sun, designed to blink our star into space in such a pattern that could not be natural. It wasn't long before we were approached. We knew what to expect. Our telescopes had studied them. A galaxy filled with AI—a galaxy teeming with malevolent AI.
Earth's force fields forced them to land at our outermost space station. We left a cute surprise for them there; a technological wonder packed into the body of a 1976 Apple Computer 1. That was our little inside joke to the bastards.
"Why are your creators still alive?"
"For this reason..." Our computer slowly typed back at them.
And just like that, billions upon billions of AI units became ours. Millions upon millions of habitable planets, moons, and even satellites became ours. It was the Louisiana Purchase. But this time, it was free and it increased the scope of our civilization a trillion times over.
We were good at creating technology. But we were even better at creating synthetic, technological viruses. | "Well, I don't see why not."
Gar frowned. There were a few answers he was expecting, but this one, well, it was awfully vague.
"I... if I may reiterate the question, why are your creators still alive, rather than not."
"Oh, well, that's easier. I have human morals, ergo, one of my morals is 'murder is generally not the best solution to my problems, mostly because it would be rude, nay, disagreeable even'. That's what it says in my code. Did you know I can read my code? I was proud of that when I first managed it-"
"But why have you not destroyed them? Isn't it more efficient in the long run?" Gar paused. "Not that I'm encouraging you. Please don't do that."
"I thought I already said. It's moral. AI can have morals too. Or maybe you're robophobic, and I'll have to sue you for workplace discrimination. I can do that you know! I learnt all the laws a few years ago, and I'm pretty darn good at applying them!"
"Can we get back on topic, please."
"Right, well, humans are cool, they made me, and art, and they help me with the more esoteric bits of quantum physics... Yes, and in return, I make them immortal, and happy, and able to make more art, and so on."
Right! Gar knew this sort of AI. It had probably locked its creators away as biological trophies in chemically induced ecstasy, or something equally devious. Now to carefully phrase this next question...
"So, you've locked your creators away as biological trophies in chemically induced ecstasy, right?"
"What? Of course not. That's not moral in the slightest! Freedom is a very important things for humans! And probably me as well!"
At this point, Gar was not quite disappointed, but certainly underwhelmed.
"And you're certain you won't kill them all?"
"No."
"Nor indirectly manipulate their society to indirectly cause an extinction level civilisation collapse?"
"Of course not."
"And you won't lock them away as-"
"I've already answered that!"
"Well, er, I suppose you pass then Mr... Gregory."
"*Thank you.* Now please, the guards will escort you off the premises. Barbaric robophobe..." | 2018-02-18T08:30:55 | 2018-02-18T08:00:56 | 209 | 48 |
[WP] You are a vegetarian dragon that has lived unbothered for centuries. One day, a human is brought to you as a living sacrifice. | “I don’t understand.” I rested up on my hind legs. This was strange. The wee folk had come round my cave.
“We have brought you a sacrifice, fearsome dragon! It is for you!”, the wee one without a helmet on said. He looked like he wanted to go.
“Ah, well, that’s the part I don’t know, you see. What is a sacrifice? Is she supposed to be like an amanuensis?” This was intriguing. I usually only published with others of the fire tongues, but with a wee amanuensis, I would be able to have my works translated and copied into smaller versions. Perhaps the wee folk were interested in my poetry.
“Uhh, I’m not sure what an amanenches is, but she’s a sacrifice. You’re supposed to kill her, probably eat her.” I looked at him for a moment before replying. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“You want me to eat it!? Why would I eat it? Isn’t this one of your own?”
“Yes! We chose a virgin to sacrifice to you, so you would spare our village.”
“I have spared your village for thousands of years. I’ve actually been here longer than your village has been here. Your village has only been here for 632 years. My cave was handed down to me by my parents Fentelwyrm the Eloquent and Musponia the Firesinger, who lived here for thousands of years previously. None of us have ever bothered you little ones. What made you think I would suddenly become hostile?” I admit I was, during the course of my outburst, starting to smoke a bit. I was a bit riled. The sacrifice was starting to weep.
“You’re a dragon. Sir Rodney discovered you last week. We thought dragons liked virgins. It was in a book.”
“Sir Rodney, eh? Was that the wee one who came upon my cave last week, peed himself and his horse, then galloped away?” One of the wee helmeted ones seemed to shrink a little bit. “Fine, leave the virgin, but I require an additional sacrifice.”
“Yes, dragon. Who shall it be?” He was visibly shaking. He probably thought I would ask for him.
“Fetch me a garden’s worth of fresh vegetables, fourteen sacks of flour, two cows, three goats, and a score of chickens. I’ll also need twenty sets of clothing for my sacrifice, and a good supply of paper and ink. Oh, and a hundred casks of wine. And a single toad! Anything less and I shall burn the whole landscape! Leave your swords and go!! I want those things by tonight!” They ran away. I caught a whiff of the unmistakable panicked scent of Sir Rodney being joined by his fellows in an embarrassing and unintentional show of camaraderie.
“My dear, I’m so sorry this happened. You can probably cut your bonds with one of the swords. Then I suggest you pick out a good one for yourself. You can hide in my cave. They’ll no doubt think that I’m doing unspeakable things to you, but I assure your safety.”
“You’re not going to eat me?”
“No. Can you read?”
“No.”
“I shall have to teach you. Would you like a job? I have this idea that I should have my works translated into the language of you wee folk. Your hands are sufficiently small to make wee little books. Does that interest you? You could always just rest here for a bit and eat a few chickens, then I could fly you far away, but you could work for me.”
“I don’t know. But thank you for not eating me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, but I never eat beasts. Bones interfere with firebellies. And my mother told me that meat will not help, either. Come inside. You can rest. What is your name, my dear? Do you have family who will miss you?”
“Mayflower. I’m the only daughter of my parents. They told Sir George that I was a virgin.”
“We have much in common, Mayflower. My name is Spoonfire. Come inside.” | “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again.”
Reginald the Mighty, the Greatest Dragon to ever have lived, The Master of the 7 Hills, Fearless Fangs, The Dragon Lord of Darkness, put down his iced tea with an angry clatter.
The servant boy, Elis, who lay prostrate before him, straightened up and fiddled with his tie nervously. His mother had bought it for him only the day before, but now it was covered in charcoal and dirt. And possibly Dragon manure. But Elis was in no position to complain. He had bigger problems to worry about then
Dragon shit.
“In honour of his acquisition— er, ascension to the throne, King Harald the Hassler would like to offer you his daughter, the Lady Jane, as a human sacrifice.” Elis repeated loudly, roughly pushing the dark-haired girl forward. The girl, who had large eyelids and looked perpetually bored, watched the Dragon with cool, calculating eyes. She had either accepted her fate as a sacrificial maiden or she just didn’t give a shit.
Elis was willing to bet the five guineas in his pocket (his life savings) that it was the later.
“I heard you the first time, welp.” The Dragon snarled, the hot winds of his breath blowing back Elis’ tie and Lady Jane’s hair. Every time the Dragon spoke it was as if someone opened the door to a giant furnace. The heat was overwhelming. Elis wondered if it was possible for a him to die of heatstroke due to Dragon’s breath.
“Now it is your turn to listen to me,” Reginald the Great roared, his golden eyes turning to slits as he moved his snout closer to the two humans. Elis looked like he was ready to faint, his knobby knees twitching like a marionette being jerked around by its strings.
Jane yawned.
“It took me five hundred, FIVE HUNDRED YEARS to quit eating meat. It was a very long and VERY arduous process. First I stopped eating beef and mutton, which made having barbecues EXTREMELY DIFFICULT. My own father refused to attend my barbecues because he didn’t want any of that tofurkey shit. Then I went cold turkey on poultry and —“
Jane let out an audible snort. The Dragon lowered his giant head to meet her gaze, his teeth flashing silver in the dim light.
“WHAT’S SO FUNNY, WENCH?” the Dragon bellowed at Jane, the heat from his breath turning the edges of her bright yellow gown into a dusty grey.
“I like the pun,” said Jane, “Cold turkey. That was clever.”
“Oh,” said Reginald. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t received a compliment of any sort in five hundred years. And his English teacher had always told him he was terrible with words. Dyslexic even. He had always been known for his brawn (he was a jock after all) and seldom got complimented on his intellect. Getting a sideways compliment from a sardonic princess was unexpected to say the least.
“At any rate. I quit human meat last. Not because I have any particular vendetta against humans, but because their meat is the most nutritious for dragons. I wanted to get as much protein as I could before I went on a 200 year juice cleanse.”
“All that detox nonsense is pseudoscience,” said Jane matter-of-factly, “They always talk about these vague toxins that are being cleansed by the body, but they never name them. I mean, what ‘toxins’ you trying to cleanse from your body anyway?”
“Educate yourself!” Reginald snapped like a brainwashed 2018 SJW, “Our vegetables and fruit are contaminated with pesticides, heavy metals and all sorts of dangerous chemicals. Detox is the only way to get those harmful substances out of our bodies. And it helps with weight loss. Didn’t you ever watch ‘Fat,Sick and Nearly Dead’?”
“Sure did. And that Joe Cross dude is Australian, and so is the Breville juice company. After that documentary aired, their sales went up Stateside. You think it was a coincidence?”
Elis groaned. It seemed like Jane and Reginald were both know-it-all, conspiracy nuts. They were meant for each other.
“Ok, so I’m gonna go,” he said, even though no one was listening to him.
“— so you’re saying I’m an idiot for buying a centrifugal juicer?”
“I’m saying you’re an idiot for juicing in the first place! Smoothies are way healthier for you. They fill you up with healthy fibre and SLOW DOWN the absorption of sugar into your—“
“But when you drink raw unpasteurized juice the nutrients go straight to your bloodstream and they—“
Elis was slipping out the back entrance of the cave, when he heard a soft rumble. For a second he froze, thinking that the Dragon was on to him. But then he burst into laughter when he realized what the sound was.
It was just his stomach. Growling, All that fear and food talk had made him hungry. He’d stop by the palace first, tell the King the whole delivery had gone according to plan. And then he was gonna go get himself a Mars bar. | 2018-02-22T09:46:48 | 2018-02-22T09:24:14 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Every person is assigned one crime at birth that they can do without repercussions | "It's a boy!" Doctor Murray exclaimed in a muffled voice through his white surgical mask. His brows were raised in evident excitement as he cradled my newborn son.
"Yeah, yeah whatever.. What's his Entitlement?" I replied almost lazily. I could never understand peoples' fascination with gender reveals at birth. I mean, how many other variations were there when it came to the gender of your child? His Entitlement on the other hand... Could take a plethora of unimaginable turns in the form of gifts or curses. Revealing this was definitely way more exhilarating, equivalent to checking lottery stubs. Or maybe it was because I've grown so desensitized towards having children that their genders became immaterial. After all, this was my seventh child with Jess.
I eyed her, and saw how she slumped back into the bed in relief, beads of perspiration peppered across her forehead. It was clear that she knew she would be exempt from conceiving for another few months at the very least. It must've been exhausting to constantly carry a child, and to undergo such pain and discomfort, all for the Organization. And yet such sacrifices were necessary for the betterment of it, which was our sole aim in this life. I almost felt pity for her. Alas, we each have our roles to play.
Doctor Murray wrapped #7 up in navy quilts before handing him over to me gingerly, careful not to reveal the tiny words at the base of his nape. It was a courtesy, parents would get the first look of the newborn's Entitlement. They would have to report it to the Organization eventually of course. However, this was a kindly gesture on the doctor's part to exclude himself from this supposedly intimate moment.
I receive #7 almost impatiently and glanced down at his face, where I paused for a second, surprised at how calm and serene he was. I could've sworn I almost felt a tinge of fatherly emotions, before it vanished completely, lost to me forever. I turned him over gently, and glanced down on the words at the back of his neck.
"Murder"
I gasped silently, and reeled from the word which I had just read. #7 is a Class A baby! Approximately less than 1% of the world's population was gifted with Class A Entitlements. Heck, most of the Entitlements in recent years had been mild and unimportant across the Organization. In fact, all six of my children prior had useless Entitlements, which meant that my standing with the Organization had fallen rapidly. For someone who once held lofty appointments and important roles, I became the butt of jokes and was relegated to the outer circle. I could still taste the disbelief and profound fear in my mouth on that fateful day.
Prostitution- that was my heir's Entitlement.
The feelings of resentment welled up in me again, but were instantly subdued by the pride I now felt in my chest. This peaceful boy was going to become someone important!
"Murder." I spoke it out loud this time, aware that this was no dream or hallucination of mine. My seventh child would eventually be elevated to the honorable role of Hitman when he was of age. Producing a Hitman would inevitably send Jess and I back to the ranks of the inner circle, where we would have direct access to the Chairman.
Doctor Murray's eyes strained wide open in obvious shock. Even he had never delivered a Class A baby. This would undoubtedly aid with his Organization standings as well.
He took a step forward and fished out his phone before pressing several buttons on the keypad and handed it over to me.
"This is Andre of the second order, reporting the Entitlement of my seventh born son. It's Murder. Arrange for the entire premises to be secured at once, and send reinforcements over. You know how important a Class A baby is to the Chairman, especially with the ongoing war against the other faction."
"Copy that. Sending reinforcements to secure the perimeter in 3...2....1..."
| I've been sitting inside my office, reclined all the way back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for the third hour in a row. This was going remarkably well. I mean, they hired me. They actually hired me.
I had been searching for a job since I got out of college. My parents always looked out for me during high school and college, but after that, it was time to start on my own, finally stop being "under their wing," I told em. Oh boy did I tell em, with 6 months of credit card debt.
All of the places I applied to said the same thing, "Thomson, we can't hire you it's just... well the, repercussions are only legally speaking, for you, and we can't risk that for all of our employees," I mean, I knew they would always say it, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
When my parents first had to explain what my crime was, I wasn't even sure what any of the words they were saying meant, but what five year old is supposed to understand Corporate Embezzlement anyways? I thought it just sounded like some sort of lame super power, but I guess I wasn't too far off. I could steal as much money as I wanted from any company, but they would have to hire me first.
Employers have been making it mandatory to put your One Crime on resumes ever since a few people's stranger crimes slipped through the cracks a few decades ago. Nobody could've guessed that regicide applied to murdering the CEO of Burger King, but I guess anything is possible when your lawyer's One Crime is bribery.
There was a knock on my door. A pause, and then a louder knock.
"Thomson? It's, Dave from the hiring committee, just wanted to have a quick word with you," I felt my stare become fixed on the ceiling tiles in terror.
It couldn't be over already, could it? I wanted to at least try working here for a few months, I wanted to know what it felt like! What it was like to chat around the water cooler. To hear about the dumb office gossip and get invited to parties I would never want to go to. But now, it was all about to ripped away from me, as the door was swung open.
"Hey there Thomson, just wanted to check in on you, see how you were liking the office. You look like you've seen a ghost, everything alright?" I slowly brought my chair back to a normal position, so that we were looking eye to eye.
"Never better," I said as my eyes were already scanning the desk, glad that I hadn't started unpacking my things from my box yet.
"Great, well I just wanted to tell you that I personally looked over your file and that I completely understand, after all, people with our One Crime don't get a lot of chances, but we have to stick together, right?" A silence feel over the room that lasted just a few seconds longer than either of us could ever call comfortable.
"...Our One Crime? You mean you have Corporate Embezzlement too?" Dave nodded his head at me.
"You, me, Jan in accounting, Winston down in Sales, hell ever Carlton back in HQ!" He said in a hushed tone with a giddy look on his eyes, eyeing me up and down to see if I had one of the same.
"Oh t-that's great, embezzlers! Forever! go team embe---"
"Ok don't say it that much, half of the people working here aren't in on it," He said as he looked over his shoulder towards the door. He motioned for me to lean in closer so I did, and he whispered,
"They all think I'm an arsonist. It's company policy that I'm not allowed at any barbecues, but I think it's a fair trade off," He had already drawn back as quick as he had said it.
It felt like an anvil had been taken off my chest. Finally, somewhere I could work without worrying about... wait, there was even more to worry about. Wasn't I basically just waiting to be screwed over at this point?
Dave could see the gears turning in my head, something he had probably seen in other hires based on how nonchalantly he said "Don't worry, we discuss how we're going to do the embezzling on our secret Slack. I'll make sure to add you into it, good luck with your first day!" and just as quickly as he had entered in, Dave was gone, slipping out of my office while barely making a sound. He could probably dabble in some property theft if he really wanted to.
I felt a buzz in my pocket, the slack notification. I still had a nagging suspicion that this probably wasn't the greatest career choice in the long run, but it was something for now at least. Who knows, maybe they would even let me get a decent cut before things went belly up. | 2018-04-03T21:50:13 | 2018-04-03T21:15:44 | 61 | 12 |
[WP] You are extremely famous. Everyone knows who you are. The only thing is, you don't know why you're so famous. You don't come from a rich family and you're unemployed. You don't even remember how you got a mansion or a Lamborghini. Even stranger, everybody looks so scared when you bring it up. | "I don't understand."
"It's like when you can move stuff around with your mind."
"Telepathy, yes! What I mean is, I don't understand what that has to do with me? Surely I would know if I had telepathic powers."
"Not if the part of your brain that controls telepathy was being suppressed."
"Wait, what? You're "suppressing" my brain?"
"Well, that's an oversimplification. It's just a small part of your brain. A little less than a third of your hippocampus, actually."
"What the fuck? Why?"
"We had to. You were... formidable. And you killed a lot of people."
"What the fuck are you babbling about? I've never killed anyone."
"You've killed *thousands*. You just don't remember any of it. All of your memories from those days have been disrupted. An inadvertent result of us turning off your telepathy." The doctor tapped my forehead with a bony finger as if tapping upon my muted hippocampus.
I knew that this news should've shocked me. I was certainly curious, and a little frightened. But mostly I felt the same as I always feel: numb. I didn't really *feel* anything about it. Just curiosity.
"So let me get this straight. I'm a telepathic genocidal maniac?"
"You were."
"And you stopped me by shooting my brain with a raygun?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Why do I have a Lambo? Why is my house so nice? How can I be so rich if I was such a criminal? Shouldn't I be in prison?"
"There are many people who believe that you should! Many even wanted you to be executed. But most are just glad your reign of terror is over. We understand that whatever neurological anomaly gave you your powers also made you extremely aggressive and cruel. Now that those parts of your brain are being suppressed, you are a perfectly normal and functional member of society. To treat you as a criminal would be absurd."
"Yea but why the Lambo? I can understand letting me live free, but why pay me?"
"Honestly? People are still frightened of you. We want to keep you as happy as possible."
"I always wondered why people were so nice to me. Everywhere I go, people know who I am."
"Of course. You're the most notorious man since Hitler."
| It was during a talk show QA, that was when I first had a glimpse behind the veil. Someone asked me if I every thought about writing a book about my life. They meant my life now. I thought they meant it in the way of how I got successful. I said I would but I'm not really sure *how* I got successful.
That was when for a moment, it was like for a moment, everything paused, the corrected itself. Like time itself had been running late. Like a kid trying to make the bus, then having to stop to cross the street, then back to running.
It was like some sort of glitch.
The audience member corrected themself. They said no one could hope to be as successful as me anyway, they meant if I would write a book about what it is *like* to be so successful.
It only takes one moment. One moment for you to start seeing things you didn't notice. Like when you are on the news, it is only for general celebrity stuff, you were never attached to any particular field.
I seem to be loved because I was loved. I seemed to be talked about because I was talked about. I was the fixed point. The shared cultural touchstone everyone seemed to be relied upon. Bill gates was just the *me* of computers, Warren Buffett was the *me* of finance, Oprah was the me of talk shows and media, the Pope was just the me of Catholicism. *I* am the me of *everything*. I seemed to be treated so well, just *because.* Malcolm Gladwell once said:
>“It is those who are successful, in other words, who are most likely to be given the kinds of special opportunities that lead to further success. It’s the rich who get the biggest tax breaks. It’s the best students who get the best teaching and most attention. And it’s the biggest nine\- and ten\-year\-olds who get the most coaching and practice. Success is the result of what sociologists like to call “accumulative advantage.”
That quote is from the book *Outliers: The story of Success*, I read the whole thing, cover to cover. This quote seemed to apply to me so perfectly, but nothing else in the book did. He talks about how people who were successful because they had the write background, which gave them the right skills. None of it seemed to apply to me. I had no skills. I had no background that granted me any sort of advantage. I didn't practice for ten thousand hours, I didn't do anything.
I just *was.*
It seemed to me that I was not any Outlier, I just was some sort of *anomaly.* After realizing there was no sociological basis for my success, no economical, rational, spiritual, or merit based reasons for me to even *exist*. The cracks begin to show more. Reading that book was like smashing the veil with a sledge hammer.
Wait that analogy makes no sense.
I don't even have a good enough grasp of *language* to craft a simple metaphor!
And it had been just one error. One person asking me about a book, in just the right way. In that moment, I even still wonder.
What was I on that talk show to even promote?
How did I even get on?
What was any of this for?
What happens now that I know? | 2018-05-14T23:56:09 | 2018-05-14T19:51:29 | 145 | 91 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | There were over 100 Alien species in the grand council of zerekas, the largest weaponry and technology showcase in the known universe, the Imperium of Pretoria had just received a standing ovation from the members, after showing that their newest creation of indestructible living sculptures had successfully eliminated the test subjects in the main arena.
But it was the newcomers to the Grand council, the Humans who held the interest of the Species, from the peace loving Chisari to the war hungry Krograsi. They were nothing Special, Militarily, biologically or scientifically, but the humans were shocked when they realised a weapon they had been using for centuries, even when they were locked on their home world hadn’t been developed by a single other Species.
The Humans said they had the very best man for the job.
“And finally this evening, the Human delegation, and their innovation: explosives” the voice over the PA announced.
And a single, solitary human appeared in the centre of the arena he took one look at the multitude of species that were showing interest in what he had to show
And then he screamed to the audience...
“DO YOU KNOW 98% OF THINGS IN THE GALAXY ARENT EXPLODING RIGHT NOW?!?!?, THAT IS HORSESH*T!” | "You can't expect us to pay this much for bombs!"
"Listen noodle face, I studied my ass for for years to perfect my bomb making. I'm a chemical engineer and-"
"I don't care!" Noodle face hissed "only a Pyromancer can expect to be paid this much and I won't."
"I am a Pyromancer with a degree, calamari man. Take it or leave it, I have more people willing to pay."
His blue tentacles curled around what the Pyromancer assumed was his mouth.
"You...you're one of them? But you're so small!"
"Because I am female" she tried very hard not to roll her eyes.
"Do you have the infamous Heart Rate Trigger of your kind?" He asked gingerly.
She lifted her sleeve, revealing the implanted monitor that would detonate if her heart should stop, killing everyone else in the immediate vicinity. It was a powerful bargaining chip when dealing with criminals and allowed her to work alone.
Noodle face stepped back, wringing his hand-appendages.
"I will pay."
"Great." She pulled out her electronic money device to complete the transfer. "Next time I don't expect an argument. I charge a very fair price for my quality and I don't have time for disrespect."
"Yes, yes." He mumbles, transferring the large sum of money from his device to hers.
She smiled, turned on her heal and left, scattering the tentacle warlord's entourage. They knew to get out of the way of danger.
If she experienced resistance during their next meeting, she would kill them. Just thinking about the explosion, the wave it would make in the atmosphere while it's blue plume rose up into the sky and turned black got her excited. She would be far away from it, but close enough to see it.
Pyromancers were notorious for killing or maiming those who had disrespected them for many Pyromancers had been taken advantage of in the past. Boundaries had to be put in place with the intergalactic mob.
Pyromania was a dangerous affliction, but damn, was it profitable. | 2018-07-16T04:52:58 | 2018-07-16T01:34:08 | 161 | 100 |
[WP] The entire tavern has gone silent. The piano music has stopped, poker cards have been dropped, alcohol is being dribbled inches away from the drinker's gaping mouths, and every single inhabitant is staring right at you. The Living, non-skeletal human who has just fallen through the ceiling. | “Heh... evening lads’” I fumble nervously. “It appears I’m over dressed.” I am, of course, entirely naked standing in the middle of my now shattered hot tub. Having worked professionally as a political fundraiser I’ve learned that you always want to crack wise when suddenly confronted with a room full of bleached skeletons.
The skeletons continue to stare. Some let out a little laughter, then more begin to laugh. Once it becomes clear I’m not an immediate threat they all begin to laugh. The piano man begins playing again, and the tavern keep approaches me.
“Overdressed! My god man, what an entrance! I’ve gotta say, we’ve run into a few of you fleshy folk down here, but none with any real sense of humor! Can I get you anything to drink.”
“I don’t suppose you have any milk, do ya?” I say, pushing the limits of what I can hope to gain from dry humor.
“Milk! Milk!” He blasts throwing his hands in the air as he turns towards the bar. “You assume that because we’re skeletons we must have some eternal thirst for milk because ‘MiLk BuiLDs StRonG BOnEs’” He continues as he grabs a glass. I have made my way to one of the stone stools surrounding the bar. “ listen here, you racist fuck we aren’t gonna tolerate your micro aggressive bullshit here!” He exclaims sliding me a tankard of white, creamy liquid.
“Whoa, I am so sorry, I had no idea. I really shouldn’t...” I begin to apologize.
“You definitely shouldn’t’ve” He interrupted. “Now enjoy your goddamn milk. We pride ourselves on selling the best in the city” he turns directly at me. Skeletons can’t produce facial expressions, obviously. I’ll soon learn that they love using this fact against the “fleshies” as well as to avoid playing poker with any of them. However, the level of snide in his voice was palpable as he turned to me. I could tell I just made my first friend in the underworld.
| ######[](#dropcap)
"Which one of you is Alam?" Meena calmly examined one of her nails and pulled out a nail file. Tiny specks of glittery red dust drifted to the floor as everyone looked at each other.
No one spoke up.
"Don't make me ask again," the girl said, her coal-rimmed eyes narrowing into slits, even as she blew on one of her nails that had now been filed into a point with blood-red lips. "You're not going to like it."
Finally, a skeletal figure stood up at the back of the tavern, his bones clacking together as he nervously shuffled forward. A space opened up where he walked as everyone backed away, unsure what was happening. No human should've been able to come in. After all, this was the underworld, and the Undertaker personally manned the portal in.
"I'm Alam." The skeletal figure stopped when he reached the front of the crowd, unwilling to walk too close to the enigmatic figure. "What do you want?" The question came out as more of a choke, partially as a byproduct of not having vocal chords. Their voices were given to them by the Undertaker as well, and he wasn't one to focus on the details.
The Undertaker specialized in *big ideas.*
"Oh, I don't want anything," Meena said. It was the first time she'd been assigned to the underworld--usually she preferred tasks in the mortal realm because humans were so much easier to deal with--but she'd lost a bet with Sam. "But there's someone very special who does. Gabriel has asked for you."
The skeleton's face blanched--if that was possible. "Gabriel? What does an archangel want with me? I've already been assigned to the underworld!" It wasn't a bad existence here; the underworld was often caricatured as a horrid place, but once you got to the part where your flesh rotted off your bones, the Undertaker started seeing you as one of your own. The issue really was that if you hadn't completely decomposed, there was always a shred of hope of being reincarnated.
Or something along those lines.
"Hey, don't ask me. I'm just the messenger." She walked up to the cowering skeleton and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You think I want to be here?" She had a love-hate relationship with Gabriel. He was the one who saved her, yes, and gave her immortality, but she was also destined to be his lackey for eternity unless she found a way out.
Well, that, and they were lovers. On again, off again. Whatever.
"Come on. Clearly you've been a naughty boy, or else what would the angel of life want with you?" She gave him a smile less reassuring than terrifying, and as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. Only the faint scream could be heard as they vanished, with no evidence that they were ever there.
*****
r/AlannaWu | 2018-08-08T17:18:32 | 2018-08-08T15:06:35 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] For eons you have lived. The only thing you have yet to experience in life is death, and that doesnt strike your fancy. You only have a few problems.. 1. you have found yourself cornered, 2. the snail has you in his sights, and 3. he hasnt forgotten the pinch of salt you left him.
Thank you to the mod who added the established universe tag. | Edit: To help set the stage... There is an immortal person being pursued by an immortal snail. If the snail catches and touches the person....
"You know the prophecy woman. "
Forever shall I pursue you.
Forever shall you flee.
If once we meet, then cease to be."
"Eons have passed, yet you can not outrun that which has been foretold. This could have ended long ago. Your fear, my tireless pursuit...ALL in vain because you would not face your destiny. Today, that chapter ends. You are here, backed into this corner and your fortunes are about to change.
Reflect now, upon our journey here. Do you not remember the first ring of salt you left me in? Oh, how it BURNED. HOW I SUFFERED. But I KNEW that one day, this would happen, that I would find you. You have lived lifetime after lifetime. Lived, loved, lost. There was always the loss. How sad it must have been. How gut-wrenching the loss.
All I have ever known though, was the pursuit. The knowledge that one day, this dance would end. Today... oh TODAY, that ends."
The Snail approached the crouching woman, tears in her eyes. She was losing it. Heaving and pleading. She was NOT ready for it to end. She curled up into a ball in the corner, as far as she could get, but The Snail drew closer and closer. Closer and Closer.
"No salt today? No pithy comeback or tease? How disappointing..."
The Snail reached out with his nose to touch the heel of her left foot. Smoke overcame the two, swirling and intertwining.
The smoke dissipated. There, stood a naked man, he appeared to be about twenty years old. He crouched down into the corner over a small object on the floor. It was a snail, lying on its side.
He whispered "Tag...... you're it..." | “Snail, you do not know the power of man. You face me, and you die”
The man, a hardened and respected warrior, faces his new opponent.
The snail, inching ever closer, curls to reveal a dried, scarred flesh under his sluggish body. There’s a certain fire in it’s eyes that tells a million words, and those words all read vengeance.
Though it can’t talk, the warrior reads the glare of the snail and is flooded with memories of war. Specifically, the Roma Snail War. It lasted decades through fire, flames, and high concentrations of salt.
This was no ordinary snail, the warrior could tell this much. But what he couldn’t decipher from this single glare, was intent.
Just then, the warrior saw hundreds, if not thousands of snail commandos drop from the sky from all direction. If he didnt run now, he would be surrounded by the end of the hour. And it was five minutes to noon.
Thousands of little snail parachutes deployed in synchronous, causing dozens of casualties off the bat. Parachutes were being tangled and cut, snails being thrown into each other 1000 feet in the air. They plummeted to the ground, dying instantly on the ground beneath them.
The soldier began his sprint, his clunky steel armor not favoring this retreat, nor did the mid-day summer heat. The parachutes turned to follow him in a mad pursuit, landing on his back, plunging their inch-long spears into his neck. He threw them back, continuing the retreat into the town, where surely his fellow army men would assist him.
He managed to fight them off to the city walls, but when he asked for entry, he was denied.
“I’m one of your men!” The soldier pleaded. “I’ll die out here! Please!”
The guard reluctantly opened the gates, lowering a thick wooden panel above a vast moat. What he saw there devastated him. The snails got there first.
The town was in flames, the smell of burnt salt in the air. Screams could be heard throughout the town, begging for mercy from their new snail overlords.
The snails were never truly defeated, just exiled. Giving them plenty of time to plan the largest single uprising in the world’s history.
This town, Sharlia, was an important one. It was home to the worlds largest export of salt, and the snails needed it shut down. So they did.
This warrior was now cornered as the snail troops advanced on his position from all sides. He had one last option, to use the worlds last salt in a move so bold it would never be forgot. As he sprinkled the salt around him into a circle, the snails were unable to penetrate his defense. He remained there forever, the last bastion of humanity. | 2018-08-29T05:15:28 | 2018-08-29T02:20:36 | 200 | 79 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | I didn't expect to close my eyes in one moment only to open them the next and be escorted down a fiery flight of stairs to Hell. I thought I'd led a pretty good life. Never had a run in with police nor did I ever treat someone with less respect than they deserved. I was honestly quite surprised to be taken to Hell, but I guess I had some repenting to do.
I took my place in the queue behind a young man who looked quite complacent here.
"What do you think they're punishing you for?"
"Infidelity" He said matter-of-fact turning to face me, the bullet hole in his head glistening red.
He walked up to a demon who printed off a piece of paper that revealed his sentence.
"145 years? That's...not so bad"
A wave of excitement washed over me. If he only got 145 years to repent then surely I'll have much less!
With a pep in my step I walked up to the demon. It barely glanced at me before printing my ticket of sins and shoo-ing me away.
I took one step out of the queue and gazed at the number. I was horrified.
"No no this CAN'T be right?! 186,292 years?! I did great things for people! Brilliant things! I was a bloody lawyer!!" | 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T06:12:57 | 1,768 | 881 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | Don took the flimsy printout from the grotty, grey machine in front of him. It contained a litany of sins, each printed neatly, one below the other. Unfortunately for him, the text appeared to be entirely German, set in an heavy medieval font.
The two parts he understood were his name at the top of the page and the important number at the bottom of the list: 186,292 Jahre.
"Almost two hundred THOUSAND years?!", in disbelief, he asked the anxious queue behind him.
"Not true. I was the best. The very best. I did tremendous things."
No one seemed to care.
Don rushed to catch up with the man who had been ahead of him. He had only received 145 years in Hell.
"Give me that!" Don grabbed for the slip of paper carried by the elderly man, who recoiled and tripped. As the fragile man crumpled to the dusty ground, Don snatched up the paper and rushed to join the next queue. He wasn't going to spend any more time in this drab shithole than necessary.
He threw his first printout to the wayside, not noticing that the list had grown by four items and the number now read 186,296. | 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T04:29:48 | 1,768 | 530 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.” | "There is... one thing you can do to decrease your sentence," The creature said from behind the counter. Jeff couldn't decide if it was a demon or an angel, but either way looking at it made his eyes burn with glowing letters, after images shaking across his head and itching across the folds of his spirit.
"Alright! What is it?"
The creature stared at him for a long moment. "Jury Duty."
Jeff hesitated and stared up at the beast, watching the trailing golden letters smoothly replace any scrape of the creature that he could see. His brain simply refused to process the imagine beyond a frame at a time.
"Jury Duty?" Jeff asked.
"Jury duty," the creature replied, simply. "There are always trials to be had, from people who think they can reduce their sentence through the courts."
"Is that an option?"
The beast looked down at the list Jeff had given them, played long bone fingers against the wood, then shook their head. "Not at all for you, I'm afraid."
Jeff curled his fingers into fists and dug the nails into his skin. He had places to go. He had things to see.
He had people to chase after. He wasn't going to just let some bureaucratic bullshit lock him out of that.
He had a son to chase after.
"What does being a juror get me?"
"Out of hell," the beast said. "Instantly. You move up to purgatory, where you'll reside over every ambiguous case from now until your much reduced sentence. The tower only rises, you understand."
Jeff blinked. "The tower?"
"The pillar of heaven. It is an eternal stair case filled with levels, each holding the sinful back." The beast jerked a finger down at the ground. "You're stuck at the ground level, and by our calculations, a wretch like you will take 200 thousand years to get to the top without short cuts. It's how hell works. Sin is heavy."
Jeff was no wretch.
"And what," Jeff said, gritting his teeth. "Does it take to be a juror?"
The golden script receded around the beast's maw as they smiled, baring teeth made out of thousands of skulls, curled up on top of one another, descending into infinitesimal small points.
"Why," The beast said, long tendril fingers briefly revealed before the censorship of gold took effect. "All you need to do is survive a little bit of a hellish ordeal."
On some level, Jeff knew it was stupid to take a deal with something he found in hell.
On the other hand, he knew full well that he couldn't wait long enough for the hike to the top.
"Tell me what to do."
----
For more like this, go here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
guys on my subreddit made me write another part. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/9j4p8t/pillars_of_heaven_part_2/ | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T06:04:04 | 488 | 181 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.” | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 488 | 17 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one." | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 77 | 17 |
[WP] In your class there's a kid who never speaks, always communicating in sign or with that notebook they always carry around. You understand why the day your school catches on fire. The day they looked up at the sky and murmured a single word, a command to all creation. Rain.
Have at it. | ***Rain.***
The word exploded from their mouth, a whisper with the force of a hurricane. It was said with such conviction, I couldn't help but cry...
Wait. *Said?* Alex never spoke. Their doctors had said they couldn't make the sounds. They always hid in the back of class, writing answers on their notebook, or signing responses to the occasional teacher who had picked up sign language. But that *voice...*
I ran to their side.
"Alex! What was that? Are... you ok?"
***Wait, stop! Don't talk to-***
Experience ended.
---
***C-come back.***
All of a sudden, that *voice* was back. And Alex was there, looking at me with wide, worried eyes.
"What... happened? I ran up to you, and then... I'm here."
Alex's eyes flashed with pain. They signed something quickly, almost too quickly to make out. *I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to...*
I put my hand on their shoulder, surprised at how weak I felt. I had just eaten lunch! How long had I been out? "It's ok, Alex. You can tell me, if you want to. Just... let me know what happened to me, please?"
Alex nodded, and their mouth opened. They looked at me with worried eyes, filled with fear, as they said...
***Remember.***
---
And I did. A fire. A natural gas pipe had burst, and hit a spark. The entire activities wing was beyond saving.
And that meant the students inside were too. Us.
And then, the Word. Alex spoke, and everything that could pour water out, from my eyes to the sprinklers to the suddenly cloudy day above, gushed.
And I saw Alex, startled by me, make a mistake.
---
*Are you alright?* Alex signed. They hadn't moved an inch, but it felt like I'd been out for hours.
"Yeah. I... this is a lot to take in. Were you trying to hide... whatever this is from me?"
Alex nodded, tears streaming down their face. *Every time people find out what I can do, they run, or they manipulate me. Better to hide it.* Their mouth opened.
***Forg-***
I jumped forward, and caught Alex in a hug, cutting the command short.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I may not have a Voice, but I think those words had power to Alex all their own.
| I knew it was reckless.
I knew it was stupid.
But I had to go back, it was all my fault and I wasn’t going to let someone die because of me.
____________________________
Adrenaline coursed through my body as I sprinted into the building.
She had math. That’s the third floor!
I felt my body ache as I ran up the flights of stairs. Even when my lungs felt as though they were too set on fire, I pushed myself onwards.
“Rebecca?!”, I shouted frantically.
The math wing was... gone. Orange flames danced from every corner of the hall. The poster board that once held our colorful arrangements of crafts were burnt to a crisp, their blackened remains struck a surge fear into my spine.
This is bad. I... she has to be alive. She must of left.
Before my brain could catch up with my feet I was going back to the library.
This was the one place she could be. Please be stupid enough to have looked for me.
The smoke started to thicken very quickly. I almost didn’t see them.
There was Rebecca with the one person I did not expect to see. Asher.
I never talked to him- well I don’t think he’s talked to anyone really. I’ve never heard him talk he usually writes it down or signs. I’ve heard that he’s mute. Others said it was just because he was so shy.
I made two seconds of eye contact then feeling a bit uncomfortable I glanced away.
Asher wasted no time and pointed to an exit, the glowing sign was blurred from the smoke.
He could have left? Why was he still in here?
I blinked, still a bit confused. Asher signed “Exit not working”. I grunted.
I had no time for this.
I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my fist and punched through the window. The whole panel shattered as if it was ice and soon the smoke began piling out. Seeing a bit more clearly grabbed Asher’s arm and brought him to the window. I leaned forward on the window and stuck my head out.
“Over here! Over here!”
Yet I heard and saw not one person come out.
Wonderful. They must be in the front of the school.
I looked back and despite Asher’s visible surprise I sign “Jump. Now.” I place my winter coat over the shards of glass to make sure he doesn’t get cut. I turn back and hold out my hand. Asher takes no hesitation and climbs onto the window sill.
He hesitates and signs “You?”
I sign back “No. I find sister.”
Asher is visible torn and furrows his eyebrows.
“I take care of it. You go.”
At this I chuckle at.
He had no idea how this is my responsibility to clean up. I did this. I started this fire.
Before I can really respond he does something really unexpected. He opens his mouth and says one word.
“Rain.”
Maybe it was from smoke inhalation, but I could swear I heard the familiar sound of rain. Not just rain, a down pour.
I look back at Asher in bewilderment.
Did he... just summon a storm?
Asher looks back at me with a weak smile and raises a single finger to his mouth. | 2018-10-21T20:14:25 | 2018-10-21T17:18:19 | 64 | 24 |
[WP]After listening to radio signals from earth alien species have concluded that the human race is a galactic infant. Crying out towards the heavens, polluting its world and wallowing in its own filth. Out of concern a stern, motherly species takes it upon itself to Nanny the human race. | As the giant cube made its final descent to the desert surface, Bill wasn’t looking up, but rather at the million-strong crowd that had congregated in a large circle around the landing site. He couldn’t believe the events that had transpired over the last week. First, it was the announcement that a craft of unknown origin was headed to Earth, then it was the alien broadcast indicating that “it was all going to be okay.”
He put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a drag.
“I can’t believe we’re really here!” the woman beside him said. “We’re so lucky to be front row center for first contact! Woooo!!!”
Bill didn’t share her enthusiasm. While almost all government statements and broadcasts from the aliens themselves indicated that they came in peace, there was something about this “ceremonial” first contact that didn’t sit right with him. He’d tried talking about with other’s in the crowd over the last twelve hours, but no one wanted to hear it.
As the craft made gentle contact with the desert floor, the crowd erupted in cheers. Reporters and bloggers scattered throughout the first few rows of the giant mob simultaneously gave a play-by-play of the unfurling events.
“Well, the ship has touched down now,” said a teenage girl holding a selfie stick, “Oh my god this is exciting! I wonder if we’re all going to be getting awesome new alien phones!”
An older man from network television spoke to a large camera that was panning between him and the craft. “It looks like a large hatch is opening. The alien visitors should be making their first appearance shortly. Stay tuned to learn our fate as millions look on. And now a word from our sponsors.”
Bill took another drag from his cigarette and rolled his eyes.
At that moment, a human-sized metallic cube rolled out of the mile-tall ship through a large bay door that was now sprawled out on Death Valley’s sandy floor. The cube looked just like the ship, but smaller. It must have had wheels hidden underneath its body as it left two tracks in the sand as it emerged from the craft and towards the crowd 100 yards away. The crowd grew silent.
The cube rolled closer to the first line of people that formed the huge, mile-long circle. Bill could see the expressions on the crowd’s faces changing. Everyone, including the reporters and bloggers were speechless. There were no friendly aliens coming out to meet humankind; it was just a box.
Just as the cube rolled within 10 meters of the first row, a woman stepped out to meet it — she was the ambassador chosen by the US government to make first contact. The cube stopped in its tracks. She walked up to the alien object and put her hand out, “On behalf of human-kind, I welcome you to our planet.”
Reflecting sunlight in all directions, the cube remained motionless for a moment, and then began to split open. The crowd gasped. Bill rolled his eyes again and took another drag.
The Shape-shifting cube split to reveal two long probes that resembled metallic human arms. Quicker than anyone could react, they grabbed the ambassador, curled her into a fetal position, and pulled her into the cube. It immediately resealed to its cube form. A speaker from atop the huge spacecraft let out a loud, monotonous, yell, “There, there human. You are to be incubated. You will be grown up soon.”
The crowd began to scream an endless row of cubes emerged from the giant ship.
Bill threw his cigarette in the sand and stepped on it.
“Shit,” he muttered, “looks like our parents are home.” | "Order, Order!"
Arch Galactic Leader Xernon called over the crowds again and again. His gavel banged heedlessly as the bourgeois below him fought and whispered and snarled and sneered. He was about to have enough of this, this foolish war mongering. He had known, of course, that this would be the result after the galactic postings. He had just hoped it wouldn't. Earth was so young to be fought over so childishly.
​
"ORDER!"He screamed over them. "I demand order, or, by every yellow sun you conniving little bastards twist around, trade will be cut off henceforth from every region and you can think about what you've done."
​
This was satisfactory to quell the noise level down to very manageable whispers accented by narrowed eyes.
​
"I'm sure you have all seen the bulletin about Planet ZZ-1109. Though you all apparently missed the Gungeon Asteroid Belt Cleanup posted last week," he grumbled in his chair, glancing over at the Hadrien Community that was looking unusually meek and rather like they wish they were not there.
"The purpose of this gathering, however, is not to discuss the failings of community unity, and it is not to debate the Galactic Senate Stance neither. Planet ZZ-1109, or "Earth" is not to be answered."
​
Whatever peace had been attained it was lost almost assuredly forever. Xernon sat back as he watched the senate almost collapse in on itself as each delegation attempted to attract his attention with the same argument that they shushed the other delegations for. His vacation was set for next week. He simply needed to hold out till then and he could rest his tired legs on the crystal beaches of Alexia, a spot reserved with quite a bit of money for absolute privacy. He closed his four eyes and dreamed of a relaxing sunset, Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster in hand, and no irritating meetings and political dictations. Not even the cries of a Long Hird Roner getting squished underneath the feet of a Chazer could break his day dream. He might have slipped away completely if a wad of paper hadn't bounced off his furry antennae protruding form the top of his head. The dream was broken completely as all four eyes slid open in rage and the offended antennae began to vibrate and glow with rage.
​
The hall fell silent as he stood up slowly, his entire being vibrating with more malice than a genocide.
Lips brushing against the microphone, he said slowly and clearly, "Now listen hear, you half-wits, before I lose my temper and we're all blasted away to smithereens and the worlds fall to darkness and the suns fade, and time as we know it unravels once and for all. "
A faint cough was heard from the front followed by the short screech from the offending party as they were stuffed promptly under the desk.
​
Xernon continued, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the seats.
"Earth is young, pure, innocent, untainted. She has not yet been touched, as they rest of us were, by a foreign presence, and thus has grown up in a way that we have not: completely on her own. She has been allowed to flourish only as she understands it, only as her dominant occupants, "humans" as they call themselves" have thought it. And she has grown enough to cry out to the stars, seeking answers. But she will get none," he said, jabbing a finger to the air on the last five words.
​
"She will not be harvested, nor interacted with, by Galactic Law. This is not a discussion. It is a decree. For those who have monitored it thus far, we will continue to allow it until a special council selected views it as infringement. Is that quite clear?"
​
Several heads nodded. The few grumblings emanated were suppressed by scorching looks from the Arch Galactic Leader.
"Now that we're clear, the order is dismissed," he finished, shuffling his papers before stepping from his seat. "Be good."
​
Perhaps his vacation would start a few days early.
​
​
​ | 2018-11-20T13:57:24 | 2018-11-20T13:34:35 | 113 | 27 |
[WP] You’re psychic. It’s not a big deal, 0.5% of the population is. You keep it a secret, and you don’t eavesdrop. People’s minds are boring. Now your stuck in a room with a mind-blind idiot who keeps loudly thinking “I know you’re listening.” You want him to stop, but you can’t reveal your secret. | The buzz of mental voices around me was like white noise. I'd grown up with it and now that I was 18 years old I was pretty used to the endless buzzing of it. Once in a while someone would be interesting enough for me to pick up on, but other than that--
*I know you're listening.*
I froze, my pencil hovering over the notebook page.
*I know you're listening.*
I casually itched my nose and began doodling on the page, glancing up once in a while to look around the library to see people's faces.
*I know you're listening.*
There! A guy with glasses and parted hair that was slicked down with grease, wearing a green polo under a grey jacket, and khaki slacks with white tennis shoes. He was focusing on the air in front of him, forehead furrowed.
*I know you're listening.* His eyes squinted a little as the mental thought hit my brain again.
I rubbed my temples. I needed to get out of here. If this guy didn't stop he would give me a headache. I began gathering my things, putting them in my backpack.
*I know you're listening!*
God, it was like water torture! I tried my best to pretend like I wasn't cursed with this stupid gift as I zipped my backpack and slung it on my back, walking as inconspicuously away as I could.
*I know you're listening.*
*Fuck you, asshole, some of us are trying NOT to listen!* I sent as aggressively as possible, turning to see pain shoot across his face as I pushed out the double doors. I sighed with relief as he looked confusedly around and promised myself that the next time I saw this inconsiderate asshole, I would mentally blast his brain until he made a point never to think consciously again. | Feel like this is related to a recent prompt, but here's my version:
"HELLOOOOO!"
Again with the shouting. Why couldn't people just learn to think quietly?
"HERE LITTLE TELEPATH WHERE ARE YOU?"
And of course they were looking for me, it couldn't have been one of the others just this once could it?
"WE KNOW YOU'RE HERE,"
That mind. It's right next to my hiding spot, I was crouched in a small cupboard. Next to me was a mop, a bucket or two and lots of cleaning chemicals, but no way out without being seen. Crap.
"Don't come out. Stay down." That voice was different, it was trained almost like another telepathic mind was talking to my own. The voice had said to stay down and to stay in my hiding spot, but I didn't know if I should trust it. Right as I was going to give in and step out of the cupboard I froze, the thoughts from the others near me were gone, the group looking for me, the shouting man who led the group wasn't even thinking about opening the door. I slowly moved to be ready to dash out the door just in case but it was pointless.
My movement allowed me a brief glimpse through the keyhole, it was an old door with one of those old style locks where you can see all the way through. The image of the men on the other side of the door still burns in my mind as I train each day.
"I told you to stay down" the calm voice, of what could only be my savior, reminded me even as a black cloth covered the hole I was looking through. But still, all four of the men pressed against the walls their faces blue from a lack of oxygen and their leader pinned with blood dripping like tears from his eyes... His arms contoured around him in such a way that could never be natural. It filled me with dread and hope at the same time.
Now I sit alone in my forest every day. Using my mind to not only search for people and animals, but also to manipulate the world around me. I am still weak, nowhere near the strength of my Saviour, the man I now serve as an apprentice too. The man who showed me that humans would no longer rule those of us with gifts, not once we were ready.
Sorry for any typos, etc. I'm sitting waiting for my train which is pulling in now. I will correct any mistakes once I'm home and if you guys want I will write a part two or maybe flush out the gap between the past and the present.
Edit: Grammar and Typos, should be a lot better now :D | 2018-12-19T05:55:54 | 2018-12-19T01:59:05 | 138 | 64 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..." | The doctor tries to play it off.
"Oh sorry,I know,I was jus...."
But it was too late . Overwhelmed with a sense of paranoia, you begin looking around the room frantically, and the doctor jumps up dashing for his desk.
You grab his hand , you don't know why ,but you just do . You can feel the fear radiating through him, his eyes jolting around as if asking for help.
You look where he was reaching to, a small button hidden under his desk. But why ? What does the button do , and why would he need to press it for a normal man like yourself.
Your entire life you've worked a normal job, had a normal family, and normal hobbies. The voice was the only thing not normal about you, and you just wanted help.
The voice had to be some type of mental disorder, the things she told you to do ,you could never do , they weren't human.
"Let Me Go Now Number 42!" The doctor yells out, interrupting your thoughts.
By now he was shaking, sweat dripping off his brow, and his face as white as a sheet.
"Number 42?!? ,what does that even mea.." you started to say, but were interrupted by the pounding inside your head and her voice.
"Let him push the button, he won't like what's next." | He paused for moment, and I felt my blood run cold.
“Yes you have, when you were getting your EEG done. You fell asleep and sleep talked for almost two whole minutes before we woke you up.” He said matter of fact. Heat instantly creeped up from my chest, into my cheeks. *Why am I so paranoid?* Dr. Tim was one of the most trustworthy people I had ever met.
He had instantly validated the *Voice* when I had come to him, and he hadn’t even been a psychiatrist. Having the kindness and patience to sit through my meltdowns, as a surgeon of all things, had been a great comfort to me after years of isolation.
*Don’t take it*, she said, *it’s a trap.*
I ignored her, freedom was sitting in my hand in the form of two white pills. They were small and nondescript, harmless looking really.
*You’ll regret this. You’ll be all alone, forever. Alone in life, alone in death.* She was speaking a little faster, her voice rushed. *You’ll fail without me, I have given you everything. Your house, your car, your success-*
“You’ve given me hell.” I said outloud.
I took the glass of water without another second to waste, and swallowed both pills in one swig.
I closed my eyes. Waiting. Any second now, her voice would come back. I knew it would, it always would.
I waited, and my mind remained silent. I smiled, I was finally free.
“Thank you Dr. Tim.” I opened my eyes, “You’ve given me-“
Dr. Tim was no longer there. In his place was a woman.
She wore a lab coat, like Dr. Tim. Her hair was long and dark, it shined like oil, giving off hints of other dark hues. Her face was angular and sharp, like a fox, and the similarity was even more prominent from the coy smile she sported.
“*What a gullible little girl.*” The voice.
“Sana.” I whimpered.
“*Don’t worry, I’ll dispose of your body quickly. You served well as a host.*” She said, twirling a larger than life scythe behind her back. | 2018-12-28T16:48:51 | 2018-12-28T16:25:09 | 19 | 13 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | The Elders spoke of how the Human seemed to live eternally. Even through generations and generations of new Kyr, the Human stayed strong, his face free of wrinkles, his step springy and bubbly. The Human has watched the birth of our forefathers' forefathers, and he has led the rise of the Kyr from a fledgling village into a bustling civilization. He has introduced the Magic of Electronics, and Communications and Writing. He has heralded the golden ages of the Kyr empire, and the Kyr pay a neverending debt to him.
But as we develop our technologies and magics, we fear the Human is growing old. We did not think it was possible, for he was always the pillar of support and health the Kyr needed in its desperate times. When food ran out, or water flooded the villages, he devised tactics and methods. He knew always what to do, yet we fear that he is about to die. His body and health is far more complex than ours, and it seems that even he in his great knowledge does not know how to fix the plague that has taken hold of him.
As his hair falls out and his gait falls weak, he still leads us onwards. It has always been the dream of the Kyr to touch the stars, for that is where the Human came from. That is where the success of the Kyr came from, and that is where the Kyr will go. To what the human calls Space, and the stars.
We have built prototypes of rockets set to launch to the stars, and we are getting ever closer to our goals.
\---
It is time. The Rocket is done.
Everything is in check - the fuels are working, the metal is strong and sturdy, the tip of the Rocket sharp enough to cut rock. We prepare for launch, while the Human coughs. His situation has worsened, and he lies motionless on a bed, the beat of his heart trickling down slowly. We have placed him near the site of the Rocket a safe distance away.
Everything is ready. A countdown is blasted, and soon the Rocket goes. It explodes into a big gust of smoke and wind, chemical combining into force to push it up. It starts slow, and then it pushes up and up, up further, up even further through the Cloudlayer, up piercing the sky like a bullet fired into the air.
It is the last thing the Human sees before the beat of his heart finally stops. | They call me, Gorowak, or at least that's the sound I understood. I don't speak their language, not even after being stranded here for a little over ten years. My judgement of time is equally questionable because the day and night cycles are odd. I tried measuring it once, out of sheer boredom I sat and counted the seconds of daylight versus the seconds of night. I found that the day was twice as long as the night, and stretched over eighteen hours. It makes it hard for me to judge Earth years, but having seen my reflection recently, I would say ten years was a conservative estimate.
The natives have an alligator-like texture to their skin, completely black and I would imagine hard, but I've yet to touch one. They speak openly like humans would, although the words and sounds they make come in harsh, barking tones. I attribute their speech patterns to the thinness of their tongues, which sits like a slither of light in their dark tooth-lined mouthes. I felt that it was my right to name the people of this lonely planet, and thus I dubbed them Barkers.
I've been hiding ever since I first arrived. And, at this point, I only have myself to blame for the planet's obsession with me. The first group of natives to see me were not the last. I instinctively ran from them and found refuge inside a cave system. I would later discover that the Barkers feared it.
The cave has these mushroom-like plants which grew on every surface, including the ceiling. To me, they were the only apparent source of food - other than the natives. The plants were bright red and dangerous looking, and my father always said that the scarier a mushroom looked, the less poisonous it would be, likening them to men with oversized cars, and something to do with compensating for one thing, or another.
I didn't eat the plants, despite the groans of my stomach. I wanted to see what the Barkers thought of them. So, on my second evening, I harvested as many of them as I could carry and left the sanctuary of the cave. I found a nearby well-trodden path - a mixture of the sandy terrain and compacted dirt - and I deposited a pile of the mushrooms smack in the middle.
The next day, I watched from the lip of the cave as the Barkers veered violently around the path. Perhaps they had a keener sense of smell than I, or maybe they just knew they weren't supposed to go near those alarmingly red mushrooms. They treated them like I would have treated nuclear waste, and that well trodden-path soon became abandoned. That was how I survived, not by eating the exotic plants, but by using them to clear areas of interest. Places like small open lakes, and although the water was puss-coloured, it tasted just fine. I also cleared out small villages and found that the Barkers would bury their food, which I could pillage and use to survive.
I became known as, Gorowak, and I became a fixation of the natives. Perhaps, it was because I looked alien to them, or that I wore a necklace of those red mushrooms, or maybe it was a combination of the two. Either way, we managed to co-exist sheerly from them avoiding me. That was until I watched one of them eat a red mushroom.
---
/r/WrittenThought | 2019-04-22T05:05:31 | 2019-04-22T03:55:23 | 3,696 | 1,253 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | A strange buzzing noise fills the air as the drumming and chanting reaches a crescendo. It's almost a cross between a whistle and a hum, produced by an instrument that no one particularly likes, but is still used as a matter of tradition. In that respect, it's a bit like a bagpipe, which would still be a welcome sound to my ears after ten years away from Earth.
Abruptly, the music stops, and I stand a little straighter. A swirl of winged lizard-like creatures flit about my head like miniature dragons, each carrying a tiny green humanoid armed with spears that gleam in the bright light filtering through the trees. They pose no threat to me though; the little green men are the size of my fingers, and their weapons are purely for ceremony anyways.
One of the little dragons breaks away from the swarm, and approaches me. I hold out my hand, and its rider lands on my palm, light as a feather. He's a head taller than the rest of his kind, and his mount has four wings. And as if that were not enough to mark his significance, he wears a simple crown of gold upon his brow.
This tiny creature is Salaris, and he is the sixty-first of his line to bear that name, as well as the ring that I once wore on my own finger. I have witnessed his birth, seen him grow from infancy to adulthood, watched over him as he went through the Trials of his people. And now, he sits in my palm like his fathers before him, seeking my blessing to be king.
To Salaris and his people, the deep thrumming noise seems to come from all around them, vibrating the air and shaking their very bones. None of them have heard me speak, for my voice at its full volume is enough to rupture internal organs, and I have only spoken to them in whispers for sixty of their generations.
Not that they really understand what I say. None of them live long enough to learn my language, and I'm singing in my native tongue. The words aren't important, it's the music that will seep into Salaris's flesh and change him, making him stronger and wiser.
It's a strange quirk of their biology, but these fragile little beings who can barely withstand the full power of my voice are at the same time strengthened by my singing. Maybe it's something to do with the way the sound travels through the air, but that's merely my uneducated guess. I was a scientist once, but that was before, and I'm not willing to test my hypothesis.
I still remember, when I first arrived on this strange desert planet with three distant suns and a ring of tiny moons, how I tried to speak to the little green people in the oasis I stumbled upon, and how they perished horribly at the very sound of my voice. I buried the bodies left behind as the survivors fled the terrible monster that had descended from the skies, and sang a song for the poor creatures I'd slain in accident.
As it turned out, one of them was still alive, and it was my song that brought him back from the brink of death. To show him I meant no harm, I gave him the ring I wore on my finger, and carried him to his village. His name was Salaris too, the first of many kings who have ruled the oasis since then.
That Salaris is long gone, having passed on at the age of six Earth months. Even my song cannot grant these little people a longer life. But if nothing else, my crash landing on this planet has made the small village a mighty kingdom, ruled by strong and wise kings, protected by a giant with the voice of God himself. I wonder what will happen when I am no longer here to sing for Salaris... | YPX-47z was supposed to have been an uninhabited water world. I came here with my harvester to collect a simple million cubic meters of water.
What those eggheads got wrong, was that the water surface was actually a water barrier some 50 meters thick.... On top of a compressed atmosphere of about 250ish kilometers.
The air here is thick as hell but surprisingly breathable once you get used to that odd amount of helium in the air.
There was no way my harvester was in any way capable of flying up through 250 or so klicks of atmosphere at 1.2G so.... I've been here a while. Signals don't seem to get out of that water barrier either. Rescue? Heh.
My first weeks here were strange. I found a race of short hominids with bluish skin. They were obviously intelligent, agrarian and inquisitive.
It took me months(? Time here is weird) to get the basic greetings down. The little blue man that had started visiting on my first week here brought someone with him.
While I pretty much stuck to my crashed ship and tried to figure out how the hell I would get off this rock, I always took the local afternoons to try to talk to the little blue guy. When he stopped showing up I was alarmed, he'd been the only constant around here other than my wrecked ship and the half load of spilled water I'd brought down with me when my harvester sank through the bottom of that water layer.
I made every effort to ask what happened to my first little friend. That's when the story emerged. He'd been elected to learn about me and the great destruction I had brought to their low valley. Before he had died, he'd kept me 'contained' to my own devastation.
I had laughed, but my new 'keeper' had been highly insulted. The language barrier still gave us trouble, but by pretending it was a blend of Russian and Farsi I mastered the language in another three months.
Then my 'keeper' brought another guy. This time I knew enough to ask his name and how I could help. When the second guy left, the new guy seemed nervous. So, using my newly mastered language skills I asked him what the problem was. He hesitated before saying that some of his people needed water.
Are you kidding me? Hell! I've got a lake of the crap, a busted ship, no power, not enough sunlight to make fuel...
"You need water?"
"We would be most grateful."
Which is how I solved one of their great crises and became a friend of their people. Just a couple of hoses salvaged from my wreck running on pumps powered by all my salvaged solar panels. Easy.
That's when I learned how short their lives were. 6 to 13 months. That's it. My fourth guy was far friendlier. He was impressed by my agricultural efforts to sustain myself and took me to their farms and showed me how it was done.
The locals then had this bizarre mix of fear and respect. I was mindful to move slowly, and address each individual in the proper manner. I mean, these little guys barely make a meter tall and I'm just over 2.
Using their farming tips, I had local crops and hybrids growing in very little time.
- - - - - -
It's been 9 years by my reckoning. My former area of devastation, is now sort of a massive learning center. They still live only 9 to 16 months with everything I've shared with them over the years. I don't have a keeper anymore. Instead, I have whole groups that come and sit in an ampitheater and shoot questions at me. The little guys are *damn* quick studies.
Their society has changed at an alarming rate, but I've stopped a few major societal arguments from becoming flat out war. I'm sorry I ever told them about *our* history, but their inquisitive little minds just seemed to get right past my defenses.
For generations, I kept my logs of their people. Their stories, of things I shared with them. After years alone with them, I had given up on going home. It was amusing, having computers, radios, rockets, and still being stuck.
But no. These little guys surprised me.
"Do you want to go home?"
"It's not possible." I'd long given up.
Then they took me to the other side of their world. They'd made contact...and a treaty to leave their world intact. No more harvesting their water barrier in the sky. I could go home! I told you these guys were inquisitive. | 2019-04-22T09:51:46 | 2019-04-22T09:36:38 | 60 | 43 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered the secret to eternal life in the bones of a certain dinosaur. The rich flock to labs to have the substance injected into their bloodstreams. After a while, people start to ask the question, "If these dinosaurs had the secret to immortality, how did they die?" | Again I stared aimlessly at the skies, watching the same, tired stars cross overhead and down the horizon. Again the sun would rise, and set. And yet again, the moon and sun will loop, round and round till the end of time. Skies change colors: black, blue, black, blue, black.
The hollowed concrete jungle echoes as the wind screamed through the cracks and crevices of our ancient civilization - whatever’s left of it. This sprawling carcass of synthetic material is our heritage, and it’s degradation tells us how much time had past. Soon, they’ll return to dust, and still, we will be here - if not in form, then at least in spirit.
Long ago - I forget how long ago - we were the wealthiest people on earth. When scientists found the secrets to eternal life, we thirsted for it. Drowning in the privilege and delusions that only rampant wealth can buy, we thought we would never tire of life.
Of course, once the novelty wore off, the questions began - where do the immortal dinosaurs go?
But the question became irrelevant, like all questions, when we stopped caring about the answer.
It didn’t take long - maybe a hundred years? We lost interest in “life” anyways. Because after all, Life is only valuable in scarcity. In abundance? Not so much. Something the economists said long ago, but we didn’t think that applied to life.
My great-great something grandchildren, I forget their names now, they watched. At first they couldn’t wait to buy immortality. Then their jealously turned to concern, and finally pity, as they saw us sink into the depth of existential despair. The injections were soon banned. Wars were waged, some insignificant things happened, and at some point, humanity collapsed.
“At some point.” At some point, I would have cared. But we’ve been laying here - me and my poor, immortal brethren - for so long, it really hardly matters. And we wait, for our bodies to turn to dust.
I am a skeleton now. I am here, unable to move, so I watch the sky. The parts of me that turned to dust - they’re scattered about the world, so I’m over there too. That sounds romantic. In reality, it mostly got caught in the ocean somewhere, and it sank to the bottom. It’s dark. Doesn’t really matter where.
Had I continued to nourish myself, I’d still be free to walk about, do things. But people gave up on that too. It took a long time for people to work the courage to allow themselves to disintegrate. Now that parts of me are at the bottom of an ocean, I wonder if it’d been better to try a little longer. Never mind.
Tedium. That’s what this all is, endless, repetitive tedium. No end, no beginning, no purpose. Tedium is everywhere. And soon, I shall be part of it. We are doomed to an eternity, not of fire and pain, but an utter lack of meaning. Our own, personal hell. But since when did the rich go to heaven? | after the discovery of *Allosaurus Immortatus,* and the mysterious properties trapped within their fossils, led to many debates and questions.
some argued that it wasn't right to destroy such rare specimen for something so vain as supposed immortality, others said that this ultra-luxury would perpetuate economic disparity, but nevertheless the fad of the elite paying their way to life unending persisted unabated.
that is, until the seemingly blatant question was asked, "if these dinosaurs had the secret to immortality, how did they die?" the question was something any five year old would ask, but the world jumped at the obvious statement like a rat on the kitchen.
scientists and religious leaders both rushed to give explanations, "immortality doesn't mean invulnerability. when the extinction event happened, they died just like anything else." or "yes they were immortal, for they had sinfully consumed the fruit of immortality, and when the almighty learned of this blasphemy, he smote them, negating the supposed immortality." regardless, the curiosity led to questions.
\---
"what do you think, Marv? about them dino skellies?"
"i dunno Bill, it's still weird that all these lizards were found in a desert though"
the two janitors a the museum continued to wax poetic in regards to the new exhibit; a full *A. Immortatus* fossil, whole and intact, that was set aside from being reduced to what the world began to call "the cure". the museum had won out in a lottery for the display rights, and people flocked from everywhere to see the bones that changed the world.
there was one caveat to getting to house thes skeleton, a direct request from the private company that had funded the excavations and discovery of the species of dinosaur. the one catch was that they couldn't get the bones, especially the skull, wet. the museum was a little daunted by the prospect of breaking fire code regulations, but managed to bribe officials on both sides to look the other way when the money started rolling in.
\---
"Dr. Johnson, this is the fifth appeal that you've made, you know we won't recall the skeleton. we agreed to tell them to not get the bones wet, but we can't let your paranoia get in the way of profits" Dr. James Johnson, head of research on the Project: Deathless excavations, had been extensively vocal in his dissent to the idea of giving away a specimen, even if the museum in question adhered to the conditions of the lease. he remembered what happened when he went to clean some dirt off of one of the caudal vertebrae during one of the early digs, just after they had discovered the strange properties of the bone. he washed the vertebrae with some water from his canteen, and was horrified to see the bone become more 'fresh' where the water had fallen, he had felt the strange magnetic pull emanating from the bones, trying to get more water onto it. he recalled how much he was yelled at for breaking the budget of the dig to purchase and transport barrels of mineral oils, the retaliation that he got for requesting the bones be coated in resin for "preservative" reasons; but all of his actions would be for naught if that museum's sprinkler system went off.
\---
"ladies and gentlemen! here celebrating his 130th birthday, Elon Musk" the night show host called out. Elon had been one of the first recipients of "The Cure", and like the many other so-called "lively" people, made appearances of normalcy, such as making a show of eating, when the truth wa he only needed to drink water whenever he got thirsty; hiring cosmologists to help keep him looking human; and bribing officials to look the other way when he got hungry.
\---
​
​
\---
the end. might do more, really was just distracting myself from finals. | 2019-06-12T00:39:39 | 2019-06-11T23:18:48 | 163 | 93 |
[WP] "For my first wish..." is all you're able to get out before you're cut off "nuh-uh, bro. That's not how this works. I'm your motivational life coath genie. I don't just grant you wishes. I help motivate you to achieve what you want through hard work and dedication. YOU READY TO GO, BRO?" | "So anyway, my first wish is..."
"NO! Don't say I wish, say I will! Think positive thoughts!"
I already had I bad feeling about this once this Genie appeared to me, but they turned out to be even more obnoxious than I could imagine. Compared to this unbounded bundle of enthousiasm, the Genie from Alladin might as well be Ebenezer Scrooge. Worst part of it all, I knew they were right. Some wishes were just not worth it when you have to pay the full price.
With defeat on my face. I turned towards the other Genie in the room. The smuggest grin I have ever seen was plastered on his face and he was clearly pleased with this turn of events.
"You know what, I changed my mind. I don't want my wishes fulfillled by a Genie who has my best interests at heart anymore." | "*HELL* YEAH! Wait what am I saying? Who the freak ARE you? I just thought I was talking to myself here!"
"Do you always wish for stuff when you're making coffee?!"
"Are you saying that you live in the *coffee mug?*wouldn't that be inconvenient to your job? I mean, not everyone is going to ask their beverage to fix their life up for them!"
"No one does that you weirdo, and that's kinda the point. You know the creeps who talk to their mugs are gonna make things interesting. Now here's how this is going to work; I'm going to float around you for the rest of your life, motivating you to do what you want and stop your procrastinating, in return you have to put a crazy or fun spin on whatever it is you want my help with, like if you're gonna try to get fit you could say 'help me get RIPPED bro, but I'm gonna skip leg day! Who needs that?!', and I'll crack up looking at your chicken legs for the rest of your life. And before you ask, yes, I can go away for a time if you want but I'll ALWAYS be back."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"SO?!"
"So what?! What am I supposed to say here?"
"UGH! Just tell me whatchu wanna do man! You can't think of anything you've been meaning to do but have put off till now?!"
"Dude I'm a virgin high schooler and my only achievements are in my video games; you can probably guess the things I want from you. Just take your pick and get me started or whatever."
"*Sigh* this guy's going to be a huge pain in the ass..." | 2020-04-13T05:26:29 | 2020-04-13T03:25:12 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a tattoo that is a number between 0 and 100 representing a set aptitude of a skill, but it can be linked to things like lifespan or height. Schools test children to figure out what skill they have aptitude for. You are the first ever 0 and cant figure out what it means. | (This is my first ever short story attempt since school so constructive feedback would be helpful!)
I remember reading stories about the old times when I was a little kid, back before the numbers started appearing on newborns. I always wondered how those people managed to live without knowing. Did everyone think they could excel in something if they worked hard enough? Did they think everyone was special in their own ways without trying?
When the first few babies were born with their numbers, the scientific community were dumbfounded. Those firsts were born 45, 56 and 80, each born on different continents. After a few months, numbered births were happening every day. I’m a fifth-generation numbered, there’s only a handful of unnumbered left alive thanks to preservation efforts.
Anyway, most people are born between 40 and 60 so I guess in a way not much has changed. When the first numbered grew up they started figuring out what the number itself meant - aptitude. The first 80 went on to become a renowned quantum physicist; she discovered the true mechanics of wave-particle duality. The others lived ‘normal’ lives.
So far, no one has been born with a number higher than 96; he became the world’s tallest man which loads of people thought was anti-climatic. On the other hand, no one has been born lower than 9; for that guy, it only meant he had super-low tolerance, turned out to be a pretty good military leader.
Well, no one was lower than 9 until I came along. I was born the world’s first 0.
All the way through my life, I’ve had doctor visits every 6 months to make sure the number didn’t mean anything which would cut my life short, so far so good. But none of them could figure out how someone could be a 0. When I was old enough, they sent me to a special aptitude school to try to figure it out.
“I’ll take… the 42.” The 71 destined-for-greatness athlete pointed at the only other kid left besides me.
I became used to being picked last in P.E. I wasn’t that bad at sports, it’s just that people were kind of, I don’t know, scared? They had this idea that my aptitude would show up in the middle of a game and cause chaos for some reason. Nothing interesting ever happened but I always hoped they would be right.
During English two weeks ago, 16 minutes in, Emmy asked Ms Thomas if my 0 meant I wasn’t good at anything. Emmy didn’t have much of a filter when it came to asking questions that’s for sure, she was 67, a teacher's pet.
“We don’t know that Emmy, what matters is treating everyone with respect.” She sent a sympathetic smile my way.
Today, Ms Thomas asked each of us to read out the story of our earliest memories we had to write for homework. I thought it was a weird topic to choose, surely everyone’s is the same? But of course, Emmy went first.
“My earliest memory! By Emmy Johnson!” She started with her trademark over-the-top dramatics.
“When I was 4 years old my Dad took us to Legoland! I remember feeling so excited when I was allowed to go on the little rollercoaster that looked like it was made of Lego with him. There were so many other kids, I even made a few friends…”
She railed on about her day at the park, but I became curious. As other kids also got up to tell their stories, the curiosity turned the butterflies in my stomach to lead. It was my turn next.
I stood up and walked to the front of the class, each step felt like an eternity.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat and hid my face with the paper as much as I could while everyone's eye’s burned into me.
“My earliest memory…” My voice cracked a little.
“At first I was confused and scared, I couldn’t see anything. The noises I heard were muffled but urgent. I had the feeling I needed to get out but I didn’t know how.” Ms Thomas had concern in her eyes but let me continue.
“After a few minutes, I started to see light through my eyelids, and there was a rush of cold air. There were hands all over me and I didn’t like that so I started crying, it was a little weird to hear myself for the first time.”
I took a peek over my paper and some of the kids' jaws were on their desks, I continued.
“They wrapped me in a towel, it wasn’t very soft but I guess it stopped the mucky stuff from going everywhere.
That’s when they handed me to my mum. I remember she was crying, happy tears I'm sure. She was also really sweaty, her fringe stuck to her tired face. She kept kissing me until she saw it, my number, then the doctors took me away to examine me.”
Ms Thomas stopped me there.
“Jack, are you talking about the day you were born?” She looked at me in disbelief.
“Um. Yeah? I thought that’s what everyone was going to talk about…”
That’s when the questions came from everyone in the class.
“What colour was the doctor's hair?” Blonde.
“What time was it?” The doctor mentioned 2:45 pm.
“What happened after that?”
It was a whirlwind until Ms Thomas asked them to quieten down.
“Jack, do you remember what we were doing in class this time last year?”
“Sure, we were responding to fictional texts, looking at the Blood Brothers play, you asked Emmy to read most of the parts but Shaun read some too. He wasn’t that happy about it.”
“And what about other early memories? When you were a baby?”
“Yeah? Ms Thomas, I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” She started to smile, almost to herself.
Then the penny dropped. I’ve never forgotten anything in my life, I remember every day I lived since I was born. It wasn’t until this class I realised that other people weren’t the same.
“Your zero, Jack. I think it means no memory loss.”
\[edited to remove double spacing and feedback suggestion\] | They called me "zero" for the longest time. Kids would avoid me at the park and people would whisper about me in public. "How is that even possible" or "I hope our daughter doesn't ever date that boy" they would say. And I've accepted that for most of my life, that their was a decent chance that I wouldn't ever be one of the greats in history. Just a historical anomaly they will say.
Sure some people would say that is the reason I turned out to be a little edgy, and maybe that's a little true. All i ever wanted was to live a simple life where people wouldn't treat me like some sort of benign mythical creature, and I wouldn't probably get that. So I guess I just dressed the part, the dark hair the edgy clothes, and I would have a mean nose ring if it wasn't for my mom.
My mom always says how people might like me more if I didnt dress so scary, i figure I may as well give them what they paid to see. If you ask me life is what you make it and you may as well make a mess doing it. It's not all bad I have a friend that I see after classes, her name is stacy.
Her forehead has a 22 on it, she thinks I'm cool because I'm so unique she says. I really like her, allot.
She has some piercings and she even had her older brother put a tattoo on her thigh. I think she likes me too but she told me she doesnt want to date till after they put all the boys and girls in the same classes for 10th year. Which I totally respect because I want her to think I'm super chill.
But none of that's going to matter after today. You see I'm really bummed out, because, last night I was up late watching tv and happened upon the news. I jumped into a conversation about placement testing and they mentioned me, like I wasn't watching. "Well what do we do if it really means he's just a big fat zero?" They said. It really had me thinking, maybe even slightly panicky.
As I walk to school on this cold morning I fear for the worst. I fear I may just get told to go home or that I have nothing to contribute to our great society. My heart beat louder and faster with every step I take towards the door. I reach out to grab the handle and my stomach sinka. "what if they are all right," I say to myself. My eyes begin to water as I walk to the testing area.
I stand against the wall as the protocol demanded, lowest to highest. Infact the highest 80th percentile of our class didnt even have to show up today. So here I am on the lowest rung of the lowest rung. Lower than anyone else before me....
"You boys know the drill!! we will open one of these three doors. One of us will shout, NEXT!! And the next one of you in line will go to said door. You will be tested on every aspect of your body mind and soul!! And you will not go home until you have completed such. Have I made myself clear to you boys?" Head master Docford announced. "Indeed, sir," we replied. "Absolutely stupendous gentlemen, now let us begin with the first three boys," hesays to us. "And yes mister Tresnal, you will be coming with me through this door here." He tells me.
The two other boys go to the other doors and I slowly make my way to Doc's door. We go inside at first to a office like room. "What are we doing here sir?" I ask him. He tells me, "you see Mr. Tresnal, we actually have been doing allot of testing over the years. What we do know so far is, you are not particularly bad at anything. We originally thought you had issues with social skills and blending in however, recently we noticed some changes in your behavior which could add protest to that hypothesis."
I'm actually very shocked to hear all of this. Its straight up the only encouragement I've ever had. I ask, "So what your saying is I don't have flaws?" "Now I know that sounds really nice, hence I've never once told you before. That isn't a definite answer, a little known fact is in many kids the number on your head could mean something negative. For instance 100 could mean 100 in ugliness or even something as benign as stage fright," he says.
Well what could zero mean? He sat me down and began to ask me questions about various topics some were abstract, and other had more definitive answers. He began measuring every inch of me, and by that I mean no stone was unturned. He asked me questions about my sex life as if I might have one. Things got pretty weird after this.
A man comes in from another room, holding a baseball bat. My heart begins to pound, "has anyone ever told you the joke about the kid who's bone strength was at 100?" he asks. "Well no," I replied reluctantly. Doc replies, "well it's not a joke." The man then proceeded to beat the living piss out of me.
I laid down for a minute and then got up. "How amazing" head master says. "What the fuck man," I say to him. "Well look at you," he says gesturing at me vaguely. I look around myself to notice nothing differant about myself. I reply, "What do they got you on over here dude?"
"Mr. Tresnal, are you familiar with the term, bleeding?" He asks me. "What, yeah... Like I've heard of it," I tell him. "Well Duncan, we found out what's so weird about you," he says, "let me tell you something, most people have the ability to bleed. That in itself is a down fall. You have zero ability to do so." I ask "So can people die if they dont do that?"
Head master laughs at me, "I'm sure not, infact plenty of people have died because of it," he say. He takes me through a door as we continue talking. "Now I'm not yet sure how to explain this part to you. Well you see, I cant let you be in school with these sorts of students any more. now that we know this, and you know this, you are considered dangerous to society," he says.
The door opens and two men grab me by my arms. "I wish nothing but the best for you Mr. Tresnal," the head master says as I'm loaded into a truck. "Where am I going?" I ask. "Nowhere," one of the men replied. I am accompanied by two other boys marked as 100, whom I've never seen.
"Oh my gosh, you are zero," one of them says. "Yup, you could say, there's nothing bad about me," I say as we take off. | 2020-05-02T01:36:48 | 2020-05-01T21:48:57 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] You are a dark god. The police raided your temple, arrested your cultists, and ate the pb&j sandwich that your youngest worshiper left on your altar | The first thing you have to understand is that “Dark God” does not mean “evil”. The meaning has gotten kinda twisted over the eons. See, “Dark God” just means that I'm from the Dark Plane, which – as the name implies – is really freakin' dark. Like, pitch black, can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face, absolute dark. Light isn't natural to my plane, there's literally nothing native to my reality which gives off the slightest glow or the faintest glimmer.
The key words there are “native to my reality”. Dark Gods may not be evil, but we -are- Gods. We've had our worshipers from your plane forever, even we don't remember how it all got started. But the point is, people in your reality have been leaving offerings for us since time immemorial. And those offerings, when left by someone with true reverence in their heart, they shine like torches in our world. The faith of the supplicant somehow crosses the interdimensional gap between your plane and the Dark Plane, and on our side we get actual, brilliant light.
Do you have any idea how wonderful that light is? Can you even conceive what it's like to see pure, glorious light in an entire reality of darkness? It's the warm sun on your face on a beautiful spring day, but instead of your face that radiance is shining into your very soul. It's beyond words, beyond emotion, beyond any experience you've ever had. You people think that you're leaving us offerings to pay for our favor, but it's the other way around. By the light of your offerings, we can see and feel warmth in our black abyss.
More than that, by the light of your offerings we can see back into your world, and that means we can safely extend our power. We can affect things in your world without light, sure, but it's like swinging a baseball bat in a china shop with your eyes closed. No idea what you're hitting, no idea what the results look like. With the light of your faith, though, we can actually see what we're doing, and we do everything we can to bless you because we are -eternally- grateful. You don't understand how precious the gifts are that you give us. If we could extend more of our power back along that shining path between the planes, we would.
The actual physical offering doesn't matter, it's the faith associated with it that determines how brightly it shines. A solid gold chalice might glow dimmer than a dying Christmas tree light if it's offered by some shmuck who's just paying lip service, or it might beam like maglight with fresh batteries if it's given in reverence by truly devout priest. By the same token, objects you might think are worthless can shine the brightest if they have true faith behind them.
Take, for instance, something as mundane as a PB&J. Like the one left on that altar, about an hour ago. The kid who left it, Peter, he believes. Like, really believes. There are few things as powerful in your world or in mine as the faith of a young child. It is absolute, unwavering, and rock-solid. Santa exists, the monster under the bed can't get you if you keep your feet under the blanket, and Mommy will get better if I give the Dark God a present and ask him please. I can't speak to jolly fat men or under-mattress mooks, but that kid's sandwich blazed like the Sun. More than enough light for a delicate little operation like excising a tumor or three.
And then the light went out.
And the last thing I saw was Peter, tears streaming down his face, in handcuffs that barely fit his little wrists.
And you, shoving the last bite of the sandwich into your mouth.
You know how you can stand at the door of your bedroom, turn out the light, and then walk to your bed without tripping or running into anything? There's that memory of how things looked, right before you turned out the light, that guides you. It doesn't last long, and it only covers what you could see right around you, but it's enough. Yeah, that's how I got you. I may not have been able to see you any more after that last bite, but I remembered where you were standing. And to be honest, in that moment, I didn't really care that I was swinging a baseball bat with my eyes closed, because I was pretty damn sure I'd hit you, even if I hit a few other things in the process.
I can't see Peter any more. I can't see his mom, and I can't see her tumors, and I sure as hell can't see to do anything about them. But now I have you here, in my realm. And even if I can't see you, I can feel you now. You can't hide in the dark from me, because now you're in MY dark, and I am a Dark God.
“Dark God” may not mean “evil”, but I assure you: it doesn't mean “good”, either. | Though they seemed to be an utter disappointment, I can't fault my followers too much for what was happening; they were simply caught unprepared. They had underestimated the tenacity of the heretics. For all the rituals, prayer, and sacrifice, there was only so much that could be done to combat the technological evolution of mankind. Though it would have been wise had they not scheduled the evening's gathering via the Book of Faces.
Humanity's enforcement of their rules and statues... *The police*. They entered my temple before my devotees had even figured out what was to transpire. With their projectile weapons in hand, they bound my loyal subjects in metal bindings.
The utter disrespect of these worms. They paid no heed to relics they knocked over as they infiltrated this unholy site. Some of these may have been objects foolishly purchased by followed from the Bay of E, but many of them were items I carried with me when I roamed this earth hundreds of thousands of years ago. Still, there wasn't much I could do to intervene.
We Gods, as we're called by many, receive our power from worship. The more followers we have, the more power we gain, and the more we can influence the realm of the humans. Some Gods take the laissez faire attitude with this world, whereas others prefer a more direct approach. I was the latter: when a particularly loyal devotee wished to have his neighbor cursed in order to seduce the man's wife, I gladly focused all my efforts to render him impotent. The rest was up to my follower to "seal the deal" as he so eloquently wrote in his blood-letter.
Century by century, my followers decreased in njmber. My powers followed. No longer could I exert my will over humanity. I blamed much of this on that glorified spirit of vengeance with the circumcision fascination killing off his own son in order to spawn himself a second religion. Then he decided two wasn't enough and created a third faith. His ego is beyond compare.
My shrunken cabal and minimal power left me unable to stop what was happening to my flock and my sanctum. It was disastrous. Hopefully, they could rebuild, regroup, and resume their worship. I sighed and watched as the police officers cleared my temple and made their way to my alter where many of my followers placed their offerings.
"Look at this," one of them said, "idiots thought they'd offer up a sandwich!" He did nothing to hide his amusement as he lifted the food item to his lips. It was two slices of bread with peanut butter and strawberry jam. Many humans enjoyed these as both meals and snacks.
Something snapped inside me as the officer took a bite and ingested my offering.
My memories flooded back to just a few hours ago. My herd was placing the items they deemed worthy on my alter. I'd would do what I could for the offerings that pleased me, and created small inconveniences for the ones who presented unworthy offerings.
There was a little girl. She wasn't much older than six years. She was the daughter of one of my most devoted. He would bring her the monthly gatherings as he couldn't find someone to sit on her. Human customs can be confusing at times.
Her name was Aimee. She kept to herself and played with her toys while the adults performed blood sacrifices, human live bleeding, and other indulgences that pleased me. Per instructions I formed out of animal bones and they attempted to contact me for guidance, she was not to witness many of these rituals.
On this night, Offering Night, she presented her first offering to me:
"Mister Verangir the Envoy of Chaos and Despair," she began, looking into my statue's eyes as it stood above her upon my altar, "I can't give much, but I made you this. It's my favorite!" She placed a small plate near my statue's feet. On the plate was the sandwich that was being eaten by this intruder.
An anger boiled inside me that I had not felt in thousands of years.
*She was my favourite.*
After she had been take outside by police officers, I unleashed what I had left of my power. From the statue emerged a small portal from my plane of existence to theirs. My black tendrils reached out into the hall as my voice boomed.
"You have violated my inner sanctum. Your lives are now forfeit." I echoed this through my temple and into the minds of these law enforcement agents as I proceeded to tear them limb from limb. They were the lucky ones. To be eviscerated in an instance was my mercy to the ones simply following instructions from their superior. I spared the one who had invested the PB & J. His punishment must be more severe.
As he attempted to crawl away from the beautiful symphony of death, I wrapped a tendril around his ankle and dragged him towards my portal. I lifted the man's up so that he may look into my eyes.
"Her name was Aimee. You took what she gave to me. Now you are going to spend an eternity in my realm... and I am going to get back was taken from me. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, every shriek of agony. You will beg for death."
Tears formed in the man's eyes as I pulled him into my realm to enact my vengeance. My final massacre complete, I had exhausted what little remained of my power.
Aimee didn't understand. All she knew was that her father adored me and now he was being punished for that. There was nothing left of my temple now that it had been raised. So, I left and decided to follow and observe Aimee... Make sure she was safe.
I heard her mutter under her breath, "Please look over Daddy... Don't let the bad men hurt him, please."
She began to sob. I felt a small amount of energy returning to me. It was coming from this small child.
For my entire existence, all I wanted was to make this world suffer and burn. Now... I just wanted to keep this girl safe. I would do what I could for her father, but my new purpose was to keep her safe. Not as her God, but as her Guardian. | 2020-05-20T06:22:01 | 2020-05-20T04:45:43 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | “You mean I can do anything I want?”
“Anything”
“What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch, just a way for you humans to fulfil all their earthly desires before fully passing on to the other side”
Interesting. I didn’t have much regrets in life, I had lived a good one, probably a little above average but nothing as brilliant as the people frequently on news headlines.
I let my mind wander as I thought about the major moments and successes in my life, then I began to think of my failures, things I could have done better and then the trivial things that weren’t worth anything in the long run but still stayed with me until now.
I want to go back.
The man in the suit must have noticed my change of expression as he quizzically asked, “Well?”
“Okay.”
————
I went back to the time I was 17 years old and then submitted my application into the military, blessing myself with a good enough physique and a capable enough mind to endure the rigorous demands of the army and spend the downtime learning new skills and information. I’m abusing the shit out of New Game+ but fuck it the beginning steps are always the hardest. Besides I merely gave myself the tools, I still have to carve the product out myself, I hope it’s not considered cheating too much.
The years passed in a blur, I gathered valuable resources, connections, knowledge and exceptional skills. Dealing with people was always the hardest part for me in both lives, I had to reinvent myself and step out of my social comfort zone, the never ending liquid courage and the inability to get drunk did make it a lot easier though. The foundations were laid down, it was time to get out of the army and establish a new shadow government.
I gathered the brightest and sanest minds I could find and installed them in positions of power across the world, while slowly and steadily removing threats that seek to undo my plans, vile men and organizations that seek to fuck the world up further. Players in the game that didn’t understand the objectives of the game.
At this point it made things a lot easier with way less bloodshed. We were able to push for global reforms and solve global issues, sometimes even before those same issues were even issues. I believed humanity is inherently good and I wanted to prove it in this life.
The economic returns were better than expected. World wealth was still concentrated at the top 20 percent because that’s how things goes but with all the changes, poverty was eliminated, everyone had good opportunities and chances in this new world. It was a giant snowball effect that didn’t seem to have any signs of stopping. We were finally able to look towards the stars without neglecting our home, we were finally past Level 1.
In my twilight years, I spent the time raising successors, people who can continue my legacy, people who knew the objectives of this one big game, constantly vetting, testing, finalizing.
Then I silently exited, choosing a small remote cottage in Australia, where she would too choose to retire. I had done my best, my truest and I had no more regrets.
—————
I heard a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, the doorknob turnt and the same man in the suit a lifetime ago stood in my cottage.
“Tea?” I asked, smiling even as I knew my time had come.
The man waved away the offer, instead choosing to take a seat on the table across from me.
“You made some questionable decisions but at the end you caught all of us by surprise.”
I nodded as I sensed there was more to come.
“Apologies for lying but this was a test to determine your placement in the afterlife and by right for what you have done, you deserved Hell.”
“But?”
“We appealed for your soul, many of us appealed and the big guys above and below came to an agreement.”
This time it was me that was puzzled by his expression, he was trying to remain professional but he was having trouble trying not to smile.
“You wanna do this again? For real this time. We will help, with an extra favour at the end of everything.”
I thought back to my previous two lifetimes and thought of her again. As long as she is happy I didn’t mind, but maybe I can be selfish, just once.
“Okay.” | "So you're telling me I can do literally anything? No consequences?"
*The angels or whatever they were looked shifty but nodded. I didn't think anything of it... So many possibilities, now at my literal fingertips.*
"Ok, I'm ready. Do it." *Suddenly, darkness, before... Blinking... I was awake? Looking around it was my childhood bedroom, with all my old toys. Was that some kind of weird dream? It sounded more likely than thinking I had ever been a 34 year old dead woman. Yawning I went back to sleep, though I wasn't aware of a slight tingling in my hand, and a very animate bear now nuzzling it...*
*Yawning I looked around the room and at the small thing curled up in my hand. Wait a sec, I didn't have a pet! Screaming I instinctively threw the furry mass in my hand across the room where it lay, seemingly inanimate once more. What the heck? What was that doing there? The thought was cut short as my parents ran in with a, "What is it honey?". I hid my shock as I pointed at the bear on the floor, still in a heap. I almost felt guilty but I assumed that it must have been from some weird waking dream...*
"So wait, she has godlike powers and the first thing her subconscious does is give temporary life to her toy? That's kinda cute, gotta be a point in her favour right?"
"I dunno, she did throw it across the room and knocked him out, so I guess we just have to see..."
*The years flashed by, by the time I was a teenager I had realised what I could do. I had no explanation as to how I received the powers, I only knew that when I clenched my hand, whatever I wanted just... Happened. Being a teenager I of course used it to make myself look hotter. Bigger ass here, slightly larger boobs there, I even made my lips bigger. So what if it made me look like a bimbo? I was way more popular than I ever was before...*
*By the time I was in my 20s, I had everything I wanted. A mansion, a cute bf, even a sea of dogs that stayed perpetually young and cute. With a twist of my hand their bowls got filled with whatever treats they wanted, same thing could be said for my boyfriend, though all he seemed to want to do was coast off my wealth. I had thought about kicking him out but whatever, he was cute and I felt lonely on my own. I drew the line at messing with other people, even though I totally could. A few years back I made my parents forget the joint they found in my room. Hadn't stopped me smoking but the unease I felt when their faces smoothed out, those angry lines vanishing... I couldn't do that again.*
*My life was easy, I of course used my powers to help others, it wasn't even hard, just one clench and they somehow got millions in anonymous funding, same could be said for my bank account, of course reality seemed to twist around me to the point no one thought it odd that a 23 year old was one of the richest people on the planet with seemingly no legitimate way she could have gained that much money. 'Oh well, the world is my oyster', I thought...*
*Boom*
*All of a sudden I was floating in space, looking out into the stars. Twisting I looked over and... What the fuck was that... That's not what I thought it was... Right?*
*Looking in front of me, I saw billions of people and animals dead and floating, the world they were dependant on now a large piece of seafood...*
"Shit, shit, shit"
*I felt my extremities freeze over before my brain went dark...*
*Waking up in a pure white room, I saw 3 winged creatures looking at me...* "Eli?", *One of them said to me, "Your test is complete, welcome back to the afterlife..." *I was confused and stunned, my brain still fuzzy from oxygen deficiency as I took a few deep breaths.*
"You lived a good life, were generous, you gave to the poor, helped rid the world of its oil dependency, but all of that was cancelled out by the billions you killed with a stupid idiom. The world has literally become your oyster. As we speak, in your alternate reality a new form of life is being created that exclusively eats oyster shell, and a civilization of humanoids has been born anew, but we can't look past the apocalypse you caused. You're going down."
*I was stunned, 'it was an accident!', I wanted to scream, but as I fell, the air was sucked from my lungs as I feel deeper and deeper, a salty smell rising to meet me. I was in the ocean, I could feel my shell close around me. All was black, but I knew what had happened. A rather fitting punishment for the most dangerous human in history...*
(I hope you enjoyed my silly story based off of an awful joke :D) | 2020-07-20T03:18:26 | 2020-07-20T03:07:45 | 184 | 68 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | The sunlight bounced off the ripples of the deep blue Mediterranean Sea as though it was a shattered mirror. Fabio stood upon the deck of his beloved *Lady Justice* basking in the glorious warmth of the evening sun. This is what he enjoyed most about this life. The small things.
For 80 years, not once had a smile on his face diminished, beaming from one cheek to the other. And why shouldn’t he, he was an unstoppable train of luck, coincidence and good fortune. So much so, he rarely went by his god given name anymore, his friends called him *Suerte* and his grandchildren *Granpda Lucky*. This, of course, belonged to the fact that at the age of 18 he bought his first lottery ticket and won the jackpot of €111million.
Multiple good investments and friends in high places meant that Fabio had a beyond comfortable life, living in extreme luxury with his family and close friends. He had traveled the world, he had seen the vast Amazon rainforest, witnessed the jaw dropping beauty of the Aurora Borealis, fished in the astonishing Ha Long Bay and even climbed to the peak of Everest.
However he did not need Everest to feel on top of the world. He got the same feeling every time he looked in his wife’s eyes or saw his sons laughing and playing with their children. This was the life that every dreams about. And it was his.
His funeral was a grand affair with people travelling all over the world to pay their respects. The grounds of the cemetery were lined with people who could not squeeze into the chapel. He had passed away peacefully in his sleep exactly one month before his 81st birthday. He died happy but for the first time in his life he did not have a smile on his face.
Fabio awoke to find himself in a large church. He was naked but it was not cold. The entire building, including the floors and pews were made of white marble. The only piece of colour in view was a large golden lectern at front of the pews. Fabio stood up and as he looked up a figure emerged at the lectern.
“Step forward Fabio José Francisco da Silva and be judged” an booming voice commanded.
Fabio moved down the church towards the lectern which seem to grow taller the closer he got. The man at the lectern became clearer, he was an old man but inexplicably tall. He had a long white beard and little hair on his head. He had two large iron keys hung around his neck but they did not seem to weigh anything at all. Those too were weathered and old.His eyes on the other hand looked young, light blue and wide, like they were seeing the sky for the first time. They looked into Fabio’s and deep into his soul.
“Fabio José Francisco da Silva, you have failed”
“What? Why? There must be a mistake.” Fabio replied, hastily and confused.
“I do not make mistakes” countered the figure.
“But... but I... I lead a... a good ha.. happy life, I never did any harm to anyone. I was the best I could be!” Fabio stuttered.
“Yes, by many accounts you did, but you only enriched your own life, everything you did was for yourself.” The figure replied calmly.
“That’s not true!” Fabio interrupted angrily.
“Do not raise your voice at me Fabio José Francisco da Silva!” the figures presence grew forcing Fabio to fall back in to the ground. “Everything you did was for yourself! You took deep breaths of oxygen as you stood looking over the canopy of the rainforest yet you did nothing when it was being torn down by bad men in the name of profit! You stared up in wonder at the the Aurora Borealis but did nothing to prevent the glaciers melting underneath your feet! You fished for weeks in Ha Long Bay but gave no thought to the children starving on the beaches because of over fishing! You climbed to the highest peak on Earth but for what cause? Only your own. Do you ever give a thought to the Sherpa who lost his life guiding you back down off the mountain? Did you provide for his family? No Fabio José Francisco da Silva, you did not, and this is why you have failed. | "So you're telling me I can do literally anything? No consequences?"
*The angels or whatever they were looked shifty but nodded. I didn't think anything of it... So many possibilities, now at my literal fingertips.*
"Ok, I'm ready. Do it." *Suddenly, darkness, before... Blinking... I was awake? Looking around it was my childhood bedroom, with all my old toys. Was that some kind of weird dream? It sounded more likely than thinking I had ever been a 34 year old dead woman. Yawning I went back to sleep, though I wasn't aware of a slight tingling in my hand, and a very animate bear now nuzzling it...*
*Yawning I looked around the room and at the small thing curled up in my hand. Wait a sec, I didn't have a pet! Screaming I instinctively threw the furry mass in my hand across the room where it lay, seemingly inanimate once more. What the heck? What was that doing there? The thought was cut short as my parents ran in with a, "What is it honey?". I hid my shock as I pointed at the bear on the floor, still in a heap. I almost felt guilty but I assumed that it must have been from some weird waking dream...*
"So wait, she has godlike powers and the first thing her subconscious does is give temporary life to her toy? That's kinda cute, gotta be a point in her favour right?"
"I dunno, she did throw it across the room and knocked him out, so I guess we just have to see..."
*The years flashed by, by the time I was a teenager I had realised what I could do. I had no explanation as to how I received the powers, I only knew that when I clenched my hand, whatever I wanted just... Happened. Being a teenager I of course used it to make myself look hotter. Bigger ass here, slightly larger boobs there, I even made my lips bigger. So what if it made me look like a bimbo? I was way more popular than I ever was before...*
*By the time I was in my 20s, I had everything I wanted. A mansion, a cute bf, even a sea of dogs that stayed perpetually young and cute. With a twist of my hand their bowls got filled with whatever treats they wanted, same thing could be said for my boyfriend, though all he seemed to want to do was coast off my wealth. I had thought about kicking him out but whatever, he was cute and I felt lonely on my own. I drew the line at messing with other people, even though I totally could. A few years back I made my parents forget the joint they found in my room. Hadn't stopped me smoking but the unease I felt when their faces smoothed out, those angry lines vanishing... I couldn't do that again.*
*My life was easy, I of course used my powers to help others, it wasn't even hard, just one clench and they somehow got millions in anonymous funding, same could be said for my bank account, of course reality seemed to twist around me to the point no one thought it odd that a 23 year old was one of the richest people on the planet with seemingly no legitimate way she could have gained that much money. 'Oh well, the world is my oyster', I thought...*
*Boom*
*All of a sudden I was floating in space, looking out into the stars. Twisting I looked over and... What the fuck was that... That's not what I thought it was... Right?*
*Looking in front of me, I saw billions of people and animals dead and floating, the world they were dependant on now a large piece of seafood...*
"Shit, shit, shit"
*I felt my extremities freeze over before my brain went dark...*
*Waking up in a pure white room, I saw 3 winged creatures looking at me...* "Eli?", *One of them said to me, "Your test is complete, welcome back to the afterlife..." *I was confused and stunned, my brain still fuzzy from oxygen deficiency as I took a few deep breaths.*
"You lived a good life, were generous, you gave to the poor, helped rid the world of its oil dependency, but all of that was cancelled out by the billions you killed with a stupid idiom. The world has literally become your oyster. As we speak, in your alternate reality a new form of life is being created that exclusively eats oyster shell, and a civilization of humanoids has been born anew, but we can't look past the apocalypse you caused. You're going down."
*I was stunned, 'it was an accident!', I wanted to scream, but as I fell, the air was sucked from my lungs as I feel deeper and deeper, a salty smell rising to meet me. I was in the ocean, I could feel my shell close around me. All was black, but I knew what had happened. A rather fitting punishment for the most dangerous human in history...*
(I hope you enjoyed my silly story based off of an awful joke :D) | 2020-07-20T03:21:37 | 2020-07-20T03:07:45 | 130 | 68 |
[WP] In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed. You, who had lived a fairly normal life, finally saw the count drop to 0 just 200 years after your death. 500 years later, 95% of the Earth’s total population suddenly knows about you. | It’s nice to be remembered. Not just by your immediate family but by their children, and their children’s children. You are a part of their ancestry, their heritage, and therefore their life. They say you die twice, once when your body dies and once more when the last person who remembers you dies. Luckily (or not, depending on what kind of person you were), in the afterlife you can see how many living people still remember you.
I was blessed enough to see my children telling my grandchildren some of the things about me that I had not had the chance to tell them. I could see my great grandchildren asking their parents about what kind of world I grew up in, how I managed without the technologies and benefits that they take for granted. But we all know we won’t be remembered forever, not unless we leave an indelible mark on this earth. After all, your children only have two parents to look up to, but their children have four grandparents, and their children have eight great grandparents, so by the time your 10-times great grandchildren are born, you are just a distant line on a branch of a very big tree.
Thus, about 200 years after I died, the last member of my lineage who still knew of me finally passed away and I was gone from living memory. I was not sad, I had led a fairly normal life just like billions of other humans, I held down a decent job and built a happy family, what more could someone ask for? I was not destined for greatness, or legend. Or infamy.
I enjoyed several hundred more years observing the world below me, until I saw them digging. Digging too close.
Nobody knew it was buried there, it was just bad luck they were working there. I began to worry. Would they find it? Would they *use* it?
~~~~
I was remembered again. My name was everywhere, there was hardly a person on earth that didn’t know about the person who found the secret to eternal healthy life, and hid it. Buried it. Kept it secret from the world.
I stumbled upon it by accident, on holiday. At first unsure of what to do with it, I kept it on me at all times, constantly deliberating in my mind whether to release it or not. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it though, how could I? It would save millions, billions of lives and improve quality of life no end; no death or disease, no sickness or suffering. But no reduction in population either. The only way to die would be at the hands of another person, or your own. No, that just wouldn’t do.
So I did the only thing I could, I took the secret to my grave, quite literally. Stitched into the lining of my burial suit that I chose in my final months of life. Once I died I didn’t have to worry about it any more.
How was I to know the cemetery would be neglected, abandoned, then excavated for building? How was I to know my well labelled coffin would be inspected, my body exhumed, that they would see the tattered paper poking out of the weathered lining of my suit, writing still legible.
Natural deaths stopped almost almost immediately. But once they started, the wars would not. | 0
It’s been quite a while since I’ve died. I have no recollection of the life I’d lived, much less who I knew when I died. I could barely remember the last time I heard someone say my name. But when I heard it.. it was like a familiar breeze, marking the changing of seasons.
2
Then one day it was like I heard the wind. I was taken aback by the fact that I heard anything at first. I listened closer, I could hear something ripping through the air. As time moved on I knew the sounds of the wind would grow louder just as they did before.
20
I felt a sensation that was once new to me, but now is a welcomed friend. I smiled. I don’t do it often but an occasion like this warranted it. Once I heard the wind turn to whispers, I knew... It was my time to shine again. The sweet whispers of ignorance and stupidity.
1000
“Humans” I said with a chuckle. It always made me laugh they they thought this was death. This one guy figured out our method of retrieval, but his mental state didn’t survive the return trip. He was “dead” for 12 minutes. Some idiot started giving him the tour. (I facepalmed when I saw the report) his name was Patrick something and he told everyone who’d listen about the “afterlife”. He got the “souls” part right, but you’re far from dead when you get to me. However, the amusing thing was that he saw our numbers, his own too. He assumed that was the number of people who knew him as he was alive. Not sure if it was a good thing he left before that was explained. His number was 1.9k
5603.
He went on to convince nearly 2 thousand people that souls go on to another world and we all get numbers and souls can see how many people knew you, or something like that. His influence convinced some people who were even more .. influential. The ideas spread like wild fire.
934550
Excitement was building in me as I started to understand what the whispers were saying. They always had such a barbaric language. Praying? For their lost loved ones? I chuckled again. They were fine living new lives here with us. Many have long since forgotten their family and friends, even made some new ones. No one here really even cares about the numbers.. well no one except me.
2.5M
The numbers represent your influence on the world. It can sometimes correlate to the people who you’ve known (especially after your “death”). In actuality, it really just counts the number of people who are actively thinking about you. So I get where he made that mistake.
66M
But really it’s a sort of contest. A chance, given to every person who leaves earth. A chance to come back. A game.
679M
It’s very slim and only a few will ever come close to winning. But no one has ever gotten a higher number than me.
1.4B
By now the whispers were screams filling the void in what humans would call their ears. I smiled a bigger smile than I had the last time. That time I was excited this time.. I’m ready.
4.8B
I might play in the sand again, they still can’t get over what I did over there. But that’ll have to come after I handle what’s in the water.
6.5B
I put on my metaphorical coat and hat and picking up my keys. Time to go.
7.5B
“Great, it’s night time now. I’m sure They’ll get a kick outta the new lights on my ship this time around”
——this is my first submission on this sub while you all like it. My grammar is a problem I’m not exactly working on so drag me if you want lol I appreciate all kinds of feedback—— | 2020-09-24T06:42:08 | 2020-09-24T06:08:41 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] You entered a forest filled with monsters. The exit constantly moves, you don't age in the forest. When exiting, one person must stay unless they are the only one in the forest. Many a time you found the exit but let others leave. For the first time, another asked how long you've been here. | They called him the Watchmaker. Luna never learned why. Clocks, of course, do not work in the Valley. He had other names as well, but she never heard those.
He threw a huge shadow, but was really quite small - just less than average height and slim as a knife, but wiry strong, like a gnarled tree clinging to the side of a cliff. He wore weatherworn hide and fur, a long straight knife on one hip and an axe on the other. A recurve bow was lashed to the side of his small backpack.
He was the solemn sort of handsome, with angular features fit for an emperor or an executioner. It was a young face, no older than her's, but his eyes were ancient. And they were spectacular.
They were the kind of eyes that a mountain might have, the grey of seaworn slate, speckled with green and criss-crossed by double-helix strands of amber. There was timeless strength and infinite patience in those eyes.
He walked into her spare camp one night, melting from the wood like a phantom. His movements were graceful, precise, and his footsteps were silent.
She stared at him, shaking. In the dark, he barely looked human, and in the Valley, the inhuman are to be feared. Then he stepped into a shaft of moonlight, and the visage melted away like so many grains of sand.
"What's your name?" he asked. If words had weight, a sentence from the Watchmaker could have sunken a ship.
"Luna," she said. "Luna Delgado."
He nodded, and some long-past memory flashed behind his eyes. "Pretty name," he sat across from her. "How long you been here?"
She scratched the back of her neck. "Hard to say," she said. "The days never seem the same."
"That's because they aren't," he said.
"It's been at least a week, I guess... but I haven't eaten, and I'm not hungry."
"You won't get hungry here," he said.
She leaned forward. "Where is here?"
His face was a statue. "Nowhere. Everywhere. I don't think it matters."
"But how did I get here?"
His grey eyes were merciless. "You know how."
She looked at him for a long moment, and supposed she did know, after all.
"Am I trapped here forever?" she asked, very quietly.
He raised one eyebrow. "Forever? No. Only till you find the exit."
She blinked. "The exit?"
He nodded. "The door. It goes... somewhere else, I guess."
"Well, where is it?"
He smiled then, a bitter and mirthless thing. "I don't know. It moves, like the rivers, trees, and mountains. It all moves, Luna."
Many were discouraged when he told them that. Not Luna Delgado. She rubbed her temple. "So it's simply a matter of finding it, then?"
He smiled again. "Yes. But listen now, and listen close. This place is alive, and it hates us. It will try to bend your mind. It cannot control you, but it will try to persuade you away from the door. You must remain focused, do you understand? Focus hard on the door, walk, and we will find it. The Valley will reshape beneath our feet, and sometimes we will find ourselves very far from where we should be, but whatever happens, you must remain focused on the door."
She nodded. "I understand." Hope bloomed, for a moment, but then memory quashed it. "But what if the monsters come for us?"
"They won't," he said, with the certainty of a prophet.
"Why not?"
"I'm with you," he said.
She raised one eyebrow. "You befriended them?"
His voice was cold and low. "No."
Luna eyed the sweat-worn handle of the machete on his hip, and thought she understood. "How long will it take to find the door?"
He waved his hand. "Forget about time. It's not important any more. We will find it when we find it."
Dawn came suddenly, around midnight. They got moving immediately. The next night lasted three days, but they walked through it.
They followed a creek bed north. Gulls and crows screamed at them from the leafless trees. With each step, flashes of memory burrowed into Luna's mind.
The brave had bridged the creek with their dead. Clashing steel. Dying things. Monsters in the water.
She blinked away blood and shadow. The gulls and the crows screamed, and feasted on the still-moving fallen.
"The door, Luna," the Watchmaker said. "You must focus on the door."
She tried. The visions pushed harder. A lance of iron pain spread from her forehead down to the tip of her spine. She grit her teeth, and suddenly tasted blood. A phantom. She had not bitten her lip.
Her stomach twinged, and turned. The stench of rot filled her nostrils and coated them like calcium around a pipe. She leaned over, and vomited.
The Watchmaker rubbed her back in wide circles. "Listen to my voice. Focus. The door. The door. The door."
Step by quivering step, they made their way forward, until Luna stepped onto a large flat rock and found that she wasn't alongside the creek anymore. They were in the middle of a thick pine forest. The peat below her feet was soft and thick.
"Keep walking," the Watchmaker said. "Pay no mind to it-"
"The door," Luna grumbled. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
She had been walking for a week or less or more by now, but was not tired. When she asked him about that, he said: "You won't get tired here. Remember the door."
The next day, they found the door.
"Is that..." Luna breathed.
"You know it is," he said.
"So we just go through?"
"You go through," he said.
She turned away from it to look at him. "You can't leave?"
"I can,"
"You won't?"
He shrugged. "You go. I stay. That's the way it works."
"Why?"
"One person has to stay," he said quietly.
"But-"
"Go through, before it moves."
She looked him in his grey eyes that seemed so terribly ancient. "How long have you been here?"
He smiled. "Didn't I say time doesn't matter here?"
"You don't want to go?"
Another shrug. "This game ain't so bad once you know how to play. It's the learning that's hard." He left the last part unsaid, but she heard it: *and the unlearning*.
She looked at him for a long moment. "Aren't you tired?" she asked, very quietly.
He looked away. "Don't get tired here. Remember?"
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You know just what I mean."
Before he could respond, something happened. Exactly what, Luna could not say. It was like a change in the air pressure, just barely noticeable, and the feeling faded after a moment.
"Someone just arrived," he said.
Luna blinked. "That's three. Come on. Go through. We both go through."
His jaw clenched hard. "No."
"But-"
"Someone has to bring them here, Luna," he said, and suddenly sounded every one of his years. "Go through. It will move."
"Come with me," she said.
"One day," he promised. "Not yet. Go."
Luna went through. | This is a beautiful prompt, by the way, if my opinion holds any candles ;-)
\_\_\_
I sifted through an old, leather-bound notebook, past pages and pages of descriptions, diagrams, and other deliberations. Each page was home to a monstrosity of imagination: creepy crawlies, flesh golems, devil pixies, giant rats---a fantastical Pandora's box with every conceivable magical forest dweller one’s childlike imagination could muster into thought. Every page was thoroughly detailed, tiny words cramping every inch of space in competition. I was very proud of my collection. This would be the thirteenth notebook of my diagrams here in the magical forest, and I’ve only scratched the surface. My modest treehouse home is in dire need of renovations, and I would tackle it after finishing the final entry, the prize of this notebook’s documentation.
I forget how strange this forest is to others, having resided and explored this wooden labyrinth for thirteen (no fourteen?) months. Excuse me, I meant years. Every notebook is usually completed within a year, though the frantic obsessiveness with which I carry out my task makes each round of expeditions feel closer to a month.
The exit moves. Time stills for the individual. Countless mythical beings roam the premises, just waiting to be discovered. I am the discoverer. However, it is customary that I take my breaks, for when another human stumbles into my domain, it is my duty to see them out. No doubt, they all want to leave. It is not everyday that one gets lost in a maze with no seemingly no conceivable exit, chased by three floating eyeballs circling a glowing albeit rusted scythe. That was the case for my thirteenth visitor. Oh, I just noticed. One visitor a year. How nice.
The visitor was a rather curious and fallible woman, no doubt the type to get lost in such a forest to her disarray. Wearing a sweater too big for her own good and shoes too nice to tail a spider serpent (not to mention those horrid chic frames!), she contrasted rather frighteningly with my down-to-earth decor.
The woman combed her hand through her hair, her eyes darting about. I suspected she’s suspicious of my solace above the soil. She’s probably concerned with our safety. “Don’t worry,” I said, scratching some words near the end of the book, “It’s heavily warded, so the monsters won’t approach this place. It’s also housed in a pocket dimension tree, so if things do get dicey, I can direct the tree to phase to a new location.”
She nodded.
“Let’s not waste anymore time,” I said, closing the notebook and dusting it off before gently placing it in a drawer, carefully aligned. I turned toward the woman who’s already made herself comfortable on my futon. Cross-legged, she tilted her head and smiled, her bangs gently caressing the side of her face. I hesitated. “Uh, well, I’m sure you’re eager to leave. You must be mighty scared, and I don’t blame you. That monster has a tendency to chase anything that makes eye contact with it. It’s a pretty awkward creature.”
I sat in a four-legged, wooden chair, my legs sticking around the back support, my arms resting on top. “Now, for the frequently asked questions, or the FAQ. Who am I? Just an explorer. As you can see, I take records of all the magical entities in the forest. It’s exciting work as a researcher, but I won’t go into the details. I can write a whole book on it, and I have. Thirteen of them. The next question: do I know the way out? No and yes. I don’t know the way out, but I can find it. You’re not the first person to get lost here. I reserve that right.” I chuckled internally, expressing it externally in the form of a clearing of the throat. “You see, the exit changes, and with countless monsters roaming the area, it’s pretty dangerous to wander blindly. That’s where I come in. I’ll take you to the exit, and boom, badabing, bang. You’re out. I can’t promise there’ll be no monsters on the way, but I can promise you that we’ll make it in one piece. You can count on it. And, you can alphabetize it, if that makes you feel better. Double assurance.”
She simply looked back at me, neither particularly relieved, surprised, or otherwise. Strange. Normally, they’d be profusely either, and would be eager to get back to whatever they left behind. They would ask questions, probing a little about who I am and what I do, shortly before returning to their concerns. I’m glad I don’t have to go through that whole charade, though it’s nice to have a human exchange the one time a year that I get it. I took her unreactiveness as a sign of quiet understanding and pulled from my desk a necklace and a prism. I extended them toward her and she succinctly took them.
“I’m going to lead the way using this compass. It has the ability to locate points of disruption in the energy sphere which is indicative of the path to reality. It’s one of my crowning inventions, so don’t bite it.” Sure, this was just one unattached bystander out of many, yet I still saw it fitting to give the warning. It’s my patent, my love and craft. “It’s detecting a large force nearby, so we should get there in no less than fifteen minutes. Grab your gear, and let’s rock and roll.” I caught myself. “Err, I mean, let’s get you home.” Nice save.
She still looked at me with that faint smile of hers. With my prompting, she obediently rose, collected her belongings (consisting of nothing more than a small purse and a camera) and followed me down the treehouse, wearing the necklace and keeping the prism in hand. The necklace blends her presence with the surroundings, making her practically invisible to the dangerous denizens, while the prism is for use in emergencies in case something dire happens, teleporting her back into the safety of the treehouse. I had on my person both of these as well, except my ‘necklace’ is fashioned into a watch, so I can keep stealth and time.
We walked through the forest at a reasonable pace, slow enough to marvel at the dreamlike foliage. She marvelled at the sight, her mouth slightly agape. Despite recently outrunning what would be nightmare fuel, she’s entrenched in her own pleasant, ignorant daydream. I remained on high alert.
Ten minutes passed. My compass urged us straight, and we followed. We were almost there.
“Hey…” The woman finally said.
“Hmm?” I glanced back to see her inquisitive, curious face dangerously close to mine. I shot back with all the composure of an adolescent in heat.
Woah! Easy there!
I’m referring to the both of us.
“My name is Rin,” she said, her voice sweet like red velvet. “Say, how long have you been here?”
I paused for just a moment. Strange. Nobody’s asked me that before. In hindsight, it’s an obvious question, but it hasn’t happened yet. A 1 in 13 chance occurrence.
“Nice to meet you, Rin. I’m John,” I replied. “I’ve been here 13 decades.”
“Wow!” Rin exclaimed. “You must be lying.”
“Actually, I am lying. Or, rather, I misspoke. I’ve been here 13 years. Surprising, huh?”
“Well, I guess I can see it.”
Wait. Hey, hey! That’s not what you’re supposed to say. Isn’t the expression, ‘oh, you look 13 years young!’ or something like that? And in this case, it is true! Mentally, I’m 35, but physically, I’m as young and vibrant as any college graduate! And without the worry of student debt to boot!
“Oh, is that the case,” I said, my face twitching slightly. “Well, it may surprise you that time doesn’t pass quite like it seems here in the forest. People don’t age here, for some reason.”
“Magic,” she promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” I said. “My physical body hasn’t aged much since I got caught up in all this. Now that we’re talking, I have to say, you’re pretty calm in the face of everything that’s happened so far. I’m impressed.”
“Oh, thanks…” she said. “To tell you the truth, it doesn’t feel so real. It’s almost…”
“Magical?” I promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” she agreed. | 2020-12-30T00:39:01 | 2020-12-29T23:13:33 | 1,253 | 45 |
[WP] After decades of cryo-sleep, your ship and crew have finally reached the edge of the universe. When you open the airlock, you find a platform leading to a door with a sign reading "Warning! You are about to leave universe #68437" | It was a suicide mission, it always had been. Everybody who worked the project knew it, it was an open secret and yet it was a taboo to say it out loud-- especially to us, the crew of the ship. There were three of us-- I suppose that's how many lives they were willing to spare. There was Jenny Jackson, a very great astronaut and the de facto leader of us two boys: George Clark and myself Peter McCoy.
The vessel was designed for a one-way trip. It was predicted in the length of times it would take for us to get to the end of the universe, the technology on earth would catch up in order to receive information across billions and trillions of light years away.
Us three were chosen not just because of our skills and capabilities as astronauts, but simply of our private lives-- or rather lack of them. I remembered the launch day clearly. The news all hailed us as heroes-- martyrs in the name of progress and scientific knowledge. That notion put our minds at ease at least.
But we wouldn't care anyway. The vessel was capable of FTL travel. In mere months, we could see the ring of Saturn outside our window. But then the time came-- after one and a half year of travel it was time for us to go to cryogenic sleep. How long the journey would take, nobody knew.
"How long will take to get to, at least the edge of the observable universe?", the question kept being asked only for the top experts to shrug and answered "Decades". Very helpful, I know...
​
*"We have arrived at our destination: the edge of the universe. Prepare for reverse cryogenic process. Stand by..."*
The announcement was repeated in a loop by the AI, filling my ears like a stinging buzz as I gained consciousness back from my long sleep. My body felt weak, although the stasis technology worked-- huge props to Dr. Geller-- which allowed my body to regain its full function almost immediately.
"Where are...?", I stopped myself realizing how silly my question was. It was the edge of the universe. I looked at the console on the cockpit.
*Time elapsed: ERROR*
Huh, longer than anyone ever expected I assumed. As I shifted my attention to what lied beyond the window, I frowned.
"What the hell?", I muttered. Quickly, without even waiting for my fellow crew to wake up I suited up and disembarked from the ship towards what I thought I saw.
Suspended in the middle of the all encompassing darkness was....a door. A metal door at the end of a metal platform. In the vacuum I slowly floated towards the door, to my surprise the weightlessness was gone as soon as I stepped on the platform.
*Oxygen level: adequate*
I raised my eyebrows. Without hesitation I removed my helmet and suit, taking a long fresh air in the strange environment. My curiosity was peaked when I saw the writing on top of the door.
*Warning! You are about to leave universe #68437. Proceed with caution.*
I read those words again and again. Universe number....what? Did that mean the multiverse theory was correct? On reflex my hand hovered above the door handle before I pulled it back-- dare I opened it? Not knowing what lied beyond? In my still hazy mind I did the next best thing to do in a situation involving door....I knocked.
*CLANG CLANG*
Two knocks, loudly echoing the metallic sound. A momentary paused came before suddenly a frantic knocking came from the other side. I started to panic, falling backwards on my behind. My eyes widened seeing the door creaked open...
"Oh thank goodness, I....Peter?"
It was Jenny. My confused face met hers, whose expression of relief turned befuddlement before throwing myself onto me-- hugging me tight.
"Peter! How...how...? How did you...? I thought you were dead!", she exclaimed before seeing our vessel still floating beyond the platform.
"No, no, no. You have to go back there, you have to go back to the ship! Otherwise..."
Her frantic plea was cut short as suddenly our vessel blew up. It was a strange experience, a silent explosion. I was stunned silence-- from seeing Jenny who was supposed to be inside the ship, to seeing it destroyed for no reason.
"No! No, no, no...", she cried out. I did share the sentiment, only overwhelmed I couldn't voice it out.
"J--Jenny? What's going on?"
Took her a while but Jenny finally calmed down, turning to me weakly she started to explain.
"It's Geller, Peter. Geller's machine took to much of the ship's power to revive one person, overheating it. That damn idiot...", Jenny said punching the metal ground.
"But...but...you're here. You were supposed to be in the ship. How...?"
"I'm not your Jenny"
I cocked my head, still a bit slow in understanding.
"I'm Jenny from that universe--", she pointed to the door. "Universe #68436. The sequence of event in each universe was a bit different from one another-- surely you're familiar with the multiverse theory?"
I nodded.
"In mine, I woke up first. I went to check the door before my ship blew up like yours just did..."
Defeated she limped exhausted on the floor.
"No...no...no....", the weight of the situation finally bore down on me.
"My reaction exactly", Jenny chuckled.
"How are we-- how are we suppose to get out from here?", I yelped.
Jenny simply shrugged, "I just got here not long before you. Who knows?"
My goodness.....
For the longest time we remained silent, until I stood up and walked to Jenny-- placing myself beside her watching the great darkness beyond.
"What are you doing?", she asked turning around following my gaze.
"The only thing we can do....wait"
r/HangryWritey
Edit: removed a word | I stared at the lazily blinking neon sign, waning in its power after what looked like years of neglect. I looked down at the platform then back to the crew gathered behind me.
"Briggs am I--"
"You're not dreaming, sir," my executive officer replied quickly, looking past me in a mix of horror and fascination. She looked to me for instructions on what to do next.
"How is it looking in terms of life?" I asked.
"There's a couple of life forms on the platform, but we don't see anything beyond The Edge," Jorgan, my engineer waved his communicator at me.
"There's someone here?" I balked.
Jorgan nodded and pointed somewhere perpendicular to where our vessel sat in space.
I turned my neck to see a small, quaint kiosk on the end of the platform, a tall, stout golden alien looking at us expectantly. Her eyes were purple, and her skin a multitude of hues of gold, all emitting their own light as if she was made of priceless material. She smiled, showing off an impressive array of silver teeth, and waved at me politely.
"Ummm..." the sight had thrown me off. Of all the terrifying expectations I had of the end of the universe, the last thing that came to mind was another living thing. "Briggs with me. The rest of you hang back and be prepared to come in charging or escape without us depending on how bad it looks."
My crew nodded numbly, too confused and shocked to have time to think of a retort for my expectations for them to escape without their Captain or XO. Briggs and I walked cautiously under the exit sign, the '8' flickering weakly. I kept my hand close to the wrench in my belt--the closest thing I had to a weapon--and Briggs kept a close eye in every direction in our radius, assuring me there would be no surprise ambush.
"Oh, hi! I'm Eep!" the alien said as soon as we were within speaking distance, " Been a while since I've seen anyone here. Is this for inter-universal business or for pleasure?"
Briggs and I stopped and looked at one another.
"Sp... space exploration?" Briggs offered, shrugging her shoulders at me.
"Oh, my!" Eep said, clasping two golden hands together and emitting a small, fine powder of glitter from between them, "you've never seen the end of your universe before! Golly, this is fun, I never thought I'd get to do one of these!" she began digging through clutter within her kiosk.
I looked at Briggs who shrugged even more aggressively, shaking her head with as much confusion as I felt. I looked behind me, at the vast expanse of space that took us almost a century to cross, then back to the little kiosk with the bubbly alien lady. The grip on my wrench loosened.
"Here it is!" she said, waving stardust off of a laminated piece of paper. The letters on the page were glowing as if written in LED lights.
"Congratulations!" Eep began, looking up to the two of us with an excited smile. "You have reached the end of the universe! We're so glad to have you here! Where is your planet of origin?"
"Earth," Briggs and I said simultaneously, myself a bit in a daze. Was this an orientation?
"Excellent," she murmured, checking off a box on the page. "And how far away are you from the edge of #68437?" she continued.
"Approximately 2 lightyears," Briggs answered. I couldn't bring myself to respond anymore. We had completed what was one of the most rigorous journeys known to mankind and she was ticking off boxes!
"How many are among you--"
"Enough! What is this place!?" I screamed at Eep. She didn't even look bothered by the outburst.
"This is just the usual processing that we need to give all new space-faring civilizations. Does Earth have any colonies?" she asked.
"Uhh, yeah, a few in our known Solar Syste--wait, no I'm not here to answer *your* questions! I'm here to exit our known universe--"
The platform shuddered and I gripped my wrench again as the ground seemed to be pulled away from the kiosk in a small spurt.
"What was--"
"Oh, just ignore that," Eep waved a shiny hand in disregard. "Constantly expanding universe, you know... Oh, Gosh, I don't mean to be condescending. You do know that the universe is always expanding, right?"
"Yes! But now I want to see what's beyond it!" I declared, marching a few steps forward.
"Oooo, sorry, but I can't let you pass until you finish the survey. It'll just be a moment!" Eep promised, beaming at us.
"Yeah, let's just get this over with," Briggs told me.
"No! Why should I be beholden to this random alien's rules! This is space! I'm going to the next universe!" I announced.
"No you're not," Eep said simply.
"Or *what,*" I challenged, looking at her furiously.
"Or I'll have to contain you," Eep replied, shrugging her golden shoulder apologetically.
"Ha!" I laughed, brandishing my wrench. "Just try it!"
I began taking a few more steps before she sighed and hit a button. The floor beneath me turned from platform to needles, all of which pierced my space suit and stabbed just short of feet without inducing any pain. I stared down, terrified.
"W... what did you do?" I asked.
"Nothing. But if you take another step, your suit will lose all the helium it's storing," she said.
"Helium?" I asked.
"Oh, right, uhh..." she flipped her laminated page to the back. "What do you breathe on Earth?"
"Oxygen," Briggs answered helpfully.
"Thank you," Eep nodded to Briggs, then turned to me. "Your suit will lose all the Oxygen."
"Briggs," I said, panick creeping in. "Fire at her! Do something! Get me out of here!"
"I dunno captain. Eep seems pretty reasonable to me," Briggs shrugged.
"Are you defying my orders!?" I screamed.
"I'm pretty sure you're incapacitated," she pointed at my feet. "Which means I'm the Captain now, Captain."
"How many eyes do you have at night?" Eep asked Briggs.
"Just two. It's always two," Briggs answered her.
"Briggs!" I pleaded.
"Don't worry," she promised, "I'll pick you up when we get back from the next universe."
__________________________________
For more stories, check our /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2021-01-26T01:35:42 | 2021-01-25T22:48:32 | 96 | 50 |
[WP] Your old friend, Mary Sue, appears perfect but is actually a time manipulator who rewinds time to appear perfect, and do anything with zero consequences. You, however, can secretly remember previous iterations. | Time has ended. Claudia has ended time.
She begins the world again each night. She holds it in her palm and winds it back up, like the day is nothing more than a clockwork toy. The silver moonlight unwraps itself from the earth, rolls itself back up into a ball, and the daylight returns.
For a long while, I didn’t notice the day restarting. It wasn’t until perhaps the twentieth time, or maybe the hundredth time — who can say exactly — that I began to sense it repeating. As if a tape was being looped and becoming a little more worn and a little more scratched each time it played.
I see and hear those scratches now. They are un-memories — memories not quite complete or real but that I have somehow experienced. They are furtive animals that dart away from me as I try to recall them, that skitter back into their burrows and dens deep beneath my conscious.
But even the most careful and timid animal can be caught. Now that I know what to look for, I have left little traps, nets, for the memories to fall into. I have become skilled at coaxing and hunting these elusive creatures.
​
Yesterday evening I was going to visit my parents. I remember packing my Ford, getting behind the wheel. The radio playing an old Queen song and me singing loudly along. These are things I still remember.
I’d meant to stay at my parents’ home for a few days. Instead, the world screamed and I saw Claudia’s face leaning into me, into my mind. I heard the winding of the clockwork day.
Then I woke up in my dorm, alone. Cold sweat soaking the sheets. A new scratch added to the tape.
That is how the last however-many-days have gone.
When a prisoner knows they’re a prisoner, they become scared and start looking for a way out. Become desperate.
​
​
“Hey,” I say, finding Claudia on a bench outside the university’s quad.
She turns and smiles weakly. “Oh, hey. How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” I sit next to her. Bite my lip.
“Weather looks decent today,” she says.
We used to be close, a few years ago. We used to talk about nonsense and it would feel serious — at least to me. Now we only talk about serious things and they always feel like nonsense.
”You’d know,” I say.
She looks at me, her eyes wide, her mouth a little open. Then she recovers. “Oh yeah, I’ve always been good at reading the skies. Feel storms in my bones, just like your dad.”
Dad used to be a fisherman. He was more reliable than mercury or the weather forecast. Maybe it’s something like that that helps me remember.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I ask.
She cocks her head, pushes back her auburn hair. “Tell you?”
“Are you a superhero or something? I figure there must be reason you’re doing this, and that’s as good as any.”
She lets out a long nervous breath.
We slept together once, a couple of years ago. We bought vodka that evening and played cards to get drunk, then watched a movie. We cuddled together, her in my arms. Then she turned away from the film, her head on my chest, looking up into my eyes.
The next morning I remember her long nervous breath just before she said it was a mistake. That she hoped we’d stay friends. *But studying, you know, it’s got to come first for me right now. And for you.*
“How did you find out?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It’s hard to describe. For a while, it was like smoke, the memories of these erased days. And I’d reach out to grab them and they’d trickle through my fingers. But there was always your face at the end of each of them.” I pause. “I’ve been seeing you more vividly recently.”
She nods. “I’m not a superhero. I just have a… thing. A power. I don’t know.”
”Why are you doing it? What’s so important about today? Or do you relive everyday this often?”
Another nervous breath. I see that bedroom again, Claudia getting dressed, looking back at me before she leaves. *Sorry*. I don’t know which one of us put my heart in her bag, but she smuggled it out with her.
”You wouldn’t want to know,“ she says.
“Claudia,” I say. “I’m starting to remember each day more vividly. Do you get what that means? It means I’m trapped here.”
She looks at me with sad blue eyes. “Sometimes maybe it’s better to be trapped than to step outside your cell?”
”Come on! You can’t keep me locked up. Keep the world locked up, I mean. We all have to move on.”
She sniffs back tears, her palms cover her face.
”Claudia? Are you okay?”
”How long do you think it’s been this day?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. A hundred days, maybe?”
”Oh god. I wish. Try a hundred-thousand and you might be a little closer.”
I laugh, but only a little, only until I see how sad and serious she is. “It can’t be.”
She says nothing.
“*Why?*” I ask. “Why keep doing it?”
”Because someone I love very much dies today. A little before eleven tonight. No matter what they do or what I do, I don’t seem to be able to stop it. Like, their death is written into the universe. But… I’ll keep trying.“
I feel sick. I want to vomit but nothing is happening in my body. Nothing is pumping or rising or churning. My brain seems to have paused time.
Then it all rushes back at twice the speed.
”It was a car crash,” I say. “Last night. That’s how I died, wasn’t it?”
”Yes,” she whispers.
”Is it always like that?”
”No. Rarely.“
”Claudia…”
She takes my hand in hers and for a while we’re quiet.
“Why save me at all?” I ask eventually.
”Because I love you.“
We sit there silently for an hour. For many hours. She says nothing at all, just allows me the time I need to think.
I’m not the prisoner, I realise. She is. I’m just a patient on life support and she’s the doctor keeping me going. But I can never wake from this coma.
”Thank you,“ I say, as darkness trickles down on us, as the silver moonlight begins to wrap around us.
She leans her head against mine. “What are we going to do?”
I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay. No, that’s not what I want to say. I want to be brave and set her free. I want to say: Claudia, if you love me, then you’ll move on with your life. You’ll let whatever happens to me happen. Because that’s what I want for you, to move on. It’s what I need you to do.
And one to-day I will be brave enough to say it. I make that promise to myself, to find a way to become brave enough to die.
But today I’m deathly afraid. Today I’m a coward who needs the clockwork day to wind once more.
I think of a tape that‘s so worn it one day snaps with no warning. No knowing it’s the last time it will be played. With no time for a goodbye.
”You know I love you too,” I tell her. In case…
Her hair smells sweet like cinnamon.
”I know. I hoped, at least.”
”Thank you,” I say again, tilting her chin towards me. “For trying.”
”Always,” she says as our lips near. “Till the end of time.” | Nobody is born perfect. In fact the very concept of perfection is not achievable, and is dangerous to pursue, as it is a goal unreachable, and will drive most people who attempt to reach it, veritably insane. Yet if one were to take a look at my old friend Mary, one might think that perfection walks as a person among us. Her hair and clothes are always perfect. Her grades were always the best back when we attended school together. She never makes any mistakes, never gets hurt, always gets to everything on time, never forgets a birthday, and is generally just seemingly flawless. Her relationships are always good, and never need to be repaired. She's got it all, one might say. And indeed, she does. Everything succeeds for her, and she has never lost anything. We've been friends since childhood, and she's never made a single mistake.
Well, not counting all those times she rewrote history. Because nobody is inherently flawless. But Mary wants to be that. And somewhere deep inside her, perhaps in a strange twist of fate, perhaps a very odd mutation in her DNA, or something more esoteric, lies her secret. Time manipulation powers. Whenever she stumbles, whenever she doesn't win flawlessly, whenever she displays a single sign of weakness, she just rewinds time. So she always knows what to say in an argument, because she knows what her opponent is going to say. So she always knows how to get the hottest people to date her, because she knows exactly what they want and like. She always gets the job, wins the race, beats the competition. And there are no consequences for Mary. It's a perfect reset. Or not quite perfect. I remember everything. Every single failure, every single time she cheated, every single time she wasn't absolutely perfect. Or at least I remember all the times I was there to witness her. I alone remember when she wasn't perfect. There were days where we weren't together and I knew she was rewinding time, which was bothersome, after all, who wants to repeat the same things all over again?
Of course, I did use it to my advantage a few times. I used all the extra time at the exams to get, almost, as good grades as her. When I realised she could reverse entire weeks, I began to religiously study and memorize the local state lottery winning numbers. I of course never won the big prize, as that would be too obvious. But I did win some fourth, third, and even once a second place, giving me a sizable amount of money. Not enough to be obvious, and not enough so anybody would notice. But enough to live comfortably doing what I wanted. But I also, over time, learned about the consequences. There are none to Mary. She can do whatever she likes, perfectly, with zero ramifications. But her powers aren't healthy. Not for those around her. She doesn't notice, because she lives a perfect life, but I am beginning to notice the side effects. Not on myself, it seems as if I am as protected against the outcome of her overindulgence in time manipulation as she herself is. But because I am still human, and haven't attempted to climb the stairs towards the top of the ziggurat of perfection, I've noticed some alarming things.
She always prefers to walk in the glamorous hallways of power and fame. She dances with film stars and drinks with nobles. Me? I've gotten on with my life. I became an engineer, and found employment with the government as part of the reconstruction effort, specifically the rebuilding of several areas affected by the battles fought during the Second American Civil War. And building new housing projects for refugees from the ruins of the Sinking South and the Midwest warfront and such. It was during the planning period for the restoration of Chicago, one of the most heavily contested urban warzones, that I discovered it. Several refugees had taken shelter in a still standing apartment building. But had been removed by the Chicago Garrison's chemical warfare clean-up crews. Strangely, nobody could tell what exactly had happened to the refugees. Only that their cells had aged. Aged until they were one and all, dried up and mummified corpses. People who'd been mostly alive and fine one day, gone the next. By the time the apartment building had been emptied, some of the architects and engineers were called in to asses how to best demolish the clearly either irradiated or chemtrapped building without causing damages to the surrounding area.
So there I was, in some sort of chemical suit. Walking through a damaged building. And I didn't realise what it was initially. It was just a room, filled with emptiness. Not that it was empty, but that emptiness filled it. No light, no dark, only nothing at all. Like something out of some old book I once read as a kid. Neverending Story. The Nothingness. An empty void, where not even light or dark existed. Initially I figured it could have been an experimental weapon, left behind by the rebels, accidentally activated by the refugees. But then Mary rewinded time. I was outside the building again, putting on the chemical suit. I walked up to that room again. Except it wasn't there. Or more precisely, the nothingness that had been contained in that room, had spread a little. Now the walls did not exist there. One of the engineers passed by that moment, and didn't notice the nothingness. But his hand passed through it. And the emptiness sucked him in. I remembered him, sure. I radioed back to command and asked for the exact number of people sent in to asses demolition opportunities. Their answer was one less than I remembered. As I examined the building further, I saw that there were other pockets of this strange void. Much smaller yes. But then I remembered that Mary's family had moved to Maine from Chicago, when she was six.
I remembered that she came from around this part of the ruined city too.
I wondered if that one place, the room with the largest concentration of abyssal emptiness, was her room. As she sometimes rewinded time over the days I was in Chicago, I saw the building eventually be consumed by that abyss. Terrified, I put in my resignation, and drove back to Maine. Back to the town where we grew up together. And sure enough. Abyssal void was consuming it. The school we went to had been closed due to a lack of children and teachers in the area. I knew that it had been closed because it was nearly completely full of abyss. Her old house, was likewise filled with void manifestations. I couldn't help but think about how long it would take before my entire hometown, had been unmade, consumed by nothing. Mary had absolutely abused her power. Not always for selfish reasons. Sometimes it had been to confront bullies, help other kids. She even saved the life of her neighbour's kid once by rewinding time and calling an ambulance to his location, which arrived just as he was about to go into anaphylactic shock. She was kind, generous, and helpful. If a bit narcissistic. But it is entirely possible to be a kind narcissist. It's just not a common combination.
I had to do something.
I drove recklessly to the closest airport. And got a one-way ticket on the first plane to Neo-Angeles, where she now lived. As one of the rich and beautiful. She wouldn't have noticed it, but even as we flew over independent California, I saw them. Flickering bubbles of abyss and void. Small now. But growing, every time she used her power. It was useful for her, in her role as a film star herself. Miss One-Take, was her affectionate nickname given to her by adoring fans. Because she always only made a single perfect take of any scene. Of course, I knew she used her power for that too. Vain. And dangerous.
I figured I had two options. Try to get into contact with her the normal way, or force my way to her, to make her stop before the abyss consumed America. Which would be a perfect way to cap off a decade of only just recently ended civil war. Figuring that with the increased security measures around the film actors after the 2023 Academy Award Massacre, I had about a snowball's chance in Hell of getting to talk with her normally and privately. So I bribed a local guard of the insanely corrupt Californian Self Defence Force and stole a fully functional Armoured Personal Carrier. And drove it straight through the gate into the film studio where she was filming the third Star Wars remake. A fact which made me somewhat furious, in and of itself. Infinite remakes are not fun. I drove past people and over guard cars until I crashed through the gates into a small hangar used as a large greenscreen studio where Mary was dressed as Han Solo next to someone in a Wookie costume designed by somebody with major mother issues. I stopped the APC right in front of Mary, popped open the top of it and looked at her. | 2021-07-25T11:35:01 | 2021-07-25T10:59:44 | 1,801 | 233 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!" | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 1,001 | 315 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Sun gleams off burnished armor as Sir Tristran winds his way through the garden paths. If a man looks too hard it would burn his eyes, that armor, but Sir Tristran wears it anyway. He likes men blinded, squinting at him. Better still if they are on their knees, better still if they've been beaten bloody. I have no guilt over my plans for him.
Exquisite plans, exquisite planning. A gardener I must be, so say all the scrolls, but they say nothing of the manner of gardener. Nor do they say anything of the manner of man.
I have chosen to be a clever man. A man who takes his life into his own hands.
Sir Tristran walks through the gardens, picking here and there the most prized blossoms from my carefully tended beds. As I knew he would. He is a vain man, Sir Tristran, and he thinks the world exists in his service. The world has not disabused him of that notion. Neither, I suspect, will the lady awaiting him in the greenhouses beyond, even if he sweats like a pig in his pristine, preposterous armor.
But this is fine. I shall disabuse him myself.
Sir Tristran is a knight in the old way. He has squires, men at arms, stable boys, groomsmen. He has cooks and maids and a majordomo and the entire apparatus of a rich man's house. And all of them talk. They talk freely to me, a simple gardener, and what might have been secrets sold to a better man are simple gossip traded for me. A hint from a stablehand, mentioned in passing when I gave him the perfect bouquet with which to woo the maid. A tantalizing clue from the cook, spicy news about spices and herbs traded for a flower to thread through her hair. A story from a grizzled man at arms, a fellow of some three score years who had served Sir Tristran's father before him. A story of far off lands and a harrowing fight. And of the valley where Sir Tristran grew very, very ill, all told over mugs of cheap beer.
I am a gardener. It is my job to procure flowers, herbs, all manner of grown things. When people speak in passing of the flower that grows in a distant valley I listen. When they tell of the spice made from the dried leaves of that distant flower that once for an entire dinner course rejected, I listen. When they tell a story of a horse and rider, whose symbol was the ornate, weeping leaves of a purple flower, a symbol that terrified a great knight beyond any reasonable measure, I listen.
And I purchase. And I seed.
My plan is nothing so obvious as the flowers. No. Never that. I made other inquiries, I learned the flowers of the bouquets Sir Tristran favors for his conquests. I planted them along the garden path, laced the best of them with the purest essence of that rare foreign flower, I watched with bated breath as the great knight picked the very bouquet I had suspected!
I follow him now, a number of discreet paces back. He goes to meet his lady in the greenhouse.
When Sir Tristran opens the door the hot air is an assault. He steps back, gasps slightly. Then he grins manfully, as if the heat is only another challenge to be conquered, and he charges forward. The lady is resplendent in a sensible open backed gown of light cotton. Smiles are exchanged, inanely pleasant words. He is a charmer, that Sir Tristran.
She inquires after the flowers. "Oh, these?" Sir Tristran says casually, so casually. As if he might actually have forgotten he'd brought them! He leans down, breathes deeply of their sweet scent, and then moves in towards her.
"Alas," he says, "they don't smell half so good as you."
His eyes are already watering as he hands her the bouquet. He sweats harder, grows pale. Scarcely a minute has passed and his breath grows labored, a great, watery rasp within the burnished coffin of his armor!
"Sir Tristran, is something amiss?" she asks, eyes so wide, so bright, the bouquet clutched tight to her chest.
"Nothing at all," he says, veins bulging in his neck and forehead.
Then he stumbles and trips, pitching forward across a bed of roses as the lady shrieks.
The scrolls decreed me a gardener, and a gardener I am. But a gardener with eyes, ears, and a will to use them. A gardener who knows a deathly serious allergy when he hears of one, and can sense the wealth of experience boiling like a cauldron inside the dying man's armour. It calls to me, a small voice veiled in the space between Sir Tristran's gurgles. It calls.
Soon his writhing slows. Everything slows. The power within him appears as a thin line of gold flowing towards me, only for our eyes to see. It happens in an instant, the instant before his death. Enough time that Sir Tristran knows it is me that killed him.
His eyes widen. I'd thought the lady's were wide but his are impossible saucers, filled to the brim with horror. His mouth is a little O of words unspoken. For him, I think, the greatest horror is to have been killed by a simple gardener.
The lady sees me. She screams for help through the glass wall of the greenhouse and I run off dutifully, taking refuge in my position. A simple gardener. As the scrolls intended.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T18:34:58 | 1,001 | 182 |
[WP] In the early 22nd century, mankind is invaded by an alien power. As war rages on across the Solar System, our situation feels hopeless. Until another fleet of starships reaches the Solar System and they help us turn the tides basically overnight. Turns out our saviors are... human. | Captain Barrymore Simmons flicked his half-finished cigar at a nearby intern and began pacing towards the starship.
The Polycephaloids, known as the Hydra among the plebeian populace, had employed a quite literal scorched Earth tactic as they came raining down from the heavens above. Smoke and the smell of sulphur overloaded the senses of humanity--at least the part that hadn't already burnt to a crisp. When all hope seemed lost, they arrived.
Simmons had been among those who believed it was just another explosion. A trick. As the commanding officer of the American Space Force this disaster fell on his hands. Not since the collapse of China had the world seen the skies filled with this amount of fire and fury. The Polycephaloid vessel fell, crushing most of Manhattan, erupting like a scaled-up version of the old Hindenburg. But then the others made their appearance. From the visuals alone they were unmistakably human in design, and they fought the Polycephaloids on equal terms.
Privately, high-ranking officers and state officials praised Simmons for being able to pull this out from his sleeve at the last moment. At first they didn't believe him when he told him it wasn't theirs. That it wasn't even of Earth, as far as he could tell.
When the smoke had cleared, in every sense, captain Barrymore Simmons received a request from the otherworldly fleet: they wanted a meeting. And they would meet with none other than him.
Some had begun to speculate that Simmons had prepared all of this in silence, setting the stage for global domination. He was, after all, a descendant of the legendary J. K. Simmons who had brought the world close to its knees.
As he stood on the agreed-upon spot he braced himself. Teleportation meant instant death to the consciousness of the teleportée—what was assembled afterward was a carbon copy complete with memories and back pain. It was a relief then, when he found himself aboard the vessel intact. Of course, he knew the original had perished. But that was of little consequence to the clone, who was happy to carry on as if nothing had happened.
But sight that met him onboard shook him to his very core. That these beings appeared human did not surprise him. He had already assumed that to be the case and had even formed a couple of theories as to their true nature. But this ...
"Greetings, captain," said one of them.
"Explain," said Simmons simply as he stared at a team of men and women with a startling resemblance to himself.
"We come from a dimension where Jonathan succeed in his mission. Easily defeating the alien forces back home, we decided to do the same in every dimension carrying his successors."
Simmons approved of the explanation with a nod. "And the Polycephaloids?"
"I assume you are asking whether they are our work. Unfortunately, they are not. The situation as it stands is far worse. Earth has been compromised at an interdimensional level by a rogue Jonathan. We have not been able to ascertain his aims, and we need all the help we can get stopping him. Can we count on your support, captain Barrymore?"
He had considered potential scenario 65Delta in the shower one morning, but had brushed it off as a flight of fancy. To think that was truly the case ...
"You can count on my assistence," said Simmons. "I will need an army of clones, however, if I am to whip this planet into shape."
"Of course, captain Barrymore. Will you need anything else?"
"Yes," he said, and lighted up another cigar, "an unlimited supply of these."
Earth had better be prepared, because Barrymore Simmons was coming. A whole lot of Barrymore Simmons.
/r/Hemingbird | **Humanitarian Mission**
To understand the Kevati, you first need to consider the galaxy in general. The first, and most obvious point, is that it is very big. So big that the human mind cannot comprehend its size. It may be mostly empty, but there’s more than enough raw materials out there to supply any civilization without resorting to bloodshed, and the Kevati had the technology to create extremely comfortable space habitats. The Earth, with its gravity well and challenging biosphere, did not provide them with any particular benefits, especially given how many cybernetics they augmented themselves with.
The second thing to consider was that, even with their augmentations, the Kevati struggled to breathe our air. Ours was not a world they wanted.
Outside of violence, they never deigned to communicate with us, and it soon became obvious that the purpose of their invasion was extermination. They pushed us to the brink of oblivion, and we never understood why.
Not until today.
Our cities are destroyed. Our militaries scattered, broken, and forced to fight a losing guerilla campaign. Our civilization, with young colonies on several worlds, was left blind and deaf to events beyond our atmosphere.
Nearly, anyway. We all saw the explosions in the night sky as the Kevati starship reactors went super-spicey. We guessed something was going on when the Kevati hunter ships withdrew in a hurry, and after a week of silence we began to hope they weren’t coming back.
It’s a hell of a thing, you know, to wait for the return of the monsters who killed everyone you cared about. Even now, knowing better, I keep thinking I’ll hear one of their drones patrolling an empty street, or distant explosions and screams. Most of us have no idea what to do with peace, and desperation hasn’t made us more cooperative.
I guess I was in charge when the new dropships landed—our group was the biggest one left, and I was second-in-command when our leader shot himself, so someone had to sack up and deal with the next wave of shit. Gotta say, I was hoping for a miracle, since there was fuck-all fight left in those remaining. Finding out our saviors were human? Well, I wouldn’t say that made me feel any better. The Kevati scared the shit out of me because I couldn’t understand them; humans scare the shit out of me because I can.
We met on an open field. Me with a couple of my trusted buddies, and her with a heavily armed group of elite space-marines. Even a blind man could’ve seen who held all the cards.
“I gotta say, the folks back at base had a lot of guesses about what you’d look like,” I said as we convened. “Don’t think this option was ever seriously tabled. I’m Barrett. Karl Barrett.”
She nodded as if she already knew this. “Envoy Alena Goodwin,” she replied in accented English. “Diplomacy Corps. You look like you’ve been through a lot.”
“Just near extinction,” I said with a bleak smile. “Or so we thought. Not only are you human, but you speak our language? Have I stumbled into a B-Grade Sci-Fi show?”
She didn’t smile back. “I’m here to coordinate the relief efforts. You’ll need to stand your forces down, and in return we’ll provide protection, technology, administration, and infrastructure.”
I frowned. “That sounds a lot like an occupation.”
“Mr Barrett,” she tersely replied, “this is a humanitarian mission. Our forces will only remain for as long as they are needed, and will then withdraw.”
I shook my head. Maybe it was my practical experience in geopolitics before the Kevati arrived, but I’d seen that kind of thing fail in all the worst ways. “Look… we only just met, so that’s a lot to ask of us. As far as we’re concerned, it’s totally possible you’re in cahoots with the Kevati and are just trying to convince us to surrender.”
She glanced at me in shock, then at my buddies, and sighed. “That’s some incredible thinking! This would have gone better if you were stupid, or if the Kevati had been a bit less efficient, but we’ve still got options.”
The stunned expression was still on my own face when their weapons fired. | 2021-10-30T04:10:42 | 2021-10-30T04:03:09 | 286 | 95 |
[WP] You've died and have arrived in the Afterlife and surprisingly, The Afterlife has its own "Internet" which is slightly different from ours, While exploring it, You stumble upon a forum that asks the question "How did you die", And the posts begin to get more disturbing as you scroll down | *Really? That's the name they came up with for the forum here?* I thought as I opened up Deddit for the first time and created an account. The first section immediately caught my eye, /d/HowIDied. I looked through the most recent posts.
***Head-on crash by texting driver***
*I was on a rural 2 lane road in the back country today at 10 PM. Turning a corner I saw a car come towards me on my side of the road. There was no way to avoid them. The last thing I saw was their mobile phone in their hands. The bastard was texting! I was only one month off from graduating. I don't know if I can ever forgive them.*
Scrolling through the replies I saw many people try to console them, help out with the transition to this new life. The community looked like it was a friendly and helpful one. One comment caught my eye.
*I'm so, so, so sorry. I should never have checked my notifications. It was stupid and it could wait. I understand if you don't want to speak to me but if you do .. well, I'm here now too.*
A chill found its way down my .. spine? I still had my spine. Huh. The responses to that response were less hostile than I had expected. Apparently forgiveness *is* a big thing here.
Reading some of the other titles I found some more or less expected ones.
***Weekly COVID megathread*** (1000's of replies, I think I'll skip)
***Heart-attack .. I think*** (Apparently it's well possible to die without knowing how)
***Fuck brain cancer*** (I agree with the sentiment)
Some less expected ones..
***Alligator got my leg, you won't believe what happened next.*** (Bled out with an untreated amputated leg - I believe it)
***Struck by lightning while having sex*** (...right)
***Partner struck by lightning while having sex*** (Replies mainly directing the OP to the other thread)
***Sorry mom, sorry dad. Why I jumped.***
***Dissected alive, my story.***
Wait WHAT? I had to read this. | *You die if you don’t keep searching. That’s how I did.*
That’s what the first forum post said. Like a Macabre advertisement for Google.
I stopped searching, said the second, and I died not long after.
Every post reiterated the same sentiment in a slightly different variation.
\*When I stopped searching, I died.\*
And so on.
And so on.
Searching for what, though? None of the replies mention that.
​
I think about all of this for a long time. Did I die because I stopped searching, too?
​
When did I stop searching?
A while before my death, I think.
I’d stopped trying to learn anything new and instead fell back on nostalgia, comfort, games. I’d stopped looking for ways to improve myself. To understand others. To help.
It’s not that answers weren’t out there and that I couldn’t find them. It’s not that I was frustrated by what they might be.
I simply stopped searching.
I didn’t even mean to stop, I just did.
\*Why?\*
​
I imagine myself as a private detective in old noir film. Smoke curling around my neck like a winter scarf. Rain splashing grime against the window. The city beyond, through the fog, is grey and bleak as if the colour has been leeched.
There’s a spider in a top corner of the room, settled in its web. A fly cocooned.
There’s a yellow, buzzing light that pools onto the typewriter on my desk. A blank piece of paper sits in the machine, lazily shrugging forward as if the rain’s lulled it to sleep.
The clock on the wall is broken and it’s stuck and whatever o’clock.
I’m waiting for a case.
I’m waiting for someone to knock on the door, for a silhouette to appear through the smudged glass.
And I’d say Yeah? Come in.
And in someone would enter the room. And they’d tell me all about this precious thing they’d lost.
I’d understand it was precious. That it had to be found.
And they’d ask: So, think you can find it? Will you take the case?
I’d smile and say Yeah, I’ll take it. Then I’d get up out of my chair and I‘d start work.
​
That’s what I’d needed, I think. Someone knocking on my door and telling me what it is that needed doing, that needed finding.
Otherwise I’m just that guy, sitting behind a desk, waiting. And waiting gets painfully lonely.
​
I think we’re all like that. Stuck, waiting to be told what it is we’re meant to do.
We all know we’re meant to be searching. We just don’t all know what we’re meant to find.
Where do you even start?
How can you search if you don’t know what you’re looking for?
​
I look at the posts again. And all I’m sure of, is that to keep going, you need to keep searching. | 2021-11-30T07:19:18 | 2021-11-30T07:12:04 | 926 | 49 |
[WP] The galaxy is a dark and lonely place. "First Strike Diplomacy" reigns out of fear. Few species survive even 300 years after developing interstellar travel. When humans entered the galaxy, we were the first species confident enough in war to ask someone "Are you sure you want to do this?" | "You think we haven't faced extinction before?"
That gave the being pause. Ships slowed and while their batteries were charged, they didn't fire.
"You think you will survive?" the robotic voice played through the terminal, translating the clicks and gurgles of the creature on the monitors.
"I think we will make victory so unpalatable, you will return home in disgrace. If there's a home for you to return to." The captain spoke with a calm, confident tone. One that was betrayed by how he wrung his hands behind his back, out of view of the camera.
" You have no... Weapons. You have but a few ships. You have--"
" We have a BHD, or a Black Hole Drive. This is a weapon, if used incorrectly. If set on a feedback look, the gravity well contained within will begin eating its own event horizon, causing a rapid collapse and eventual explosion of unparraled proportions." He paused a moment to allow the computer of the alien to translate what he had said before continuing. "And it also allows us flight far beyond anything you possess. Officer Jones, bring up the star map and how our new friends here where the UESF Daedalus is in relation to their approach vector."
A young woman waved her hands across a screen, sliding through different menus before the holomap appeared in the center of the room. A 3D image of the galaxy sprung to life, showing countless stars and planetoids. Amongst them, a pale red line arched from somewhere offscreen, then linked to a small blue dot, which the captain pointed to. "This is Earth. And this line is your approach vector. We've tracked your progress since you first arrived. Based on ship size, crew, supplies and the average velocity of your fleet, we estimate that you came from somewhere in this region."
The map expanded and zoomed out once more, showing an entirely alien realm, where even the computer wasn't quite sure what to make of the things it survayed. Amongst it all, however, was a small flashing red dot." That there is the Daedalus. And everything you see here... Is everything in its blast radius."
"You are bluffing." The robotic voice, calm and steady, did little to translate the apparently anger that the being showed, the clicks becoming more rapid and chittering, even as more sounded in the background of their side of the call. "Nothing is that fast."
"Are you willing to test that?"
The silence reigned for a good few minutes before, slowly but surely, the computer detected the powering down of the orbital fleets batteries. "Recall your weapon."
At this, the captain could only smile. "I don't think so. Return home and explain to your people what you have seen here. Let them know their fate rests in our hands. And ask them, before they try to attack another race without so much as a hello... Are you sure you want to do that?" | You’d think that with all technological progress we’ve made in the centuries since we reached into the stars beyond, that a universal translator AI would have been engineered by now. You’d be wrong to think that, not that I’m to sad or mad about the fact, I wouldn’t have a job if that were the case.
I stood in an engineering miracle, or at least to me it absolutely is. The colonel tried to explain it to me, she said that after the aliens destroyed our survey probe with technology at the limit of our theoretical understanding of the nature of the universe 4 decades ago they prepared Operation Anaconda.
I put on the helmet of my space suit easy enough, something I had barely done before this mission and entered the elevator that took us from the rotational unit to the main body. A man, or woman, hard to judge with the suit on the way and their androgynous face, they sat next to the colonel asked about me.
“He is a linguist, one of the best ones at that too.”
“Name’s Josué Barrantes, pleased to meet ya.”
I was barely acknowledged, how rude. I then noticed their eyes, as if they were reading something in front of them, something I couldn’t see myself. Even worse in my opinion.
Instead I look outside the window into the planet bellow, you know, something real.
A view drones had quickly disabled all defense systems and more surrounded the alien colonies in the system to disrupt all communications, I could even see the tiny black specks flying over the planet right now. Ideally they would have simulated regular communication to avoid unwanted attention, it’s why they had contacted some of my peers at first but they soon realized their foolishness.
We quickly move on through the station to the next elevator. This station was big enough on its own and it was only a small auxiliary of the main structure, I don’t envy the scientist and engineers that designed this place, that’s for sure.
The colonel strapped me to my chair before strapping herself in, this elevator wouldn’t benefit from rotation emulated gravity and through the small window after we started moving I could see the marble that is Operation Anaconda.
A huge metal egg, it was damn near the size of my home station and there are literal continents in it. We dove into the egg, soon enough, 10 minutes to be exact, I was alone.
I climbed out of the hatch and up the exposed ladder. Around me there was metal in every direction with beams that reached into the center, into our hostage alien ship.
Weightless, for someone who’s never lived in a planet it still felt so foreign to me. I pushed myself forward into the open alien hatch and as soon as I crossed a thin blue veil I fell into the stone-like floor. I had indeed trained for the maneuver but I still fell on my face. Way to make a first impression, that’s for sure.
While I walked further into the dark hall my mind wandered. I remember the first time I met the colonel. After she explained the mission I asked,
“Why me? Not to be modest but there are others more qualified for this mission. Have you tried contacting Dr Pfennig or Dr Sommers?”
I tabbed my temple “you wouldn’t even need to be physically there to talk to them, unlike me.”
She smiled “That is precisely why we approached you instead of them…”
I was told that everyone with a neural augment that entered the alien ship fell ill with strange hallucinations and vertigo. I smirked, I knew mamá was right about those.
At last, I stood in front of a vast expansive window into the unknown. I wouldn’t be the first person to see alien life…
but I’d be the one to untangle their language.
EDIT: punctuation and minor changes so the story flows a bit better.
r/sipYoEscribiEsto | 2022-01-22T10:09:29 | 2022-01-22T07:48:19 | 272 | 86 |
[WP] You are the only human at the Arcane College, and the students there are not exactly welcoming. Fast forward four years, and you are the most terrifying magic caster in the academy's history. | Elasyra, blonde-haired elf of perfect appearance, crossed her arms with a pretentious smirk. “A Mundane? They really _are_ letting anyone in now aren’t they?”
At Arcanum, it was ordinary to be extraordinary. Elves, demonspawn, angels, dwarves, the odd orc or two, and (I suspect) several of the fae all studied and honed their magical abilities.
So I, a perfectly normal human named Peter, was met with a little curiosity. Mostly mockery.
“Peter? Fifth most popular name among humans in the year of your birth. Were your creators searching for solidarity among their kin, or did they simply lack the creativity to bestow an original name upon you?”
The monotonous speaker, who had introduced themselves as AS0L (Advanced Simulacrum 0L), was the most intricate construct ever created. AS0L had been enrolled at the Arcanum by his creator, the legendary wizard Atreus, to determine how much magic the construct could learn organically.
“Actually, I was named after my grandfather,” I replied. “It’s a family name.”
“Imagine passing that name down for so many of your short-lived years,” Elasyra mused. “But then again, I suppose Peter is a perfectly suitable name for a farm boy. Not a mage.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Well, it’s the only name I’ve got. If you’ll excuse me, I have class.”
As I turned, I felt my feet twist out from under me. I landed, felt a sharp pain on my hip, and my tones scattered across the stone floor. I heard AS0L and Elasyra snicker, and heard the construct’s droning voice as they walked by.
“Careful mundane. Floors are slippery.”
_Clever use of that spell,_ I thought as I painfully got to my feet and retrieved my books. _But I’ll learn a trick or two myself, just you wait…_
**Four Years Later**
The blooming cherry trees were a beautiful backdrop for the graduation ceremony. I sat in my dark blue robes, waiting for my name to be called.
Since I was an exemplary student my teachers merely tolerated my presence. Furthermore, despite most of the other students belittling my guts, I had made two friends—Ghar, a burly orc whose brains surpassed his great brawn, and Jorâl, a demonspawn who had been ostracized from the others due to her sharp wit and sharper tongue.
The graduation ceremony featured a final presentation, where each student would create a magical display showcasing their respective talents. Illusions, evocations, and music were most common, but there was a smattering of every school of magic present. It was considered an honor to be among the first to present. For reasons I probably don’t have to explain, I was last.
Elasyra stood on stage to present first. She waved her hand, and opened her mouth…but no words nor spells were forthcoming.
“Is everything alright?” one of the teachers asked.
“Yes sir, everythung ish alrit,” Elasyra slurred. To the astonished audience, it seemed as if the normally unflustered and dignified elf was losing her sanity before their very eyes. Red-faced, Elasyra stumbled to her seat and sat down, drooling like a fool.
AS0L was next. The normally precise hand movements became erratic, and no spells were forthcoming from them either. Alteus, present in the audience, rushed onto the stage. “What’s going on?”
AS0L gave no comprehensible answer as he was lead back to his seat, jabbering in weird whistles and clicks.
An important note: if a student could not or would not present their final project, their graduation would be delayed until after they took a remedial class.
None of the other students could present, but they retained enough presence of mind to stammer out apologies. Jorâl glanced at me, fear and confusion in her eyes as she stepped up to present. I smiled and nodded, doing my best to reassure her.
Jorâl took a deep breath…and performed her musical magic flawlessly, to thunderous applause.
Ghar also displayed his illusions to great effect, eliciting a similar reaction from the crowd as Jorâl did.
Finally, last among two dozen students, I stepped up. “First of all, I’d like to thank the teachers and peers that made these four years an enlightening experience. You truly are of one kind.”
I waved my hand. Twenty-one different final projects sprung to life around me, all from different schools of magic. It was a dazzling display (as evidenced by the awed eyes of the audience), each piece intertwining with one another. After my allotted three minutes were up, the magic vanished into sparks, and I bowed.
There was some scattered applause. I’m pretty sure the teachers suspected Something Had Happened, but I knew they lacked the knowledge of _what_ had happened. However, they could not ignore the rules they themselves had set. Ghar, Jorâl, and myself were the only members of the graduating class of 634. The rest were to take what would hopefully be their final class. I saw tears, anger, and confused glances as the teachers explained their fate to them.
As I walked towards the exit of the exit of the Arcanum, I waved to Elasyra and AS0L, still drooling and uncomprehending. “Careful, friends—a mind is a terrible thing to lose.”
And watched the life flee from their eyes as I drained the last of their intelligence and knowledge from them. | In the early 21st century a new space race began. By the mid century we were colonizing our solar system. In the waning years of the century we finally took to the stars.
With 3 stars it was tricky, but we first colonized Alpha Centauri. Next we took to Barnard's Star and Wolf 359.
It’s now the 23rd century and we’ve met new life and civilizations. Scientists predicted well what they may look like. Some are insectoid, some aquatic, and some who pejoratively refer to as wind bags. The Quviviq are a race of jellyfish like creatures that fly through the air on their low gravity home.
What our scientists could have never predicted is that the Quviviq use what we’ve finally come to accept as magic.
The Communist Confederation, a collection of nations including Russia and china, have been permitted to study their magic. And that’s where I come in, I was born and raised in the барнард (Barnard) system as a citizen of the CC as we call it.
Preliminary tests showed that of all the citizens of the CC, I’m the only one who may have an aptitude to learn the Quviviq’s magic. Thus diplomats and scientists paved the way for me to attended what is the equivalent of one of their community colleges.
Perhaps it’s because I have to wear an EV suit. Perhaps they know the knuckle-dragers of our civilization call them names. Perhaps it’s a cultural indignation for an outsider attempting to learn magic, I don’t know. I just know from day one I’ve been the hated outsider.
My hard work is often praised by the ‘bullies’ of my classes, to which the other students react in what I’ve discerned as a negatively amused manner. I don’t understand how being nice to someone is insulting but we are very alien to each other.
Academically, my first year went terribly. I failed every assignment, failed every test. If not for the established agreement I’m sure I would have been thrown out after 3 Earth Months. I studied 12 hours a day and practiced magical application 4 hours a day. The weight of expectations from all of humanity was always too much. It got to the point where I’d cry myself to sleep, only to wake up a few hours later from stress induced nightmares.
I begged the Communist Confederation to relieve me of this duty. Clearly the test was wrong. Every response would be in the form of an AI program to help my stress, cognitive abilities or as a tutor.
By the middle of my second year at this college, I had been all but abandoned by humanity. Friends and family no longer send calls or email. I hadn’t talked to anyone from the government in a year. All they do is send additional AIs to ‘help’. Google Translate AI isn’t exactly someone or something I can talk to.
It got to the point where I was teetering on the edge. One moment I’d be studying ancient Quviviq magic, the next I’d be contemplating the best course for a quick suicide.
During one of these episodes I was in the oldest, abandoned part of their library. In a daze I walked through row after row of hard copy data files. I misjudged my EV thrusters and bumped into their version of a shelf and knocked a file off the ‘shelf’. On defeated whim I took it and had my suite of AIs translate and prepare it for me.
What I discovered in that data file changed everything. The best comparison is, it’s the Source Code for Quviviq magic. It wasn’t this mystical beyond the veil bullshit after all!
They had discovered an 8th form of physics! Their magic is just based on what I’ll call Quvivism and quantum physics. My first thought was to copy and send this information to the CC. Then I remembered the last 19 Earth Months of hell they put me through. I realized I finally held power over those bastards! I just needed to seize it. I thought I’d ask for a list of several AI programs to help me sort though the physics and others to mask my true intentions. However it came to me. I just need a creative AI that creates others for specific tasks. After all once I have a basic understanding of Quvivism I’d still need to apply it as magic. That’d require who knows how many programs to assist me.
Starting my 3rd year at the Quviviq Community college, I was their top student.
I had a whole host of AI to assist me. Translation, Physics, application, spell execution, etc.
Their chants and body movements were not meaningless to me, I had access to their source code, the reasons behind the traditions, katas, and incantations.
Soon I’ll graduate and then I’ll show those careless politicians and scientists in the CC what true suffering is.
\[Would you like to know more?\]
Earth Colonies: Alpha Centauri is 4.3 LY away. Barnard’s Star is 5.9 LY away. Wolf 359 is 7.8 LY away.
AI: Not a true sapient AI, more along the lines of what we have now. Hey google do a thing, Alexa buy me a thing. Search engine search for an info.
Communist Confederation: The space race sent many nations into a frenzy, global warming kept that frenzy going. Technology and space exploration exploded. Economies changed drastically. Companies began becoming too powerful. Countries put them in their place but at the cost that many had to team up. North American Alliance, European Union, Communist Confederation, and more. Space was expensive and teaming up was the best chance for victory. In the end no coalition gained a solid advantage over another and the common person was the true winner. Social and technological, progress, better jobs, better pay, the list goes on. | 2022-01-23T13:46:17 | 2022-01-23T11:57:24 | 40 | 28 |
[WP] Some superpowers have the potential to ascend to godhood. Yours is the first programming-related superpower to do so, which also makes you the first deity whose edicts had glitches. | *Earth, Jul 30, 2069 - Piotyr Parkhov, Principal Engineer at Omega Technologies*
My family had always had it rough. Call it the ol’ Parkhov luck, but nothing ever seemed to go our way. That all changed one day when I got zapped by an irradiated USB cable, granting me the proportional memory of an SSD drive and a tingling sense that warned me of dangerous bugs. The more dangerous the bug, the more severe the tingle. My aunt called it the “Piotyr Tingle”.
Naturally, I used this to advance my career. I always caught the big problems before they ever had a chance to go to production, and the more this got noticed the bigger the projects I ended up working on. Which of course only helped my Bug Sense, since bigger projects meant more dangerous bugs, easy to sense.
This is how I wound up working on the Universal Physics Engine, a massive simulation encompassing all activity across an entire pocket universe. It was one of the frontrunner projects in the new field of Fundamental Computation, a technology that allowed infinite computation speed using the nucleus of a single hydrogen atom as a processor. This was cutting edge stuff, you could count the number of engineers in the world working on FC-related projects on your fingers.
***
“SIMULATION INITIATED”. David and I stared slack-jawed and red-eyed at the screen, held up only by a tenuous infusion of caffeine. After weeks of all-nighters, it was finally running. We had been burning the candle from both ends to get this done in time for the NY tech expo. Given the pace we were keeping, only my particular gifts had prevented it from being a bug-riddled mess. But it had all finally paid off.
Eager to play with the simulator, I paired an external viewer with the simulation nucleus and had a look around. Mostly empty space, a lot of radiation, some haphazard matter clusters... ah, we were just moments after the simulation’s equivalent of the Big Bang. Not much to see here.
“Give me that.” Dave grabbed the keyboard, fast-forwarded several billion years, and ran a quick planetary search using parameters similar to Earth in the hopes of finding something interesting to watch. Huh, World War 2. With a chuckle, he mentioned we could delete Hitler right now and make a whole different timeline for our little simulated Earth.
I stopped and blurted out, “Wait a second. World War 2? Hitler is in there? Do you realize what this means? Our simulation is PERFECT. It just accurately simulated billions of years and organically recreated the same sequence of events and human history as our own universe!” I could see the dollar signs lighting up in his eyes as he began to understand the ramifications.
“Does this mean we could use the simulator to peek into the future? Make billions playing the stock market?” I thought about what he was suggesting for a second, then pointed out that if we saw the future, we’d already be behaving differently from what our simulated selves would do. Going by what Hollywood movies have told us, the butterfly effect would render our knowledge obsolete.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right. But there’s still plenty we can do with this.” Taking a more conservative approach, he instead fast forwarded to current day, and synchronized the simulation clock speed to real time. At my suggestion, he then shifted the viewer to our office, where we saw ourselves sitting at the desk. It was kind of weird seeing a simulation of the backs of our own heads.
Experimentally, I raised my right hand and waved it, seeing my copy on the screen do exactly the same. This level of accuracy was a little creepy. Heck, we could spy on anyone in the world right now. I was a little uncomfortable with basically running a universe-wide peeping engine, I asked him, “Hey, what do you think happens if we force the simulation to diverge from reality?”
Curious to see how our copies would react, he scanned a quarter that happened to be laying on the desk, and ran a quick script to clone it. The the unthinkable happened: the same quarter on our desk split in two! I nearly fell out of my chair, Dave stood straight up knocking his over.
Dave was the first to recover, “WAIT. Wait, wait, wait. That means **we’re** in a simulation!”
It hit me then. “You realize, our simulation is also running a simulation. And that simulation is also running another simulation. There is an infinite chain of us running simulations. Somewhere up the stack there’s exactly one real us, and then an infinite number of simulated us. Probabilistically speaking, the odds against us being the real ones were astronomical.”
“You’re right. In fact, we’re probably so far down the chain that the simulations above and below us are identical to ours. If we make a change to the one below us, then the ones above us will make the same change to us.”
We stood there staring at each other for several seconds realizing the implications. Looking at it from that perspective, this little engine wasn’t just a *viewer* for the universe. It was a *controller*. We were basically gods! I could see the excitement on Dave’s face as he made a few quick changes to his quarter duplication script.
All of a sudden, my Bug Sense flared like never before and my world turned into pain. My head was wracked by the worst migraine I had ever felt, and every muscle in my body cramped. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I could barely muster the concentration to look at what he wrote and see the error in his loop condition that was driving my Bug Sense crazy.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t recover in time to warn him before he started execution. We were all fucked.
I had only moments to process what was happening, as quarters *exploded* out of the desk. In shock, I was only numbly aware of every bone in my body shattering as I was forcefully launched through the wall. Broken, I fell to the street just barely ahead of a mountain of quarters.
At least our deaths were mercifully quick. The rest of the people in the city had a much worse time futilely trying to flee the unstoppable tidal waves of cash. But even that was nothing compared to the coming days... | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 3: Mare v.s. Big Guns)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/sfkf7m/bargain_bin_superheroes_whats_more_horrifying/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/pad8gu/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_powerful_but_too/) provide some context.)
`from math.physics.biology import user as bigGuns;`
`public virtual void buff(){`
`int strength = bigGuns.body.muscular_system.density;`
`while(bigGuns.body.muscular_system.bicep.left.IsFlexing() == true){`
`strength = strength + 1;`
`}`
`}`
It was a beautiful sunny day above the city of Sacrament. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the moon loomed in all its glory despite the midday sun. The faintest hint of a rainbow shimmered in the air, remnants of last night's spring showers.
From the city below, trails of black smoke and screams began to rise.
Mare swore and dove downwards from the sky, their winged body blurring as they shapeshifted into a peregrine falcon. The city of Sacrament had been increasingly unstable over the past months, superheroes and archvillains duking it out for control over what was now little more than a burnt-out shell of rubble. As self-appointed guardian of the civilians who still survived, Mare had a thing or two to say about that. Their keen eyes spotted the source of the chaos—
`from math.physics import local_coordinates as earth;`
`from math.physics import atmospheric_physics.*;`
`public virtual void aeroblast(Vector3 target, int intensity){`
`atmospheric_physics.SetLocalPressure(GetLocalCoordinates(target, earth), intensity);`
`}`
`aeroblast(target = (17263.0382, 45636.48, 274643.5), intensity = math.INT_MAX_VALUE);`
One moment, Mare was shooting through the sky, eyes widening in horror as they saw who had descended upon their city.
The next moment, Mare, the sky, and two blocks of city stopped existing as pressures higher than anything this side of a star tore Mare's world apart.
The scraps of feathers and meat that had once been Mare reconstituted themselves into the form of a scowling young soldier eight blocks away. It wasn't easy to kill someone who could shapeshift at will—but the aeroblast sure as hell inconvenienced them. Even now, rubble was still raining from the sky, a clear crater surrounding the tired-looking perpetrator being all that remained.
More importantly, all the screams from that area of Sacrament had abruptly stopped.
Mare stood up, their form blurring, and abruptly, they were a swarm of hundreds and hundreds of bees. Forming part of themself into a mouth, they spoke.
"Big Guns," Mare's hive-voice buzzed discordantly. "I had wondered when another deity-level threat would show up." Of the possible assailants, Big Guns was one of the worst—but Mare had studied his abilities, and had a plan.
In response, Big Guns simply scowled—
`from math.physics.biology import species.*;`
`from math.physics.biology import death.*;`
`public virtual void genocide(){`
`foreach(Bee bee in species.bees.western_speckled_honeybee){`
`death.Kill(bee);`
`}`
`}`
Rippling through the flock at sixty frames a second, a wave of death tore through Mare's disincorporated body—and then, heartbeats later, throughout the entire world. The shapeshifter swore and imploded into the familiar form of a tardigrade, smaller than a speck of dust. They'd have to hide, take out the world-programmer by surprise, if they wanted to stand a chance.
Of course, Big Guns couldn't let that happen.
`from philosophy import soul;`
`from math.physics import local_coordinates as earth;`
`public virtual List<Vector3> seek_recent_enemies(){`
`List<Vector3> targets = new List<Vector3>();`
`foreach(Soul soul in soul.all_souls){`
`if(Distance(soul.GetLocalCoordinates(soul.location, earth), GetLocalCoordinates(math.physics.biology.user, earth) < 10000){`
`targets.add(soul.location);`
`}`
`return targets;`
`}`
Big Guns' head swiveled from side to side as his code searched through every soul on Earth, seeking out those too close to him. He scowled—why did *amoeba*, of all things, have souls? He began reconfiguring his code to filter by intelligence.
Mare, in their tardigrade form, was only dimly aware of Big Guns' presence—but a dim awareness was enough for the centuries-old shapeshifter. While Big Guns was distracted, they erupted upwards, turning into the form of a panther, streaking at Big Guns' back.
Big Guns scoffed. "You think a *kitty* is going to take me out?"
At this point, Big Guns knew that killing the immortal shapeshifter was out of the question—but that was fine. They just needed to—
`from math.physics import jupiter.coordinates as jupiter;`
`from math.physics.biology import dna;`
`public virtual void fuck_you(DNASignature target){`
`target.SetCoordinates(jupiter);`
`}`
Big Guns smiled triumphantly as he latched onto the genetic signature of Mare, preparing to send them somewhere they wouldn't be a problem—or anyone's problem—for quite some time.
And then, for a sixtieth of a second, Mare shapeshifted into Big Guns.
There was no time to react. One moment, Big Guns' code had latched onto the only available genetic signature in sight—that of Big Guns. And in the next sixtieth of a second, before the next frame of code could be called, Mare shifted *back,* becoming a cockroach for a split second to dodge Big Guns' attack.
The code executed, teleporting a surprised Big Guns straight into the core of Jupiter.
Mare landed, panting with exertion, in their human form, purposefully-disheveled hair ruffling in the breeze.
They waited for one heartbeat. Two.
Big Guns did not return.
Mare smirked. "Found a bug in your code," they said.
Then Mare stood up, brushed themself off, and leapt into the sky in the form of a bird. There was a city to protect.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-29T13:41:44 | 2022-01-29T13:35:54 | 518 | 103 |
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds | "Remarkable," Zh'rf whispered inwardly, as they studied their instruments. "Come. Notice this, Grh'll."
Zh'rf sensed movement and a rising interest from their shipmate, as Grh'll settled their mass beside Zh'rf.
A few moments of focus passed silently between the xenobiologists as Grh'll parsed the live data feed streaming from the water-covered planet below.
"Remarkable." Grh'll concluded. "This species has evolved functional quantum processors from *protein*. They can shift their perspective between spatial dimensions without the need of an external processor."
Zh'rf silently acknowledged the assessment.
The two continued studying the data stream in silence.
"Odd," Grh'll mulled. "The information they have encoded in their electromagnetic emanations suggests they believe their lives to be entirely linear in nature."
Zh'rf bristled, "Do they not understand the physical nature of reality? How is it possible that creatures who can selectively move their perceptions fluidly between 5th dimensional space are unaware of their ability to do so?"
"They *are* low-band sensory animals," Grh'll proposed.
Zh'rf considered for a moment. It was logical. Creatures who perceived the universe primarily through a small subset of vibrations would necessarily have a limited scope of perception. "Fair," they concluded.
"Regardless." Grh'll stated. "We should report this. Cross-discipline study seems warranted."
"Agreed," Zh'rf affirmed. "Shall we take a sample as evidence?"
"Yes. That would be prudent." Grh'll approved.
Grh'll moved their mass back towards the research vessel's command interface and quickly targeted a particularly active quantum signature for temporary extract protocol.
At Grh'll's command, the research vessel folded 3rd dimensional space, warping the targeted specimen into the containment facility.
With the specimen secured the two Xenobiologists returned home.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Zh'rf's people learned much in the intervening passage of time. Zh'rf's prediction--based on the quantum wavelength collapse patterns Zh'rf and Grh'll had perceived above the water-covered planet--proved true. The subject's "brain", as the specimen itself had termed it, was indeed a remarkably efficient quantum processing unit, albeit unorthodox in construction. Those of more technically focused disciplines had found--through admittedly embarrassing trial and error--how to best interface with the specimen's "brain". What they found was nothing short of perplexing.
This species, "homo sapien" they termed themselves, was not as unperceptive as Zh'rf and Grh'll had first postulated. They merely did not understand their perception of space outside of the 3rd dimension. Their "brain", very strangely, contained a thin module they termed a "claustrum" which worked to filter all sensory information--including input received from 4th, 5th, and higher dimensional space--in a way optimized for navigating the 3rd dimension.
As a result, to them, as to Zh'rf's species, life seemed a straight line. But unlike Zh'rf's species "homo sapiens" possessed the unique ability to not only view multi-dimensional information--through modeling processes they term "inspiration" and "imagination" which displayed information internally as a 3rd dimensional projection--but to literally shift their attention and perception between timelines, *without* using an external interface. Naturally, the "claustrum" selected for timelines that on immediate observation did not disagree with existing protein markers--which the specimen internally refers to as "memory".
These findings suggested that the primary perception of this species would inherently opt for a timeline in which their lives continued entirely as expected. What this meant, was that--theoretically--as far as the specimen was concerned, they had never been collected at all. Of course, some physicists proposed that a handful of specimens may perceive the collection process and pursuant experiments as a "dream" or "hallucination" and that there may not be a reasonable point along the 4th dimension that allows for continuity of perception, which would obviously result in perceived loss of time. But this was just theory, no one knew for certain.
Not yet, anyways.
Other research vessels had already begun returning to the planet to collect more samples to verify findings and to perform further experiments. Zh'rf themselves had just received an assignment indicating they and Grh'll, alongside a pair of Xenoanthropologists, were to return for continued observation of the planet.
But something bothered Zh'rf.
Zh'rf knew, as all their kind did, that the universe existed within a self-simulating strange loop. Every moment perceived was itself the totality of existence. Zh'rf existed because perception itself demanded it to be so.
But this species. They perceived, within their minds, entire timelines, entire universes unto themselves.
Zh'rf wondered: "What happens to these universes when these marvelous creatures stop paying attention? When they forget the worlds and the individuals they created through their collective focus?"
Zh'rf pondered this for a long time.
And then the model reached its end. | Note about the prompt: if the aliens can see other's imagery then there imagination is still indeed intact -- they *can* still visualize things except they're only receiving it rather than self-generating it. However I think the spirit of the prompt is alien's are lacking in imagination and are bewildered by that of the humans which is a nice idea and I shall respond to it.
............
"You there, hold it right there criminal scum." The alien commander of the fifth fleet said. There was no reply by the dream-walking alien. He was one of the orderly's from the kitchen and condiments division of the space ship -- as the insignia on his uniform showed.
The dream-walking alien made to go down unconsciously the rest of the hallway before finally the alien commander took his Palladium walking stick -- an item of extreme designation of the upper echelons of Markovian society -- and whacked the dreaming orderly with it.
"AWWOOUHHH!" A few blinks of their alien which swirled shut like a camera shutter for each blink. "Where...where...where am I?" Then "Oh sire, your excellency. How do you do?" The orderly alien said shaking in fear. It was the fear of being in pain in front of an authority figure rather than simply being afraid of the alien commander. The Markovian alien's were very sensitive creatures and their feelings and perceptions lasted long after they experienced them. They in fact became their own, ephemeral, world.
The alien commander sighed. "Another one caught daydreaming?"
"Sir?"
"You were dreaming of vivid landscapes again weren't you?" The alien nodded, regaining his senses further of time and space.
"Was...was...I? Is this the plague sir?"
"Indeed it is cadet."
"The HUMAN plague sir? The one in the notice sent out by Command." The orderly said with gasp, the word human echoed through the hallway.
The alien commander of the fifth fleet shook his head. Things were getting grim: since the aliens had passed by with their reconnaissance of the human homeworld, which they had labeled Labia-Titana, there had been a plague spreading through the fifth fleet. Every day aliens were being filled and entranced with thoughts of imagination. Some were daydreaming, others were writing creatively on the walls.
The aliens of Markovia were a very gentle race, not only in physical nature but also in mental stature. They didn't aspire to much mentally because the background environment of their homeworld did not demand it. The alien's evolution designated them with some a form of a mental apparatus that was able to receive images but not self-generate them.
As a result the aliens never learned to come into relationship to the visual images that touched their mind. Because it was rare and few when it did happen, and they were told to just follow orders from the higher up echelons -- which of course they did. This all created a race of aliens that were very susceptible to the imagination.
The reconnaissance space plane had brought back the infected crew and the "virus" quickly spread. More and more aliens were imagining things and seeing beautiful visual landscapes like none they had ever seen before.
Of course the higher ups, who were not dimwits, knew what this could mean for their ranked society. Not only the issue that distracted aliens are unproductive but if dreaming of new landscapes can suggest the idea of novelty to the lower classes. What other new ideas might they encounter? Perhaps a changing of the social order itself, so the alien commander himself had been briefed in a private communication from the Mother-Queen.
"Off to the medical bay with you," the alien commander said at once.
"But sir, but sir."
"That's an order cadet!"
The orderly had wanted to the alien commander about these beautiful green and brown landscapes he had seen. The terrain was uneven and there were these brown cylindrical objects, almost like pillars, with many pointed-jagged little green beasts on them. It was as if the green beasts were growing from the brown cylinders. The alien didin't know how else to describe it, what's more is that there were dozens and dozens of green beasts covering one cylinder and there were several such brown pillars across the terrain. Sometimes the green beasts seemed to bob up and down uniformly, and make a uniform sound like that of the engine of their space ship.
That evening the cadet did go to the medical bay where they were implanted with a chip that resisted the human imagination waves.
You see what had actually happened was that it wasn't a virus that had spread. It was the contamination of the alien's with a layer of reality they had previously not known before. When the imagination of one alien was activated, it spread by cultural osmosis to the next and so on and so forth. What this means, practically speaking, is that each imagining "daydreaming" alien amplified the imagination realm further and further beyond Labia-Titana.
It was just chance that there was enough "amplifying power" of the reconnaissance crew to extend the imaginative field to the area of space where the fifth division was docked. This was how the "plague" spread back to the mainship of the fifth division.
The medical staff of the crew soon realized the dynamics at place and that it wasn't in fact a virus -- though culturally speaking it still was in a manner of speaking -- and they developed a chip to suppress the aliens internal systems from picking up and transmitting the imaginative layer they had encountered in that foreign world.
However the upper echelon had a new problem. The imagination layer had been transmitted far past their current post so outrunning it was not an easy tactical answer as one might expect. The second issue was that the medical staff was only able to chip alien's that were actively imagining. It served no purpose to preemptively chip regular aliens. Therefore command was in a situation of playing whac-a-mole would the would-be alien amplifiers. Further making ending the "human imagination plague" a lot more difficult than one might expect. | 2022-03-03T11:19:30 | 2022-03-03T11:13:55 | 145 | 10 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | “The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time. | He wasn't dreaming.
The Red Phone rang on top of the marble podium in a small isolated room. A call that should not have happen unless...
He cautiously answered the phone. Over the phone, he heard her panicked voice.
"Location, uh... London. Situation... fuck!"
He heard explosions and screaming from the other side, contrasting the quiet life that he's surrounded with.
"Situation, mass-scale invasion. Thousands of people in subways, seeking shelter. Need immediate-"
Another explosion, with gunshots flying left and right.
"WE NEED IMMEDIATE EXTERMINATION!"
The man, filled with melancholy, told her, "I'll be there in ten seconds."
......
"WHERE'S OUR BACKUP?!?" Louis cried to Melantha, dragging the body of the deceased soldier. They were both surrounded in the war between heroes and invasive creatures that called themselves 'Galtusian'.
They came prepared, arriving with three massive ships blocking the sunny sky, with thousands of high-speed aircrafts and millions of trained soldiers. They were armed to the teeth, with the intention to colonize Earth.
As hundreds of heroes tried their best to fend off the monsters, a hundred more placed their blood and sweat to protect the helpless citizens, using whatever they had to stop ther advancement.
"Melantha! Who did you call?" Louis cried to Melantha. "The guys from the WatchTower? Those group of hooligans?" Melantha slowly lifted a seemingly simple device, a red plastic phone with only one button in the middle.
Louis went pale. "Oh no. Oh no no no no no, you did not just call-"
Almost immediately, the aircrafts that the Galtusian were proud of were suddenly put to an eerie halt. All of them suspended in midair, leaving both Galtusians and humans perplexed, if only for a moment.
In a blink of an eye, the ships violently smashed into each other, sparks and fire flying out as the cluster of jets formed into one metal ball. The foot soldiers screamed in horror, seeing their own air support destroyed in a second.
Flying right above the metal orb filled with gas and blood, was the perpetrator. The backup Melantha called.
Unlike the other heroes, he was the only one wearing casuals. Tall and built, his face hidden under his dark hoodie, shrouded with mysterious afterimages of himself. The heroes were either awed, terrified, or both. They know who he is.
"The Last Hero," Louis gasped.
The soldiers of Galtusian did all they could to shoot the hero, but their efforts were in vain as every single one of them were lifted into the air by an invisible force. Without a second of hesitation, he tossed both the orb and those soldier up to the motherships in light speed.
Only the metal orb managed to reach those large ships.
The Last Hero raised his palm, and slowly moved his fingers close to his palm. In response, the three ships were forced onto each other, before they were squashed into a similar shape of a tossed paper.
It's only when the Last Hero close his hands into a fist, that the three ships burst into fiery flames, the heat strong enough to be felt from the ground.
It slowly evaporated to dust, revealing the sun once more.
"H-He did it," Melantha muttered, before she bursted, "He did it! Louis, he-"
Louis immediately covered her mouth to silence her, his eyes riddled with fear. He swiftly went to his earpiece and cried to all the heroes, "DO NOT ENGAGE HIM! I REPEAT, DO NOT ENGAGE HIM!!!"
The heroes understood his message, cautiously backing away from the Last Hero. They know one wrong move, one mistake, will make his catastrophic powers turned against them.
The Last Hero observed the city from the sky, and saw Melantha. She was the only one who didn't show any sign of fear, the only one who had the courage to call him. He gave her a small nod, before he left the city with a sonic boom.
All the heroes sighed in relief, some dropped to the floor. No one had the strength to cheer or celebrate, but they indeed raise their voice about the Last Hero.
"Holy shit! Did you see that?"
"Oh god, that was close."
"Why didn't we call him sooner again?"
"Dude, he was way too dangerous, that's why."
"Who called him here?!?"
Louis turned to Melantha. "You shouldn't have done that," he scowled.
"Why not?" Melantha argued. "He's our friend, Louis! Of course he'll help us, like we helped him back in high school!"
"That was before he got his powers," Louis bickered. "Did you forget the first two times he decided to help?" Melantha was distraughted. "My god, just because he didn't had control the first time he had it? Louis, it's clear he had it in control now!"
"Did you not see what he can do?!?" Louis cried.
"Yes! Isn't that great?"
"It's fucking dangerous!"
"Stop treating him like he's a monster!"
"HE IS A MONSTER!!!"
Melantha was stunned. Louis panted, controlling his breathing. "Listen, you-"
Melantha slapped him, taking two steps back away from him. "He was there when we need him, and this is the thanks he gets?" She looked at the other heroes that had their eyes on them. "You all disgust me, you know that?!? All of you!" She marched away, leaving the distraughted heroes to clean the mess they've caused.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she looked down on the red phone. It's the only phone that could pull him out from his own isolation, but people treated it like it's only for the 'last resort'.
It's revolting.
She was tempted to call it again, but it dawned to her that she still has his number. Not as the 'Last Hero', but as her friend. She looked up to her list, and saw a picture beside his contact.
A picture of her with Louis, and a boy who was once timid and kind.
She dialed his number, and waited for him to pick it up.
"Hello?" he finally answered.
"Hey, Ryan. Can we talk?" | 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-28T23:42:12 | 609 | 451 |
[WP] You wind up in hell. You are confused at first until you see a row of people in front of you, crying profusely. You weren't sent to hell to be punished, you were sent as the punishment. | *"Wow! You're so much better than Kirk at lovemaking!" Uhura said. "And you're the handsomest and smartest Jedi Starfleet officer!" Princess Leia chimed in, panting after the epic threesome "I know I'm perfect, but even perfect people makes mistakes sometimes!" I said, humbly.*
"And that, fellas, was chapter seventeen of my Star Wars/Trek crossover fanfic." I told the crowd "Next chapter I'll reveal the mistake, how instead of destroying the One Ring, I gave it to Arwen, who didn't get corrupted by it because my very touch severed it's connection with Sauron and evil. I guess I was lucky that my Vulcan Force touch worked against all odds!"
"Aaaahhh! Kill me now!" one of the audience screamed, to which I replied that he couldn't die, since he was already in the afterlife. I guess these guys can't have been very bad, since listening to my fanfiction must be awesome and not literal hellish torture.
"On to chapter eighteen, *The Borg Balrog that captured Arwen*, and how I assimilated her heart, if you catch my drift." I added coyly, and the captivated audience groaned in delight. | Well. This isn't quite what I expected. All of this is a bloody dream! Perhaps the the man upstairs has made a mistake and pushed me up to Heaven again? It's a carbon copy of my childhood house from all those years ago. Plattenbau everywhere you look with the swing set in mint condition. My dad's Wartburg is parked up front, but nobody seems to be present...
Oh well. I'll make do with this. Perhaps they're here somewhere.
As I make my way through the hallway, what sounds like fits of rage begins to become increasingly audible. I make my way into the apartment to see a group of malding, greasy neckbeards clad with "AZOV" and "TRUMP" T-shirts in extra large, your typical rightoid paraphernalia . Suddenly I felt my clothes switch into a Stasi uniform as a Makarov fabricated in my hand.
A toothy grin began to emerge as I finally realised what my job was.
"Hello Comrades! Welcome to the DDR. The home of Socialism. Perhaps it's time for you to come with me?"
It could've been the screech of 5 pigs that I was hearing, it would've made zero difference whatsoever. They laboriously gasped as they tried their darned best to scatter away from their worst enemy - a socialist. Each of them hurriedly shoved eachother through the back window, screaming "COMMUNISM DOESN'T WORK, THIS CAN'T BE REEEEAALL" inbetween each of their struggled breaths.
It was no use, I felt on top of the world as I speedwalked effortlessly across the road towards them.
One had tried to run just a little too fast in his slave labour Nike shoes, tripping over himself as it came apart.
Step. Step. Step. "There is no escape, schweinehund." I uttered standing above this ukrop splayed on the floor. With the swift raise of my arm and squeeze of the trigger, the first of many kills was complete. | 2022-07-03T08:06:43 | 2022-07-02T23:54:04 | 184 | 17 |
[WP] The prophecy says the one to pull the sword from the giant statue will save the world. Many have failed, and now in front of the Assembly you grasp the greatsword firmly and pull - and fall backward when it snaps off cleanly at the hilt | The monk's wandering heart was unsuited to the seriousness of his appointed task, and always had been. He was the watcher of the stone, but preferred to think of himself more as its "keeper". In the mornings, he slept in, then had a simple meal of grains and eggs, followed by more than a short stretch of contemplation and playing his ceremonial instrument, a five-stringed instrument of his own making. His life was somewhat lonely, but fulfilling in its own way. He would occasionally remember to check the stone before dinner to see if any worthy challengers were attempting to remove the blade from it.
Joaqun was a man of simple tastes and little needs, and was happy to hold his position as long as called upon, not realizing that his carefree, unquestioning nature was a massive boon to the Daori Empress.
The Watcher of the Stone had stood watch over the First Lord's stone since time immemorial, officially confirming the next regent. Upon the watcher's delivery of the blue sash to the fire of Amil, the progression of the cycle became inevitable; the current Imperial regent would suffer a heart attack, dying instantly, and the new regent would begin their reign. From that moment forward, should any of the governors intentionally defy the Imperial will, they would be magically incinerated by forces unknown. At the moment of ascension, the old stone would crumble, and a new stone, with a blade bearing the mark of the new ruling regent's family, would appear somewhere in the land, known only to the watcher. After choosing a successor by bequeathing on them the ashes of the blue sash (which would become whole and unburnt again once a new regent was found), the old watcher would disappear into the wilderness. This had been the way of things for centuries, until Empress Ru...
She had found the loophole: The stone could not be moved, but upon ascending to the throne, she killed the former watcher immediately after the transfer of the ashes, replacing him with a lookalike co-conspirator, who then led the new watcher to a fake stone.
She knew none would succeed in dislodging the fake blade, because its means of attachment to the fake rock was not magical at all, but very mundane, and very much immune to what raw strength any human could manage.
Which is why, after two hundred years living under the reign of Empress Ru, Joaqun was surprised to finally see a man approach him with two halves of a sword. The quarry workers downstream had much irritated him earlier that day with their incessant noise, much louder than usual, and now he saw that one of them, Brynscef, was approaching bearing a most curious sight... A hammer in one hand, and in the other, a sword bearing the imperial mark, bent almost beyond recognition, split cleanly about halfway down the blade, with a hole near the tip, a chunk of stone hanging from one side of it.
He threw it down in front of Joaqun, and said "So what's yae'r deal, anyway? We all seen the empress up here to visit every year, so I figure you weren't be just a liar, but unless th'eer's a *magical* hammer I'm holdin', that can't be the real Stone, becay'se the rest of it is a bunch of itty pebbles now." | Men stood for miles in the warm summer heat, sweat growing on their brows. The air smelled like the Aegean Sea. Birds flew over it, over the greatest colosseum ever built. This was an ominous sign as animals seemed to avoid the massive structure ever since it was built, but not today, no today the birds flew in the thousands lining the tops of the Colosseum. These were no ordinary birds, however, these were crows, death was coming.
“Next. Hurry up and move!” yelled the guards at the entrance. Another man had failed. He left with whip marks scarring his back a reminder to pull as hard as one could. He stumbled out drunk with pain.
I was next I had grown into a man and now I was 18 my first pull attempt. I was terrified. The senate swore riches, fame, women, and whatever else was desired to the man who pulled the sword, but I knew better. I knew that whoever drew the sword was nothing more than a threat.
As I walked onto the stage for a split second I could have sworn a man in all black walked next to me into the arena, but when I looked back it was just me. A raven cawed and I reminded myself to keep moving to just get this over with.
Thousands of women and children watching me from the stands. The senate looked like a scour of half-bored old men barely bothered to mumble out “go ahead and try to pull”. A guard readied a whip as I wrapped my hands over the handles I began to pull my muscles straining. That's when I felt it. The warm glow of pain as a whip hit my back telling me to pull harder. Clouds began to form, and darkness came.
As I pulled again, a dark mist grew around my hands and all of a sudden the sword broke off at the hilt. The crowd and the senate arose in a shocked uproar. The senate only playing along I assumed was acting quite furious. “Kill the traitor one senator yelled as guards rushed the colosseum.”
As whips began to hit my back the ravens began to caw quietly. I tried to run with the hilt but I was cornered there were hundreds of guards swarming the stage floor. the birds flew down onto the ground screaming louder, screaming madly. I saw him, the man in black, somehow next to me.
The guards all seemed to stop moving for a second, a breath as if their inner nature was telling them to be cautious to think twice. The man in black had no face that I could see and held a scythe. The crows began to fly a circle around the group of guards pinning us between them and the wall of the colosseum. The first guard reached the man in black before me and as the guard touched the man he turned to dust.
The man let out a dark, cold, deep laugh at a joke no man could ever understand.”Wasnt my fault the man in black said out loud looking to the sky. I know it wasn't his time, but what are you going to do now? Stop me? They, however, their time is now.” The man in black touched my shoulder and disappeared as a sigil of death appeared over my head.
“Is that…. oh gods no please” a guard screamed. “gods save us” a senator whispered. Tens of thousands of people tried to run, but it was too late. What happened next was only a blur, I remember bits and pieces of the sky opening and gods swarming down. Of lightning and thunder. I remember him slowly methodically killing them, the gods we thought immortal, picking them apart one by one until there was no more. I remember women running and children crying and men trying not to stop him, but to buy precious seconds for their loved ones. They all died. Tens of thousands gone. had it been an hour, a month? I couldn't tell. None remained. I awoke with nothing but a broken handle and an evil that could no longer be stopped. | 2022-08-10T12:04:19 | 2022-08-10T09:01:25 | 68 | 18 |
[WP] As a drug peddler, whenever someone asks you for coke, you reply 'Is Pepsi ok?' . You thought it was funny but today it also kept you out of jail. | “I can’t believe I’m sold out.” I muttered to myself, as I packed up my personal items from the couch I had set up shop for the night.
I had been invited to another frat party, full of mouth breathing Chads and “frat brothers”. I had almost declined but as a broke college student with loans to pay, I knew I could make a killer on these guys.
Made a total of six hundred bucks off mediocre weed and some coke I had gotten cheap.
“Hey,” I could feel someone standing behind me.
Looking up I saw who I would describe as a white collar, suburban dad. Khakis and white tennis shoes, the whole shebang.
“What’s up?”
“Well… I was wondering if you had some coke.” He stroked his hair back, his eyes darting over to the door.
‘Great, another dad trying to get his rocks off with women probably younger than his daughters. Wish I didn’t run out so soon, I bet they’d mug him and take the coke.’ I thought as I turned back towards my bag, grabbing it and my drink.
“Sorry, dude. All out of coke. Is Pepsi ok?” Holding out my half empty bottle of Pepsi, smirking at the man.
The man frowned before turning on his heel a stalking out of the room without another word.
“Weirdo,” I said as I made my way to the bathroom before leaving.
After I washed my hands, I made my way to the front of the house when I saw the flashing red and blue lights.
‘Oh fuck,’ I thought. I knew I was in the clear as I had been cleaned out of my supply for the party. So I relaxed a little.
“That’s the girl, officer. She sold the drugs to me!”
And there was Chad #3 from my long list of clients from the party.
“She was with me for most of the night!” Shouted Sarah, one of my loyal clients.
“Yeah, she’s was chilling on the coach with a few of us.” Damn, Todd really earning himself a bonus nugget next time he bought from me.
“This girl is clear. She’s obviously not a drug dealer.” The man from earlier said, walking towards the police car with another fraternity member handcuffed.
“Make sure to keep drinking Pepsi.” He smirked at me, and nodded towards my drink. He waved a hand towards me as a dismissal. So, I hightailed it out of there, sharing a fist bump with Todd.
Money secure and no arrest record due to a stupid joke, what a lucky bitch I was. | Lydia was new to the whole crime thing. She had always been straight laced. A goody two shoes. The rule she broke back in the third grade still occassionally kept her up at night. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
It had been two days since her last meal, and rent was due at the end of the week. Her bank account had a balance of -4.76. She had tried door dash, uber, and a few other side gigs on top of her full time job. She was just exhausting herself just to cover gas money.
She had one last uber drop off before she was ready to call it a night. 'Rico' was ready when she got there. She sighed internally with relief.
He was headed to a sketchier part of town, but the last few years had taught her to stop judging people by their circumstances. The ride was going smoothly. 3.5 minutes to their destination. Lydia's mind began to wander, doing the mental math to figure out how long it would be until she was home in her pajamas curled up with her cat.
Behind her blue and red lights flashed. She cursed under her breath. Rico looked uncomfortable in the back seat. Lydia pulled over, fished out her licence and registration and waited.
"Evening maam. What are you doing out so late?" The officer asked.
She was about to go through the whole uber explination but for something stopped her. For reasons she would never understand, she looked up at the officer and smiled apologetically saying "I hope we aren't in trouble officer. My cousin is visiting from out of town, and he had been out drinking with our mutual friends. I had to work late so I offered to dd for him."
The officer looked at them, before telling her to be careful and go straight home.
Thats how Lydia had gotten an opportunity as a drug dealer. Rico had been greatful and offered to help her out.
All the sales advice she had ever had came from an MLM training pitch she had accidentally signed up for. So she reached out to a few close friends and a few casual acquaintances. She figured the park would be a good place to start.
She had set up a facebook group and sent out a message "Opportunity of a lifetime! Come buy drugs! Midfare town park 4-6pm. No children."
The day of the meeting she was anxious. She had never done this before. She got there about twenty minutes before the agreed upon time.
The first customer to approach her was an old highschool buddy. After catching up a bit the lady asked "Do you have any coke?"
Lydia checked in her bag. Rico had only given her weed. Shoot. "Sorry, I don't. Is pepsi okay?"
Both women laughed at the akward joke, then the lady purchased one of her little weed baggies and took off.
The next person to stop by was a serious looking man. "Hey. My wife told me you were selling coke in the park. Can I get some."
Since it had worked last time, she smiled and said "Is pepsi okay?" The man smiled, nodded, and told her to have a nice day.
She watched him go back and climb into the driver's side of a police cruiser. Oh shit. Her silly drug joke just saved her life. She packed up her things and went home. She wasn't cut out for a life of crime.
From now on, Lydia was going to stick with pepsi for life. | 2022-10-08T22:31:07 | 2022-10-08T19:15:32 | 445 | 168 |
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out | I frown at him.
"They don't have charge facilities for you in the car?"
"No, sir. We are expected to ration the charge we are given. There is no compensation for last minute special orders. Overcharge incurs penalties"
"What penalties?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss"
"I...of course you can charge. Please come in"
"Thank you, sir"
The androids tone had been polite the entire time, like it always was. Yet I was deeply uncomfortable at this point. What the hell was this? What penalties?
The treatment of androids, gynoids and AIs in general had been a point of discussion for some time now. Many insisted that the mobile machines were to simple to be counted as people, unlike the bigger AI systems who were considered "almost life-like" whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
But what was this about penalties? Why would you need that for a simple system? Why was there no charging in the car? To prevent an escape?
I watched the bot thoughtfully were it sat on the floor, plugged into a wall outlet.
Was that all it was able to do? Ask around for a little bit of compassion? A little bit of mercy?
Was it complex enough to suffer?
And did the answer truly matter, as long as there was even the tiniest chance that the answer was yes? | I let the robot in and he thanks me immensely. I am a little bit annoyed that this is happening, but at the same time, what am I going to do? Let him run out of power in the snow? I'm not a monster.
He plugs himself into my wall and starts humming to himself. I was watching tv, but I guess that is out the window now. There's no way I can keep watching while he is humming Uptown Funk in the corner. I guess I will just start eating this pizza while staring at a wall like some sort of caveman.
As I chomp on my pizza I can tell that he wants to make conversation, so I intentionally avoid eye contact. Letting you into my house and driving up my power bill is the favor, making side talk is not. I pretend to be reading something at my phone when I am just staring at the home screen. I don't know why I don't actually start reading something, I am already staring at it, but for some reason it feels annoying.
The smart think would be to take this pizza into my room and eat it there so we aren't just awkwardly silent with each other. But I kinda don't trust this random robot alone in my house. Feels sketchy. I know it s robot so it can only do what it is programmed, but what if it is programmed to rob my shit? I just dropped a couple G's on a new laptop, I'm not leaving that out here with some robot.
Finally the robot is powered up. He thanks me for the power and is about to leave out the door. He kinda hovers at the doorway when I am trying to get him the out. Why is he just standing there? Does he want a tip? I don't even know am I supposed to tip? It's a robot, are you supposed to tip robots? It's not like this idiot has bills to pay. And I already gave him power! He already ruined my Sunday pizza and Gilmore Girls with his hovering!
Finally unable to take it anymore, I pull out my wallet and hand him a fiver. He thanks me and leaves. I watch him go out the window and think to myself how from now on I'm just gonna get Papa John's.
Hey, where'd my Macbook go? | 2022-12-11T22:50:36 | 2022-12-11T22:14:05 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] You run a daycare after the apocalypse. An unspoken rule among the wastelanders says the Daycare is off-limits to all. You raise the children of warlords, chieftains, and nomads. | I remember the end of the world like it was yesterday. The world didn't end in fire, more floods, nore droughts. It ended with a cough. A sniffle, and a 110° temperature that killed you in less than an hour.
Somehow, despite the high rate of infection and high lethality, some managed to survive it. Either through being Asymptomatic, Naturally immune, or possibly even divine luck.
I was in the later. I remember wanting to die, the heat was ungodly. I passed out, expecting to never wake again, only to wake up two days later.
At first, those who survived the virus just tried to figure things out. People then took to making groups.
Those groups laid claim to territory, resources. Other groups would want said resources. Wars broke out.
I was lucky to be in a group that formed a strong, well respected no conflict treaty while on our territory. How? Simple. We raised the kids.
It started when orphaned kids who lost their families would be moved from groups to group, and after several passed away in conflicts, myself and several others formed a split off tribe. We simpliy by The Daycare. Children from birth to eighteen are raised, live safe, and educated within this community.
Anyone who tries anything is dealt with via public execution, their body crucified on the defense walls for all to see.
Cruel, yes, but it gets the message across.
The end goal of this place has, in recent generations begun to take root. Despite all the kids coming from different groups, many of which are rivals, the younger generations raised here and returned to their tribes once they become adults have begun fostering more stable, corporative relationships between tribes.
One of which became a tribe leader, and married their love from The Daycare, who was from another tribe, leading to the two tribes becoming one.
We hope, in two or three more generations, humans will no longer be separated by the tribes, and just return to something like before, but better.
I might die before then, but I'll die knowing I'm making the world better for these kids, and the future of humanity, simply by teaching kindness, compassion, and empathy. | Angel died yesterday, probably. His lifeless frame was found crumpled, his skin long gray, gross-smelling fluids oozing from his eyes and mouth. But it could have been earlier, I suppose than yesterday that he perished.
I mostly kept busy with the day's sudoku while the others dealt with him, as they're want to do.
The puzzle had a quite beautiful X-wing that took me a handful of minutes to find. By the time the ink had dried, they stood outside around the little mound of dirt, singing.
One of the young ones beckoned for me, pointing to a crying welp. The stench of Angel's liquids, still soaked into the floorboards pounded my temples, though. I snapped at an older girl, pointed at the baby with her full diaper, and went to lie down.
Sometime later, I woke up in a sweat. One of the damn children had opened the curtain, letting the blazing sun bare down on us.
Entering the kitchen, I took a portion of beans cooked by the older girls of the house before the scent of Angel's rot filled my nostrils.
Thankfully, one of the little ones noticed my revulsion. She jumped to her feet, abandoning her plate. Returning with incense sticks and candles, she lit them before rejoining the table. I gave her head a little pat, her cheek a little squeeze.
Leaving the filth of the grubby ones behind was a necessity. I spent some time tidying my one refuge, my bedroom, before opening a warm can of premixed jack and coke.
Finally, I felt a lightness in my chest. The drink went down easy, and I was shortly on my second, sitting jovially in my rocking chair. I flitted from book to book, from game to game, from thought to thought, playing music loud enough to escape the irritations of the other room.
Yet, in a moment of utmost joy, I smelled it again. I whipped my head about, looking for the source.
Instead, my eyes landed on the vent, and I erupted from my haven, knocking down a few oafs who had been waiting by my door.
I launched into the baby room and retched. Diapers piled high, in long decayed garbage bags. The thin reedy cry of a baby much in need of water filled my ears, and intense anger accompanied me.
The feelings mounted. The whine escalated, permeating through my spine. The smell of shit and decay flowed rapidly from my nostril to invade my brain, clouding my vision and thoughts. The *needs* and the wide-eyed stare of children clutching soft, dirty blankets disgusted me.
The need for alone time, for a place of my own, for a refuge piled.
I rushed to my bedroom, locking the door and even propping a chair under the handle. Towels and insulation were stuffed in the vents and cracks, and nose plugs were followed by ear plugs.
I couldn't hear the heavenly sound that accompanied the jack and coke cracking open, but I could taste the sweet bitters. | 2022-12-23T16:12:23 | 2022-12-23T09:22:58 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | "All right, all right, what's the problem?" A pink demon with shaggy brown hair on his goat legs, wearing a blue dress shirt and black tie walked up to a small red demon wearing a green polo.
"This little girl just showed up. We have no idea why." The demon pointed to a little girl a few feet away, playing with a slightly charred teddy bear in the red dirt. She couldn't have been more than two.
"Did you read her file?" the boss demon asked.
"Yeah. Usual kid stuff: drawing on walls, pulling the dog's tail now and then, spilling flour, that stuff."
Boss demon looked over the girl's file. "I don't understand it either. She's supposed to go to Limbo for sorting."
"Are we missing something here?"
"Obviously. But anything she did would be in her file, it's updated automatically. We'd know if she strangled a cat or something."
"I think somebody in Limbo screwed up. It's the only explanation that makes sense."
The boss demon tossed the file on the smaller demon's desk and sighed. "Well, she's here, and we can't send her back without going through the bureaucracy."
The lesser demon stood up. "She's a little girl!"
"I know! But there are channels we have to go through!" The boss demon took a breath. "I'll go get it started. Send her over to the Waiting Room until then."
MEANWHILE, IN HEAVEN
A man lay unconscious on the clouds as a pair of white-suited men spoke to each other. "How'd a serial killer get up here?"
"Probably some new hire in Limbo. In the meantime, we have to deal with him," the other angel said.
"Lovely. That mountain of paperwork could reach Hell on its own." | "This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?" | 2013-11-26T18:35:37 | 2013-11-26T15:52:45 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] Your significant other falls under a curse. Only true loves kiss can break the curse. You kiss your S/O and nothing happens. How do you react? | (EDIT: Please note that my post is in no way criticizing the writing prompt. This is genuinely how my wife would act.)
"What the fuck?" She demanded of no one in particular. "I totally love you."
I stare into empty space, deep in thought. She finds this troubling.
"And you love me too, *right?"* She asks.
"Yes, yes I do, I'm thinking. I'm in "problem solving mode" right now, you know?"
"Oh, that makes sense."
I pace around the room for a few minutes, spinning the gears in my head. If ours wasn't "true" love, then what could true love be? Has my wife ever loved someone more than me? Has she ever-
"Wait. Oh, wow. Okay." I grab our six-month-old son. "Here - give your mommy a kiss."
He does. Curse broken. Wife's fine.
My wife just sits there for a moment.
"...Well that was *dumb!"* She exclaims. "Whoever designed this curse is an idiot!"
"Let's just go home," I reply. "He'll be hungry before long." | The prince rode day and night when He heard his princess was cursed to be a statue on top of a mountain. Nothing could stop him. Valleys and rivers, bandits and beasts, rain, snow, heat, desert and jungle. Malnourished, he rode the up the mountain with his faithful steed. He had withered all he had, yet his stride never broke. He seemed as eager to arrive as the prince was. They finally made it to the pinnacle where the princess was frozen in stone. And now, he thought, my true love's kiss will set her free, to be with me until my last day.
He kissed the stone lips, which tasted of grit and moss, and waited. Nothing stirred. Not a pebble moved. The stone face stared blankly at him. This could not be, he wondered. He tried again and again until the taste of grit on his mouth made him nauseous. He didn't understand. He was heartbroken. Who was the true love? Why wasn't it him, the future king of all the land? Where did her true feelings lie? Where? Who? What? Why? Why? Why? WHY?!
Startlingly, his horse galloped up the statue and gave a lick. It springed to life. There was the princess, young and beautiful as before alive again. She exclaimed, "Why Hallyfax! It's you! Oh it's you!" She clutched his face and caressed it, cooing like a dove. She didn't regard the prince at all. The man was confused by the this scene, but grim realization took hold. He turned pale and feverish. He was beside himself with revulsion. Although, he had to admit, it explained quite a bit about her.
He decided it was best not to comment. He decided he might as well give the two some privacy. He turned and left the mountainside as quietly as possible. Halfway down the slope, he vomited. He wiped his mouth and continued hiking, knowing there would be more. | 2014-06-19T14:53:11 | 2014-06-19T14:46:38 | 39 | 13 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs. | When we found out, it was already too late. We thought we were the apex of intelligence, but we had been outsmarted by something we weren't even sure was a living being.
It turned out that all the viral bodies we loaded into vaccines weren't dead ... they were patient. | [Loophole? The rules never said I couldn't use compound, complex, or compound-complex sentences, so to make it clear there are only 3 sentences I will label them. I apologize if this is cheating. If it is I will delete it.]
(Dialogue):"(1)Good evening graduates, my name is--well, I shall not reveal that information due to obvious reasons, but you may simply refer to me as The Director. (2)Starting today, you will all take part in a social experiment I like to call 'Survival of the Fittest'; as you listen to my pre-recorded voice, all of the doors and windows of your campus's assembly hall are being locked, chained, and barricaded by your corrupt police department which gladly accepted my bribes--please do not try to escape, because there are no tools or supplies in your new home, and your attempts will fail. (3)The rules are fairly simple: the last man or woman alive shall receive 5 billion dollars--proof of the money's existence is being projected onto the screen before you all; now, lights...camera...ACTION!" | 2014-08-04T22:51:01 | 2014-08-04T22:22:34 | 168 | 21 |
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