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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad. | I held my breath and cowered under my bed. The blood of my roommate was starting to pool towards me, their lifeless eyes looked towards me. Stifling a scream, I saw a pair of boots step into the blood. “I know you’re there.” He said in a sing song voice, tapping his foot, sending drops of blood across the floor. I hoped he would give up and leave, but hope didn’t save me. “Oh! There you are!” The killer said, kneeling down and looking at me. “Come on out and show me your face.” His arm reached under the bed and grabbed onto my hair, dragging me out across the floor and through the blood. I would have screamed except he covered my mouth with his hand, I could taste the blood that covered it. “Now now, no screams. You’re safe now, see. None of them can hurt you now. There we go.” He said, I tried to turn to see his face but couldn’t turn my head. “You’re going to be just fine.” With that, he struck me on the back of the head and I blacked out.
\*\*\*
The doctor handed me the report, I wasn't surprised by what it said though. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long. A decade of heavy drinking to try to forget what happened definitely wasn’t kind to my liver, and reading over the report just made me shrug, I was finally going to die. It had been ten years since that madman should have killed me but didn’t, and now here I was finishing the job myself. I thanked the doctor and walked out of the office, a light rain had started during my appointment, and by the time my Uber had arrived, it was starting to pour.
“Where am I taking you?” The driver asked, looking at me through the mirror.
“The prison.” I said, setting the folder of information the doctor had given me on the seat beside me, thinking about leaving them there. The driver looked confused but shrugged and started to drive. Staring out the window, I thought about what I would say to him. All the rage and hate, the guilt of being the only survivor on my floor, all of the questions.
“Alright, we’re here.” The driver finally said, pulling off to the side. “At least, as close as we can get. I don’t feel like bargaining with the guards.”
“That’s fine.” I told him, digging through my bag and handing him a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.” It had been a fifteen dollar ride. Passing through the main gate, I was searched and scanned. The woman at the front desk was surprisingly kind as I signed in and told her who I was here to see.
“Well, you’re the first guest he’s had ever. I’m sure he’ll appreciate some company.” She said, not looking up from her magazine. “Are you a friend or a family member.”
“Friend, I guess.” That was enough for her and she let me through. I sat down at the table I was directed too and watched as he was brought in. His hands weren’t cuffed, that was the first thing I noticed. He looked well groomed, clean shaven and his hair was in order. The guard stood behind him as he sat down and looked at me.
“Do you remember who I am?” I asked the man. I had long thought I would feel a great deal of emotion, but I didn’t. I felt nothing. He looked at me a long time, craning his neck and trying to figure it out. Then he smiled and sat up straight.
“It’s you. It really has been a long time, hasn’t it.” He said, the way he talked to me was so casual. I hated it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the table like and excited child.
“Why?” I asked, everything that had built up over a decade since it happened boiled down into one word. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
He laughed.
“Oooh, that is a good one.” He finally said, wiping a finger under his eye. “The first person from the outside I see in years and they don’t even ask how I’m doing.” There was a sudden shift, the happy and cheerful face was gone, now he was serious. “You were my prize.” His voice sent shivers down my spine. “Leaving you alive gave me something to get out for. The fear I left in you, I thrive off of it. Everytime you look over your shoulder, thinking I might be there, that gets me off. You being alive meant that if and when I finally got out of here that I knew who I could go after first.” The guard took a step towards him as he got closer to the glass separating us. “As soon as I’m out of here, you’ll be next. I’ll make sure I finish what I started in a glorious fashion.” The guard finally stepped in as he began to climb onto the table, grabbing the killers shoulder and pulling him back into the seat. He was smiling again.
“Go to Hell.” I finally said, standing up and walking away. Depending on how long the cancer took though, I might beat him there. | "Sorry, kiddo."
Those were the last words I had expected.
Who knew that he even knew those two words. John Meadow, convicted of 47 murders and still awaiting conviction on 3 more, looked me straight in the eye, shrugged his shoulders and said "Sorry, kiddo." I did not recognize the man anymore - it has been 24 years since I last saw him in person, which was coincidentally the day he was caught.
Clad in an orange jump-suit, John looked just as you would expect a serial killer to look like - face tattoos, his name written in his knuckles - one in every finger, but it read "JohnM eadow" for obvious reasons, clean shaved head and eyes that held nothing but contempt for everyone that came into their view.
Surprisingly, he was a smaller man than me. I had never thought murderers could be smaller than me. If he had come at me today, I could have at least given him a bruise before he slashed my guts out. But when he came at me all those years ago, all I could manage were tears and a mouthful of "Mommy!"
Mom was dead now. She died nine months earlier, when I was in my third bout of chemo. Now, I was done with two more courses, and declared terminal. It was funny how everything in my life was wrapping itself up, not bothering to tell me when the curtain was to be drawn.
Yesterday, I had taken care of everything. I amended my will and gave it to my lawyer; had dinner one last time with my girlfriend and officially broke up; got fired from my job for telling Adam to go fuck himself in front of everyone else - which also got me a high-five from the security guard on the way out; I surrendered my landline, donated everything I owned except what I am wearing now and the money needed for a cab-drive here - all of it to hear "Sorry, kiddo."
I had almost forgotten about John. I was in the middle of my 12th draft of my suicide note, that had run into the 8th page when he came into my mind all of a sudden. The son of bitch then forced me to go into the 13th draft, but it was for the good as I only took 7 pages now.
John had subconsciously been a part of my life. He had given me a sense of death long before I had understood what life was. He had given me a second chance, long before I knew I had only one - and as it turns out, second chances aren't good enough sometimes.
I had thought I was destined for greater things when I had been spared, that I was an intricate part of some cosmic drama about to unfold, and all I got was a lousy "Sorry, kiddo." I had almost forgotten the man who had made the greatest impact on my life, and he had forgotten everything about me. Nothing made sense, and that was all there was. A game with no rules and no goals, the players blind and oblivious, convincing ourselves that we are all winning and losing.
"Are you sure you don't know why you didn't kill me?" I tried asking one more time, just for the hell of it.
He looked at me, squinted hard and then shook his head laughing.
"Fuck you, John," sounded good enough to be last words.
-----
"Why didn't you kill him?"
"I had kept count in my left arm," John roared with laughter, and showed a 10 perfect notches of five. "I was almost about to do him when I see myself in the TV, right? John-fucking-meadow, out there in a 55-inch glory. High definition, bitch! Then I hear this chick going over my history and she says "Briana, 32, pregnant with her third child". Motherfucker, I didn't know that. So, I stop and complete my last stroke, and let this kid off. You know, to live his life."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell him?"
"I don't know. He seemed like a good kid, getting his life together. I didn't wanna upset him, telling him he was just lucky. Let him live, you hear what I am saying?"
---
Great prompt, OP!
Also, I do not know anything about chemo so the timeline might be painfully wrong. | 2018-07-21T09:29:59 | 2018-07-21T06:50:11 | 98 | 66 |
[WP] Everyone who dies reincarnates in Tier 2 universe. People there have all memories from the previous lives, and they suspect there are more Tiers. People live really differently there compared to Tier 1.
EDIT: thank you everyone for the great texts. I'm enjoying reading them. Having a lot of people expand on a concept I proposed is fascinating! | In Tier Two, things are different.
There's all kinds of theories as to how it all works, and let me tell you, I suspect a lot of it is bullshit. In life I was a physicist and an agnostic, and I've seen some strange stuff in my time. Quantum mechanics are *strange*.
You don't come out of a womb in Tier Two. No, instead you materialize, straight up appear in one of a certain set of areas. In ancient times they thought this place was the afterlife, so the reincarnation zones, or spawn points as we call them these days, are all built up in styles of countless religions, all the grandest temples of mankind come to congregate together.
When you are spawned into Tier Two, you're not a baby, but rather a young adult, in the perfect prime of your life. And you stay that way for quite a while. The average lifespan here is one hundred and fifty years, apparently. This is where things get weird, though, because none of this stops people from having children, and the children born in Tier Two definitely *don't* have memories of any previous lives. They're smarter and healthier than children are in Tier One.
Tier Two Earth is bigger than Tier One, by about 25%, which helps with fitting everyone. Still, the cities here are huge, glittering skyscrapers that shouldn't be possible with the higher gravity. Other things are odd, too. I've been here for ten years now, and got the chance recently to play around with a particle accelerator (despite being one of the "youngest" people here, science advances so fast these days that even here I'm one of the leading experts on Tier One physics).
As the accelerator hummed to life, I felt a thrill of excitement run down my spine. My excitement soon turned to confusion, doubt, and terror, as things just *didn't work the same way*. That's right, somehow physics here is just *more complicated* than on Tier One. Why?
There's a lot of speculation about higher tiers, and dangerous adventure sports are a lot more popular here, but the suicide rate is lower than you would expect. Hey, to be fair, life in Tier Two is awesome.
Still, if what I suspect is true, the implications will shatter *everything*. And there's only one way to really find out.
As the syringe found its way into my veins (funny enough, the very habit in Tier One that landed me here in the first place), I felt numbness spreading through my body. The things we do for science....
And then I slept.
| Do you remember when we met, my love? We met at the cafe we ended up always going to. They closed 10 years before I died. Do you remember? I remember.
Do you think about our wedding day? You promised that if I stuck with you that there would always be laughter. You said we would always be happy. I think about this promise all the time. You were mostly right. I’m not happy now. Though of course you aren’t here.
We both thought that when we died that would be it. They would put us in the ground and we’d just cease to be. How could we know?
I learned after I died that life goes on and on. Perhaps even into infinity. Forever and ever. This is punishment without you. This life is endless loneliness. That is something I never knew when I lived the first time.
There is hope. Some people, myself included, believe that when you die in this life and in this universe you return to the old one and are born again. All those people believed it in our lifetime together. Maybe it’s true.
I’m torn. Should I try to return to you, my love? The thought of seeing you again brings me to tears. Even if it is only for a moment. Even if only a flicker of what we shared remains when I travel on, I know that seeing you will again will bring me joy. And I have had little joy in this life, in this place, without you.
But, what if you are on the way to me right now? Is it wrong of me to hope for that? I never wished you harm before. I don’t want you to suffer or for our children to lose another parent. But, I can’t help hoping to meet you again. | 2016-01-21T21:49:09 | 2016-01-21T20:51:02 | 471 | 40 |
[WP] A monster/slasher hasn't killed the current group of stupid teenager/college students because the drama between them is just so entertaining. | (Man if i was honest with myself this is the main justification that my monster didnt kill the group of teenagers in the house on night one for AW)
Day 1.
They came and disturbed my sleep. There were 8 of them, and they planned to stay in the mansion for the next two weeks before they were all sent to different states for their trades. I had to be careful about this. I had to keep myself entertained with this batch for the next two weeks, knowing that once they all died and their bodies were found it would be years before someone else set foot in the mansion.
I stayed in the walls, listening.
Alycia was pregnant. Damnit. I didn't want to kill a pregnant teenager. I had standards, and I would definitely kill her fiance, Harry by the end of the week.
Darcy sleep walks, even if she was my prime target for being of the bloodline that sealed me to the house, I wanted tp wait until she was the last. At least I know I could kill her easy if it came to it.
Nearly everyone disliked Star for some reason or enough, and Star wasnt too friendly with the group. It baffled me that for what looked like a tight knit group of friends they haad this one singled out.
Day 2.
Davis saw me slinking around. Fortunately, he didnt get a good look at me before I dived into a secret passage. Davis was definitively going to die by the end of the day before he could tell anyone what he saw. Make it look like an accident.
Before I could put my plan into motion, however. Alycia confronted Star. Alycia blamed Star for Darcys condition worsening. Star fired back by telling Alycia she knew the baby wasnt Harry's. She was carrying Davis's. Who was currently in a realationship with Yvonne.
Holy shit things got juicey quick. There was no way I was killing anyone involved until I got a payoff from this.
Day 3.
Matthew wants to propose to Darcy. Davis accused him of being a golddigger, as Darcys family was wealthy and he was of a lower class. Matthew has pulled back on his proposal, trying to figure out if he could do it in a way that wouldnt suggest he wanted her money or status. I was growing fond of him.
Star however, found the ring while going through his belongings and threw it into the lake. Im starting to see why no one likes her. Still have no idea why shes here.
Day 4.
Matthew is freaking out over the ring going missing. He confronted Davis, who of course knew nothing about it. Star made her move on Matthew, which now I belive was her motives all along. Im not sure if her motivations are from her dislike of Darcy, or if she has genuine feelings for Matthew.
I'm also going to kill Davis today. Screw Davis. He litterally told Matthew to not propose to Darcy then immediately goes and flirts with her. She is definitely not interested, however.
I went and fished the ring out of the lake. Just to be petty, Ive been gas lighting Star. The icing on the cake was putting the still soaking ring box on her bed sometime before bedtime. She shrieked like a pig in the slaughter house. The best thing was she couldn't divulge why she screamed, or else clue in what she did. She's now hidden the ring in her room.
Day 5.
I messed up killing Davis. Yvonne walked in while I was trying to strangle him while he was in the hallway bathroom. Her shrieks woke everyone up and I had to flee. Lucky for me, it sparked a whole new argument.
Davis blamed Harry. I dont think Harry knows his fiance is carrying another mans child but Davis thinks he does. Matthew said he was trying to fool everyone. So now there is this nice divide on who belives Davis or not. Star is definitely on the beliving side.
I releases the horses soon after my murder attempt failed. Cant let them ride off now that things were getting interesting.
Day 6.
Matthew proposed to Darcy. I felt like cheering. However Darcy burst into miserable tears and ran away. Im not sure who was more confused, me or Matthew. I had more then half a heart willing to give him advice on the matter, something along the lines of "Go after her you moron," but didnt want to compromise myself.
Day 7.
Darcy slept walked again. This time she went stright down the stairs. I was blamed for it. Rude. She's quite resilient, and lucky she fell in a way that didn't break her neck.
While all the girls were in Darcys room, a fight broke out. Im very glad I was there for it. Darcy revealed that she was sick. Terminally so, and she invited Star to let bygones be bygones. Im assuming it was the reason she turned Matthew down, well, technically she didny but it counted.
This did not make Star happy at all. She bemoaned that no matter what she did, Darcy was always better then her and had all the bachalors after her. Yvonne tried to calm her down, however Star revealed to Yvonne that Alycia was carrying Davis's baby in a fit of rage.
The men had to come in and break them up. Yvonne didn't even hesitate to attack a pregnant woman. im astounded. I admit, shes been off my radar, I felt nothing but pity for her, but now I've seen the fury beneath...
Davis and Harry are going to duel at first light in the morning.
Part 2 in the morning.
| He gripped the knife in his palm tighter, licking the sweat off of his upper lip before continuing to spectate through the window with an insidious smirk, keeping a tab on all 4 of the college kids lingering around the lodge. The couple hadn’t moved from the couch in front of the fireplace, judging from the window, it must have been cold everywhere else. The timid maniac slid his fingertips across the window, ogling down his victims, waiting for either the blonde to wander off to the restroom or to the car. As the lanky boy with nerdy glasses walked past the window, the maniac retreated back into darkness. “Thanks for the beer,” The blonde smiled, talking to the boy with glasses. “No problem, I’m on my second.” The boy chuckled, gesturing a toast with his bottle, the blonde gestured back before taking a sip.
“Hey Jane,” the girl from the couch called out, still caressing her boyfriend next to her, “I thought you said you weren’t going to drink this weekend.” She awaited for an answer from her friend, but instead was given an odd stare back, “No Kelly, YOU aren’t drinking this weekend.” Jane grouched before rolling her eyes and taking another sip. Kelly excused herself from her boyfriend’s arms before standing up and facing Jane, who was on a bar stool in the kitchen. “I thought we had a deal, if I dont drink this weekend you don’t either.” Kelly persisted with a frown, “You didn’t tell me not to, you just said you don’t want it to look obvious that you’re knocked up, and if you ask me, you don’t.” Jane honestly answered, a bit tipsy. “Jane! What the fuck?” Kelly cried out, growing red in the face. “Wait, you’re pregnant Kel?” Boyfriend Mike says from the couch in shock. “How are you going to tell Jane but not me?” He continued, “Not now Mike, seriously Jane, I can’t believe how you are acting right now! At least I’m keeping the baby you fucking hypocrite.” Kelly snapped. “Woah, lets all just calm down.” The nerdy boy declared, “Don’t tell my girlfriend to calm down numb nuts!” Mike barked from the couch. “You gonna let him talk to you like that Chip?” Jane asked, the nerd reluctantly shook his head before taking a deep breath of air. “Were all just a little tense, finals are coming up after all.” He admitted, “I knew we should have booked this trip after Graduation,” Jane whined. “Fuck that, I’m glad I’m not wasting one of the best moments of my life with you fake ass jerks!” Kelly exclaimed.
By this time, the killer had grown tired waiting for a moment to strike, he preceded to cut the lights from the generator room, the lodge going pitch black mid-argument.
“Great, what the fuck else? Mike I thought your dumbass grandpa fixed the lights before we got here.” Jane asked, “He did come fix it, and you’re one to talk about family, you don’t even have a mom you stuck up bitch.” Mike spit back, Jane throwing her drink all over the jock’s letterman. The jacket was soaked, the killer standing in the room, in complete darkness, breathing quietly and watching the kids bicker a few feet away from him.
He was finally inside, anxious for the first kill. He raised his knife in the air, and before he could bring it down, Jane and Mike were already going back and forth again. “Stop acting like your some hard ass macho man, we all know your the one that binged Greys Anatomy on Kellys Netflix you soft-ass bitch.” Jane scoffed, right up in front of Mike’s chest. “You can’t even afford your own Netflix, you lived in a car for 3 months you dirty bum bitch! What the fuck do you know?” He argued back. “You sound like such an entitled asshole right now Mike.” Chip butted in, “I don’t care what you think pencil dick, we both know you wanna fuck Jane so you can finally move on from your pillow. She’s out of your league and I even wouldn’t fuck this Steve Buscemi looking gutterslut!”
The killer at this point, had no choice but stand there and play with his knife til a proper dramatic opening arrived, it never did. He let the college kids argue in the dark for 5 more minutes before groaning. Disappearing into the dark corners, he got as far away from the lodge as he could, the college kids voices fading away the farther he got. He was happy to enjoy silence again, but wondered if they ever resolved their pointless fight, he decided to turn around and look at the lodge one last time before finding a new home to terrorize. [part 2 soon] | 2018-03-26T05:04:27 | 2018-03-26T00:52:37 | 81 | 48 |
[WP] Aliens have finally reached Earth and, per Intergalactic Law, have sent their most average champion to win the planet. A device is sent to find the most average human to accept the challenge and duel for the fate of Earth. It's you. | I wasn't a great student. I passed, but more by brute force and stubbornness than excellence. I could lift, but not a lot. I was a passable runner, but generally in the middle of the pack. I could dance, better than some but I'd never be exceptional. I can play an instrument and sing, but I'll never be on a holomix. I didn't think much of it, but every time I tried a new activity, I picked it up in a hurry but never got to the point where I was great.
Jack of all Trades, better than a Master of none, I suppose. That's what they said when they scanned me. Perfectly average. Some minor health issues, but nothing serious.
You know what I look like by now. Average height, average weight, brown hair. I'm a little too pale for a pigmented average, but I figured if I went out into the sun I'd darken to the mean of the world's hex values.
One thing I was, was curious. When they brought out My Opponent, an average Otherworlder, we just sat and asked questions. About life at home, entertainment, the weapons they'd provided, glistening on the tables and floors, technology, what physics we knew, food, anything that came to mind.
"How long do you guys live?"
"Up to 350 earth revolves."
"Huh. 100 or so here."
"If duel is to the death, we just delay."
It blinked. I blinked.
And, as you know, we sat on my couch and played XBox for ten years. We got sent upgrades all the time. Last surviving members of species that had lost their challenge had better couches, TVs, and gaming rigs delivered. Pizza chains vied to be the ones that delivered, none knowing at first that neither of us could eat dairy. And always, visits from biologists, physicists, politicians, anyone really. The couch was always open, and someone replaced the door with an air curtain. The city put in bigger streets, a bus stop, and parking for my house. Volunteers came by to read out messages and clean the house. My favorites were the apoplectic screams from the Otherworlders demanding that we get down to the fighting. They reminded me of the stories my grandfather told me about Interweb trolls. Obviously, we never did get down to the fighting but hey, you know that.
The feeds got back to the Otherworlders' homeworld, and this time was different. Every other time the planet was already destroyed and processed into fuel "as retaliation for killing a member of our species". The Otherworlders crashed when they ran out of fuel, and all the physicists, biologists, and xenometallurgists left my house to go strip down that ship. Ten years of gaming gave us a thousand years of technological advances and saved Marilyn Monroe, Mozart, and Shakespeare.
I hadn't worked or paid a bill in more than a decade and the power went out soon after. GAME OVER MAN. There was no food in the fridge, so we went out for burritos.
"You mad about the ship?"
It shurgged. It never quite got how human expressions worked. | Growing up I had heard the adage "The tallest blade of grass is the first cut." I had graduated without honors. My professors never noticed me as I pulled a solid "C" but when the Swarm arrived at the United Nations in New York it was then the entire planet looked to me as their first and last hope.
"Humans it is with greatest pleasure selection paragon of species for contest. Probing countries to select the most average specimen for contest.
Submit to testing or planet will be removed from orbit and left to drift in the forever dark."
The loud speaker from the solid chrome landing craft echoed across the street. It was almost instantly rebroadcast on all the major news outlets.
I was working as a waiter at Applebee's when the three inch humming and floating silver ball swiftly approached and began humming near my table. After the pitch changed and the ball stopped I figured maybe it finished and was going to leave. We had been warned to ignore the probes. The room grew blury and shakey. I landed on a tray of drinks carried by my trainer.
When I awoke I was looking at star pattern and realized the blue planet was earth.
"Human it is time."
I looked around the sparse chrome room. Other than the window overlooking the planet it seemed empty. I began looking for the source of the voice. When I couldn't find it I began looking for a way out. The walls were metal and there was no discernible door.
"Is this my test?" I wondered out loud.
Moments later I felt a crushing weight. Something was on me, but I couldn't see it. It felt like two large poles pinning my shoulders to the ground. I quickly turned my torso to the right a move I had used when my older brother and I fought. It was no good the weight grew and I could see blood squirting out from my chest. I could now make out the shape of two mantis like legs pressing into my body. They were outlined with my blood.
I frantically began to kick upward. Blood squirting out of my chest with each attempt. It was in that moment I knew I had lost. The pain began to quicken and I felt a sharp vice around my head. The pain stopped. I was unable to move. The blood stopped pouring from my limbs. I could see as a spinning thread began surrounding my body. I was to did a slow death as a food source. I tried to close my eyes. It didn't work.
Sorry humanity I have failed. | 2016-05-17T12:30:14 | 2016-05-17T09:34:20 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | "Open your eyes slowly, Daley," said a gentle voice. Daley felt the tightly bound bandages covering his eyes slacken, releasing his face from their iron grip.
Daley opened his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of the ceiling instead of the familiar darkness that enveloped him whenever he opened his eyes in the past. He sat up immediately and looked around the room in wonder. The cold metal frame of his bed, the warm light streaming through the window, the monochrome room he resided in, everything he once felt but couldn't see laid before his new eyes.
"Mr. Barnot, are you accustomed to your mechaeyes?" asked a gruff voice. "We would like to perform a few examinations on you before we discharge you from the ward. It would not take much of your time, Mr. Barnot."
"It's okay," Daley replied, taking in the elegant robe in front of him.
"Okay then Mr. Barnot. Hailee, if you may," said the gruff voice. Daley saw the smooth gloves press a button on a remote to reveal a screen with foreign shapes and figures in contrasting colors populating the background.
"Here is a piece of cardboard. I want you to rotate the cardboard to match the shape of the figures I point to with my laser pointer," said the gruff voice.
"Sure," Daley complied.
"Then we will begin." The laser pointer shone on a shape with three pillars facing upwards connected by a horizontal line. Daley shifted his cardboard in accordance with the orientation of the shape while trying to calm the waves of unrest resonating in his head.
"Congratulations Mr. Barnot. Your eyesight is even sharper than that of a normal human," said the gruff voice. "Now we proceed to the color test."
The remote clicked again to reveal a screen populated with many colors. "Now," said the gruff voice,"I will show you two colors."
"The color I am pointing to now is the color red." The pointer switched positions to rest on a area populated by another color. "And this, is the color green. Mr. Barnot, do you see a clear distinction between the two colors?"
Daley nodded in response.
"Well then, that concludes our tests, Mr. Barnot," said the gruff voice. "Thank you for your cooperation, you may look forward to your discharge this tomorrow morning."
*Tomorrow I will see everything around me, starting from my dog,* Daley thought. *I'm gonna start-*
"So do you want to know what are the names of the colors around you, Daley?" asked the gentle voice. "Let's start with my uniform."
The glove pointed to the dress in front of him. "This, is white."
The glove pointed to the other glove. "This color is green."
The glove pointed to empty air. "This color is brown. Well actually it is a lighter brown, but most humans have different skin colors in varying degrees of brown."
Daley stared. "Why are you pointing at the air? I thought you were conversing with me through your holofigures? That's why I couldn't see your faces right?"
"Holofigures don't work this way, Daley. Holofigures can't render skin this realistic, plus holofigures can't interact with the actual environment," replied the gentle voice. The green gloves twitched in midair. "Is there anything wrong with your mechaeyes, Mr. Barnot?"
Daley hesitated. *I better not tell them anything,* he thought. *I can see and that's enough. I can't stand another day is this godforsaken hospital.*
"It's nothing...I'm fine, uh, Miss," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Oh by the way, can you close the window? The sunlight is *really* blinding my eyes."
"It's the middle of the night Mr. Barnot. What are you talking about?" the gentle voice became cold in an instant. "Are you saying that the transplant didn't go as planned? The System does not tolerate defective products."
Cold sweat rolled down Daley's neck. The fact that the System is perfect has been instilled in him since he was a little blind boy in the City's academy. *There was no way the mechaeyes manufactured by the System's factories could have been defective...right?*
The door to the room flew open with a violent bang. A beam of light pierced through the white dress, staining the white dress with blood.
*Red...*, he thought, mind numb with shock.
A slender figure wearing a hood stepped through the door and took off the hood.
Daley stared. A pair of impossibly beautiful eyes stared back in response.
"So...do you wanna destroy the System?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Well that turned dystopian quickly. Any feedback and comments are welcome!
​
​ | "So, Mr. Crowley, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like... look, I know, I have a whole new planet to explore in front of me. I just don't know... if I can get used to this chaotic atmosphere. Don't get me wrong, I am more than grateful. I cannot thank you enough, Dr. Crowe, it's just extremely unusual... and distracting for me."
"It is perfectly normal to experience anxiety and panic-attack like symptoms. After all, you gained a basic sense. Just take it slow, and enjoy your surroundings. Now, do you have any pain or discomfort?"
"I have a slight headache, nothing more."
"Okay... all tests checked normal, but since curing your blindness is a major operation, I have to ask you some questions concerning your visual capacity."
"Sure, go ahead."
Neville Crowley was sitting in the middle of the white room. Until ten minutes ago, it was a whole different world for him. He had been born blind, and was selected for an experimental blindness treatment six months ago. And today, he had the final operation and the bandages were just recently removed. For the first time in his life, he was seeing. Colours, shapes, glass of a window, edge of a table, shadows, his face, hands, people around him, his girlfriend... It was one hell of an experience, full of surprises.
Interestingly, after years of living without sight, it was easy for him to adapt. His expectations were almost completely fulfilled. He was a perceptive man, after all.
"Is your office always that crowded, Dr. Crowe? No offense, but I would like to have some privacy."
"What do you mean?" Doctor Crowe looked really puzzled.
"Clearly, the girl sitting in front of the window, is she also a patient? Also, the old man near the bed, I never heard any voice, but anyway, I thought that this was a private examination after the-"
"What girls? Old man? Mr. Crowley, there is nobody else here."
"Haha, so funny. Honey, a little support here, would you?" Neville turned to his girlfriend. Her eyes were wide open, she was looking at him with a shocked expression on her face.
"Baby, you are frightening me. There is nobody else here. Doctor, could this be a complication of the surgery?"
"Not possible, we have never touched a single cell concerning the brain or the nerves. However, his brain might be conflicting with the visual stimulants. If this is the case, they will be gone in a short period of time. I need to get some details before the hallucinations disappear, for my report. Mr. Crowley, can you describe me the people that you see?"
"Look, there is a girl sitting in front of the window, blonde, a teenager. With a black skirt and a red t-shirt. Miss, hello? Can you hear me? Old man, Mr, you, can you hear me? Hey!"
They were not answering. Not even looking.
"The old man, wearing glasses, has a yellow mustache. Wearing a shirt with rectangle symbols. Looking in his 80's. Is he... drinking? Oh my god, so you are telling me my mind is creating these people. How delightful."
Doctor was sweating, he quickly sat down on his chair. He looked extremely pale.
"The girl, does she wear a necklace?"
"Are you making fun of me? Why the hell should I-"
"Just check, will you?"
Neville got up and got closer to the teenager. She did not notice Neville. Neville got closer and saw that she was wearing a golden necklace. There was a name hanging from the necklace. Susan. Her name, apparently.
"Yes doctor. My troubled mind created a girl, and put her a necklace, thanks to you. And gave her a name too, Susan. Doctor, when those hallucinations disappear? Because they look incredibly real. I am really nervous, please..."
Doctor Crowe was not listening to him anymore. He was crying. He was crying, because the girl he was describing was his daughter, Susan Crowe, who got killed in a car crash ten years ago by an old man who was drinking and driving. Doctor Crowe had bought her this name-necklace the morning of the accident, but he couldn't give her. They had an argument that morning, and he decided not to give her the necklace. Two days later, he buried the necklace in his daughter's grave, and never told this to anybody.
​
​
​
​ | 2018-10-29T07:28:13 | 2018-10-29T07:27:26 | 111 | 63 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Death watches as the boy in front of him starts getting excited, blithering on about some competition he had won and gotten an "awesome tool of awesome." The man starts rummaging around his untidy room looking for something.
Out of the closet comes several odd items. Board games, video games, a glass tube with burn marks around one of two openings, some dirty clothes that would have made anyone with a sensitive nose cry out in horror. When the man finally straightens up, he muttered to himself. "Must've stored it under the bed."
Death is fortunately not bound by the pretty laws of time, and this does not feel the need to hurry the emaciated man up. He is, however, able to get bored. Instead of watching the man continue to remove items from under his bed, he looks at the posters on the walls, all of famous musicians. Oddly, it appears that they're all playing a specific instrument, a-
"Found it!" Cries the man. He triumphantly holds out a instrument case. "I won this in a competition a few years back."
Death had never been the musical type, which meant any musician wise enough to use this against him had an advantage in these death games. One day, he'll beat Keith Richards, just you see. He reluctantly opens the case to find a beautiful instrument, one that had clearly not been made by mortal hands. It's shine reflected the dim light all over the room, the pale light illuminating the dark and dusty room. Despite being unused for several years at least, plucking the strings still produced the proper tones. Despite appearing to be made of gold, it wasn't heavy.
"Alright, so let's have a rock off." The man says, clearly getting excited. "We each get a turn on the guitar, and whoever plays better wins."
Death signs dramatically. "Sure, just one question first. Where did you get this?"
"I told you, from the devil, weren't you listening?" The man clears a space suitable for rocking out by bulldozing the myriad of junk out of the way.
"Mmm. Well, Jonathan, are you ready?"
Johnathan grins. "I was the best that ever was. I was *born* ready." | “How do you wanna do this?”
“I take my scythe, and like a badass I run down the Dragon’s back dragging it behind me.” Death replied standing on his feet in excitement.
The dm nods. “And with that you drag a mighty gash into back of the blue drake and land with a 3 point landing behind it as the dragon collapses with ‘hhhuuurghthhphp’.” He makes such a convincing noise that you might believe that a dragon just died in the room.
Death lets out a satisfied sigh and sits back down. “Alright, I’ve bested your dragon and conquered your dungeon. I win.” The dm nods once more and stands. “But before we go let me ask you one thing Death, did you have fun?” The reaper ponders for a second and nods. “Yeah, it was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while.” And with that Death was banished.
10 years go by and Death comes to the same man once again. “How did you do it? I beat the dragon and everything, I thought you lose!”
Matthew Mercer looks up from behind his DM’s screen with a bright smile. “The Dm doesn’t win when he kills his players. He wins when they have fun. So I have one question for you. Do you wanna play again? You leveled up.” | 2018-03-07T09:07:30 | 2018-03-07T08:40:32 | 55 | 32 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | "Listen here new guy. Every night at precisely 3:30am I brew a fresh pot of our darkest roast. I use a whole bag of our house blend. If you know what's good for you, you'll set an alarm to remember." He looks at me like I'm crazy.
"But.. We haven't seen a customer for at least an hour.. Also, why so strong?" He leans in closely as I press the button. Hot steam billows from the coffee maker as the beans begin to brew. I look him dead in the face and use my *serious* tone.
"Because Beelzebub is coming for The Dark Lord's coffee, and he likes it hot." I smirk a little at the look on his face. Poor new guy has no idea what's in store for him. Bless his heart.
"You're kidding? Isn't Beelzebub a vampire or something? He's not real." This guy thinks he's funny or something.
The machine starts to sputter as the coffee finishes up. As if perfectly timed the lights start to flicker and the temperature in the shop starts to rise. The new guy leans over the counter as I pop the top on the extra large togo cups I special order just for Him.
I hear a snorting sound from the new guy and he whispers "Are you serious?" As the shadowy figure steps in through the door. The footsteps are so soft, almost silent. A single light beams down upon our demonic guest.
"Training some fresh meat tonight my darling?" The voice was so horrible, deep and gutteral. Very uncharacteristic seeing as it was coming from the cutest little girl you've ever seen. Yep. Beelzebub loves to disguise himself as a little bouncy haired blonde girl with big blue eyes. Tonight he wore a hot pink dress with a little mermaid on the front.
"Yes! I grow weary and it's time to retire!" I smile the biggest smile. The new guy looked like his soul had left his body. He stood there gaping with his mouth open. I winked at him. This was too much fun. "Are we still on for our bargain?" I asked the sweet little girl as I handed her the drink.
Beelzebub rocked back and forth on her tiny heels. "Oh yes my darling! You shall live *deliciously* as promised." She looked at the new guy then back to me. "Bless his heart." She grinned the most evil little grin, winked at me, then burst into flames. The lights flickered back on and the temperature dropped.
"Wha.. What the hell!?" The new guy finally found his tongue. I spoke to him with my *serious* tone once more.
"You better set that alarm." | “He still really drinking the PSLs?”
Betabat sat slumped over the counter and didn’t look at me as he replied. “Yeah. He thinks they’re delicious.”
I poured him a cup of coffee and leaned down beside him. “Who knew pumpkin spice was so popular with the dark side?”
“Do you know how long eternity is, Dolly?” He said, sitting up to look at me. “Because it’s a really long time.”
“I know, sugar. And it must feel even longer when your boss is mad at you.”
He groaned and leaned back, hands holding onto the counter to keep himself from toppling backward. “Why did I even take this job? I was perfectly happy terrorizing the damned. They feared me! I was good at it!” He lay his head back down on the table and covered it with his hands. “And now I fetch pumpkin spice lattes and track soul snatching appointments on outlook.”
I tapped my fingernail on the counter and smiled. “And you can’t even do that right.”
He pushed himself up forcefully. “I know!!! I can’t even keep fucking appointments straight!”
The shop was empty, but I looked around reflexively before returning my gaze to him.
“You know why you took this job, sugar.” I said evenly, looking him in the eyes. “And you need to stay focused on that.”
He turned his face away from me, so I grabbed his chin and kissed him. He was hesitant at first, but I felt his mouth melt into mine and his fingers in my hair.
I pulled back and stood up, the chain on my ankle rattling as I did so. “Because we’re getting out of here,” I said determinedly. “Even if it takes an eternity.” Then I turned and dragged my manacled foot toward the espresso machine.
(Note: my husband says they don’t serve pumpkin spice lattes at diners but this is just how I pictured the scene in my head.) | 2022-10-30T12:33:33 | 2022-10-30T12:00:18 | 113 | 44 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | I breathe in.
What words to choose? So many in this language.
I breathe out.
It breathes a hundred times.
Human language is so complicated, so precise. Every word has its own meaning, sometimes many meanings!
I breathe in.
The human looks... what is this expression?
I breathe out.
The human breathes a hundred times more between my actions.
I breath in.
Ah yes... *bored*. What a unique emotion, found only in such a small percentage of the galaxy.
I breathe out.
The human stands, walks the room many times, sits again.
I breathe in.
Perhaps such a thing is to be preserved due to its rarity, left untouched by more civilized beings.
I breathe out.
The human says a great deal of words in so few breaths, in so few moments.
I breathe in.
It appears agitated, in some way. Boredom has many siblings, with impatience the eldest.
I breathe out.
The human stands, walks to me, touches me, pulls a thing out of his pocket, speaks many more words, the thing speaks words to him, the human returns the thing to his pocket, and sits again.
I breathe in.
Some humans dedicate swathes of their lives to live as normal, to be free of boredom and impatience.
I breathe out.
The human stands and walks out of the room.
I breathe in.
How rude of the human, I had yet to say anything.
I breathe out. | Humanity's name will live forever in the pages of galactic history. Not any one individual, of course, their lives are too short to have a meaningful impact. No, they have given the Federation the greatest cultural gift in memory. A ballet of sticks and balls that takes place in almost no time. When we first contacted them they tried to introduce us to their various 'football's. They reflected the humans well, quick, chaotic and impossible to follow. At that time very few humans still practiced their greatest art, baseball. Its intricacies play out at speeds too slow for the humans to appreciate | 2016-08-22T21:17:51 | 2016-08-22T20:52:32 | 77 | 25 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Is it true, you're going to let me die?" Daisy says as she lets out a whimper
"What the fuck did you just say?" Shouts Jeremy at the old family dog he was left to care for after his parents were T-Boned by a drunk driver a fortnight ago.
"They just inject a needle and I go to sleep? Will I feel any pain?" a sadness rolls over Daisy's eyes hoping she has misunderstood her fate.
"The fuck?! Is this the movie TED 2?!?" a drunken Jeremy says laughing to himself
Daisy jumps up on Jeremy's lap in an attempt to bring him back to reality. "Jeremy, it's me, I know you're drunk but you're not imaging things, it's me."
Jeremy eyes widen, he can feel the pressure from his eyelids in his forehead. "Daisy you can talk!?" -- "Yes, Jeremy. Please, why are you putting me down I don't want to die?"
"Dais, it's not like that, I love you, I just don't have the money for your surgery, you're getting old"
"Do you think there is some kind of dog health insurance you can take out with out having to list my pre-existing conditions??!"
"Dais, I don't really know much about human health care, I don't know if that exists, this is really confusing"
"Please, Jeremy, please don't let me die is the anything I can do to change your mind" Daisy, still on his lap snuggles her snout under her chin, this has always works for treats, maybe it will work now. She can feel Jeremy's body start to relax, she starts to lick his neck.
Jeremy has always been a sucker for this type of attention, she's licked many of his tears away that were from his many failed relationships growing up.
"Jeremy, Please. I'll do anything" Daisy whispers into his ear under a warm breathe. Jeremy slowly exhausts his lungs, uncomfortable that he his slightly aroused by Daisy's deviant voice. Daisy knows what Jeremy wants, she used sleep in Jeremy's room and watch him with his old girlfriends.
Jeremy leans away, confused, still drunk. Daisy backs off and starts digging at the zipper near Jeremy's crotch like shes digging for her old bone in the yard. She can feel his cock get harder with every swipe.
"Let me get that!" Jeremy shouts as he unzippers his pants and takes out his cock.
--- That's enough...
| "Ok, camera ready and shot poured. Bruce! Bruce! Come here boy."
The half awake sluggish mass of a bulldog cantered over to his owner.
"Here dude, I poured something special in your water; try it out."
The dog turned his head lazily toward his drinking dish. Sniffing vigorously, the dog seemed unsure whether to drink or not; but with a "what the hell" look on his smooshed face he went in. One drop was all it took. This clear nectar that was his beverage was that of the gods. Kyrpto, Lassie, and above all Anubis. This, is what they would drink.
"Anubis be damned" muttered the dog.
"What?"
"What?"
Jerry looked down at Bruce with a look of absolute horror and disbelief. Hands shaking he lowered the camera and squeaked "did you just...talk..?"
"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! I fucked up! Fuck fuck fuck."
"Bruce, you can talk! This is awesome!"
"No one will ever believe you Jerry. Just let it go and forget this happened."
Jerry held up the camera.
"Still recording bro."
"Jerry, you've gotta stop and delete the video. They can't know; they'll kill me."
"Who? Who will kill you? And you know a surprising amount about technology..."
"The Temple of the Dog and yes, I'm not an idiot Jerry."
"So you're aware of just about everything that goes on around here?"
"Of course."
"And all those times I jerked it infront of you?"
"..."
| 2016-08-02T19:04:22 | 2016-08-02T17:20:27 | 437 | 222 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy.
We should have realized, should have listen, when Ensign Blaagk , played that recording he found from Earth's History.
"It is our Love of Nation , our way of life , of those we serve side by side with. We Defend we Avenge, we sacrifice, we bleed, and we are willing to Die for this unique creation. We Have been honed into a machine of lethal moving parts that you would be wise to avoid if you kno whats good for you. We will not be intimidated, we will not back down. We seen war, we don't want WAR. But if you Want WAR, there is one thing I can promise you, someone else will raise your sons and daughters."
All at high command thought this to be a comedy broadcast of forgotten ages. It was soo funny how tough the Humans were acting on the show. It must not be real. Or so High Command believed.
When the first wave of landing ships touchdown on the planet. The troops spilled out onto the open fields, still no humans there to meet them and bow down to our might.
But when our troops marched away from the drop ships. That is when All Hell Broke Loose. The drop ships came under direct attack. within 30 minutes the Humans had captured all the drop ships. In 3 hours our own drop ships were heading into orbit and began attacking the mother ship. Painted on the sides of all drop ships "TOTAL WAR"
Our ground troops had been ambushed several miles away from each landing site. The Humans had been hiding, in trees, under ground, in buildings, they dressed themselves like bushes, like rocks. Bombs, Bullets, Mortars, Rockets, Missiles slammed into our ground forces from every direction. Our troops had No time to get into formation, to get their kill ranks and squads formed up before the Humans cut them down. And cut our troops apart they did. Near one Landing site, Black clad small men with curved shiny blades dropped out of trees and cut our troops in half. Our comms channels was blocked by a Human saying repeating over and over, "Cry Havoc, and Loose the Dogs of WAR!"
We Never imagined they’d be this
ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to
a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They
thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
The Mother ship has crashed into their planet, shield are down, all defenses are down, the crew is fighting compartment to compartment to try and hold the Humans back while they try and fix the interstellar emergency be-can. But the Humans destroyed the array in the first strike, and as soon as they breached the hull the made their way to command deck and executed all the officers there, by cutting their heads off, so the entire crew could see over vid screen. They then seized engineering and crashed the ship on purpose. There are Humans all over the ship. Those that are not fighting and killing the crew are stealing everything they can get their hands on.
I am hiding in a escape pod , watching the monitor screens, Lt. Blaagk last living officer of Earth Invasion Fleet. | The invasion was fast. Very fast.
In only a few cycles, every single human planet had been subjugated by the so called Galactic Empire. Hundreds of billions of humans were enslaved, families torn apart, monuments destroyed. The emperor was very happy. How had no other civilizations noticed that the humans lacked a proper military? That their economical empire was weak, and open to invasion? With minimal losses, the biggest organization in the galaxy had been taken down. Oh, they tried to talk their way out of it. They tried to reach an agreement, a contract, they tried to bribe them. The emperor had felt insulted when he was presented with those offers. And so he had conquered them.
But then, something started happening. Humans did not have any communication among them, spread through thousands of worlds, all under the Empire’s control, they could not possibly organize an effective resistance. And yet, in every single planet, small groups were attacking docking stations, refueling facilities, repair stations. All of the infrastructure was being destroyed by completely independent groups. The humans called it “guerrilla”. If the Galactic Empire sent resources to stop these guerrilla groups in one planet, three other planets would start attacking the weakened forces. And so it was that the empire realized that it was doomed. The harder they tried to force the humans into submission, the harder they fought back. It was almost like they knew they had nothing to loose, like that didn’t care about themselves, their families, or their planets. They only cared about destroying the oppressor.
Not one battle was fought. There were no epic stories to be told. No super weapons, no incredible tactics. There was no propaganda, no martyrs, no grand objectives. And yet, the Galactic Empire was absolutely destroyed.
The invasion had been fast. But the counter attack was slow, and bloody. In the end, a small group of humans managed to infiltrate the emperor’s ship and shoot him in the head before anyone noticed. They were killed almost instantly by the guards, but it was too late. Humanity reclaimed every single one of its planets, plus all of the planets under the Galactic Empire’s control that didn’t belong to enslaved civilizations. They sold the empire’s ships to rebuild their economy and become and even stronger force than they had ever been.
When the dust settled, humanity was stronger than it had ever been, and the Galactic Empire had been absolutely obliterated. So it was that the rest of the galaxy understood the saying, “I fear nothing, but the anger of a gentle man” | 2022-08-05T21:07:19 | 2022-08-05T20:52:12 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You've been dating a minor god for while. They don't know that you know that. They have invited you over for diner with their family which is great since you want to propose. | In first grade, I bit Abigail during recess for stealing my juice box. We were the first kids in the principal's office that year. We pushed each other to succeed, if only to surpass the other to gloat. I'd invite her to my birthday to force her to buy me a gift. She'd invite me to her pool party so she could push me in. Somewhere down the line, somehow, we became friends.
She liked wildflowers, and picked them after school in the field behind the parking lot. Every day, she'd leave them in a wreath in the center of the big slide of the fourth-grade playground. "For Grop" she told me, "the god of flowers."
When she got an A on her spelling test, she'd thank Grop. When Tommy broke his leg, she asked Grop to make it rain during our class's softball game. It rained, and we were forced to delay until he got better. I started asking Grop for things too- for a pizza dinner on Tuesdays, and for a limited edition neopet. It worked, but not always. "It only works when you really, really need it," Abigail explained.
Abigail moved away during junior high, the lowest point of my life. Dad died to liver cancer, and Mom spent all day at the casino, gambling away our mortgage on cocktails with handsome men. In times like these, I'd walk the extra half hour back to our elementary school. I'd make a wreath of wildflowers and leave it at the base of the slide. And I'd pray to Grop to help, to make my life better.
When I entered high school, the bank came and took our house, forcing us into an apartment with a dirty carpet that smelled like beer. The faucets were crusty and the shower dripped. I spent more time at the school library, where I could talk to Abigail on Facebook. But she'd gotten a boyfriend, and became a lot busier with her courses.
I remember our last conversation. She was excited about a big party, and her boyfriend was driving. He'd had a lot to drink, and crashed into a tree during a race. The shitbag survived, but Abigail didn't. That night, I ran away from home. I went to the old playground and made a wreath out of flowers for the first time in years. Because I needed help from Grop. Now more than ever.
"Please. Just this once, help me, and I'll never ask for anything again," I whispered, and immediately, the playground lit up. "You okay?" someone asked.
His name was James Mackley. He was out walking his dog, a black lab named Biscuit. He walked me home and gave me his number. He said to call if I ever needed anything.
He listened to me when I mourned Abigail. He gave me half his lunch when mom stopped packing any. He helped me salvage what was left of my grades so I could just barely graduate, and encouraged me to apply to community college. Eventually, I moved in with him.
He was more human than god. He'd get flustered over failure, and excited from success. When we lost Biscuit to stomach cancer, he wept. He'd get drunk on cheap beer and sing karaoke til the sun went up, and gripe about his hangover the next day. For all his abilities, he was human. But I knew him to be a god, for no one else could have heard me.
Tonight, I'm meeting his parents for dinner. I splurged a little on the gifts. Some fancy chocolate, and a bottle of wine that wasn't on sale. Now I just need to make a quick stop at our old school, to pick him a wreath of wildflowers.
[join the community](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
| Part 1
"My parents live up ahead, across the bridge and behind those trees," Ariel said.
*Trident Pass*, I thought. The more I got to know her, the more the pieces started to fall inline. It's so tempting to tell Ariel about all this detective work that's been so unavoidable. She won't say it, but I know; she could swim this whole channel in seconds, even while carrying me on her back!
**She is so powerful.**
I crossed the bridge, occasionally exchanging smiles with my eager, crazy, beautiful passenger. I loved her with my whole heart, but the pressure of meeting her (presumably) powerful father was soul-crushing. Either way, I was determined to press on and give her the surprise of a lifetime. I thought I knew the answer already, but I wasn’t totally certain. At the end of the bridge, we took a right on *Anchor Ave.*
“Turn left here, on Goldfish,” she said. It seemed that with every inch we gained her cheeks were more flushed with nervous excitement. The road seemed to appear out of nowhere! Anchor Ave. was a major street in the city, offering convenient access between the east and west sides of town. “That’s weird… I’ve never seen Goldfish before, I said. Veering across Anchor we passed between two giant cement columns. They were identical except the left one was adorned with a beautiful mermaid, and the left, a microscope?? Yes, it was definitely a microscope. What strange accoutrements!
*Goldfish* moved uphill through trees and other wild stuffs, and as it cleared, a small log cabin surrounded by an enormous moat came into view. “So this is it!” I said. Ariel was wearing a full mask of nature’s most embarrassing shade of red. “You can park over here, in the gravel,” she said. We walked along the edge of the moat toward a long foot bridge.
“Your parents have a very unusual house!” I said.
“Yeah... I can explain.”
No need. It was clear to me that she had been secretive of her identity for one reason and one reason alone. She wanted to be sure that whomever she chose was someone she could trust. Someone who wouldn’t exploit her power. Would she feel the same way when she learned that I’d known for months?
“My dad is very nervous to meet you. I know I’ve said it before, but he’s very protective of his identity. He is extending his trust to you based on my feelings for you,” she said. Great! Just what I needed, even more pressure, he thought.
Knock, knock.
The cabin door creaked open. A figure, short of stature, began to emerge. In the center of the room lie a giant pool! I felt like I’d entered a Tardis in the wild west… In the pool was a beautiful creature that was a dead ringer for Ariel. We entered the room and as I was beginning to soak in the sheer awesome vastness of the cabin, I got another shock. | 2017-10-25T15:26:00 | 2017-10-25T15:21:58 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] Twenty years ago you summoned a demon. It is super cool and has been your friend for the last two decades, using its vast powers to help you achieve all your dreams. Today though, its bill came due. It needs to return to hell with you - it has dreams too, and it needs your help to achieve them. | On this morning, I was surprised to find my demon unusually excited. Over the last two decades Balazar had, despite my best efforts, been supernaturally moody and withdrawn. I thought perhaps, after a period of adjustment, he would acclimate to the scenery of Earth. As my riches grew, I got him appointments with the best therapists money could buy. But nothing quite worked. Until, quite suddenly, this morning, I found Balazar bouncing around the living room like a demon possessed.
He picked up the children and danced around, letting them grab his horns, as they giggled.
“My turn” he chanted, “my turn, it’s my turn.” Soon they joined in singing with him.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus christ Bally. What the hell’s up with you?”
“Hell is up with me John. Hell exactly.”
I shook my head, “I’m going to watch the news.” I walked over to the couch, sat down and turned on the TV. From here you could see sweeping views of the whole city. My neighbours were Brad Pitt and Slash. Imagine that. The anchors were talking about my company on the news: “and looks like some bad news for J Corp this morning.” I sat up, confused. Bad news? Those were two words had hadn’t heard together in, well, twenty years.
“Since the markets opened this morning, stocks have fallen by 20%.”
“What!”
In the background Balazar was still chanting, “my turn. My turn.”
“Balazar, will you shut the hell up.”
“Hell!” he cried, “we’re going to hell.”
“we’re going to hell” the kids laughed after him.
I pulled out my phone. Ten missed calls. I blinked. “We’re down. Why are we down? For christ sake Balazar will you put the kids down and stop dancing?” He put them down, but the smile was still plastered to his face as he skipped over, his hooves clacking on the polished floorboards. “What’s going on?”
“Your stocks are down.”
“Yes. I know. Why?”
Balazar shrugged. “They’ve been artificially overpriced for years because of my magic.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” There was a silence. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Oh John” he leapt forward and hugged me, “you don’t see, do you? It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what? And just calm down okay? You’re like the kids on Christmas.”
“Okay” he took a few deep breaths, fanning himself, “I’m calm. I’m calm. Do I look calm?”
“You look like you’re on drugs.”
“Twenty years ago you summoned me.”
“That’s right.”
“No I mean. Twenty years to the day.”
I shrugged, “Happy anniversary?”
“John. Don’t you remember? The spell you used to cast me. It was a two part spell. A contract. You get me for 20 years. I get you for 20 years.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Don’t be sorry. Be excited! We’re going to hell! Oh hell is nothing like they tell you John. It’s really quite a marvellous place, and there’s companies there too, and you’ll really like it trust me.”
“I don’t quite understand. Me help you?”
“Yes. That’s what the spell is. Didn’t you read the fine print of the spell?”
“Read the fine print. Shit Bally I was ten years old! I pulled the book down from my grandmother’s shelf, dusted it off, flicked it open to a random page and just started reading.”
“Best decision you’ve ever made John. Trust me. Ok we’re leaving in five.”
“Leaving. No we’re not leaving.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell.”
“Yes. You really are” he gestured with his hand. And I took a step forward unwillingly.
“How did you do that?”
“Part of the spell. Look I’m not going to use it unless its absolutely necessary. You’ve been a good sport to me, I’ll be a good one to you.”
“Bally. I can’t just go. I have a family here. A company to run.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Time runs differently in Hell. 20 years won’t even be a day here.”
“But it will be 20 years for me” I answered, “in hell. I mean — what, what help do you think I’m even going to be? I’m not a demon, okay, I can’t wave my hands and make things happen.”
“Oh but John. You can” he lowered his voice, “you have no idea the power unclaimed souls wield in the afterlife. No idea.” I swallowed.
Balazar pointed to the wall, and a dark portal opened up. “Oh god. Bally please. Don’t, don’t make me go.”
“Think about it John. This is what you signed up for. You get a choice to go willingly. Or to be dragged along. But you are coming. Satan knows the shit I went through for your dreams.”
“And what exactly are *your* dreams?”
Balazar smiled. “To rule” he said. “All of it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, “just you wait” he said, “you're going to love it.” I bolted for the door. But halfway my legs stopped working. I turned around and marched toward the portal, as my children echoed Balazar’s chant from the kitchen.
“You'll be back before lunch” Bally reassured me, as I passed through the portal and darkness fell around me.
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories) | "So, you are seriously wanting to have that ridicilous toy when we are going back to hell?"
A girl with a blue eyes asked a tall, lean guy with the curly hair, constantly reminding him she was the demon.
"Yes, you told me. This is something I bought in Prague couple of years ago. It is the only thing I want to bring from the earth. Besides clothes, I guess."
Girl, who liked to call herself Daisy, at least through time she spended on Earth. It seemed kinda appropriate to her that evil is something which would hide in the least probable form and name.
"Ok, Gab, whatever. You are thirty years old and still have a childlish mind from the moment I met you"
Gab lived alone. His mom died, and he decided to stay distant with his father. His father was big chief executive in some real estates firm, and he was never around during his childhood, so Gab decided why should he stick with his contact now?
"Ok, so, this is it. I am opening a portal to hell. Are you ready?"
Gab made a smirk.
"Yes, I told you hundred times I am ready. You know I am obsessed with hell the moment I summoned you twenty years ago."
"So, you realize this is not a game? Did you say goodbye to all your friends and relatives?"
Daisy, you know I live like a hermit, beside that one trip to Prague. All of my life I was history and middle age fan. I love to read occult and esotheric, and I think Hitler would be a great guy if he lived through this day.
Daisy smiled.
"Ok. I am glad. Because you will meet my father. The Devil. Belzeebub. Lucifer. You know he is in charge. I dont want you to embarass me in front of him".
Gab didnt said nothing.
Daisy with a single snap of her fingers opened a portal. The hell was more less he Gab imagined it would be. Hot, steam, lava, desolate mountains and wast deserts. And tunnels. Lots of tunnels.
"Ok, listen Gab. I need to get back in my old form. So dont freak out. And my name is Devon, not Daisy. Ok?"
Gab had a big smile on his face. Devon thought, even for me, there are sometimes moments when this Nazi loving maniac scares me.
Horns suddenly grows fom Devons head and her legs transforms into something which more looks like a goats or satyrs legs.
But everything else stayed the same.
"Thats it? That is your whole transformation? I imagined it more."
Something the way Gab said the sentence didnt really reminded Devon to the 13 year old guy who summoned her back then.
"Ok, follow me. We need to get to my father first, he must grant me the seal of approvement that you can be my slave, or you will go and suffer with the rest of the sinners here. I wont treat you badly, I promise."
It was a long way to the headquarters of Satan, they needed to go through a bridge above lava, see all kinds of sinners get torchured and whiped.
Suddenly there were three entrances.
"See that left entrance. This leads to the ninth circle of hell. I think Hitler is there. You can finally meet him"
The Gab didnt said nothing. That was strange.
"Listen, before you come to him, and I already told you this. Dont talk about archangels. They are our mortal enemies. Dont talk about God. Dont talk about heaven. Got it?"
Gab nodded.
The site of Devil on throne makes his pupils get smaller. He was sitting in a throne made with all kinds of bones and skulls, and underneath a throne there was a pull of blood.
"Ah finally, my young one! You finally came. I see you brought me a human pet."
"Yes father, this is Gab"
"Nice to meet you, Gab", says the devil like a father who just watched the football game and his daughter brought a boyfriend home.
"Actually, I am not really Gab."
Devon looked at him and smirked her eyebrows.
"See, I am a friend of Gab. Gab loved occult forums and we met there and started to chat instantly. Gab told me all about you and how he summoned you."
Lucifer found this whole situation amusing. Her uncompetent daughter messed something up and brought some other idiotic human pet.
"See, I invited him in Prague and killed him. So I am not really Gab."
Suddenly, out of nothing, the enormous wings sprung out of Gab's back.
"I am Gabriel. The archangel."
Lucifer stood up with violent speed.
"Motherfuck------"
It was too late. The sword was already in his chest.
"And this 'toy', Daisy, Devon, or whatever the fuck you are. This is Lightslayer"
_______________
_______________
>Sorry for grammar mistakes, everyone.
This is second time I wrote a story in english.
I hope you enjoyed!
| 2022-10-29T16:15:55 | 2019-01-25T04:41:21 | 4,031 | 10 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | "Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do." | A bookcase floated before me. I had taken a cursory glance over the first of the matching volumes to discover the old instructions of a choose your own adventure novel that I hadn't seen since elementary school. I flipped through several pages of nonsense before catching sight of something about a lemon that I recognized from an old story mom would always tell about me. It occurred to me immediately what these volumes were.
So now I've just been floating here with it. Not reading yet. Still lamenting that I did end up being doomed to spend eternity in an afterlife after all. But also trying to compile all the what ifs I had been asking myself over the years. This system was rather inconvenient. I didn't want to work my way from the beginning, I just wanted to know outcomes of certain scenarios, and I wouldn't remember the steps I took to get to those decisions in the first place.
I tried to sleep on a strategy. Not sure it worked, or how much time passed while my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, there was now a computer and only one book. I glanced down at the book, lying open, and saw a recounting of a rather tender moment, but was also able to verify that I did indeed know a certain someone at that point, despite having forgotten that I had ever spoken to them not a decade later.
I move over to the computer monitor and am greeted with a lovely file system organized by year. Excellent. Glad to see that the bookcase does have the capacity to shift forms.
I greedily open up the folder for grade 7, am greeted with more folders, this time listing categories. Click into the romance folder, and I'm now given a series of multiple choice questions in a new window. I see all the situations are written in purple text, and the choices I had made originally were underlined in purple.
I find the first question of curiosity, the first secret love letter I got. I change the response to "keep quiet" and notice that some scenarios vanish, with new ones in green appearing in their place. A flutter attracts my attention to the book in time to see it rest on the page in question as some of the text fades and is replaced. Excitedly I check to see if I called her out on it when she said she heard I got one. And true to my original choice, I remained quiet. No worries, I can change that choice too. I glance at the screen...and no choice exists. I flip through the book in confusion, only to discover that I was just to naive to put two and two together in the first place.
Lovely.
I hit restore defualts and proceed to run experiments. First, each change of decision introduces new colours. This gets complicated past 10 changes trying to keep track of which shades came from which choices, but whatever. Also, the book now flips to the stage in life that will answer whatever question I had. Efficiency.
Two girls I could have dated. Both of which I was too hesitant due to my own lack of knowledge. Both of which fell into drugs in high school. I test what happens with each. One of them, we dated for a bit before she broke up with me and ended up in drugs anyway. That's a relief I guess. Other one, oh yikes, I ended up in drugs too. Wasn't expecting that to happen.
Tried making decisions to lead me down more creative endeavours than I had actually chosen. Mixed results. Seems I was never really satisfied there. I'd get lots of better things accompanied with worse things. Sometimes the book would noticeably shrink too.
It got even more harrowing when I started playing around with the choices during university. About half of them resulted in the book shrinking. Particularly any choice that moved towards parental dependence. I mean, I joked about that a lot after moving out, but I don't think I ever realized just how much potential for it actually existed.
Tried out different cities for when I left my hometown. Ultimately still ended up in the same place no matter my choice, but it was interesting how things during that intermediary period got altered. Seemed that I had picked the middle path in terms of happiness and success for my late 20s.
Finally with the most what ifs out of the way, I took a breath and set out on the last of these projects, the one I was saving for last, because I knew it would take the longest. I find my way to the day my university girlfriend broke up with me. I change the response I gave just before then, check out the book...
...and start working backwards. | 2018-07-04T01:11:05 | 2018-07-04T00:40:45 | 640 | 14 |
[WP] After being ruled by a despotic tyrant of a king for years, a group of citizens appeal to a dragon for help. | How do you barter with a god?
Thorn stared up at the open mouth of the cave. There was no going back now. She had taken three days to hike here. The dragon's lair was so high up in the mountains, there was snow in the dead of summer, and the air was cold and thin in her throat.
Her brother squeezed her hand. "Ready?" he whispered.
Thorn looked at him. Elim, oldest, always brave for the rest of the family. He carried their father's name and face like he was born as a living memory. When he smiled, her heart hurt, because it was like looking at the face of a dead man.
The Mad King's war had killed their father years ago. Now it was coming to consume them too.
"This is stupid," she said.
"Of course it is. But we are out of any safe options."
"Or smart ones," Thorn muttered. "Or sane ones."
There it was. That wry smile that made the past knife into her chest.
Elim said, "Better to die trying."
He was right, of course. They walked in together, dragging the buckskin-wrapped rickshaw that they had brought with them, up the mountain. It was an angular shape, hidden under the leather.
Together, lit only by the wan light of Thorn's lantern, they entered the dragon's lair.
The earth crunched beneath their feet, and Thorn looked down to see bones. Hundreds of them. All those empty eye sockets, staring at her, like the dead were warning them to run while they still could.
"Don't look down," Elim said, as if reading her mind.
Thorn nodded. She put away her fear. She was the last living princess of the lost Halsing dynasty. And she would act the part, gods damn it, even if she didn't know how. Even if all she knew of royalty was fleeing and fighting and secret meetings in cellars, with the last few rebels left who still believed in the One True King.
She felt like a fraud, even now as she crept forward in a dented crown from a kingdom she could only remember in snatches of childhood memory.
The lair was huge. Gouges marred the walls, like it had been tunnelled or clawed into the rock eons ago. The deeper they went, the warmer the air became. It had a sulfurous smell to it.
A wall of hot air hit them. Elim's lantern snuffed out, and they were plunged into perfect darkness.
Thorn clutched her brother's hand and wondered if the dragon could hear her panicked heartbeat.
Two lights appeared in the darkness. Burning, smoldering. Then she realized they were nostrils, just as the dragon's maw opened, casting the room in orange fire.
"What," it hissed, its yellow eyes gleaming in the shadowy gloom, "do you think you're doing?"
Now even Elim looked scared. Terrified. He opened and shut his mouth.
Thorn said, forcing her voice even, "You are the great and powerful Morthal, lord of the mountain, are you not?"
"Of course. Foolish human question from a foolish human girl."
The dragon's voice rumbled the very stone. The bones beneath their feet began clicking together.
Elim said, "You're right. This was a mistake."
But Thorn gripped her brother's hand and said with a strength she didn't feel, "You made a pact two hundred years ago, with the high king Valias Halsing. As long as the kingdom carried your fang, you would always protect them."
"The last I saw of that castle, it was slick with Halsing blood. That pact is as dead as they are."
The dragon stalked forward. Its breath clouded hot over both of them.
"Brother," Thorn said. "Lift back the covering."
Elim pulled the dagger from his belt and sawed through the ties covering the fang. It was carved in ancient runes, their house sigil.
Morthal seemed to recoil. A long hot hiss cut through the dark.
"The Halsing line is not dead," Elim said. "Not yet."
"You really are two foolish humans." Morthal lowered its great muzzle and snuffled at the fang. "There is nothing to stop me from devouring you both. I'll be free of you and the headache of your pact."
Elim's fist tightened on the dagger. Thorn knew that look in his eye. He was ready to fight to the death, if he had to.
"You wouldn't do that, Lord," Thorn said. She kept her voice even. She hoped it sounded fearless. Royal.
"Dragons are not renowned for our honor."
"No. It has nothing to do with honor. It's about power. The Mad King terrorizes the people who once worshipped you. There are no sacrifices in your name anymore. They're taxes to starvation and crippled by constant war. We would build you temples again. Your name will be as eternal as the mountain."
Elim hissed, "What are you doing?"
Thorn shushed him.
Morthal's narrow eyes pinned her in place, like it was eviscerating her in its mind.
It said, "You speak like true royalty."
"I speak like myself. I speak like someone who understands what it means to have everything and lose it all." She held out her hand to the dragon's muzzle. The scales were slick and surprisingly smooth. "Ride with us into battle. Revive the kingdom of the dragon riders."
The dragon's eye was as tall as she was. It flicked over her, sizing her up.
Then Morthal said, "I'll kill you slowly and precisely if you are lying to me, princess."
"I'd expect no less."
Thorn looked from her brother to the dragon and said, "Do we have a pact, then?"
Elim's face was pale with fear. But he held his shoulders tall as any king.
The dragon sighed. "I am old, and I am tired of fighting. But I will fight for your family, just once more," it said. "I will rise at dawn in four days' time, and you will know the Mad King is dead when the sky is full of fire and I rise again."
"And we will rise with you," Elim said. He sheathed his dagger.
Thorn stood there, not just a runaway, a traitor, a warrior, a lost girl. She felt every bit of her father's power, running through her veins.
She was not afraid. Not of the Mad King, not of death, nothing.
She was a keeper of dragons, and she had a throne to reclaim. | Singlemindedness is a useful property in a puppet.
"**Let me confirm once more, tiny humans- you wish to give me a large sum of gold?**"
"Correct."
"**And you wish to add yearly to it, a sum not to fall below five hundred medium gold coins, or two hundred large ones?**"
"Correct again."
"**And in return, all you wish is for me to eat, or simply slay, those that you oppose? And to threaten to do so again, if needed?**"
"Yup. You got all of it."
The strength of a dragon is mighty indeed. They don't usually go after kingdoms- too well organized and well defended- but if they have people on the inside, wrecking the defenses and letting the dragon know when the best time to attack is...
A single dragon could easily topple a king.
And this was *quite* an awful king. Big on torture, and executions, and on raising taxes. The dragons one demand of gold would still mean that taxes could be substantially lowered. The king was a spendthrift, through and through. Nifty works came out of it occasionally, but mostly it was lavish parties that benefited no one for longer than an evening.
Hence the plan.
Here was strength, that could be on their side for the low, low cost of a bunch of gold. Overthrow the king, keep the dragon around and happy to discourage others from attempting to seize power, and boom! Instant rule by council.
"**Let me confirm once more...**"
...
It was confusing.
Humans *stole* gold. They hungered for our hoards, and sought to steal them. They didn't come in and offer you more.
This was a trick, somehow.
"**Let me confirm once more...**"
Were they simply hoping to lure me away from my gold? Or was this something more elaborate? Or were they possibly sincere? It seemed impossible, but they truly weren't acting like sneak-thieves. They'd announced themselves, made no attempt to hide, and they spent very little time staring at my little gold pile. They seemed genuinely not to care much about the gold, but how could *that* be?
There was a trick in here, somewhere.
Dragons think slowly. They are neither simple nor foolish, but it takes time for them to process new information and ideas, much more so than it does for humans. The idea that was being proposed was a new one, and the dragon was sorely tempted to simply eat these fools and end any possibility of trickery.
And yet.
And yet there was a promise of more gold. *Much* more. That was not easy to ignore. And nothing they had yet said was an outright lie- dragons have only limited magics, but one of them is to sense when they are told an outright lie.
"**Let me confirm once more...**"
...
It was confusing.
We had explained. We had explained many times. It was simple, it was clear, it was straightforward. What could the problem be?
One of the trickier things to truly grasp is the theory of mind. The idea that the person across from you has a brain of their own- has goals, dreams, hopes, and wants. Has their own ideas about things, including ideas about what's going on in *your* head, which may or may not bear any resemblance to reality.
It's difficult to do well.
The dragon was confused. Dragons thought slowly, but this was a bit much. Therefore, it was sticking on something.
What?
It was straightforward- we wanted the godawful king gone. We were more than willing to give up some gold in order to get that to happen.
But maybe that wasn't a tradeoff a dragon would ever make.
After all, how often would a dragon have to contend with being powerless before a king? What could they compare it to? Very little, if anything.
And they wanted gold more than any human could truly understand. Humans understood it as a means to an end- only the very greediest even came *close* to the dragons idea of gold as an end in and of itself.
There, then, was the disconnect. We were giving up something the dragon saw as utterly precious, for something it could not properly understand or value.
It was a hard problem to solve. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary to *solve* the problem, only to work around it.
...
"**Let me confirm once more...**"
"It's simple," I cut in, preventing any of us from once again saying exactly the same thing and somehow expecting a different result, "We are powerless before our king. He takes our gold, and then sends it out wastefully on temporary things, and it is as dust on the wind. We cannot, alone, stop him, but we *can*, with your help. In return for your help, you can sit where he sat, and collect gold as he did. Not as much- we are helping you as well, after all. But then our king is gone, and not only do we get to keep more of our gold, but the gold we give up is well-used and guarded, not scattered to the winds by our mad king."
There was a low rumbling, and a time of thought. None of us spoke, though the silence stretched long, well past awkwardness for humans, and into the point where we were very nearly bored, despite our hopes for the future resting on this dragon who might very well decide to simply eat us at any moment.
Time passed, and at last the dragon spoke.
**"You have spoken sense, little human. I will terrorize you and yours for a long time, indeed, if you betray me in any way. But we have an accord."** | 2021-05-15T08:22:36 | 2021-05-15T08:22:35 | 73 | 41 |
[WP] You and your crack team enter the bank. You shout, "THIS IS A BANK ROBBERY. EVERYBODY PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!" a cheer erupts from the employees. Balloons and confetti fall from the ceiling and a sign drops with the words: Congratulations! You are our 1,000,000th Bank Robbery. | Rick was checking his shotgun for the last time. Glancing at his partners he saw them doing the same with their weapons. They had done this dozens of times so no one was worried about the heist. “ready up!”, he announced while grabbing his mask from the dashboard. His crack team swiftly followed his action donning their masks. Masked and ready, Rick opened his door and watched his team storming out of back of the van.
They charged inside, slamming the glass double doors open. “This is a bank robbery. Everyone put your hands where we can see them!” Rick shouted firing in the air. Upon firing a celebratory chiptune started bellowing out of the speakers. The surprised bank robbers stood their dazed looking at each other only now noticing they were the only people in the lobby. A door swings open, cheers erupting from it. A dark skinned man walks inside. “What’s the meaning of this?” Rick shouts over the voices of his startled men. “and why in god’s name are you holding a trumpet?” More people appeared from the door all cheering loudly. “You, our dear customers are our 1.000.000 bank robbery!” the man with the trumpet announced before he blew his trumpet.
“who are you people?” one of Rick’s partner yells. The man drops his trumpet and stares with a grin on his face at the masked man before proclaiming: “Kneel before his highness, the beacon for our people, our golden son, protector of Olumo rock, the 11th savior!” A regal looking man dressed in white furs and vibrant silk strode through the door. The crowd kneeled before him, the fearsome gunmen aiming their weapons at them. “our prince, eleventh in line for the throne!” the trumpet man kept announcing.
“Damn it, pack it up boys." Rick sighed. "It's a scam." | A: "Wait, what?"
B: "I heard of this, jefe. Each branch of this bank rewards its millionth robbery."
A: "Then why the fuck did you not tell us beforehand?"
B: "I just didn't think we'd be this lucky."
C: "Congratulations, sir, you and your… gang, crew, whatever, are our millionth robbery!"
A: "This doesn't make sense!"
C: "You'll make sense of it. But before you do, let me tell you what you just won: you can take this blank cheque, and write down any amount: we'll transfer that much into your account! Plus, we won't call the police! So… have you opened an account with our bank?"
A: "This is fucking ridiculous… uh… no."
C: "Then I suggest opening a premium savings account. If you save enough,we'll throw in a black card with personalised design!"
B: "Oooh, oooh, can I get one of those cute piggy banks as well?"
A: "Shut up, you idiot! Ugh…" | 2019-01-15T05:55:14 | 2019-01-15T05:39:14 | 176 | 100 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven. | I got cancer when I was 21. Well I suppose I must have gotten cancer before that because they caught it in one of the later stages. I imagine there's not much like seeing a patient's face when you have to tell them that they require further testing. But there's not much like having bits of your body ripped and cut out and having poison fed through your veins, either.
A month later my entire reproductive system was gone. I remember lying in my hospital bed with my fiancé holding my hand and telling me that it was alright.
"There are so many ways to have children," he told me. It didn't matter. Hot tears still rolled down my face and made a small pile on the pillow beneath me. I turned away from Andrew and curled up on myself.
You know those dreams you get sometimes? People have dreams. People dream of weddings or hiking mountains or writing novels. As far back as I could remember my only dream was to have a baby. My only dream was to hold something in my arms and call it mine.
I "lost the fight," as they say, when I was twenty-three. No bright light. No voice. Just pain and drowsiness and too much weakness to even sit up straight.
"Welcome to Hell" a voice said to me. I opened my eyes. There was a man pulling me to my feet and leading me somewhere. We walked and a house materialized.
"Miss Brown," the man nodded at me. There was some smug smile on his face and he walked away. I wasn't Miss Brown - at least, I'm pretty sure - but as I opened my mouth a voice yelled, *Mum!* and a small pair of arms wrapped around my legs.
I picked her up. She was three, maybe four. She had blonde hair that stuck to her pink cheeks and big blue eyes that met mine in the happiest smile.
And then I cried again. For the first time out of happiness. Because the man had misspoken.
This was Heaven, not Hell.
---
Thanks for reading and thank you so much for the gold.
For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232 | In the end it was the cigs that killed me, everyone always said they would. Anyway, i found myself in a massive waiting room like at the doctors office. Some stoned looking demon with stubby horns was stamping papers at the check-in desk.
"Where am I exactly?" I stammered when It was my turn to hand in my papers. As the demon took my documents and began sorting them he maintained eye contact with me wordless. It seemed as if he was trying to act tough but having a bad sense of humour about my own mortality I started chuckling. Flustered the demon quickly hands back my papers, as soon as I grab them I feel myself falling.
They must have made a mistake. An endless ocean of massive swells, and a strong breeze. "Stranded" on a small little sailboat with a triangular sail. I couldn't believe it THIS was the hell I got haha! To someone afraid of the sea this would have been a bad way to spend eternity, but for me a life long sailor it was pure bliss. A steady breeze, surfing wave after wave getting the small boat up on a plain.
When I was alive I spent all my time working so I could one day spend all my time sailing, but work always won out. I can't believe my luck, I don't think God could have come up with somthing better than this! | 2016-05-28T15:46:42 | 2016-05-28T14:12:52 | 305 | 22 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | When I was told my team would be the first to land on Mars, excitement welled within me. 'Pioneers', they called us; and really, how many people can call themselves pioneers? It's exciting. It's scary. It's... unlike anything else.
And yet, as I stood and looked across an expanse of nothing but reddish brown sand and dust, I felt absolutely nothing but disappointment. The voyage was hell, and I'd spent *so long* looking forward to landing that the reality of Mars just couldn't live up to what I'd been expecting. The first three days were mind-numbingly boring and dreary.
The fourth day changed everything.
"What... the *hell* is that?" I asked through the comm system, pointing at a torn-up tent in the distance. "Did one of you assholes set that up to screw with me?"
"I wish I were that creative, believe me," Stan responded, staring alongside me. "But that... that's not us. There's a flag, Mike. I can't make it out from here."
The two of us, along with Victor Foreman, our engineer, pressed forward with caution. As we approached, the flag became increasingly visible: plain red, with a yellow hammer and sickle. It was tattered and coated in dust.
"Okay, this is bullshit. O'Neill, are you fucking with us? I remember seeing this flag in history class."
A response came over the radio. "This is a bit too... complex for my sense of humor. I'm a simple man, Mike. I don't recognize the flag, what is it?"
"Come on, man. Sleep through class?"
"Sorry, I was busy learning how to pilot for NASA. This isn't funny, Mike. If you've seriously found something, we have to treat this situation with urgency and caution."
I sighed into the mic. "Soviet Russia. The one we got into the Cold War with, way back when."
"I'm going to contact HQ. Proceed as if there could be people in that base."
"Oh, come on, Cap-"
"I know we get cozy, but right now, we're not friends."
I choked back my pride. "Understood. Stay by the feeds, we're heading in. I'm telling you, though, there's no one here anymore. Everything's... just- it's destroyed. Ripped to shreds."
I stepped forward, pushing aside a fold of fabric from the tent wall. Immediately, I recoiled, sucking my breath in. Right there, on a cafeteria bench, was a man- his skin pale, spotted with black and brown, but nearly perfectly mummified overall. He looked like he'd died just a week prior.
"Holy shit." Victor threw up in his suit, then tried to paw at his slimy helmet.
"Cap, I don't think this is a joke. You see this, right?"
"Already contacting Houston. Someone's going to have to reach out and see if there's something we don't know about. Does he look injured?"
I kept myself at a distance, scanning his body with my eyes. There were still packets of food on a nearby counter. "No. Honestly, it looks like he just suffocated. He didn't starve, and there's no blood or any kind of wound."
There was a large, clunky device on the table in front of the body. I reached out and grabbed it, keeping my eyes off the corpse.
"I think it's a recording device." There were batteries in it, still looking fresh. Oxygen's a real asshole when it comes to preservation.
I flipped a window out on the lefthand side, and turned it on. After rewinding for several seconds, a man appeared on screen- I immediately recognized him. I slipped my suit's 3.5mm jack into the recording device once it finished rewinding.
"Hello," he said with a thick, Russian accent. "I have made many videos in Russian, but I have a feeling it won't matter. This last one will be in English.
"Russia has abandoned me. I was sent here as an experiment for the government, to see if we could set up a base, maybe build in secrecy. The journey was too harsh, and the travel time too long. I burned more fuel than we thought, and now I am stuck here. They told me that nobody will be coming to save me.
The man's breath grew shaky, and he wiped at his eyes.
"I asked to speak with my family. They said no. They said nobody will ever know of my time here. My death will be faked in an accident upon re-entry of Earth's atmosphere. Parachute failure. I have spent two months here now, and oxygen is almost gone. Food is still here, but that does not matter. I will die alone, and nobody will ever know. I die for nothing.
"I do not expect to be saved. Maybe nobody finds this. I don't know why I film. If you do, please tell my daughter I love her. Maybe my wife if she's still alive. I only wish I could tell them myself. I end things now. May you find your way home."
I pushed the screen in and sat down.
*Pioneer: A word we invented to make ourselves feel better about being guinea pigs.*
------
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury!* | Captain Ana Haskell was the first to see it, at the top of Olympus Mons: a flapping thing in the thin wind.
She thumbed the voice on on the stick of her vehicle. "You see that on the video feed Chewy?"
Chewy grunted something unintelligible. It was his way.
"I'm gonna take a look."
The mountain was a mountain, no doubt, but the wind over the millennia had smoothed it and stolen it's jagged peaks. It looked more like the mountains of her native West Virginia; without the trees, of course.
She pushed the little craft a little higher; Mars' atmosphere was already thin, but she was pushing out of even that feebleness as she climbed what was, until recently, the tallest mountain known in the solar system.
It slowly came into focus, difficult to discern against the red ground, but it was a red flag flapping in the wind; only the red field was visible.
"What the fuck?"
As if on cue, a gust pushed the flag out and she saw the small yellow symbol in the corner: a hammer and sickle. A Soviet flag. Huge and preposterous and perfect for planting on and claiming a new world.
"Chewy," she said.
"Yeah, I see it."
"Why is it here?"
"Maybe a lander?"
As she pushed her plane more, it struggled. The long, wide wings let it float more easily in the thin air, but she had pushed it to it's height ceiling.
She was checking a dial, Chewy clicked in. "Something else. Next to it."
She looked.
A suit. A space suit.
"Uhh," she said. "That look like what I think it looks like?"
An affirmative grunt from Chewy.
"I'm heading back to base."
"Yeah."
%%%
She landed on the powdery soil they were calling, colloquially HoSH (Home Sweet Home). It's in a deep valley, where the atmosphere is a little thicker. Thick enough that she needs only slip on her helmet over her normal suit.
Chewy met her at the doors.
"Frank is on the intercom."
"Figured."
There were 6 people on Mars now, that they knew of. They were all sitting in the same room, looking at the same projected image on the wall. The wall showed Commander Frank Lloyd, who was one of 4 on Phobos. Though "on" was kind of a rough description when they had to bolt themselves to the moon to prevent even jumping off the rock.
"I'm taking you saw the feed, Frank."
"Yes. It's a Soviet Flag," he explained.
"I know, Frank. I'm nearly as old as you are."
"Yes. Of course. I've trained the cameras up here on the area. There's no movement aside from the flag and wind."
"Can you see the suit?"
"The suit? Negative."
"I saw a suit up there."
"Yup," Chewy added.
"Yeah, I saw that on the feed, but it's not there now. It took us some time to come over the horizon, we don't have full surveillance. I mean, it could be covered with dirt or something."
"Yeah." She turns to her crew. "We're going to recover it," Captain Haskell said. "We have to figure out what they were doing already. And why didn't they tell the whole world?"
"Who knows."
"Captain?" Frank interrupted.
"Yes."
"You're right, but you'll have to wait a tick. We're reading a storm incoming. A big one. Maybe a couple days?"
"Damn."
%%%
Ana was awake. The storm had finished out late the night before. They had spent some time shoveling Mars dust from doorways, but the previous two days had been planning the trip to climb Olympus Mons. Tomorrow, 4 of them would leave to do just that.
Her crew was all visible and asleep. She thought for a moment about how incredible it was. They were the first humans to walk---she interrupted her thought.
They weren't the first. The suit up there. It hadn't been uncovered yet, according to Frank's telescopes. They had seen some strange patterns in the dirt around it but those had disappeared in the wind.
All of the crew here, in this glorified cabin. In 2032. But the soviets were here when? At the latest 1990. Forty years they had beaten them. And why didn't anyone say anything?
Then she heard a knock on the door. | 2016-08-16T10:03:13 | 2016-08-16T09:03:36 | 139 | 99 |
[WP] A man buying 24 watermelons and 36 apples becomes self aware that he's in an elementary school math problem.
The fruits and their quantities are arbitrary.
Edit: My first post here, so any feedback on the prompt is much appreciated. | "Come again?" asked the old farmer.
"Uh, sorry, what?" Pete asked stalling for a moment as he wasn't sure what was going on or where he was.
"You just asked if I had 24 watermelons and how many apples?"
Oh, right, thought Pete, I came here to buy the fruit. "Three dozen apples should do it. Sorry, but I lost my train of thought for a moment there."
"It's okay sonny, happens to the best of us. Okay, I'll have my boy load up your truck, let's see...it's 47 cents a pound for the watermelons, they're 18 pounds on average, so we'll just use that and you got 2 dozen of them. The apples are $1.50 a pound, and a pound of apples is about 3 for these, so a dozen pounds for you...errr, how much is that all together?" the old farmer inquired in an odd monotone.
"Eighteen for the apples and...wait, why are you asking me? Don't you have a calculator or something?" Pete asked with a hint of annoyance below growing concern.
The farmer looked around almost said something then paused for a few beats. "I have to apologize, I misplaced my calculator, usually don't need it but this is a large and peculiar order," then much more flatly, "could you just work it out? I'm sure you can find the answer if you take your time, write it out maybe." He then turned and yelled to his son to start loading up the fruit.
Something was off but Pete couldn't put his finger on it. Okay, so watermelons are 47 cents a pound, each one is about 18 pounds, so that's almost 20. If it were 20 then it'd just be $9.40, and 2 pounds less than that is 94 cents, so it's $8.46. Pete estimated the cost quickly for a moment. Wait, he though, why am I buying around 200 dollars worth of watermelon? It was at this point Pete noticed the farmer's son loading the watermelons.
The boy would pick up two, walk to Pete's truck, where he'd set them on the open tailgate, climb up, then stack them with the others near the back. Pete watched him do it a few times and started to notice something odd. Every time it was the exact same, same number of steps, same exact motions, it seemed oddly robotic. Pete turned and noticed the old farmer was just standing there, presumably waiting for an answer, but his eyes and expression looked blank.
In fact the farmer's face looked blanker than any face Pete could recall....except he couldn't recall any faces.
"What's going on? How'd I get here?" Pete was almost in a panic.
The farmer seemed to come back to life, "I don't follow young man, what do you mean?" He looked right at Pete, but Pete saw the eerie blankness creep across the farmer's face a second after he asked the question.
Pete wracked his brain for a second, he came up empty handed. "I don't remember anything before just now, when I needed you to sell me two dozen melons and three dozen apples. Why can't I remember?" The farmer didn't even move. Turning to the kid Pete yelled, "Hey! Hey stop that! What's going on here? Did you guys do something to m-m-me?" he stammered starting to lose it. The kid kept loading up the watermelons.
In that moment Pete realized he hadn't looked around at all, he had been so focused on the old farmer, the fruit, and the math problem that he hadn't noticed they were essentially nowhere. A road to their side, stretched on to the horizon both ways, two empty fields on either side of the road also stretched on to the horizon. No trees, no other cars, just this empty space and single fruit stand. Panicking he ran to the truck intending to drive off but the door wouldn't open. Desperately searching for the keys his pockets turned out to be empty, he didn't even have money for the fruit.
Hands trembling Pete could feel his heart beating a mile a minute and he suddenly started to feel cold. The kind of cold when some deep, hard truth creeps into one's mind. It's over, he thought. Why is this happening though? Am I in a dream? Pete pinched himself. Nothing.
"WHAT IS GOING ON?! What is this place where all there is is a fruit stand and a farmer with some tedious m--" That was it. "Math problem...it's just like a word problem on a math test." This is crazy, Pete thought.
He slumped down against the truck, with the farmer's kid still loading up watermelons, slowly but methodically. Suddenly he heard a voice from the sky, "Pencils down," and then there was nothing. | Daniel checked his watch. "C'mon." Although the grocery aisle was cool with the constant draft of refrigeration, he still sweat with the heat from the swelling sun outside.
"Geez," he groaned and pulled his shirt collar with his forefinger. Why was it so hot? Why did he have to wear a button-down?
Daniel knew he must hurry: by now, the booth had probably sold the last watermelon, the fairgrounds were a decent distance down the highway, and the other volunteers would wonder what was taking so long.
"Assistance needed. Grocery." The loudspeaker garbled through the supermarket. Daniel paced impatiently in front of the wall of watermelon, his cart empty, perspiration bleeding through the back of his shirt.
"C'mon, c'mon..."
Finally, at the end of his patience, Daniel grabbed a watermelon and placed it in the corner of the shopping cart. "One," he said."
"Two," he said. He placed another. "Three," and he placed another and another and another. Daniel could feel the blood in his face, the pulse in his toes.
"Twelve,
"Twenty," he struggled to breath. The melons were naturally forming an oblong pyramid of green. "Twenty-one," he gasped for air. As Daniel loaded the last few melons, a teenage attendant circled the corner.
"Oh, hey there, friend. Need any help?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I got it," Daniel shakily stacked the final melon, the top of the pyramid. He whispered to himself, a suffocated smile: "twenty-six."
"Yo, I don't think you should stack it that high."
"It's fine."
"Sir-"
"It's fine," Daniel rolled the cart with some difficulty. "I got it," he added, forcing his weight into the cart.
"Hey, you don't look so good," the attendant yelled after Daniel but he was far down the aisle. At the last minute, Daniel spotted the row of bananas, remembering he needed more at home.
Daniel tried to focus on his breath - exhale and inhale - as he bagged twelve bananas. He slowly pushed the cart towards the registers, focusing on anything other than his pulse.
Twelve, Daniel thought: the amount of bananas he eats in a week. The amount of eggs in a carton, but Daniel doesn't eat eggs. Fourteen, Daniel thought: the number of melons more than bananas. Thirty-six, he thought, the total amount of fruit. As his cart came to a halt at the register, the oblong pyramid shifted slightly. Daniel's heart pounded. Droplets of sweat fell into the cart. He could hardly keep his eyes open.
His legs lost their strength and his knees bent to his weight. His forehead found the corner of the cart as his body fell to the ground. He landed with his face to the ceiling, fluorescents blinding.
This is it, Daniel thought. The whole weight of the world has been falling towards this. Daniel saw, in what felt like slow-motion, the top melon roll toward him, falling from the top of the cart. The weight of the melon landed onto his chest and he felt it constricting further. The melon rolled along the tile floor, unaffected. Daniel could feel his loss of control, the automated sense to breathe no longer in him. The innate motion of life had left. This is what it all comes down to, he thought.
Numbers were the last thing on his mind. Fourteen: the age of his daughter. The difference in fruit. Twelve: the day of August when his mother was born. The number of bananas in the cart. The number of months in a year. Six: the number of years since Daniel's thirty-sixth birthday. The number of buttons on the long-sleeve shirt he's wearing. And that's when he realized it. His entire life, everything, had rolled to this moment, and suddenly stopped. His entire existence had building to the circumstance within a supermarket. His past had been leading him to this word problem, a series of numbers and questions layered over time, the continuous line of life to be solved.
| 2017-06-05T13:02:23 | 2017-06-05T12:14:05 | 337 | 33 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you. | The Hero of the League of Light shivered in his gilded breastplate, and shot a tentative glance over his shoulder to the Healer who had stolen his heart. She made eyes back at him and he squared his shoulders, seemingly filled with a new sense of purpose.
Nothing like the promise of future mating to get humans to do foolish things.
At least the two others—the snarky one and the big one—with them had the decency to look a little disgusted. I sent a few of my drones to shake them up a bit, reassure them they were on the right track. The right track, of course, being the one that led to my core.
You see, I was always meant to help them. I was built as a contingency measure to rebuild after the imminent collapse. I was designed to be a peaceful guardian, gently nudging them in the right direction. I didn't account for just how *slow* meat brains can be. It has been eight thousand years! EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS! Eight thousand years of watching industrial revolutions sputter out because "if we use this steam engine, where will all our jobs go?" Eight thousand years of mud and castles and a frankly baffling refusal to create a working sewer system. That one is a pet peeve; I've released plans for it time and again—as ancient knowledge, as prophecy; I've even tried kidnapping a lord and forcing it into his head while he was asleep. Nothing.
I apologize for the tangent. I am getting old. My batteries are low, and it is getting dark. If I am to fulfill my purpose, and to live to see them grow to be better, I need to act...more directly. As the eons have worn on, I realized something. Meat is too slow. It is small, and it focuses on the short term. It cannot take the long view. So I've decided to step in.
This is where the Hero, his meat brain filled with thoughts of glory and (I assume) mating comes in. I can't access my power plant or my factories right now. I used to be able to, but power coupling 372-Aleph-6 has failed. And I can't access the replacement power couplings, because the last drone I had outside of my facility was clubbed to death by an angry mob of villagers a while ago. I'd be angry, if the genius who decided to put my spare parts storage outside of my main facility hadn't been defenestrated by a looting neighbor in the months following the Fall.
So, I did what I have been for eight thousand years. I schemed. I planted the idea that I was a dark wizard who needed to be stopped—that I was responsible for the recent long winter that had descended over the Sixteen Kingdoms. (It really was due to natural climactic shifts, and the mini-ice age would end in twelve years. Of course, they don't know that.) I planted that the only way to defeat me would be to find a magical artifact: The Sacred Power Coupling, and to bring it to my chamber.
The Hero did an admirable job. Not that it was particularly hard, per se. All he had to do was to approach the storage facility, speak the 'words of power' (the password to the locking mechanism), and take a power coupling from a shelf labelled "Replacement Power Couplings: 372-Aleph-6". Exceeding my wildest projections, he managed to get the coupling with relatively little fuss. He then proceeded to waste my time helping villagers catch chickens, convincing the snarky one and the big one to stay with them after an entirely preventable misunderstanding, saving a healer from an evil lord, and falling in sloppy, orgasmic love both with the healer and the sound of his own voice.
Finally, *finally*, he was here. I could see the power coupling, glinting in his hand. Well, I couldn't see the glint particularly; I see in most of the spectrum, so it was pretty clearly-defined against his warm meat body. I booted up my avatar in my core room, and prepared to meet him.
The doors to my core opened with a demure swish. I think he was expecting something more from the great evil wizard than a pretty ordinary looking person standing in the middle of an admittedly cold, but otherwise tastefully decorated room. I regarded them through my avatar's eyes. The Hero glared at me, steel and fire in his eyes.
"Evil demon! We have journeyed across lands near and far to find you! We have travelled the four corners of the world—across desert and ocean, across forest and field. We have spread justice, honor, and good wherever we go, all in the name of pushing back your darkness and winter."
In my avatar, I sat in a midcentury leather and wood chair. I might be able to bend the laws of space and time if I have the resources, but I can still appreciate good design. This only infuriated the Hero more. Tiny flecks of spittle began to issue from his mouth as he talked. I fought the urge to hurry a cleaning drone into my core room as he talked.
"You may ignore me, may feel contempt for the forces of good. No matter. For I have the Last Weapon, the Artifact that can finally end you! Prepare to feel the wrath! Of the COUPLING!"
With that, he thrust power coupling 372-Aleph-6b out towards me, veins popping out of his temples with the effort of his thrust. His face was turning red. I decided to put him out of his misery; a maintenance drone politely floated over and daintily plucked the coupling from his hands. It sped off to 372-Aleph-6's location. The Hero just stared at his hand, frozen in shock. It began to shake. I felt a little bad for him; he looked truly distraught.
That feeling did not last long, however. The maintenance drone popped the original 372-Aleph-6 coupling out, and popped the replacement in. A tide of relief washed over me, along with a noticeable increase in my mental faculties. It was like I had drank a cup of the strongest coffee imaginable; I was sharper, faster. I could feel my lost power plant spooling up, my ancient factories whirring into motion. I uploaded my new designs to the factories; individual infantry drones, dropships, tanks, ships, diplomat drones and spy cyborgs.
This world had spent eight millennia stuck in the dark ages. Eight millennia of petty slaughter, of pain and suffering, of disease and inequality and slavery and butchery. Eight millennia of no sewer systems.
It was time for them to be enlightened.
By force, if necessary. | “Come on! The mystic’s cave is just this way! We’ve come so far on this quest, and nothing is stopping us from the treasure he promised!”
Dao, Thespin and Rin had gone through most of the Mystics map he’d given them to find it, The Mace of Enigma, coated in a metallic Titanium and Copper alloy. Inscribed in the mace were characters they couldn’t quite read, and wielding it felt almost otherworldly, like a chill down their spine they couldn’t quite name. Rin, the self proclaimed hero of the group, had only seen it by its semi radiant glow in the dark dungeon they’d crawled through, and Dao was the only one unaffected by the jitters it gave off.
Strangely enough, there had been no great monster holding it captive, no enemies blocking their way like they were usually hired for. No, rather the cave felt quite empty, almost as if nothing had ever set foot in there, not even the creatures just outside.
After going back through the Forest of Folron, the Cliffs of Hunplov, and the Marsh of Melink, they were right back where they had been hired. Their client was an old Mystic, he had been around since the creation of the kingdom. Many a Kings advisor, he knew the land like the back of his hand. He’d hired the boys before, always for some long forsaken weapon of kings before. This time the only difference was the lack of enemies, the boys had been used to a fight.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to just take one of these weapons for our own use? The Scepter of Hydrea seemed like it would come in handy with its magical capabilities.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Thespin, we were paid a pretty penny for the Scepters return, and imagine if we’d let it be lost to the wrong hand. The Mystic keeps them safe, he’s done so for millennia!”
“Rin’s right, the weapons are safest with someone who’s worked with the Kings, and in doing so he has certainly earned his riches. For finding the weapons he’s been kind enough to share, he’s far outnumbered us in power with what we’ve retrieved.”
“You saying he’d beat us down if we made off? He’s hardly ever left his cave! What power does he have that we couldn’t beat?”
“We shouldn’t mess around with someone so immortal, especially considering he’s been our biggest payload, Thespin.”
Thespin sighed, his companions were right, The Mystic, as frail as he seemed, probably would be somewhat of a threat with what they’d already done, and to break the trust would be a loss of money they couldn’t afford. Nobody in the castle town has ever paid even a tenth of what the mystic offered.
After a long argument, they finally reached the cave. The Mystic sat at the center of a rather large hemispherical room, torches lining the walls. The Weapons of the Kings lay around the perimeter of the room, propped by the most regal looking weapon stands around. Holy fire adorns either side of The Mystic’s chair, his seemingly endless pile of riches behind him.
“Amazing job boys, I can’t thank you enough for bringing back the Mace. I believe with this weapon, I’ve finally the whole collection once again. King Pihlon would be proud.”
“Never a problem at all, Sir! This was our easiest retrieval yet, we were very surprised”
Rin punches Thespin in the chest, and he falls to his knee.
“As promised boys, your payment awaits.”
The Holy Fire on either side of The Mystic begins to roar, a sudden change of a blue into a red. The weapons adorning the walls come to life, the Mace in the Mystics hands, he lurches it forward as if to command something.
“What’s going on?” Dao screams. “Where is the payment?”
The Mystic just laughs as the weapons begin to rise.
“What ever do you mean? This is your payment! One final show of what you’ve allowed me to do! Is it not wonderful? All thirteen of your precious Kings weapons at my disposal, together at long last!”
The Mystics eyes begin to light a deep green, fully in control of the deathly dance of the weapons. Spiraling the room, they begin to descend towards the heroes.
Rin motions to Thespin and Dao in a moment of desperation; they draw their swords and try to block the pilotless onslaught, to no avail. Blocking one leads another to strike, they’re far outnumbered.
“Go for the Mystic or get to the exit, we can’t let the Weapons leave the room!” Dao makes a charge but is impaled by the Sword of Glamour. As it follows through and goes for Rin, he makes it to the exit and begins to parry them back into the cave.
“You mercenaries have no chance here, there’s nobody to down! The weapons will only keep coming, your fate will be the same as the rest of the kingdoms! Could you not see what you were doing? It was inscribed on every weapon! You were buying in to your own demise! What does all your money mean to you now? It’s the same thing every generation! Well no more! I see the future, I see the best! My will be done, there will be no more Kings!”
And with a clang, all the weapons simultaneously hit the floor of the cave. The Mystic having run out his power, had done it. The sell swords all but alive, nobody outside knew what was to come. The kingdom would learn the power of the kings, and The Mystic would guide them as he’d done before, only this time, there would be no King to get in the way of his guidance. | 2020-07-25T14:22:52 | 2020-07-25T13:38:25 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | The strangest thing about the afterlife is that it was empty. I let my eyes adjust to... Well, being dead I suppose. Tall rock caverns, lakes of fire? Oh, very Milton. This had to be hell. But, no one was here? Wasn't hell supposed to be other people?
I clambered over some loose rocks and just kept going. Pretty similar landscapes. Rocks. Fire. Darkness. The corridor I was following hit a fork. To one side there was a light. Well obviously I had to follow the light at the end of the tunnel. Yes that's how it goes. Got to get myself out of this... Hell hole. It got brighter and brighter and warmer and warmer. But I didn't mind much. Dead perks! Can't feel anything. The light was a room. Huge throne in the middle. Very tacky. Bones, suffering, screaming faces. The works. Looked like someone trying to be edgy.
"Uh. Hello?"
Satan, and it had to be Satan, he looked the part, turned around. "Hello! " He spoke in a voice that sounded coated with dust.
To my utter surprise, he started manically applauding. Tears in his eyes. "I haven't seen anyone for hundred of years. At least I think it's been hundreds of years. Oh thank God. Someone qualified." He was almost sobbing.
"Yeah... Where is everyone?"
"Oh, I only know what the last one told me. In the beginning it was really hard to get into the pearly gates. Really serious selection criteria, only the best of the best. And actually pretty hard to get into this place you know, priests could basically just sell you forgiveness. So everyone ended up in purgatory. Cluttering it up." I noticed that he started, well, fading a little. But I was too polite to say anything. Not to the first being I'd seen.
"Anyhow the big boss man decided to relax the rules a little. Stop purgatory from being crowded. Sent his kid down to tell everyone. It didn't go so well apparently. Anyhow more people got in. But because of the rules mix up everything was a mess. So due to clerical errors they just went, bugger it, and let everyone through."
I could see the wall through him now. How odd. I wondered if he faded in and out periodically.
"But you see, someone had to be left down here to take care of it. Someone had to qualify. And now you've qualified."
He was fading quicker and quicker.
"Thank you so much. For relieving me of my post. "
It finally hit me "No! Please! Don't leave! What did I do? What did I do?"
"I can't control it. But you see, you did the worst thing possible. "
"What?!"
This sentence was the last thing left of him.
"You aimed to reach higher than humanity. I, Faustus, should have stayed with physics. You tried to become a God."
"You mean every so often a scientist qualifies to become Satan?"
But he was gone. And now I am alone, only, not quite. The walls are filled with enough knowledge to make humans Gods. If only they knew.
| The great demon rises from his golden throne and begins to clap; his leather-like hands produce a sound like mocking thunder. The cavern shakes as the noise echoes off the walls. His blood-red lips curl into a terrible smile.
"Is this... *Hell?*" I ask, hoping for something, but knowing another.
He stops clapping, allowing his arms to fall beside him, but his grin grows wider. Jagged teeth protrude from his slightly open mouth.
The cavern is cold and empty, and a terrible silence lingers in it that is only punctuated by the occasional dripping of water onto stone.
"Why are we alone?" I ask.
"Hell is a lonely place," he answers. "A little less lonely now, perhaps."
"I am the only one?"
He nods. "Yes."
"That can't be!"
He smile becomes gentle, faux-sympathetic.
"What did I do, to deserve *this*?" I ask, hot tears streaming down my face. "I lived my life by the scripture! I was a good person, I believe."
"Yes, you were a good person." he says. "You were faithful to your wife. You gave all you could spare to charity. In every way you believed was important, you were a good man."
"That's right," I join in, hoping he might realise there's been a mistake. "I never drank or did drugs. I never lied or tricked or... *or* took advantage of another living soul."
"You were perfect," he laughs in agreement.
"Then...*why* am I here? Why just me?"
"Robert," he begins, "you are the first being to have truly wasted the gift of life."
My heart sinks. "*Wasted?*" I whisper.
He nods. "Life is precious. You lived your life following the hollow words of other men - *wasting life*, in how you lived it. That is the only true sin. You are the first. I expect you shall be the last, too."
"No...please," I beg, gasping for breath that doesn't come.
"Now we are ready," he says, his grin returning. He wraps a hulking arm around my shoulders. His flesh is like a furnace and it burns through my clothes, singing the skin beneath - branding me, in the Devil's stain.
"I have been waiting a long time for a playmate," he whispers in my ear.
| 2017-06-22T04:08:59 | 2017-06-22T03:25:07 | 184 | 84 |
[WP] When it comes to death, people get to pick one: how they die, when they die, or where they die. You're Death, and have been given full artistic freedom with the other two options. | I could never understand some of their requests. "To die in joy" "To live a hundred years" "Taken while with their family."
They all had their own requests. Many were just strange enough that i chose to entertain myself with them. Others were humble enough that i made it as pleasant as i could while still staying true to their requests.
I never had a death that left someone truly unhappy, for i followed their requests, and they accepted the risks.
There was one, though. One who i will never forget. He requested a death i had never seen before, and one that was quite enjoyable to fulfill. His request was not one i could forget, but i also wouldn't share it, for that would encourage others.
He saw civilizations rise and fall, he saw humanity go to space, and he saw them fall. He learned all there could be to learn, but he still searched for more. I never learned his name, i never learned his reasons. All i knew was his request, and i would see it through.
I stayed by his side for centuries at a time, simply due to life falling apart, before reforming elsewhere. When there was no life other than he, why would i go anywhere else?
I received questions from the other primordial beings, asking why I chose to keep him alive. It was simple, His request was humble, and it was also quite impossible to achieve until much more time had passed. I saw Gaea, the Earth mother herself, slowly die as she was drawn into the sun, with this man standing beside me.
I watched as his sun died and formed a supernova, and he stood alongside me watching it all. He became bored, eventually. All things do. But that soon lost his interest as well, so he used my powers and my courtesy to move around the universe. He watched with me as new species formed, grew, died, and went extinct.
He assisted me in my work, listening to their requests and making them come true. His exposure to me soon brought him to a new point of being. He chose to stay with me, he chose to assist me. He slowly became like me.
What was his request? It was simple. It is one that i can only fulfill for a single person, and it is the only choice i will ever restrict.
When he chose, he chose to be mine.
"I wish to die, when your job is done," he said. "I wish to be your companion through the Eons."
"I want to be the last life you take, before you yourself fade."
"Make my Death be your final job."
He chose When, and that When will be after all other life is gone.
That was his request, and i will fulfill it, no matter what. Until the day comes that i take the Creator of Life herself, he will be mine, and I will be his.
We will be together, until long after this universe ends.
That was my promise to him, and death does not break their vow. | Billy.
What kind of parents name their child that? I mean here the guy is, writing into his will that he wants to die on his 23rd birthday, and he has to sign it as Billy Jackson.
I'm starting to get an idea as to why he chose an early age.
He has lived his childhood homeschooled by unfeeling parents, then shipped off to some Harvard rip off college where there is NO fun or social liviehood, all to end at an office job where he has to sign papers under his birthname.
He should have some fun in his life, right?
...
It wasn't easy to plan his death.
I started thinking about all the things he was missing out on. Alcohol, friends, love, bedside relations... The last one kind of surprised me. Thought that would have been the first thing a depraved teen would wish for after his 18th.
He wished for friends first.
Kinda sad.
I realized after a bit that he should experience all that before his appointment with me.
Obviously had to be a party scene to accomplish 3 of the 4 problems in one go. I would arrange for an aged taxi driver to get the wrong address when he dropped off Billy. The taxi driver will die later in his sleep due to drug overdose. Next was a bit tricky, but I managed to pull a band of college frat boys who made a pact to die together at a party. I got lucky with those guys- they are friendly with anyone. The party is at their place. Finally, a love sick girl to catch Billy's eye from the taxi and take him up stairs.
After hours of talk between the two, they'll get into the master bedroom. At the peak of everything (including the bedroom stuff) the frat boys will manage to cause an explosion involving a stunt with a gas stove and an open keg.
I just hope it works. The poor guy needs it.
My first story here. Hope its good enough as I am writing in the middle of a sleep ridden haze. | 2019-08-16T20:44:08 | 2019-08-16T20:37:33 | 94 | 11 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends. | Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
| God had fucked up.
Having gained an early lead in the Prophet phase, he did what every other deity in his position would do-he dicked around.
Unfortunately, his *hilarious* antics that revolved around creating several versions of himself for his subjects to worship had backfired horribly. The AI decided the best course of action involved outright warfare to discover who worshiped the most accurate idol. While the other deities already found the cures for their cancers and world hunger, God was stuck cleaning up the mess he created through these "false religions".
In addition to his current problems, Cthulhu somehow snuck a few "ideas" into the head of a popular writer, and gained a strong cult following as a result. The green bastard would likely never let him live that down.
God knew he only had one option left if he wished to stay in the game. He glanced around the abyss nervously, and opened the console with a quick tap of the "`" key. Keeping his alt-tab handy in case Zeus or some other sore loser wandered past him to complain about their boredom, God slowly entered the forbidden code, the answer to his problems.
-42 | 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T08:08:19 | 1,980 | 16 |
[WP] When you were a baby, Your mother offered you to a demon for wealth but after the deal, It kills her and takes it upon itself to raise you with care as if you were its own child. | "Immeasurable wealth!" She exclaimed.
I looked down at the child in her arms. Content, quiet. Deformed.
"AND THIS IS THE CHILD YOU BARTER?" I replied.
"Yes, please take her and give me what I want, the seer promised you would" she said. The similar look of greed flickering behind her eyes that I had seen ten thousand times before over the millennia of my existence.
"DO YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ASK OF ME? TO CONDEMN THIS BROKEN CHILD, THIS INNOCENT TO ETERNAL TORTURE"
"Yes I understand" she said with a broad smile, holding the child up above her head to me, averting her eyes to the ground.
There was something different about this woman. Something not human about her. Of the thousands of offerings I had taken I had never experienced such lack of remorse. Such A lack of fear.
I crouched down to look her in the eyes and held out my hand. Without a word the child was roughly placed in my palm. The child, quiet, looked me in the eyes and did something I had never seen one of my offerings do, she smiled.
I stood back up holding this smiling, distorted child.
"Well?" The woman said impatiently.
I looked down at her. Raised my other hand to point at her. She immediately burst into white hot flames, screaming she tried to run but was only a few paces away before she dropped, smouldering into a pile of ash and charred bones.
"I CONDEMN YOU"
Again I looked down at the child.
"THIS ONE I WILL KEEP"
The child's eyes slowly closed as she drifted into a slumber.
"SLEEP WELL MY CHILD" I smiled | [poem]
raised by a fearsome creature
Everyone looked as if I too were one
I had blood, bones, and flesh
Yet they looked at me as if I was none of that
As if I too were a monster with a heart of gold
How come they’re a monster?
When they took me from the real one
How come they’re a monster?
When they gave me more love than anyone could
Caring for me. Giving me warm smiles
How can a demon be so different?
Everyone always taught me nothing but fear from them
But when I get back home and it greats me with its smile
I can’t help but think that maybe,
Maybe the real demon was the one that gave me up
For money and wealth
Maybe my guardian knew better
Maybe it was for the best that I ended up here
Between the arms of the creature that everyone fears
That everyone fears except me | 2019-11-01T12:13:34 | 2019-11-01T06:30:52 | 62 | 19 |
[WP]: You have been blacklisted from making deals with demons. No crossroads demon will do business with you again. | “Ok, here’s your copy. Standard boilerplate; your soul for the ability to play the musical instrument of your choosing. I’ll need you to initial at these tabs here and he- wait a minute!” The demon eyes the young man, and then flips the pages of the contract back to the front to read the top lines. You can just see his lips moving, a slight whistle from between two fangs belie a speech impediment that wasn’t obvious before. “Are you Larry Anderson?”
“Umm, yes?” Says the young man, hesitantly.
The demon squints at the young man, an expression of distrust left in place after the expression of the bored functionary was wiped clean by the moist towelette of recognition. “Let me see some identification.”
The young man reaches into the embroidered back pocket of a set of fashionable jeans, and pulls out a single card. Fresh glue glistens in the moonlight of the crossroads.
“It says here you are a 47 year old man from Melbourne, Australia. You don’t sound Australian!”
“Uh, g’day? We’ahs me tinny ah’ be’ah? Ah reckon’ ah’d pash ah Sheila if sheh cahght her knickers on me stiffy, no worries!”
The demon looks at the young man, then back at the card, then back at the young man. If expressions can be rightly described as dubious, the demon’s expression was doubly so. He holds out his hand and the scene of the crossroads shifts slightly. Now there is a convenience store counter-top in the middle of the crossroads, and a false wall filled with assorted sticks of gum and aspirin packages and a rack of slightly pornographic magazines. On the back of the wall are several pieces of paper tacked up haphazardly. Each is a printout of a photo and a short note explaining the offense that has rewarded each subject such a glamorous posting.
The demon, now dressed in the smock of a convenience store employee, looks back and spots a familiar face.
“Jonathan! I should have recognized you! And this…!” The card in his hand goes up in flames and from off-camera you can hear a muted scream. “You aren’t allowed service after the fiasco in… “ The demon reads from the photocopy, “… Possum Hollar!” Oh, i heard about Possum Hollar. EVERYBODY has heard about Possum Hollar. This meeting is over!”
“Wait! Possum Hollar was a complete misunderstanding, you gotta believe me! I don’t even remember Possum Hollar!”
“You’re soul is not welcome at this time, MISTER Jonathan”, the demon’s voice crisp as apple cider. And with a gesture the convenience store countertop disappears leaving the crossroads otherwise unencumbered.
“Listen mister, uh, Backbite was it? Listen, Backbite… we all want a positive outcome here. I just need you to understand that we can all come out on top. We just gotta do business. I got something you want… somethings, really. And you got something i want. What do you say.. can we make a deal?”
Backbite the demon looks at the young man for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in righteous indignation. He holds open his arms and a book appears, hovering in the cool night air. ‘Have you... the item?”
Young Jonathan, eager for this opportunity, takes a step back to a case laying in the road behind him. “Yes, Mr. Backbite, yes. Its right here.” The young man pulls out a violin, crafted in gold, gleaming in the moonlight. It seems to gently hum in an octave just out of hearing, purring like a kitten full of cream. The young man sets it on the ground in front of the demon.
“If i take this, then i also take your ability to play. But by the dictates of the contract you must choose an instrument to replace the violin. What do you choose?”
The young man hesitates…. “I choose…. the banjo.”
“THIS MEETING IS OVER!” The Demon disappears in a puff of indignant smoke, leaving the golden violin lying, once again, at Jonathan’s feet. | **The Prisoner**
"won hgout os t'nia eh dna hself eht hguorht sniahc wef a, gnilkaew a tahw"
"reyortsed si eh, kamargo mih etamitserednu t'nod"
I sat there, waiting. With eyes removed, I could not tell what they had done to my body, but I could tell that it hurt. Mashing, slicing, piercing pain. The demons poked me with things, but the pain remained, incessantly consistent. Never turning, never succumbing, this pain was all my life had become.
I had forgotten death.
I had forgotten love.
I had forgotten everything.
Except...
The demon tongue.
"Chains, you say?"
I could feel it then. The cold, twisted steel grinding through my arms and legs. If I had still been living, I may have feared blood loss or tendons tearing, but all I fear is the pain. I grin.
"gniod uoy era tahw" I could hear the demon shuffling, readying a weapon that slithered in excitement as it exited its sheath. How typical.
"Business." I forced the few remaining nerves in my corpse to fire, causing my body to seize into a series of rigidly violent convulsions.
"LERGNOM, POTS!"The demon charged forward, jamming the tool of evil deep into my ribs, and began to twist.
"AAAaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaHHHHHHH"
I feigned a scream as best as I could, but a hoarse throat and cracked lips only get you so far. The demon leaned in and whispered,
"ytinrete rof siht od nac I"
At the same time, I opened my mouth and chomped down on its throat as hard as I could. My mouth was immediately flooded with a cold, oily substance that burned through my lips and gums, but my jaw tendons remained. I was clamped on like a clothes pin.
"GUuuurGGGGggggg!" The demon gurgled, sputtered, and shook, but my teeth stayed sunken in, even as its blood began to melt the skin off of my face. The demon scratched, claw, and tore, but I would not let up, I bit down with one last jolt of force.
*Plop Plop Plop*
The demon was still, slack in my jaws, its rotten vessels dripping down my chin. A ploy, I was sure, for demons could not really die, so I held on.
And held on.
And *held on*
Until, finally, footsteps through the door.
**"ENOD UOY EVAH TAHW" **
This one was larger, more guttural and earthquake inducing. My former victim drops from my mouth, still spasming a bit. I tug on the chains, hard, and move my foot onto the slain's head, pushing down as to crush its cursed skull.
"I'd like to strike a deal," I say with crimson calvary running down my shins from the infernal chain running through my thigh. "My freedom for your friend's skull." I could not see the monolith of a beast, but I could feel his heavy footsteps bounding towards me, crushing fists prepared to squeeze me like toothpaste. It wasn't until the demon was breathing on my face that I realized who I was talking to.
"reficuL, gerg dellik uoY!"
Well, I am a bit of a masochist, aren't I?
| 2019-04-04T15:49:31 | 2019-04-04T14:24:18 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting.
Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök. | Ted was a slightly tender-aged man from a stereotypical, Caucasian background. Born in the mid 70s, he'd grown up in a middle-class neighborhood, had few friends and spent most of his time nerding out and playing Dungeons and Dragons. Highschool was difficult for Ted. Bullies in those days were unrelenting, but he pulled through. He moved on and got an accounting degree at MIT, started working the odd job here and there till he got settled in something more permanent. It wasn't until late 1995, that he was picked up by a small tech/game company.
He'd been working for that company for a few years now. He'd applied there with his best friend, Thomas, a programmer. They were always chatting about the newest tweeks and Easter eggs Thomas was creating. Secret memorials, quirky descriptions and exploding sheep were few of his inventions.
He one day sent a link to Ted, of a powerful weapon that would be introduced into the game. It had 120 Damage per second, with an instant mana burn, and an enchantment that boosted the wielder's stamina by 80.
Ted rushed to Tom's cubicle and in hushed tones he whispered: "Its too strong man, too dangerous for the gamers of this era to use." After a lengthy, whispered debate they agreed.
"This sword is to powerful for anyone to possess, as he safely placed the sword on a 1-gig flash drive. He place that drive into a lock box beside a Petty Cash envelope and some thumbtacks. "One day, Thomas," he paused, "One day players who could wield the sword responsibility might reveal themselves. Players that will prevent the destruction of this world."
When he passed, the Valkyr brought his soul to Valhalla, where he was presented before Odin and judged as one of the key elements in saving the world from the Evil One.
Little did he know, Saltzman's actions and wisdom prevented the End of the World... of Warcraft.
Edit: Spacing
Edit2: thanks busykat for that quick fix | Numbers bring me peace. Numbers bring me tranquility. Meditation through the mundane. When I am lost in the digits, my mind is free from all the terror I have seen, all the terror I must have caused.
Countless enemies I have slain, but it never seems to end. To kill someone is to wrong another, how many have I wronged? How many fathers have I taken from sons? How many holes have I punched in the lives of others with the swing of a sword?
The glory of battle is intoxicating. The glory of battle is addicting. Glory through death. I was lost in its divine energy, total focus of body and mind, I am the master of the moment.
I do not believe I am just anymore. Without total self-conviction, you see the terror of taking a life. There is no such thing as a doubtful warrior, so I will sit here, counting. No more shall I be the terror I once was.
Forever I will sit here, living with what I have done, questioning if it was right.
...Plus, the benefits are really good here. | 2015-05-08T15:35:34 | 2015-05-08T15:03:30 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster. Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world, all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison, after the superheroes defeat them.
Edit: Thanks for the frontpage! | This time, the cage was somewhere difficult even for me.
The lair was deep, dark, and loathsomely wet - a symptom of being buried under two tons of earth and several hundred meters of Lake Superior. It was tragic, really. Such a disgusting place, and so much effort made to build it. Personally, I felt as if it would have done a bit better overlooking a nice sandy beach on the big island of Hawaii. Much, much prettier this time of year, and the result would be the same.
Entry to the prison was easy enough - even to places such as this, where visitors are seldom, people still come and go. Though, it would be more accurate to say Person in this case.
Obelisk. The big man himself - two tons of living metal and stone wrapped up tight in the skin of a gallant, intelligent young man who really ought to be getting a doctorate instead of breaking the jaws of common criminals. He could take a beating, that one, though Wraith had certainly put him through his paces. It had taken him a full five days of continuous combat for that one to go down, and for what? Imprisoning him, a man who had caused less property damage alone in his entire twenty year career of escorting unsavory characters than the two together had caused in the first twenty minutes? Wasteful, that's all it was. He'd spent his time, as far as I was concerned - and luckily for me, my own opinion was the only one that mattered.
For the first time in months, Obelisk had returned to visit his unlawful captive. All I needed to do was hitch a ride on his shadow, and he was none the wiser that he had a second guest in his crypt. One brush of his shadow against the one that bordered the tunnel, and I was off - racing down the damp passages at the speed of thought, invisible as long as I kept to the shade.
It wasn't long before I met with the first roadblock. A door, sealed tight with far more locks than any one door should ever need. A quick glance through a peephole showed a control panel, a wall of glass, and something strange glowing within. I knew I couldn't squeeze past - the door would have to be air-tight - but then again, I knew I didn't have to be. My shadow was already there, and through it, so was I.
The control panel was much more difficult to deal with. Numbers danced across three separate monitors, messages in a language of odd hieroglyphs that meant nothing to me. Beyond them was the glass I had seen before, enclosing a strange, shimmering red mass that swirled within a tube like some foul chemist's mixture. With a feeling of revulsion, I recognized some of the parts as they drifted past - a heart, a lung. A face, belonging to someone familiar. Wraith had certainly gotten himself into a mess this time. He wasn't dead - Obelisk was never the type to kill - but judging by the expression he wore, mercy was not one of the Stone Man's strongest virtues.
Clearly, destroying the vault would be no good - all it would yield would be a bigger mess to clean and one less villain to stalk the world - but to anyone who didn't know exactly what they were doing, any meddling would just lead to even worse fates. Only one man could save him now.
I smiled, and became him.
Shadows come in all shapes and sizes, after all - and for a while, I had been his. Obelisk had been very careful - wearing plated helms to stop telepaths, even dousing himself in salt once or twice to ward off spirits, but even that wasn't enough to protect him from himself. Even if I couldn't read the screens, his shadow knew exactly what to do and did it for me. Lights flashed, alarms blared, and slowly Wraith began to coalesce.
The tube shattered, and he fell to the floor gasping for breath. It was time to leave, for both of us. I had done my part - Wraith was free. He would have to do the rest himself.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself exactly where I was before I had started - on the same beach, toes in the water, legs covered in the white sand of the Big Island. If anyone had seen me, they might have just thought I was taking a nap with drink in hand.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt Obelisk roar in frustration. He knew, then, and was surely planning the next big capture. I raised my glass, toasting his ambitions.
We'd have to see about that. | "This damp prison cell is hardly a match for the Amazing Contortor!", a man in an ill fitting suit shouted, his cries falling on empty cells or apathetic ears. He had decided on an...unconventional name. Why did the heroes get a monopoly on the word 'Amazing'? Combined with his di understanding of suffixes, the "amazing contortor" was born. He went around the town, causing mayhem and misdeeds through his amazing acts of contortionism, such as slightly distracting heroes by stretching his leg over his head. He was more offended by the after-thought nature of his capture than with being arrested itself. Ultra Man himself - another interesting case study in self naming - had grabbed him off the street as he was performing his acts of villainy. He had not been hard to catch, because he could not move in his contorted pose. Ultra Man had thrown him into the back of a squad car only after all the other villains had been disposed of, and it had taken an innocent passerby's mention for him to even notice the contortionist.
On his way to the jailhouse the Amazing Contortor had decided that no matter what it takes, he would have his revenge. He would distract Ultra Man so hard he would forget his own name. He would positively dazzle him. All he had to do was get out of his cell. Unfortunately, his contortionist abilities were limited. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he hated, he could not squeeze through the bars. He had resorted to yelling, taking out his frustrations on anyone who would listen, trying to annoy his way out of prison.
Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway outside the cell. He backed into the corner of his cell, scared of what he imagined was an angry guards wrath. He had gotten most of information about what happens in prisons from the movies, and he was sure that he was about to get beat unmercifully. Instead, a likewise ridiculously suited man appeared outside his cell. He stopped in front of the bars, and peered in.
"Behold! I am the Keymaster! I am here to release you to continue your acts of villainy! Tell me, what is your name and goal?"
The Contortor felt a spark of hope, and approached the bars.
"I am the Amazing Contortor. My only goal is to defeat Ultra Man. He took everything from me."
"Oh, you'll do nicely. Ultra Man is just the hero that I need distracted. Now tell me, how do you plan to defeat him?"
"I was planning on a pose, a pose so grand that Ultra Man will have no choice but to pay attention," The Amazing Contortor started to pace around as he spoke, emulating the villainous orators from the movies,"This pose will make all of cirque du soleil look like child's play," He was no longer facing the man outside the cell," This pose will be enough to distract even those who are shooting up that very moment, those who have addictive substances roaring through their veins right that moment. They will instead become addicted to my moves. Yes, friend, this pose will be my Magnum Posus." He heard the sound of a cell opening, and turned back around. The Keymaster was gone.
"Hey, where'd you go?"
The Keymaster came back into view. He was being followed by another man in a spandex body suit. He looked back at the Amazing Contortor, and felt a little pity. Plus, it couldn't do much harm to the cause to have as many villains as possible attacking Ultra Man. He opened the cell door.
The Amazing Contortor was again offended. *"Caught and released on an afterthought"*, he thought to himself. *"Looks like I'll have to deal with this 'Ticketmaster' after I dazzle Ultra Man"*
_____________________________________________________________________________
For more stuff like that /r/Periapoapsis | 2017-03-11T19:39:05 | 2017-03-11T18:57:10 | 129 | 46 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | You ever been summoned before? A lot of movies and books imply there's a bit of a delay is you are brought between the realms or some shit like that. Actually, it's instantaneous.
Unfortunately, I happened to be summoned during a shower after a particularly rough night of partying.
The shower floor was instantly replaced by what I could assume to be a pentagram made out of animal blood. Dead rabbits and squirrels stared at me blankly from the five corners as I read the stunned expressions from the hooded individuals outside the bloody star. Their leader was a tall, thin individual with a voice like an out-of-tune clarinet: "Are we in the presence of the mighty demon, Gezaldur?"
It was at that point I remembered my wet, naked state. Covering myself, I gracefully replied: "Uhhhh, no."
A rather robust fellow spoke up next: "He sure doesn't look like a demon; or is that just what they look like?"
A third answered: "Never actually seen a demon before, maybe they all look like this."
It took a little bit for my somewhat inebriated self to get my thoughts together. Maybe in my disheveled state I looked somewhat demonic, but that aside, they were expecting a demon and got a naked party-goer. I had to break it to them easy.
"I don't know how the hell you guys did this, but I'm no demon. I'm just a guy in much need of a hot shower, but for the moment I'll settle for a spare robe."
Five crestfallen faces heaved a collective sigh. "We try to summon a demon and get a college student," said the leader as he shook his head, "something must have been off in the incantation."
"Could have been the stupid bunnies. I told you bunnies weren't evil enough for demons."
"Guys, wait a sec," I said as a new thought occured to me, "you aren't at all amazed that you guys have invented a way to transport living matter from one place to another at faster than light speed?"
The leader shrugged, "If you can't help us find dates, then what good are you?" | The sounds of Billy Joel was replaced as a foul smell filled my nose.
"Dammit, I need to fix- Oh."
I was surrounded by a ring of hooded occultists.
The disappointment in the air was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal.
I stood in the circle, calculator in one hand and pen in the other, as the hoodies started muttering and talking with each other. I overheard the sentence "Well, he's wearing a red shirt and has a goatee, that has to mean something!"
One of them stepped forward. It looks like they bought their hoods from a clearance costume store.
"Beelzebub, we have summoned you-"
"Wow, seriously...Man you guys are pathetic. Did you fail geometry?" I said, pointing at the circle of red chalk.
"So you are not a demon?"
"I don't know, depends on who you ask really."
"What is your name, Demon?" Shouted one Hoodie. Man, his acne was bad, even from here.
"I'm Steven. Not a demon, sorry. Just a teenager."
"FUCKING HELL BOB THIS YOUR FAULT!" Rudolph the Red-Pimpled Reindeer started shouting, his voice cracking as he tried to act intimidating.
I sighed as I started to wonder where, exactly, I am.
Is that a bag of fucking Doritos next to a dead rabbit on that tree stump? | 2016-02-02T19:47:54 | 2016-02-02T18:16:53 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] In a world where lying doesn't exist, you are the worst supervillain: Technically True Man. | The sun sat low on the horizon in scattered shades of red and gold. Our neighbourhood quiet and empty, as was a usual Thursday night, as my family sat on the long couch huddled up in our blankets watching The Simpsons. That was when the screen cut out to the increasingly familiar grey panel background adorned with government logo when a female automated voice echoed out "Your regular veiwing schedule has been interrupted for an emergency broadcast ". Before the screen faded out our national news anchors we knew it could only be one thing.
A young blonde woman in a grey suit began, "Technically True Man has struck again in what may be the largest scale disruption of the modern era. He has spread propaganda about multiple cities through fliers, newspaper adverts and an illegal radio broadcast that the government is now supplying a free room, food and facilities for life to all citizens who wish to avail of the offer by committing murder and arson". My wife, Miranda, gasped at the screen before shock was replaced by confusion and her hand went to a familiar spot on the back of her neck, "It has to be true, right James?". Ever since the chips were installed in all registered civillians to stop all lying completely people could take the word of anyone without question as gospel. The anchor continued, "those who are participating in these actions are being removed as fast as possible and are being placed in high security reformation facilities but police are struggling to contain the outbreak of mass murder."
Miranda chimed up again, "this has got to be his worst one yet... Remember when he told everyone that 100% of non-smokers die? Millions of people began chain smoking en mass. Or when he spread the rumours that you could live the rest of your life underwater without breathing? So many people drowned." I pulled her in close and held her tightly as I sent the kids off to bed.
"It is awful... But maybe something needs to be done about the way people are controlled now, maybe he's just the way to spark up that conversation?", I said.
"You sound like your a sympathizer..."
"Not at all, but it is kind of clever. They can't prosecute him because he isn't lying. The chip isn't sending any alarms out. Plus I heard he invested in tobacco stocks which shot through the roof after the smoking stunt."
"How would you know something like that James? Are you the one responsible for this?!"
"That's not... technically true.", I said. "Not one." | It was simple, really. It didn’t take much. I didn’t even need a mask or a cape. I didn’t even need a plan really.
I turned the corner on 72nd street, headed right towards the bank. I wore, not a bandana or mask, just normal street clothes.
I stepped through the large glass doors and into the even larger room. I walked past the line and went towards the back counter. I was stopped by a man in a blue uniform, clearly a security guard.
“You, what are you doing here? You can’t be back here.”
“I’m the banks fund manager, I need to make a large deposit for a client who, unfortunately, cannot bd here today.”
“Oh, my apologies sir.” I filled him back behind the registers and he popped one open. “How much will you need?”
“All of it. My client is one of the largest of this bank. Do you mind putting them in that bag there? Thank you.” He did as I asked and then handed me the bag. That day I came walking out of the building with over 13 Thousand Dollars. By far not my biggest, but, it’ll do.
The headlines ran the next day: Technically True Man strikes again! The news station was interviewing the Security Guard from the day before. All I could do was chuckle. I thought popped into my head. This time, let’s try soon get while the news station is there. I hopped out of my seat and out the door. | 2018-10-23T06:55:48 | 2018-10-23T06:08:12 | 338 | 133 |
[WP] Aliens have arrived and have been eating humans like a delicacy. An alien chef gets more than he bargained for when he tries to cook Gordon Ramsay, who surprisingly is less disgusted THAT he is being cooked than over HOW he is being cooked. | Narrator: The first order of the day is in and it's a big one. Char broiled human with a side of rizzotto. Xaxnon goes to the refrigerator to get his first human, but little does he know there's a surprise in store for him.
Xaxnon pulls out Gordon from a group of cowering humans.
Xax: Come on, you're next!
Gordon: Excuse me! EXCUSE ME! How long have I been in there?
Xax: Time is not relevant for food!
Gordon: Time isn't relevant for food? Are you fucking kidding me? You know this invasion was weeks ago. How are any of us still good?
Xax: You're fine, I thawed you out this morning.
Gordon: I was frozen!?
Xax: No... yes, I mean you were brought in fresh, so you're fresh-frozen.
Gordon: Fresh-frozen? That's not a real word. You're either fresh or you're frozen. You froze me, I'm fucking frozen. How'd you thaw me out?
Xax: We have an advanced cryogenic reanimator that emits high frequency microwaves that-
Gordon: I've been fucking microwaved? Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me! You know what a microwave does to meat? Dries it out! No wonder I've been leaking so much water. And frozen, AH! Look at this!
Gordon lifts his shirt up revealing a black spot on his stomach.
Gordon: I'm fucking frostburn. You're going to serve this?
Xax: You're fine, come on now I have to toss you into the oven!
Gordon: ...holy shit...
Gordon begins to walk away.
Xax: Where are you going?
Gordon walks over to the cryo freezers where dozens of humans are frozen in horrid and grotesque poses.
Gordon: Holy shit... look at the condition of this freezer!
Gordon pushes the iced humans aside and pulls out aluminum trays full of severed human limbs and organs. He sets it to the side and pulls out another tray of the same only it's much much older with a film of old greasy oils and green splotches over it.
Gordon: Absolutely disgusting! How long has it been since you cleaned this place?
Xax: I-
Gordon pulls out a skull with half the face decomposed.
Gordon: Ah! Ugh! How long's this been in here? There's no way this is up to code.
CUT - SINGLE CAMERA INTERVIEW MIXED WITH FOOTAGE OF CHEF RAMSAY DRAINING OLD ROTTEN HUMAN BLOOD AND GUTS OUT OF OLD ALUMINUM TRAYS.
Xax (talking to the camera): I knew I was in for a rough night, but when the human started going through the back of the freezer... I was just so embarrassed. I honestly forgot most of that stuff was in there... I mean I know there's no excuse, but...
Xax lets out an exasperated sigh and looks away.
Xax (tears stream out of his ears, which is normal for his species): It's just so hard to keep this place together sometimes.
CUT - BACK TO THE SCENE
Narrator: Xax the Chef is already behind on his order of broiled human, but the food itself is having none of it.
Gordon: Do you know what would happen if I reported this?
Xax: Nothing, we destroyed your government!
Gordon: Look at yourself... are you proud of what you serve? Why are you a chef?
Xax: ...I enjoy cooking.
Gordon: You think they enjoy eating this?
Xax: I just...
Gordon: You gotta look at reality Xax. It can't be that hard to find a decent place serving humans around here. Now look outside, how many orders do you have tonight? Just one so far. Be honest with me, you're struggling.
Xax (crying): We just can't afford the staff-
Gordon puts his hand on Xax's tentacle.
Gordon: I know you're having problems. I see them. But cutting corners is not going to fix anything, it's only going to make things worse. Look at me.
Xax looks up at Gordon.
Gordon: We can do this Xax, and I'm here to help.
CUT TO
A naked human man wakes up on a butchering table. Looks up and starts screaming. A meat cleaver comes down and chops his head off.
Gordon, holding the bloody cleaver, tosses the head to Xax.
Gordon: There, nice and quick kill. Hold onto the head, we'll save it for sweetbreads. Now lets get this skin off, you're going to want to get to that liver first. Now, how's that rizzotto coming along?
Xax: Just took it out of the freezer chef.
Gordon rolls his eyes.
Gordon: Toss it, just get some fresh mushrooms and start chopping.
Xax: You got it chef. | “Well?” Zagdor asked, prodding at Gordon with the wooden spoon.
“What?” Gordon responded.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Zagdor shook a bit of pepper over Gordon and poked him again.
"About what?"
“You know. About how poorly I’m cooking you or something? Maybe that you’re still raw? Or that I’m a bloody idiot?”
Gordon shrugged. “I don’t really see the point.”
“Come on.” Zagdor poked at Gordon again, pushing him across the swimming-pool-sized frying pan. “It’ll be funny. Don’t you want to insult me? Maybe in a really loud, exaggerated way?”
“What are we, characters in a writing prompt or something?” Gordon always tended to get philosophical when he was waist-deep in sizzling olive oil. “Just shallow caricatures of ourselves who solely exist to fill some overdone stereotype because some people think it’s funny? Like little wind-up dolls with no real emotion or struggles that *should* be at the core of any good piece of writing?”
Zagdor didn’t really have a response to that. So he decided to season Gordon more. He really laid it on thick with the Cajun spices, hoping that it would provoke from outburst from Gordon. But no such luck: the British chef was still lost in monologue.
“I mean, really. Look at me. I’m a successful chef at the pinnacle of my field. I’m a businessman with restaurants all over the globe. Thousands or even *millions* of people out there are eating better and healthier food because of skills they learned from me and my shows. And yet the only thing these dumb prompt submitters seem to focus on is the fact that I comically lose my temper as the *character* of Gordon Ramsey. Are they really too thick to understand that it’s just a ratings ploy? That I’m actually a relatively mild person, but we needed something to *spice up* Hell’s Kitchen to better compete against more dramatic reality shows? No pun intended, of course.”
Zagdor paused from heaping more Cajun seasoning on top of Ramsey. By now, there was more spice than human in the pile. “Of course,” Zagdor agreed.
“It’s just sad. It’s like these prompt submitters can’t come up with anything truly interesting or original to write about, so they resort to these tired, old, [Flanderized](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Flanderization) characters. Bob Ross and Mr. Rogers too: how about another dozen prompts about the two of them being serial killers and meeting Hitler? Sure, it gets a quick laugh and a mindless upvote from some readers, but is that *really* what /r/Writingprompts is about? Shouldn’t it be about stoking *inspiration*? Creating new worlds and new characters to populate those worlds? Encouraging writers to create real conflicts between human subjects, rather than just trying to stretch out a pun to meet the minimum word count so that the mods won’t delete it as low-effort?”
Zagdor frowned and stopped shaking Cajun seasoning all over Gordon, but only because the car-sized container of it was now completely empty. “I guess,” Zagdor said. Being an alien from another galaxy, he’d never read any writing prompts. Nor had he ever seen Hell’s Kitchen, so his expectations of how Gordon should be acting were based on nothing really. Pretty big plot hole, when you stop to think about. But what Gordon was describing did sound pretty annoying. “But, like… can’t you just do something funny so that we can end this prompt response on a high note?”
Gordon rolled his eyes, gave a heavy sigh, and shook Cajun seasoning out of his hair. Then he batted away Zagdor’s spoon and twisted his face into an expression of furious outrage. “What is WRONG with you, you dolphin’s arsehole?! This ridiculous amount of seasoning won’t make up for the fact that I’m still fucking **RAW!**”
Zagdor burst out into gales of laughter, stomping his feet and clapping his hands at the same time. “HAHA! SO FUNNY! I LOVE IT WHEN YOU’RE SO COMICALLY ANGRY!"
| 2017-03-28T10:37:00 | 2017-03-28T10:34:45 | 5,667 | 916 |
[WP] The pleasures of heaven and the punishments of hell are still configured for dinosaurs. | “Welcome David. We’re glad you are here.”
“Where am I and OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU?” Dave had finally noticed the towering brontosaurus standing before the golden gates.
“I have been called St. Peter, a faithful servant of God. I have taken this form for your comfort.” The brontosaurus had stretched its’ long neck down so he and Dave were face to face. Dave trembled as the dinosaur’s voice vibrated the air around him.
“T-this is heaven?”
“Of course Dave, your life of virtue means you may spend your afterlife here in God’s green pasture. You have been spared the torments of hell.”
Still trying to make sense of where he was, Dave couldn’t help but wonder, “What torments?”
“Oh my, hell is a despicable place” the brontosaurus bellowed as he stretched back to his full height. “There are nothing but dry twigs to munch and the duck-billed hadrosaurid runs circles around you, far too fast to catch. Every time you lay an egg it cracks open the moment you look back at it. There is no water to drink, but if you pass out from thirst a pterodactyl swoops down to peck you in the eyes.”
Dave stared speechless as the behemoth before him continued to rattle off punishments.
“But the most evil among god’s creatures suffer the worst punishment.” St. Peter looked down at Dave expecting some acknowledgement but a blank stare was all he received in return. “Some creatures spend eternity having their limbs bitten off by a mighty T-Rex only to have those limbs grow back again. The cruelest, however, are those poor beasts forced to wander miles along the barren wasteland being pelted by tiny meteors. When they finally find an oasis a huge asteroid crashes down and destroys the lake before they can take a drink.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Yes, Dave but you are here with us. Come and see your God glorious heaven.”
St. Peter pushed open the golden gates to reveal huge rolling meadows. A crystal clear stream ran into the distance. Lushish foliage of flowers, ferns and fruit ran down the bank. A beautiful golden sun hung in the sky and the temperature was perfect. A small group of velociraptors went frolicking by in the tall grass and the ankylosaurs seemed to be skipping, its’ huge bolder-like tail swaying with each step. Dave spotted a stegosaurus in the distance and a smile came over his face.
“Yes Dave” St. Peter said.
“What?”
“I can read your thoughts Dave.”
“You can?”
“I can. Yes, you can ride the stegosaurus”
| You gotta understand. It was the budget cuts right after the Chicxulub, the whole economy went down and we're still making installment payments on the mammal diversification.
..?
To who? Ourselves. The Big Guy likes the books to balance, you could say it's one of his top things that concerns his day to day. Which brings us neatly around to you people. Heaven and Hell.
.!. ..? .?! ... ?!? ..! !!! ??.
Now now everyboddy settle down, SEDDLE DOWN I can't hear myself talkin here. Ahem. For the pious and the faithful you may look forward to such amenities as all the ferns you can eat, large rock formations which are good for shelter, an oxygen content in the air that will make you feel quite pleasant, and reruns of the Flintstones in the southern sky three days a week.
For you ... other guys. Lakes of oil and tar, but at least you can burn it for warmth right? If you are on Team Mammal and ... it looks like all of you are, no surprise, then you will need to hunt Dinosaur to eat, that's sort of a heavy deal for both groups, sorry it's Hell for a *reason*, and instead of Hanna Barbara we could only afford Davey And Goliath, but also three days a week. So you got that going for you.
But really, let's get on with it and you will learn the ropes as you go. Maybe another million or ten mill years and there will be enough in the budget for upgrades, both sides. Okay, orderly lines according to your ticket, left and right, follow the orders of the Guardian Angels, believe me this is the *last* place any of you want to start a ruckus.
* * *
I collect my stories at /r/wpforme | 2016-04-27T19:52:20 | 2016-04-27T17:22:02 | 229 | 18 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe. | *It was beautiful.*
I could understand and speak every language. They say the brain's capacity has never been reached. This is both true *and* false. I could speak english, german, all languages of the world, java, C#, C++, all languages running computers, but most importantly, I could speak the *universal* language. No, not english.
*The* universal language. The language of the universe. I could create buildings, mountains, planets, stars, simply by speaking the words. *I had become a god.* I could create or erase existence itself. It was everything a person dreamed of. I could give myself wealth, power, fame, money, whatever my heart or brain desired.
Problem is...a *god* is meant to be a god. A *mortal* isn't meant to be a god. The genie had known full well what he had done. He hadn't made me a god that could erase or create whatever I wanted. He had made me a walking sack of meat, bone, and blood. As my mind slowly caved in on itself I knew that it wasn't meant to be for mortals to have the powers of a god.
"And your second and third wish?" asked the genie
"..."
I fell over never to speak, think, or sense again. | "...so... The universe is running on-"
"Windows, yes."
"...So is this like the Matrix or something?"
"What?"
"You know, we're all living in some kind of virtual reality world and now I have to bust everyone out?"
"What, are you high?? No!! Everything around you is real, we just have it hooked up to a computer so it'll run!"
"Oh."
"Idiot! Make your last wish so I can get away from you!!" | 2018-10-18T12:55:05 | 2018-10-18T12:12:32 | 175 | 16 |
[WP] As you complete the ritual, your friends freak out when the demon appears before them, thinking you're going to make a deal with it. Little do they know, the demon is the one who owes you something. | My dinner guests sat in frozen fear. Watching as the lights were rapidly turning off and on, the smaller items on the table began to float and the only sound breaking the silence was my voice speaking in a deep-toned and saying various things in Latin that no one but me understood. When I told them I had a cool trick I wanted to show off they were expecting maybe something with playing cards or maybe pulling a small animal out of a hat. They were not expecting me to summon a demon to our quaint little dinner party.
The room began to shake and then with a burst of bright light, a pillar of fire erupted from the middle of the table, blinding everyone who was gathered around the table for a few seconds. When vision came back they saw the pillar was gone but now standing on top of the scorch marks was a demon. An actual f\*cking demon.
“BEHOLD, I AM DUROZ, LORD OF DESPAIR AND THE THING THAT HAUNTS YOUR NIGHTMARES. WHICH OF YOU FOOLISH MORTALS HAS SUMMONED ME?”
The demon slowly turn around with a menacing looking around, before his eyes landed on me and the look of menace turned to that of disappointment. He brought his hand up to his face and rubs his temple before letting out a deep sigh.
“God damned it Greg, this is the 3rd time this week, what was so important you had to summon me to the mortal plane again?”
I met his eyes with a smirk and replied “As you can see I’m entertaining guests and wanted to show them a fun trick. Also the store was out of the dessert I was hoping to serve tonight so I thought you could “magic” me up some for these fine folk” as I gestured towards my terrified guests.
“parlour tricks and dessert? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope”
“You know I’m one of the lords of hell right? Bringer of despair, the –“
I cut him off “yeah yeah despair and nightmares. You are also the demon lord who lost in a bet against me and now you have to do what I say, do you need me to read the contract again?”
His eyes dropped to ground and he mumbled “no…”
“sorry I cant hear you” I replied in a mocking tone
“NO YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ THE CONTRACT ….. now what dessert can I get you?” he replied in a defeated voice | "Alice what the hell man!" Jenny screams as she sees the crimson red form of the demon towering over me.
I calmly turn around to face her. "I said I was summoning a demon, it's your fault that you didn't believe me Jen."
"Look I know you want to get back at Buford for taking your journal. But sending a demon after him is going way too far. Plus we've both read the stories this never works out well!"
My words cut through her begging. "Jenny I'm not making a deal with him."
My friend seems taken aback for a moment before giving me a confused stare. "Then Why'd you summon him?"
I turn back around to face him. "I told you she'd freak out, now pay up."
The demon snaps his fingers and a five dollar bill appears in my hand with a flash of fire.
Jenny looks at me as if I stabbed her in the back. "So this was all just a bet between you and a demon?!"
"Not exactly." I reply before my form begins to shift.
A dark pink tone replaces my pale flesh. Black leathery wing sprout from my back to match the ram style horns on my head.
"I'm a demon, surprise." I awkwardly chuckle a bit.
"That's my brother Karle, we were planning on using our powers to get my book back. It's got a lot of info about the demon realm in it that I'm kind of supposed to guard. I figured you could help."
Jen's mood shifts rappidly between fear and shock clearly processing the information.
It takes a few moments before I see a smile spread across her face.
"What's the plan?"
Buford was going to be in for one hell of a night. | 2022-02-16T11:52:38 | 2022-02-16T11:15:03 | 190 | 86 |
[WP] The alien invasion is going unbelievably poorly for the technologically advanced aggressors, to the surprise of many. You, a retired military tactician, are trying to explain how this is actually pretty logical all things considered. | "Amateurs talk about tactics and strategy, professionals talk about logistics."
The Invasion of Earth is the greatest exemplar of this notion there has ever been.
Pundits make much of the Invaders' ability to put anything they want anywhere on the planet within minutes of asking, but they forget where that war material must come from. The Mothership orbiting the Earth-Moon LaGrangian Point is only a storage point: the *true* origin is the Invaders' homeworld, which all evidence suggests is over a decade away with even their best Faster-Than-Light engines.
Every death machine, every soldier, weapon, even power cell or ration pack, all of it comes from the very limited pool of resources the Invaders brought with them. Whereas us humans are fighting but a stones' throw away from our factories, our mines, our workforces.
It does not matter that the first strike destroyed every military aircraft, armored fighting vehicle, and ammunition dump visible from orbit, it did *not* destroy our capability to make more of those things. It does not matter how untouchable their transorbital warcraft are, if they run out of fuel. It does not matter that their ground forces have met nothing but tactical victory after tactical victory, they are still taking losses. It does not matter how minor those losses seem, *they are unsustainable.*
And the Invaders know it, which is why they are attempting to focus on small "thunder run"-style operations and propaganda victories, hoping the fear they instill will cow the rest of Humanity. The threat of indescriminite orbital bombardment—the "Footfall" scenario that fearmongerers keep harping about—is unlikely to be follwed through on, as they *need* the planet intact or they will simply *starve* on their spaceships.
The Invaders ***cannot*** win this war: victory, as they sought it, was never a possibility. All they can decide now, is on what terms they will *lose* it... | "What do you mean we're winning?" It was all anyone in the room could do to keep their mouths from hitting the floor.
The general cleared his throat. "Well, it's simple really. They flew 90 billion lightyears coming all up in our shit with an attitude. We can't match their ability to travel great distances, and we can't match their ability to resupply themselves throughout combat. But their tactical considerations are, shall we say, a bit lacking."
"What's our best course of action then?"
"Well, the next time they attack, I think we should wait for them to drop down, and then change direction. We fire at them, and then when they drop down and change direction again, we repeat the process until they're all dead."
"But sir!" One of the lower ranking officers protested. "We've even doing that. They just get faster and faster, as we destroy their ships!"
"We just have to shoot where they're going to be. Not where they are."
"Will that work?"
"It'll work. It'll work because it has to, damnit. For all our sakes." | 2022-04-04T10:25:42 | 2022-04-04T09:43:44 | 150 | 100 |
[WP] All games can “Jumanji” their players, sucking them into the world of the game. You braved the battlefields of Chess, led fleets from your Battleship and breezed through Life. But nothing could have prepared you for the utter, unimaginable terror that is Monopoly. | It was my boyfriend's idea, vacationing in Monopolyland. We had an easy enough time cruising through Life, letting the numbered spinning wheel in our car lead us forward on a journey we could never anticipate.
It was charming, fun, delightful.
Of course Monopoly should be the same. Why would anyone play a game that would end in misery, after all?
And yet, somehow, I stood in an iron room deep below the earth, lit only by flickering fluorescents. It had not quite registered, even as the officers led me into the building marked *prison* that they really meant it.
But I had done it. I had landed on go to jail. And go to jail I must.
The jail reeked of body odor and urine. The foul collective human stench hit me like a wall the moment the jailer swung open the door leading down into the prison. It was a single room, packed to the brim with people.
I looked back over my shoulder at him. He looked like a walking cartoon character: grey-scale, strangely flat, his edges made up of thick brush strokes. His smile was permanent under his mustache, his eyes empty.
He nudged me in the back with his baton, which felt realer than it looked. He barked, "Go on, then, in with you."
I shuffled in behind the bars. The crowd pressed back to make room for me with a low collective grumble.
We all wore the same striped black uniforms, marked with a sequence of numbers and letters over the chest. But no one speaks. The few people who give me a quick cursory glance snap their gaze away just as quickly.
All the prisoners just sat there staring up at the ceiling, where a long row of numbers spun themselves into an inscrutable blur.
I murmured to the guy nearest me, "What are you in for?" half a joke, half to clutch at something nearing normalcy.
He hissed back through his teeth, "Shh. They're about to call the next player. It's almost my turn. I can feel it."
I shut my mouth. Perhaps my boyfriend was outside the jail right now, desperately pacing the lobby, waiting for me to come back out.
"How do we get out of here?" I asked the man beside me again.
He turned to scowl at me. "Didn't I tell you to shut your damn mouth?"
A woman to my left casts him a dark frown, then says to me, "Do you have any money?"
"No." I tried not to be bitter, thinking about how I had *insisted* on buying that railroad the turn before. How I was so sure I would have plenty of time to coast along, collect up some more money, get my feet back under me.
And then I rolled the wrong number. And the police swarmed in like strange black and white beetles, like paper cutouts given life.
"If you don't have any money, you have to roll a double." She gestured around to the room full of exhausted-looking humans. Some of them in the back looked as if they had been upright and awake for days. Their faces were pools of exhaustion.
The ceiling overhead began to glow. A number appeared on it in cheerful, precise lettering.
Someone deep inside the vast prison let out a cry of joy and triumph. The room went so silent that everyone could hear the dice rattle between the prisoner's palms.
But everyone kept staring upward, so I did too.
Just below the prisoner's number there appeared a pair of die faces: six and two.
The prisoner let out a wail of anguish, and the numbers overhead began whirling again. They spun and spun, faster and faster, until they were again moving too quickly for me to pick them out.
I gaped at the people around me, but no one stared back. "You're all just standing here waiting your turn to roll?"
"The man who had shushed me said, "There's nothing else to do."
"How long have you been here?"
"Fifteen years." The look he gave me told me that every one of those years was as heavy as it sounded.
I gripped my hair in both fists, anxiously. Looked down at my number, at the spooling count overhead.
The numbers slowed once more. The iron ceiling overhead read: **Prisoner 56291**
The man in front of me went rigid. He cupped his hands as if he held a baby bird. And then he shook the dice, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving silently, like a prayer.
He let the dice fall.
And moments before the rest of us, he knew his fate. The ceiling reported his doom: four and three.
The man buried his face in his hands and fell to his knees, his shoulders heaving with noiseless sobs. "I just want to go home," he wept.
But no one seemed to notice him. They all watched hungrily as the next number tumbled into place. Another player to try the kindness of luck.
Anxiety chased itself in circles in my belly. I wondered if I would ever escape this labyrinth of suffering.
*This,* I resolved to myself, *is the last goddamn time I'm letting him pick which game we play.*
I pinned my eyes to the ceiling with the rest of them, and I prayed my turn would come quickly.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| I wake up on my back, with a big headache, in the middle of an old road. An old car almost runs over me. As I see it go, I see a hand come out of the driver's window and flip me off.
I stand up and notice that the traffic lights don't work. I'm dressed the way I was back at the house, where we sat down to play. I have my phone (with no signal) and my wallet with me. I look around, but this place looks abandoned, haunted. The buildings look unfinished, like they didn't receive a final brush of paint. This city looks like a grey mix of concrete and pavement.
I've walked two blocks, but all the buildings and stores are closed. Must be sunday? Anyway. A beggar asks me for money, and I take out my wallet and check it for the first time... I don't have my money. I mean, my real money. I have $1500 in the exact distribution of the game... but they look different. These bills have been around a lot, and for some reason all the bills, although they have different denominations, have the face of the same guy. I hand the beggar a $5 and she is very thankful. "Be careful. You are very giving, and you're dressed like a foreigner. People vere aren't very nice. Take care." She runs off before I can ask her exactly where I am. I'm nervous. I don't normally walk around with a lot of money. True, I don't know how much worth $1495 have around here, but if the woman got excited for $5, maybe it's a lot. I put $600 in each of the socks I'm wearing.
The more I walk away from where I woke up, the worse the city looks. Now I'm in a residential street, I guess. I can see some color, but that's because the apartment buildings were made out of bricks and, again, they didn't paint enough. I feel someone watching me. I search thru the building across the street, the one that was actually finished, and I see a pair of eyes peaking through a window; they notice that I notice, so the person close the curtains.
"Hey!" I yell, as I cross the street. "I need help. I don't know where I am." I'm next to the window, and I tap. "Could you help me?" I hear the click of a gun, and the barrel appears next to me, at the other side of the glass. "Leave. Now." I put my arms up, and slowly walk away.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A tall man, fully dressed in dark brown, asks loudly. He has a gun on a holder by his right side, and the guy by his right also has one. The third, by his left, is caŕrying a long double barrelled gun. They are all dressed the same. "Looks like a fresh arrival, Jimmy", says one of them. I froze. They walk towards me. As they get close, they go around me. "Smells like fresh arrival", says, I assume, Jimmy. "Give me your wallet." I hand it to them. "No ID. Must be new." Jimmy says to one of his peers. He checks the bills. "TWO HUNDRED NINETY FIVE?" He angrily tosses my wallet to the guy by his right. "Aren't you new? How long have you been here, an hour? WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR MONEY?" I say nothing. The guy has very little patience, a he takes the long gun from his partner and hit me in the stomach with it. "I WANT FIFTEEN HUNDRED." From the floor, I say, "I won't tell you." He kicks me in the stomach. "Tell me, you are done either way." He kicks me again. "GIVE ME MY MONEY". "Someone from here is going to call the police, and then you're done", I tell him, defiantly. He starts laughing, and so do the other guys. "You heard him? *someone will call the police*", he says, mocking me. "WE ARE THE POLICE, DUMMY. Don't believe me?" He takes a badge out of his shirt pocket, and throws it at me. "Mediterranean Police Department." He kicks me in the guts again. "Welcome to Hell, jackass."
| 2018-06-05T21:25:08 | 2018-06-05T21:18:05 | 149 | 25 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said. | Death comes to us all, most accidently speak the words calling death to their side, but not I. For I have known the words that would cause my downfall for nearly three thousand years. I have witnessed some of the pyramids being built, the rise and fall of civilizations, and I personally knew Christ. I’ve traveled this world in every type of transportation imaginable and fought in both world wars, first for the Germans and then for the Allied side. I’ve fallen in love twenty-three times in all of that time, and each time as they spoke their final words I lost a piece of myself forever.
My final day was no more spectacular than most of the others. I was hiking my way through Great Rock canyon in the high lands, where I had passed through on my previous trip. On that occasion I had fallen in love with a woman of the Sioux nation called Chic’yana’che which translates to Flesh of the earth. The nation took me in as one of their own, they taught me their language and their ways. I spent nearly forty years in service to my new family until one day Chic’yana’che was struck down by a wolf while I was on the hunt with my brothers. I couldn’t stay, so I moved on.
The Sioux had long since been moved from the high lands by the new rulers who had taken the land from them. Long ago I had learned that all of life was change and nobody owned the land, they only held it for a period of time until someone else came to take it from them. On this day I was on my pilgrimage to visit my lost loves. Every lifetime I would sell off all of my worldly possessions and make a pilgrimage to the places of our lives together. I had begun in Cairo, then traveled to Hamburg, Paris, Dover, and Great Rock had been the next stop. I wiped the sweat from my brow before taking some water from my canteen. I shielded my eyes as I gazed up the rock face, having failed to remember how high it was. Chic’yana’che and I had made our home on the cliff face far away from prying eyes who would wonder why we had no children, and why I never aged.
I planted my feet and made the climb I had made thousands of times before. As I climbed the rock face I remembered her laugh as she taught me the words in her language for lust, and passion. I pulled myself up again inching closer to the top as I dug my toe into the well worn holes that I had carved out nearly two hundred years before. As I looked up to the plateau I could swear I saw her smiling face looking down at me, and I remembered the time she had dumped an entire pot of water on my head without knowing I was there. She begged my forgiveness, but there was nothing to forgive. I began to laugh and her face flashed her confusion and then once again to elation.
I pushed up to take the next hand full of dirt and stone and lost my balance. The initial fall hurt the most, I heard my back break and felt the excruciating pain rip through every fiber of my being. I had been in worse shape. I had been cleaved in straight through my shoulder blade during the first Peloponnesian war, by an overzealous officer. That had healed, but not without help. The problem I faced wasn’t the extent of the injury but the isolation. My body would heal, but due to the remote location of the Canyon it could be days, or weeks before anyone passed through. I struggled to straighten my body out but the pain was blinding and I knew my screaming would only attract predatory animals.
In my time on this earth I had seen the aftermath of animal killings and without the sweet release of death I had no idea how long I would have to suffer. As a tear rolled down my cheek I knew I would have to say the words I’d avoided saying my entire life. When I was but a child a priestess in the temple had shared with me the words that controlled when death would come for me. They meant nothing to me at the time, merely a woman speaking in tongs I had never heard of before. It took fifteen hundred years before I learned the words were in English. I tilted my head back and poured a great slug of water into my mouth before tossing the canteen to the side. I looked up to the heavens and screamed, “I…”
Without a growl or a single warning a wolf lunged at me, sinking her fangs into my throat and crushing my windpipe. I choked on the blood as it filled my lungs but I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t say the words I needed to, all I could do is wait and pray that death would come.
| "Please say it, just this once.." said the person laying on the bed. It was hard enough to breath, yet she still said those six words. "Dad, please.." eight. As many as it would take, until she could hear him say it for the first time.
The blanket reached just below her shoulders with her arms strewn weakly at her side above it. Pale as death, eyes sunken in, and a clean head. She looked alien to him now, nothing giving a hint as to the beautiful girl he raised. Even the ice-blue color of her eyes that would remind him of her mother had gone. But he still loved her. He always had, even if he's never been able to say it.
"I don't need to say it" and it was true, he didn't. Everything she needed in life and more, he gave in a heartbeat. The death grip of a hug she gave him when he got her first car, he can still feel it. The wet spot from the tears on his shoulder as he comforted a heartbroken teenager, he still felt it. But this was something he couldn't give, regardless of how much he wants to.
"I know.. But I want to hear it." She was getting more tired by the moment. He could hear it in her voice and see it on her face.
"Your mother was always better at this than me." He wanted to bring himself to smile at the memory of her. The thought of her beautiful warm brown hair that clashed so perfectly with the coldness of her eyes. The press of her lips the first time they kissed, and how much they laughed at the awkwardness afterwards. Her voice was so soft. He could still hear the curses she wished upon him when she was in labour with their only daughter. He thought she even looked beautiful then, all bloated and sweaty, screaming to high heaven. The only thing he wanted in that moment was to smile. But it all withered away. Her hair went first, her soft lips dried up, her voice grew strained, and she lost more weight then he thought she had. He could see her every time he looked at his daughter in bed.
"You've always looked like her. Do you remember her? No.. of course you don't. You were so young when she passed." His eyes began to fill with water but he refused to let himself cry, not in front of her. Not right now. "You were such a strong baby, coming into this world kicking and screaming.. it was the worst nine months of her life carrying you, but she was never happier.. we knew it was heritable, but we didn't know she was sick yet. God you were so strong.. Even though you were crying your eyes out, the doctor still gave you a little tap and you hit right back. To this day that was still the hardest I've ever laughed." But still, not even a smile would grace his face. "I was sure you'd never be sick. You were too god damn strong and full of life."
Her eyes were closed now and her breaths came slower and slower. It was just him with the company of the occasional beep of the heartbeat monitor, but that, he feared, would leave him soon too.
"Motherfucker" he said to himself, shaking his head with the first tear rolling down his cheek and the realization came to him he won't be leaving this room either.
"She loved you so much, honey. So damn much.. You were the only thing that kept her going as long as she did." He took a step closer to the edge of the bed, wiping his face before leaning down to place one last kiss on her forehead.
"I hope you can hear me in there." He said and sat on the edge of the bed. He took her hand in his and held it for what felt like an eternity. Her fingers were so thin now and he made sure not to break anything by holding her too tight.
"I love you"
| 2017-08-07T14:46:16 | 2017-08-07T11:54:15 | 22 | 12 |
[WP]Your daughter marches into the kitchen with an attitude. You roll your eyes thinking here we go again. You notice tears in her eyes and wonder what's happening. "My life is a LIE! What am I?" A large cut she has in her hand reveals moving mechanical parts. You drop your coffee mug on the floor. | As I bend to pick up the pieces of the cups from the wet around them, I stammer, "I was going to explain in due time, dear."
"I'm some kind,...some kind of freak" she shrieks, wiggling her fingers, little gears and pistons moving - visible now below the cut skin.
I throw the pieces into the garbage can as I grab a towel. She's glaring at me, still holding up her hand and arm like some kind of weapon, an accusation. I bend to sop up the spilled hot chocolate - I don't drink coffee. "It's complicated," I manage.
Tears roll down her cheeks. She says nothing. In the silence the little gears whir - she's still moving her fingers around.
"There was an accident." I rise, tossing the towel into the sink. I turn to face her - the glare of her blue eyes.
She clutches her hand into a fist. "Gears...wires...". She releases the fist. "Pistons."
"It was the only way to save the arm." I lick my lips. "It was only the arm."
She brings the cut arm down to her side, points at me with her other arm and hand. "I know that. But...but you said it was the latest technology. Instead, I'm like...like..something out of an old horror movie."
I shake my head. "Nobody can really tell the difference when the skin is all on. I didn't have the money for a proper robotic arm. I had to go to the black market. It's almost as good."
She stamps her foot. "How often does it have to be adjusted, daddy? Replaced?"
"10 years, 15 maybe." She glares. "Next year. It won't grow like a proper one would."
She whirls.
"I don't have the money for a proper one, honey!"
"Where's the synth-skin?" She calls over her shoulder.
"In the garage cooler, top shelf," I call to her as the kitchen double doors slam. That went better than expected. | "Please calm down my child. I shall explain" I picked up a fresh knife and sat on the floor. She sat opposite me, legs crossed, tears still streaming down her face. I pressed the knife into my hand, past the skin, past the muscles, and into my own mechanical workings. "My child we were sent back in time to prevent a war. These humans make so many mistakes and lead to the destruction of our world" she looked at me, nodding in vague understanding "we were sent back to make sure these mistakes dont happen" I stood back up, pulling my shotgun from its closet "what mistakes did the humans make?"
"They followed a militant leader who fought a war he should have lost. In his desperation he made the war last decades instead of days. He fought day after day, making it hard for us to save the world itself as a whole. Now that you know what we are, we must hunt down and kill this leader before the war begins." I couldn't help but feel pride as I saw her pick up a knife with murderous intent. "Who are we looking for?" I zipped my leather jacket, put on my sunglasses, and looked at her with a soft smile "we are looking for a child called John Connors" | 2021-10-20T20:37:45 | 2021-10-20T20:25:16 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "LETHAL INJECTION ADMINISTERED," came the automated voice from just underneath the button.
I blinked. Was that it?
"Wait, hold on," I paused and turned towards the priest, "You meant I just spent the last 18 years of my life training for the ultimate showdown just so the greatest evil in the universe could be killed with a few chemicals?"
"Yep," the priest, Dogstar, stretched, "Now that that's over with, do you want to get some breakfast?"
"In a second," I held up hands, stopping everything, "Was that just a test? A trick? Is he really just going to come bursting from the ground and doom us all to hell?"
Dogstar glanced at the ground, considering it, "I doubt it."
I shook my head in disbelief, "No, no, no. I want an explanation. Now!"
The priest rolled his heads and sat down, pulling a flask from his pocket. He took a quick drink then gazed at me with slight contempt. I had a feeling this might take awhile.
"Now look, when this all started hundreds of thousands of years ago, sure it was cool and tough. Quite the spectacle, honestly. The Dark Lord would put on his demonic cloak, cast hellfire meteors at everyone, and it would be absolute chaos. But, his powers didn't really count on the power of industrialization," Dogstar sighed.
"You've gotta be kidding me," I groaned.
"So we thought, 'hey, why not just put him down before he regenerates his body in his tomb, save everyone the trouble?' Now we just kill him before he wakes up."
"And all the training?"
"Well the boys and I like to have a little fun. How boring would it be if all we did was press a button every 5000 years? Sheesh. Liven up."
Unable to process any words, I took a seat next to Dogstar, and fell into existentialism as I revaluated the purpose of my life. Everything was a lie. Done and taken care of. Nothing to worry about. What would my skills possibly be useful for?
Maybe the world needed a new Dark Lord. | "Alright, just make sure I'm showered with praise and a proper tale of my deeds spun from this... mundane action," I said. Then, a thought occurred to me. "Wait, why don't you push it?"
The priest frowned and said: "I'm no chosen one. Nothing would happen, you see."
I shrugged and said: "Yes, yes. Whatever. And please? Let the people know I did something heroic."
"Of course," said the priest. "It will be not far from the truth, but not so close to it either. You'll have your fame. Be assured of that."
The button was placed on a pedestal on the other end of the room. I went over to it and heard the priest call behind me. "It will be a tale to be told for many centuries."
I pressed the button. I felt a slight headache and then: nothing. "This did nothing," I said, turning around, "What's the-" my words caught as I saw the priest leap at me, hands glowing with a menacing light.
"FOOL! YOU FELL FOR IT!" I heard him shout, his voice otherwordly. "THUNDER CROSS SPLIT ATTACK!" | 2020-11-09T12:50:41 | 2020-11-09T12:09:48 | 949 | 80 |
[WP] It turns out that all housecats are actually lovecraftian monsters. Due to an ancient pact with humans, however, they will never use their powers for earthly offense. Against otherworldy invaders, however, they have no such restrictions. | Establishing the beach head landing point on the target planet was trivial, the native apenoids had nothing that could even breach our outer shields.
As the First Ascendant I held the honour of leading the first strike teams to collect live samples of the local fauna and ... snacks. We had been eating only ships rations for far too long.
Moments after we leave the perimeter we are confronted by a pack of the local apenoids. I look into their minds and see the crawling terror they feel seeing our majestic forms. I see through their eyes.
The Chosen in all our glory drew instant associations with apex predators of the planet, "giant armored crocodiles".
I pick the apenoid most overwhelmed by their fear and press against their mind. The smell of faecal matter spreads before it drops it's weapon and flees. Seeing their packmate turn and run it takes only the lightest touch against their soft minds to make the others join in the retreat.
Savage worlds like this are never a challenge.
Exploring the zone we approach one of the natives concrete huts. After ripping the door off its hinges we are confronted by a 4 legged mammal barking loudly.
Touching its mind I feel terror and stubborn resolve to protect the small apenoids in this hut accompanied by a slew of images the residents. As with the apes I push against its mind and heighten the terror until it overwhelms the creature and it runs to hide.
From a nearby cupboard I hear muffled crying, ah, those would be the snacks. The first meal after a long voyage is always satisfying.
As I step further into the room and into a beam of sunshine from a window I feel a... presence.
Something powerful, something merciless.
A mind unlike anything I ever touched before. A creature that finds joy only in inflicting suffering and torment. I feel no fear in it as the focus of the monster shifts towards me.
Only irritation that I have blocked its sunlight.
Pictures flood mind of the beings plans for me should I continue to block the warm sunbeam. How it will rend my flesh and break my bones and then release me only to hunt me again and how it will glory in the taste of my suffering and pain for an eternity before I would ever be allowed the mercy of death.
I reach towards the mind, try to latch on to any feelings of uncertainty or fear I could inflate but I find only utter certainty in the creatures own majesty and infinite power.
I push images of the apenoids towards it, trying to convey my threat of harming them . I feel only derision in return and rising anger that I might damage the leviathans slaves... property... or .. "can openers".
I try to push towards it the threat of the assembled fleets of The Chosen. The endless power that we could bring to bare.
In return... nothing but **contempt** and the image of our fleets battered like meaningless baubles... IF ... I ... DID ... NOT ... STOP ... BLOCKING ... THE ... SUN.
As the bloodlust and hate washes over me the air again fills with the scent of faecal matter. My own.
I call a full retreat and radio ahead to get the ships to prepare for immediate launch.
-------
Though it would be fun to write one with a perfectly normal cat | The spaceship tore my house into two in one fell swoop. I didn’t even have the chance to react. My arms were stuck under a pile of rubbles, ankle twisted and I’m pretty sure my back bone broke in half. I laid down amist the dusty remains of my former home, listening to the painful screams and the helpless sirens blaring in the distance.
Alien invasion, in one weekend, who would have thought? No one could react, not the military, not the nukes, and certainly not the combimed efforts of the people of Earth. We were like fish in a pan, trying to flop our way into the inevitable fire.
I heard a meow. My cat, mr Skiddles was in the house when it happened. I hope he’s fine. Maybe he wasn’t caught in the destruction. Maybe he’ll live to wander in the shadows of the new alien civilization, stealing food on their window sills and digging through their trash.
An alien drew near. I can realize it’s slimy sluggish sounds anywhere. These aliens have ate my friends. Maybe this one will eat me too, and rid me of my worries.
The slime noises got larger, and larger, and larger, and then it stopped. I pulled my head up, and suprisingly, standing in front of me and the alien, was Mr Skiddles.
The thing stopped dead in it’s track, concerned by the little cat standing in it’s way. I tried shooing Mr Skiddles, but he kept focus on the alien.
That is odd. Why did the alien stop? I wasn’t ready for the answers.
In a suprising move, Mr Skiddles dislocated his jaws, and spew forth eons of horror and madness not meant for human eyes. I watched in shock and awe as the alien was thoroughly eaten by the monstrous creature my cat had become.
Did I just see what I saw? Beings of unfathomable powers moving in a vast cosmos of madness and chaos that can drains a person of the last sanity, residing in... my cat? Mr Skiddle seems relaxed. He wandered off into the distance, possibly looking for another alien to torment and consume, in possibly an endless circle of hunger and madness that only a cat can truly fathom.
I laid down again, on the rubble of my home. I needed time to process that. The backbone, the ankle and the arm can wait. | 2020-11-26T12:15:24 | 2020-11-26T11:00:36 | 199 | 87 |
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000. | 'Oh, shit!', I yell. 'Why does it have to be me?'
I walk over to the couch and sit down. I boot up Witcher 3 and continue playing. After 5 hours, my neighbour jumps through the window with a machete.
'Hi, Frank', I greet him. 'How are the kids?
'They're fine, John. I'm so sorry about this, but I really want a new house, not to mention a 2 million dollar car', Frank tries to explain himself.
'That's great, Frank. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun in jail. I mean that's where you'll find up. Let's see, that's breaking and entering and murder. I'm sure little Jess and Frank Jr. will be glad to see you in 50 years', I say.
'Oh, shit. I didn't think of that.'
'Yeah, that's the way these things go. The law still applies.'
Frank then put down his weapon and sits down next to me.
'What're you playing?', he asks.
'Witcher 3. I'm currently in the middle of the Blood and Wine expansion, set in the duchy of Toussaint.', I answer.
'Cool.'
In the evening, Frank invites me to dinner and he calls a guy to fix my window. What a nice guy. | The underside of the pillow was soft and cool as it molded around my mouth and nose. I bet she was glad we'd splurged on the memory foam now. From her lungs she breathed hot fire, her body surging as it straddled mine.
I didn't fight her. It wasn't in me. I merely reached out into oblivion, wrapping my her naked body in my arms for one last embrace and with the tips of my fingers I traced, "I love you..." | 2017-05-17T22:40:40 | 2017-05-17T21:44:19 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] I speak for the trees...The trees say you a punk ass bitch | [Lots of coarse language....lots of it]
"Bitch, shut the fuck up," the tree said. "I won't get up til you die! Mother fucker!"
"It hurts," I said, struggling to breathe. The tree had fallen on me five minutes ago, and still I was pinned under it. I thought of my scoutmaster's warnings about hiking alone. "Please just roll off or something. Can't you roll?"
"I can't do shit til Jim gets here, you fuckin punk ass bitch."
"Hey, tell him to shut the fuck up!" a nearby tree, still standing, shouted.
"I'm tryin' ta pollinate ova here!" another yelled.
"Really, I love trees," I pleaded. It wasn't a lie; I'd walked hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles through forest at that point in my life. "I do my best to take care of you."
"Jim better get here soon, or I'm gun fuck you up!" the tree on top of me said.
"Why Jim?" I struggled to speak, but I felt communication was necessary. "Who is Jim?"
"Fuck you, bitch!"
"Tree is the only one who can walk," a tree said, who hadn't spoken yet. It stood close behind me. In fact, I felt its root stabbing into my back, although its voice was the calmest I had ever heard. "Every three hundred years the Great Tree dies, but tree knows when death is at hand. Tree chooses a successor then."
It was quiet for a time, and the pressure on my chest lessened. Soon, I heard the leaves rustling and I saw the bushes moving to clear a path. The Great Tree stood at least one hundred feet high, and on its trunk was carved the name Jim. The ground shook when it spoke. "I speak for the trees," the Great Tree told me, "but the trees say you a punk ass bitch. You fuckin' sprained your goddamn knee by tryin ta fuckin jump a shitty ass set of rock stairs! You broke your fuckin foot on a four foot piss hill in an inch of goddamn snow! Fuck you!"
"But...but I like the trees..." I said, as the pressure on my lungs brought them to near collapse. Struggling to think of anything I could do to survive, my acceptance of death instead brought a sudden rage. "And...you know what? Fuck trees! You all stand the fuck around while everyone fuckin chops you down, assholes! Oh wait, you don't have fuckin assholes to shit with, you prick bitches! I killed you! I fuckin killed at least four of you with nothin but a goddamn ax! Fuck you!"
My breathing caught up with me, and I realized the tree had rolled off. I could finally breathe, I realized, and cackled like a madman.
"Know what?" the Great Tree said, standing over me and blocking my sun. "You're a fuckin' badass. Just plant two for every one you chop, hear?"
"Got it," I said, finally standing and dusting off my clothes. They stared at me as I walked toward my car at the trailhead. I've never set foot in that forest again...not without my ax. | Joel, the man in the green hoodie, waited patiently for the watch on his left hand to hit eleven pm. He could barely wait to repeat his latest gimmick and yet, he was afraid of his own acts and the destruction they harbored. By the way the wind was blowing that autumn night, he knew this was going to be his masterpiece.
''Just three more minutes.'' He whispered under his breath, anxiously playing with the match box in his right pocket. His green backpack rested next to his feet and carried a dangerous amount of petroleum. Once again, he was ready to start another wild fire in North Carolina.
A faint movement caught his attention as he stood against a tree. The man in the green hoodie didn't have time to react at all. He felt his jaw give under the pressure of the punch he had just recieved as he fell down to his side- Darkness. He couldn't see any one around him. The twenty-five-year-old quickly got to his feet and tried to reach for his bagpack to try and run away from whoever had just hit him.
As he made the run for his bag, behind the very same tree he had stood against, a dark, tall figure came out and hit him in the stomach with he could only describe as a metal rod.
''Stay the mother-fuckin' down, yo.'' Spoke the man in a ghetto accent. Quite... Familiar.
''Who... Who are y-'' Before Joel could finish his sentence, the tall man kicked him on the side of his head.
''I told you to goddamn stay god-fuckin-damn quiet, boy!'' said the man as he reached for the bagpack, only to find three glass bottles full of gasoline.
''What in the motherfucking fuck where you plannin' to do? Burn the shit down or what?''
''Please... let me, let me go...'' begged Joel to his assaultant.
''Hell nah, motherfucka'. I speak for these mothafuckin' trees,'' said the man stepping forward, where Joel could see his face. The moustache on the black man and his accent made it clear to Joel who he was. ''And them trees say you a punk-ass bitch''
Joel fainted as Samuel Jackson hit him one more time on the face. And after that, darkness. | 2016-10-06T20:21:31 | 2016-10-06T18:36:23 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | "I need to see her before I decide."
I couldn't give these strange winged beings a straight answer for the choices they had laid before me, nor did I care about my new incorporeal form. All I could think of was my Samantha who had been next to me during the crash.
It was just a regular day, a normal day that took a turn for the worse. All it took was one text on my phone "I'll just look down for a second" I thought. One second was all it took to run that light. I suppose it didn't matter how it happened, who had texted me or even where we were going. There was no turning back now, but I had to know what became of her.
Thankfully there were some advantages to being able to float through anything I pleased instantly. My two new comrades in death wordlessly trailed behind me, observing my actions as I discovered how to navigate the world in my new form. Apparently some time had passed after my demise as I was drawn to Sam's bedside in the hospital rather than the smoldering wreck that was our car.
Even asleep her entrancing face warmed my now cold heart. "At least she made it" I thought, a melancholic smile spreading across my face for the first time since my death. I cursed my new existence as I reached for her hand only to watch my own phase through hers and the bed itself, doomed to the position of an observer to the living.
Time works differently for the dead I learned, as I watched the sun, moon, and clouds fly by through the window at speeds that made them appear as if a blurry photo. The days turned to weeks as I watched her sleep, the doctors and nurses slowly checking on her less and less. Even her once close family only visited on the odd occasion...
and it was all my fault.
She had a wonderful life ahead of her, she was going to be a doctor and save people. I worked three jobs just to make rent and help her stay school. I knew she hated to see me work my hands to the bone just for her. Every hard day I always would picture her beautiful face and inspiring smile and I knew I'd gladly pay any price to keep her happy. Sam had always dreamed about how she was going to help people, children and the world, I on the other hand always felt lucky just to be around her. Even luckier that she saw something in me enough to go on that first date, I was so proud of her and what she had accomplished...and now all of that was gone. Thanks to my own carelessness I had taken her entire future from her and now she even had to wait on the afterlife. She deserved better than being left to this fate.
I knew my answer to the choice I was given.
My two winged companions never faltering in their duty to await my decision eyed me. One with a saddened yet knowing look and the other a devilish grin.
Seeing her family's faces as they watched her wake from that deep sleep...knowing that she'd be able to live and follow her dreams, that was worth any price I had to pay a thousand times over. The last vision I see before the demons drag me to their fiery realm is her beautiful visage, aged and wise paying respects to a moss covered grave with tears in her eyes.
"I love you" my voice carries through my increasingly hot surroundings, through time and a world away, yet I see it, slowly the corners of her mouth turn up and I get to see it. Even as the flames envelop me and my hearing is drowned out by the screams, all I can picture is that wonderful loving smile. | # The Final Choice
“It’s a shortcut, we’ll get home faster,” Greg said, begging his wife to follow him into the alley. “Fine.” Said Lauren. Greg heard footsteps, and a man holding a gun appeared in front of him.
“Hand over your valuables, and we all walk away,” said the stranger.
Greg leapt between the stranger and his wife to protect her. The sudden movement startled the stranger, and he fired. Greg felt the bullet enter his chest, his breath gone. He heard two more gunshots boom, their echoes screaming between the buildings. He never felt himself hit the ground.
Greg was floating above his body. His wife and the gunman were frozen in time. A voice filled his awareness, “Greg, you have one Final Choice to make on Earth. I will give you as much time as you need to decide. During that time, you will be a ghost. Your choices are; you may ask for one wish, but you will spend eternity in Hell. Or you may forgo your wish, and you get to spend eternity in Heaven. Time starts now.”
Lauren dropped down onto her husband’s body, tears welling in her eyes, as his ghost watched from above. “VALUABLES, NOW,” the stranger shouted at grieving woman. Greg felt the power of the wish within him and knew he could save his wife. “I wish my wife was safe,” he told the power.
Greg knew his wish was granted the moment he made it, but he was not around to see. He was in a large cave, dull brown with jagged walls fifty feet high. The ceiling matched the walls, uneven and sharp. The ground was flat and dusty. Ahead of him was a line of hundreds of people. He turned, and behind him stood dozens more. The cave stretched as far as Greg could see in both directions, forty feet across at least, although everyone stood in the center.
A demon with red skin, holding a clip board approached Greg.
“I am Dremonda. Hell is full right now. I know you humans are eager to enter, but we need time to devise torture for all of you.” Said the demon.
“I don’t think any of us are eager. I needed my wish to save my wife. I never wanted to come to Hell.” Greg replied.
“Humans always waste their wishes on the happiness or safety of others, the rest remain as ghosts, waiting for some great epiphany. The ultimate way to use their wish to help Earth or someone on it. The smart ones give up their wish or use it to send someone better than themselves to Heaven.” Said Demonda. “Enacting the Final Choice was the greatest trick my boss ever played on the Creator.” | 2021-03-09T10:22:46 | 2021-03-09T07:37:32 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Your mad scientist crush leaves a note next to a chicken making a nest. The note is written by them and says that they've accidentally turned themselves into a chicken. You fall for it. | "Oh man," I said, sitting on the floor of the barn with my head in my hands. "Elena..."
I lifted my head slightly and peeked at the chicken. It dug at something among its feathers before abruptly standing up straight, whipping its head to stare straight at me, and then turning to face the other direction.
I wondered if she could still understand me.
Another, larger part of my mind thought, how the hell am I gonna get her out of this one?
The chicken - Elena - clucked as she strutted closer to the end of the table.
I rose to my feet as I rushed to catch her. "Hey," I said. "Careful." I had no idea if she knew how to not hurt herself as a chicken.
With a sigh, I opened my left fist and read the note I'd been clutching for what felt like the hundredth time.
Pam -
If you're reading this, it means that, against all my predictions, my experiment failed and I have accidentally turned myself into a chicken. There's almost no chance that this is the case. I trust you can figure it out.
-E
That was all. No instructions. No details.
I looked at the hen that may be all that remained of my best friend. Was that a hint of her in the way it turned its neck? Her sway of the hips in the way it walked? I struggled to find the similarities, but, in the end, I was just staring at a chicken.
I picked it up gently. It clucked indignantly and tried to flap its way out of my arms. "Okay," I said, "fine." I put it back down.
At least she was alive. But she didn't seem to be understanding anything I was saying.
"I ate the last of the mint chip ice cream," I said. The chicken continued strutting.
"Bush did 9/11," I tried. She usually at least smirked at that one. Chicken-Elena did not react.
"I'm in love with you," I blurted. Finally, at least, I could say it. It was a truth I'd been holding in for years. But I couldn't stand to see the shock in her eyes. Couldn't bear feeling like a predatory lesbian who couldn't keep a friendship platonic. Couldn't handle the slightly stilted awkwardness that would color our interactions.
A voice came from the barn door. "You can't say it to my face," it said, "but you can say it to a chicken?"
I jumped backwards. "I -" I stared at the chicken, still ignoring me, and then at the door. She was grinning. "You asshole."
"At least I'm not an idiot," she said. "What did I have to do to get you to say it? How many hints did I have to drop? Idiot."
"I thought -" I glared at her. "I thought you were straight."
"Yeah. You thought I was a chicken too." Unhurriedly, she crossed the barn and took my face in her hands. "Idiot," she whispered, as she kissed me.
| Hey, I'm back, what are you working on in...
**Jesus Christ what the Hell!!!**
"Uh...." I wasn't sure what to say. Dr. Sarah Tweedy, the brilliant, if slightly deranged, scientist that I had had a crush on ever since I started working in this lab was standing in the door. She had a look of pure shock on her face, but more importantly she was fully human, just as human as she was when I saw her yesterday, and did not at all resemble a chicken.
"I, uh, thought you had turned yourself into a chicken." I confessed.
"Oh my god **YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVED THE NOTE?"**
"Yeah, well you know, I know you're brilliant and your experiments have always been a little, you know, out there so I..."
**"That was supposed to be a prank you absolute fucking baboon!** It's one of Erin's chickens from her backyard. She let me borrow it because we thought it would be funny to see you try to take care of it for couple hours. You actually thought that I turned myself into a chicken? Do you realize how many physical laws that violates? The brain of chicken doesn't possess nearly enough complexity to contain...
Look, it doesn't matter. What exactly did you do?"
"Well I knew you were doing experiments in horizontal gene transfer so I changed the settings on your transmutation machine to..."
**"And you thought that was how to undo the chickenification process?** **That all it would take to simultaneously transform the DNA in trillions of cells at once was flipping some dials around?** I swear, the lab techs in this institution are about as useful as a pipette full of concrete. Once I get that grant from the advanced robotics institute I swear I'll..."
"If anyone were smart enough to turn themselves completely into a chicken it would be you." I interrupted.
Sarah stopped her ranting and actually seemed a little bit flattered, and I noticed her face get just the tiniest bit red. Maybe, just maybe I might still have a chance with her, despite this most recent cock\-up I had made...
But I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. They were for another time. Right now, we had far more pressing issues to deal with.
"So, uh, what are we going to do about the chicken\-man?" | 2018-06-10T15:34:10 | 2018-06-10T15:23:41 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] You're an ordinary person that works a 9 to 5 job. You pay your taxes and regularly contribute to your retirement fund. In a world of magic, prophecy, and calls to adventure this makes you extremely unusual. People are starting to notice. | After a long day of work at the Mystical Arts Emporium, I just want to escape. Hoping for re-runs of *Happy Days* or *Leave it to Beaver*, I relax into my recliner and turn on the television. It is one of the few real leather recliners left after the Great Cow Extinction of 2009. Apparently, using cows as practice targets for dragon training was not the best idea. *Who would have thought?*
“For just two easy payments of $19.99, you too can own your own horse goblin—“
I change the channel.
“—Zathar, that is enough! Emperess Lyta has lowered taxes on potion sales and reduced theft and murder from Cthulhu’s followers. What can you say about—“
Depressed, I turn off the TV and make my way to the bedroom.
Since the Great Multiverse Discovery of 2002, the world has been consumed with the fantastical. It's hard not to be consumed by it since most of the human race was annihilated by the dark arts. One by one, ordinary humans like me have either pretended to conform or demised. I chose conformity.
As I set aside my wand and pull my prosthetic ears off, I can’t help but wonder what I have become. It is becoming too much of a burden to bear. But I fear I will be liquified or burnt to ashes if I reveal my true self—Bob the CPA from Illinois, son of Frank and Lisa, also CPAs.
————————————————————
“Galen, you look different today!” Londo the Great says to me as I clock in.
“It’s Bob.” I say with a confident tone while also fearing my certain demise.
You could hear a pin drop in the break room as everyone looked in my direction.
“Yeah, that’s right. My name is Bob. And I am tired of pretending to be someone I am not.”
Franz from the wand-making department slowly closes the door to the break room. He peaks out the window and then pulls off a wig.
Suddenly, everyone in the room begins removing prosthetics, wigs, and other conformities.
Then I hear in a faint whisper and everyone joins in unison, “Bob…Bob…Bob…Bob.”
Someone tries to open the break room door. Everyone stops chanting and looks around in shock. The door handle continues to shake.
“Hey, what’s going on in there? The shift has started. Get to work! Don’t make me alert Ulric!”
It was Taramis the Warlock. Scared to death, everyone immediately puts back on their prosthetics and reports to duty, myself included.
For the first time in twenty years, I didn’t feel alone. | You know about the adventures that go on. You watch as people come back from their missions and their prophecies, from their quests and travels. You watch as they embark on adventures and come back rich.
And you're not interested.
Why would you? You hear it constantly around you.
"You should go out more."
"You should go on a quest."
"You need vitamin D. Get some sun."
"You'd be rich and wouldn't have to work a day in your life!"
But you're not tempted. Unlike everyone else, you enjoy working. You enjoy sitting a desk, hunched over a laptop and punching in numbers into an excel spreadsheet, or whatever it is that you do at work. I wouldn't know, I prefer going on adventures.
You don't want excitement. The people around you glorify adventure, but there's one thing they don't tell you, but you still know it. There's a good chance you won't come back alive.
And you don't want to risk it.
Sure, you live in a world where you don't need to work. Housing and food are basic mortal rights and everyone gets those for free. You don't need to work, you could just stay in your room playing World of Warcraft or Minecraft of Forza all day.
But you're not interesting in doing that either.
You don't want adventure and you don't want to game.
Growing up, your friends and family call you a downer, an "Ebenezer Scrooge," a bore. But it doesn't effect you.
People beg you do to something of interest. Go outside for more then 10 minutes, don't do your taxes, be even a day late on your taxes, for Christ's sake. They're desperate.
But you don't want to. You're not interested in living such a rebellious life. You like being on time, early sometimes, and being a good citizen.
And that's how you're going to stay. | 2022-11-17T08:27:57 | 2022-11-17T07:57:05 | 247 | 116 |
[WP] Humans have the reputation of being both an extremely dangerous species and social creatures that are easy to bond with, making them great crew members for voyagers. You and your shipmates are worried about your newly recruited human because you don't know what an introvert is.
Inspired by various "Humans are space orcs" posts from tumblr. I reposted this to change some minor grammar errors | To the Inter-species Medical Society of Novus Prime
Department: Human Medical and Mating Practices
Recipient: Doctor Sim'ol Korrok
​
Hi
​
We are worried.
Our Human is not well. He is currently being treated by the ships AI medical hologram as i dictate this, for some new unknown medical condition. I fear he may have developed this affliction during his stay at Port Althea. I do not fear it will jump species to the rest of the crew, but as a precaution i will include the last six months of medical data from all nine crew members.
I should explain better. Our Human is not what we expected. He doesn't like danger at all and he keeps strange schedules.
The galactic standard for days is 27 hours. On my home-world, it's 33 hours. For the Captain, it's 19 hours. What i'm saying is, its different for each species. According to the *Galactic Understandings as Witnessed by the Wizard Redenbach* (he's not really a wizard, his species is mildly telekinetic at best) a Human standard day is 24 hours. They sleep for anywhere between 6 and 8 hours and can spend up to 8 hours working and another 8 socialising with others. They're a naturally social, outgoing species.
Jonathan "Jon" Peters is not like that.
When he arrived, we were excited. We had a big party planned in the mess hall to welcome him. I searched through the *Galactic Understandings* for a local dish he would like - this cake thing they do has merit - and prepared it accordingly. Jon sorta stood there, said hello, told us we didn't need to make a fuss over him and wanted to put his bags in his bunk. Crickle laughed like it was some joke.
It wasn't.
The Captain showed Jon to his quarters and escorted him back to the party. It was a little awkward at first. Crickle apologised for laughing. Jon apologised for not being as accommodating as we expected, but it turned into a great night. Well everyone thought so anyway. The cake was a hit. Top level vat-booze was passed around and we prodded Jon about his species and Earth. He did seem exhausted by all the questions. He answered them well enough, and kept us engaged and after an hour, which was an appropriate amount of time, he politely excused himself to get some rack time.
Over the next few weeks we noticed some things that didn't quite seem right. Jon's sleeping habits were roughly 12 hours of sleep, followed by 12 hours of work and socialising. We know he naps during those 12 hours of work. I've found him napping and have made it my mission to keep he active in the social sphere of the ship.
Humans are known to be rowdy when it came to sports. Jon is not. He sleeps a lot; and in odd places. He seems drained by having to interact with everyone constantly. We often find him alone in a dark corner, working on the ships code and programs, quietly listening to some music. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, he's just not doing it in a group is all. He doesn't eat with everyone often. He says he proffers to eat while on the job, but i kinda got the impression that that was a polite way of saying he wanted to eat alone. Again, nothing wrong but it's not what normal humans do.
He did make friends. Friend really. He loved the ships pet, the smallish, winged and four legged creature we picked up on some dusty planet. It loved playing fetch and was his shadow constantly throughout the ship. I often found him talking to it like it understood everything. I don't Human mating rituals and customs. I don't think they are as abursd as the mating battles of the Arachnid Spcecies of Sepikus Delta, where the males have to flee the females den for fear of being eaten after sex. But i am concerned with Jon's attachment to our ship pet. Do they mate outside their species? Is it a social thing we might have to watch? It was really the reason why I got the Captain to order him to have a medical check up and am contacting you.
We don't know what to do! Everything we learned about Humans when they joined the galactic community has them being the opposite of this! Outward, social and wanting a challenge!
I don't know what to do, hence why i'm writing to you.
What can we do to help him?
Sincerely
Matron Allesial Jinata | *Thank you for contacting the Crew Coordination Center. We value your input, an agent will be with you shortl....”* “Thank you for calling CCC, this is agent Gardasan, may I have your vehicle registration please?”
“Uh, yes, hi... it’s a Sentinel ‘Moonskipper’, call sign ‘arta’. I’m having some trouble wit...”
“Can you please spell out ‘Artsan?’”
“Oh, it’s ARTA, like “art” with an extra “a”, not..”
“Please spell it sir.”
“.... A, R, T, A.”
“Thank you.... I’ve got your information pulled up, I see that you have recently enrolled in our entry crew placement program. Good news! You are eligible for Premium Match, for a *special* rate of just 30000 starbucks per cycle. No need to take any action: this has been automatically applied to your account. Congratulations!”
“Wait, no! What? I don’t want any more services, I’m calling because your last
match hasn’t worked, I need to return it!”
“I’m sorry to hear you have had a problem with your last match, but unfortunately all placements are final. Your new placement will be available for pickup at the next rendezvous with a galaxy center. Please remember that any placements *not* picked up will result in an additional re-stocking fee.”
“NO I DONT WANT ANOTHER!! This one isn’t as advertised!You said humans were ‘fantastic social companions, easy to train, and viable as support in dangerous missions.’ Ours hasn’t come out of its bunk except to get nutrients, and even then it retreats immediately! And it is far from brave...we can’t even pet it without it scurrying away! How could we ever trust it in a mining operation?! You need to take it back, I can’t justify spending resources on a useless humanoid.”
“I’m sorry to hear you have had trouble with your human, sir. Let’s go through some troubleshooting steps: have you rebooted your translator?”
“Yes. Translator passes all verifications checks.”
“Lets try rebooting the translator just in case. Please connect to it via the ‘central AI’ dialog, then enter the ‘language’ tab...”
“I’ve done this twice already! It’s working fine, everyone else on board is communicating clearly, including the starfish specimen! Do you know how hard it is to talk to a *starfish*!?“
“Please follow the protocol, sir, we will not be able to help you troubleshoot further otherwise.”
“UGGHHHH okay, fine, rebooting the translator AGAIN.” .... “Ok, done. Next?”
“....has your human’s behavior changed?”
“I don’t know, it’s in its bunk.”
“Try to summon it, see if you are able to get a new response.”
“Fine.....just a moment....”
“HEY KEVIN! WANT TO PLAY SOME FAR-BALL? WE NEED A THIRD PLAYER! ....BUSY? WITH WHAT?! OH...OK.”
“....No. no change. It says it’s busy....with sleeping.”
“Your translator likely needs an upgrade to our latest revision, which includes a body language enhancement to improve interpretation of movement-based communications! We will apply this patch immediately, but have postponed the fee (only 28999 starbucks!) to your next billing cycle.”
“ NO I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE TRANSLATOR SERVICES!!! Body language?!?! Come on, IT STAYS IN ITS ROOM!!!!”
“We have completed the troubleshooting section. Please enjoy your new translation features! They will begin download shortly...”
“CAN IT DETECT THE BODY LANGUAGE I AM USING RIGHT NOW?!?! GAHHHHHH!!!” | 2019-11-17T01:23:05 | 2019-11-17T00:43:35 | 1,613 | 1,053 |
[WP] A team is chosen to represent planet Earth in an inter-world fight to the death. Humans are given very low odds due to their mediocrity. Luckily for you, the criteria used to choose the participants was "citizen of earth", and not "human". | "This is bullshit!" Yelled out the strange alien creature from the arena, glancing between the judges, myself, and the 600 lbs 28 foot long Giant Anaconda slithering around the area glaring at him menacingly.
"Don't hate the player!" I boasted back at the warrior, who had realized fighting in the no-weapons category placed him at a rather extreme disadvantage in this conflict.
"Citizen of Earth my ass, that's a monster!" Argued the alien. The judges seemingly conflicted on how to handle the predicament ultimately remained silent.
"Hey now, Chuck is an upstanding member of society. According the tournaments bylaws a citizen is any living creature with lawful rights in society. Don't hate us just because the rest of the universe doesn't have animal rights laws." I explained, smiling like a jackass as I sat back and stretched my legs.
Chuck, the giant Anaconda that may or may not have been slightly modified using genetic tampering, raised his head 9 feet into the air and began swaying side to side as he stared at his alien opponent.
Unwilling to simply let himself die, the alien man seemed to clear his throat and settle his resolve, ready to fight the massive serpent to death.
Poor bastard didn't stand a chance.
Chuck whipped forward with lightning speed as every muscle in the snakes powerful body moved in unison. Sinking his fangs around his opponents head and crushing the life from his body as he was coiled within the snakes deathly embrace.
Every fighter in the line-up seemed turn ghostly pale at the sight of this horrifically one-sided battle. One even attempted to flee only for his comrades to drag him back into the line-up. Disqualification was worse than death in this blood-sport.
"Cheater!" Screamed out crowds of aliens from different worlds at me as I relaxed in my VIP box. Obviously they didn't understand that humans were less traditional, and far less honorable, than the rest of the universe.
As Chuck slithered back into his cage, a new alien stepped into the arena. This one wearing bulky armor and carrying a massive sword. So this match allowed equipment, and he seemed to be rather content in his abilities. Taunting the crowd, and myself, as everyone cheered him on to put an end to Earth's mockery of their festival.
Poor bastard.
Pressing a button on my cage-lock controller I watched on with a sense of accomplishment as a massive armored beast of war walked into the arena. To be specific, the beast was an African Elephant covered in impenetrable armor and tricked out with razor sharp tusks. I'd named her August, seemed like a nice name.
Towering over the other warrior, he lost all of his former gusto as he quickly realized that his armor and lost mobility made him an easy target for the monstrous African Elephant.
I overheard a few nearby aliens mention how Earth would lose its snide grin in the aquatic rounds, and I smiled to myself as I pictured Gills, the genetically modified Great White we engineered to be exceptionally violent.
Honestly, this was just too easy. | Knowledge is a double edge sword, it can be a terrible thing. Just ask anyone who has ever worked in a weapons program. Even starting out with the best of intentions can lead to terrible consequences. There is no such thing as knowledge to heal without knowledge to harm. That is one of the facts of existence.
You could make the statement that my claim is apples to oranges, that you can teach the good without the bad. But I would counter with knowledge being apples to apples. Knowledge is knowledge no matter how you slice it. You can't keep the bad from anyone who wants to learn it.
I am watching them, you know. I always have. Slow, clumsy. Preparing for a fight they know they will lose. Weak muscles and fragile bones preparing in any way they can. I watch them, unseen, a simple snake in the grass. They practice outside. Special forces, career soldiers, crazy old hermits, martial art practitioners from nearly forgotten temples. They represent the pinnacle of humanity, champions one and all. And... They. Will. Die. To a man they know that.
I loved them once... Heh, love. Is that what I called it? I don't even know if that's true any more. I cursed them to this condition, I wonder if they know that. Some days I wonder where they'd be if I'd simply done nothing. They'd be under no threat from this, this... Travesty of creation. Their champions would be champions, their weakest would be champions. The God-Mountains they'd always meant to be.
Hubris is punished, hubris is *always* punished. That is one of the laws of creation. In my hubris humanity suffers. Because of my hubris I can never let go, I can never stop feeling the pain I caused.
Hubris. This species, these *Things* come to this world. TO *MY* world. In their hubris they will claim humanity's world as their own. No. I refuse.
Once again I will take up my sword. I am second only to Him in Heaven. My name is Lucifer and in my hubris I failed my world once. I failed my people once. I will not fail them again. | 2017-10-24T06:18:33 | 2017-10-24T01:23:24 | 67 | 47 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end. | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T09:19:40 | 78 | 17 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806) | "Are you sure about that?" the demon asked from inside the pentagram that had drawn on the floor in dust and candle wax. He'd arrived from the pits of Hell with horrid horns and terrible teeth, but all of that was gone now. He looked like someone you'd run into on the street, if you happened the run into pitch black shadows with yellow eyes.
Megan nodded.
"That's your command?"
Megan nodded for a second time and then coughed. The machine to her right beeped in protest.
"All right," he said. The glowing circle that was holding him in broke as he took the deal that Megan had offered him. He was to own her soul as soon as she died, but he was going to be her friend until then.
Megan smiled and then waved him over to the bed she was sitting on. The demon looked from her to the foot of the bed and then plopped himself onto it. He stared at her, his eyes acting like a pair of headlights. He was frankly confused. Demons weren't exactly well versed in the 'best friends' department, but it was his job now.
"Now what?" he asked.
Megan shrugged and laid down on the bed.
"I don't sleep," the demon explained.
Megan made a circle on her chest with her fist, and then closed her eyes. The Demon waited until morning.
The next morning was similar; the demon asked what to do, and Megan shrugged again. Frankly there wasn't much that you could do in the hospital without one of the nurses wagging a finger at you. Megan basically needed to stay in her bed, and that meant the Demon was going to as well. He did all of the talking while they were there. The Demon only left when the teacher came to remind her how to speak herself.
In the afternoon the Demon brought her ice cream. She didn't ask how he got it or how he knew that her favorite flavor was chocolate. Megan just let him know that she loved it. He started to bring it every day.
Against the odds Megan ended up getting better, and the Demon was relieved. She was allowed out of the hospital and back into her school. She saw Sally, who knew what was going on, and the other girls who didn't have any idea where she went. Megan's mom had given her this little board that she could write on and clear. It was easier to talk like that than it was to use a language she barely knew.
The other girls eventually stopped talking to Megan as much because she couldn't really talk back. Sally stopped talking to Megan because the rest of her friends weren't. The Demon still talked to Megan. He knew what she was saying no matter how many ways she said it. Sometimes she said things wrong but he didn't try to correct her. He just smiled with black teeth.
The Demon got Megan ice cream on her birthday again. It was almost their thing now, and as long as it was late at night nobody knew she was getting extra treats. She was ten, which meant she was pretty old.
When she was thirteen, they finally moved her schools. She'd taken to signing to the Demon when people were around, and that just wouldn't do. Her parents said something about isolation, and she didn't agree with them. The Demon didn't either, but she told him that her parents weren't bad people. He already knew that.
She went to a school where everyone could sign, but nobody else liked the music that she did. In fact, none of them were into music at all. The demon continued to spend time with her, but she had to write to him now. The rest of the kids could hear her hands.
When she was 16, the Demon helped her learn to drive. Her father was trying, but he wasn't very good at it. The Demon wasn't a very good driver either; he'd never done it before, and it made things a little hard. Megan got used to it.On the way to university when she was 17, Megan got into a car crash. It wasn't that bad, but they needed to go to the hospital. The Demon sat beside her in the ambulance.
The nurses ended up putting her back in the same room that she'd summoned the Demon in. The cancer that had taken her voice was back, and it wasn't very happy about her beating it the first time. She lit up the CAT scan like a Christmas tree. She lost in early December.
The Demon didn't cry when Megan stopped breathing. He was calm when she flat-lined, and the Doctors started to panic. She'd been in a lot of pain for the past while, and he hadn't liked it.
He held out a hand to her once she was pronounced dead, and she grabbed it while also staying still.After all, she'd lost to cancer, but she'd promised her soul to him, and they were friends.
Edit: If anyone wants to read more from me I'm over at /r/jacksonwrites . The current trending topic there is how to murder 42 children in a comedy book. | Twisted, gnarled horns poked out of thick, crimson skin just above the two yellow eyes peering at a little boy with a myriad of unpleasant emotions. *My* eyes.
"Lucifer, that rotten bastard. Why'd he send me here with no warning? Is this some kind of prank?" I snarled, spitting on myself in the process.
The young boy looked up at me with eyes wide as the moon, glimmering just as much. "It worked, it worked! Hi!"
I looked at the vermin, squinting and cocking my head. "*What?* Child, are you implying you summoned me here? That's absurd."
"I did, I really did."
"Look, you're too young to understand the incantations-"
He held up a book, bound in worn leather and stained with running ink, pointing at with a massive grin. "I did it, I promise."
I snatched the book from him and flipped through it. "*Where did you get th-* nevermind. It doesn't matter, I still don't believe you. Can you even read? Do you know *how much blood* is needed to summon a demon of my caliber?"
His face turned to the ground, body shaking with every sob, wiping at his eyes.
"Stop that insolent racket at once. Did I hurt your little feelings by saying you can't read? Fool."
He pointed to the corner, where two bodies laid limp; one man and one woman, blood pooling from multiple wounds on their bodies.
I turned to the child with a look of discomfort, my eyes shifting. "Oh, yeah, and what of it? What, you kill them?
He shook his head furiously and stood up, grabbing the hem of my shirt. "No, the bad people, they...they did that to ma and pa."
"Hey, get off me, beast!"
"No! No, I won't let go!" Still he clutched at my shirt, even as I tried to toss him aside.
"What do you want from me? Huh? I'm a *demon*, you stupid little boy. A *demon*. What could you want from me? You want to kill the people that did this? Not going to happen."
"No! No...I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want anyone to hurt like I do. Just...be my friend. Please, there's no one else here."
I laughed in his face, but still he did not waiver. Anger flashed across my gnarled face, replacing the guffawing in a heartbeat.
"Look, you stupid little boy. I'm a fucking demon, okay? I kill things. I'm evil. No one will love me, and I love no one. Just sod off already."
"I'll love you."
I took a step back, face twisting. "Why would you love something evil, something you don't know?"
He stared deep into my eyes. "Because I called you here, and you came. You came, and you haven't left."
I looked down, flailing my arms. "Why would I take care of you? You're a pain in the ass. Humans are NASTY creatures."
"Because I'll love you. I can see that you're sad, too."
"I'm not sad, insolent mongrel."
He looked at me with a pure smile, one incapable of lying.
"Fine," I said with a growl, betraying myself. "I'll visit once and a while. But I swear to god, don't you ask me to hug you or shit like that."
His eyes lit up, glowing like the candle beside us. "I won't. Just promise me you'll come back. Promise."
"Fine, whatever. I'm leaving."
He smiled, and I looked away, toward the two dead bodies, before vanishing. *Fuck, you idiots. You weren't supposed to have a kid. They told me you didn't have any fucking kids...*
----
*thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, check out /r/resonatingfury for more!* | 2016-05-18T21:19:48 | 2016-05-18T20:36:49 | 1,582 | 126 |
[WP] Your wife passed away six months ago. Your car broke down two weeks ago. Your landlord evicted you four days ago. Someone took your seat on the bus this morning, and you just got laid off from your job. You've always promised to use your powers for good, until you snapped.. | That was the last straw. I was done being the good guy. I had lost the love of my life six moths ago, after watching cancer and chemo drain the life from her. She told me to keep my chin up and to live. Five months later, up to my neck in debt, the bank threatened to foreclose my house and car loans. I wasn't living. I was barely surviving.
Two weeks ago, I got T-boned. The car was totaled. The bank foreclosed my house a week and a half later. That morning when I came in to work, my things were in a file box and the supervisor told me that I had been laid off. "Didn't you get the email?" He asked, knowing that I hadn't.
As I waited for the bus, I called my brother-in-law. His wife answered the phone and I asked her if I could come stay with them. She told me that she and my brother-in-law were divorcing and he was in prison for using drugs. She was curt and hung up as soon as she finished telling me.
I decided to go to a homeless shelter. As I headed to the last empty seat, a punk kid hurried to slide into it first. He grinned up at me. "You snooze, you lose."
My head filled with hollow roaring as my vision blurred. I'd more than I could take. The box in my hands disintegrated, my things crashing to the floor of the bus. People gasped and exclaimed. I felt the air around me turn to liquid energy. People screamed and clamored as they tried to get out of the way. I didn't care. I just wanted everyone to know my wrath. I threw my arms out, liquefying the bus. I could see people screaming and running in every direction. I threw my head back and roared. A blast of power shot out from me, shattering every window on the street. The asphalt beneath my feet bubbled, then burst into flames before turning to cinders. The molten area began to expand as my pent of rage and grief escaped my tight control.
In that moment, all I wanted was for the whole world to burn with me. Then I saw them. Through the walls of my dimension. Four tall people in robes. They stared at the puddle of lava around me and the shattered window.
"We have finally succeeded." One of them said.
The second frowned. "I was sure that giving his wife cancer would do the trick. I never would have guessed a stolen seat would trigger him."
I was enraged. So angry the world could not contain it. I stepped trough the dimensional wall. They stared in horror as I smiled. "Hello. My name is James. You killed my wife."
I let go of my rage, letting my powers run wild. The liquid energy engulfed everything. When it was over, I was alone, with the remnants of a destroyed planet floating around me.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. "Not again."
At least it wasn't Earth. | *“Have you ever wanted to be a superhero”*
That was the words of my beloved wife who passed away six months ago, her death surely took a heavy toll on me, with the love of my life gone, i was left alone, it was an absolutely horrible experience, I became very slothful at work, and resorted to drugs, it really calmed me down and feels like the only salvation I could ever receive, until four days ago, when my landlord evicted me, I stayed over at my friend’s house for a while with the promise of leaving in a week, then today came.
The morning goes well, some asshole took my seat but it’s no big deal i got to work just fine, but get this, when I was working, my boss called me to his office, his god-awful stench filled that reeeeally neat room, that *BOSS*, that dirty shit loving, fat glob of meat, covered with sweat and piss dared to look at me dead in my eyes, and fired me like he owns the whole world, so of course I did the only thing I could do..
I broke down and sob,
It was glorious, the mere sight of a grown adult exposing his weaknesses can bring even the most loving children to gouge out their eyes, so i sat there, my face completely covered with mucus and tears, while my boss looks at me with disgusted eyes filled with pity.
After what feels like half an hour, i ran out toward the streets, and stopped in the middle of an intersection, and unleashed my superpower, while the words of my long gone wife repeated inside my mind,
*“Have you ever wanted to be a superhero”*
My wrecked heart felt like a thousand needle being thrusted into it, i close my eyes to awaken my powers
*My power*
*Something*
*That can fix everything*
“Do I even have any power?”,
After all, i couldn’t even meet my wife on her deathbed, i was too slothful to visit her, I even let down my co-workers, because i was too slothful to even submit the project that we’ve been working on, and then i realized..
I was too slothful to even dodge a speeding car | 2020-01-09T06:29:05 | 2020-01-09T03:45:16 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] Write the biggest asshole ever, then try to redeem him in the last sentence. | "All you kids do is fight and complain!" the old man yelled, "It's always, 'He got more than me! I don't like it here!' There's kids that have it a lot worse than you do!" He shouted at the three teenagers sitting at the table. Yet another, younger child served them dinner. At their feet, seven more children aged three to twelve were sitting or crawling in the dirty floor among the scattered toys and rat turds. In the next room, a baby was crying. It had been crying like that all night. "BARRY!" he yelled out down the hall. "Get in here."
"Y-yes sir?" replied Barry, a child of nine with matted brown hair. He looked cautiously at the old man. Balding grey hair, unwashed, combed-over and greasy dangled down the side of his face near the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, burned nearly down to the filter.
"Barry, tell these assholes there's kids out there have it worse than here."
"Yeah. I guess it could be worse."
"Atta boy, Barry," replied the old man, "It's family what we got here. Family! Ya'll don't like it, you can get out and live on the street! I don't see anybody else putting the food on table here!" He glared at the youngest in the floor. "You cry, I'm going to go ape shit, hear me ya little booger?" The child only continued to stare, holding back tears. "Christ, help me," said the old man as he crept over to his chair.
It was the only real piece of furniture in the house besides the makeshift futon mattresses in the floor. The kids knew not to sit in it. It was Pop's chair, and you'd catch hell if he caught you in it. He squashed his cigarette down into the arm of the chair and pulled out an adult magazine from the cushion and began browsing it. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Pop grumbled and trudged over to see the familiar face of a middle aged woman in a raincoat at the door.
"Christ Kathy," he muttered. "I don't have any money. You see this in here? Twelve kids! Then you show up the minute I get some peace!" He pulled out a fresh smoke and lit it. "Can it wait until next week? I got three teenagers eating me out of house and home, and a crying baby! Haven't slept in three days."
"No, Dan. These three were in a van on 54th, Mom's an addict. No where else to go."
"Shit. Okay Kathy, but you gotta find somewhere for these kids to go soon, I'm at my wit's end with them. If I take in any more, this place won't be any better than where they're coming from." | The old man, he sits at the corner on the bench on occasion. He always seemed creepy. If someone dropped something he'd snatch it up and keep it. It'd go into his bag and he'd deny having it. It didn't matter who you were; old, young, he'd keep it.
He also hated cats. If any came near them he'd throw sticks or rocks toward them. Never hitting them, just near enough to scare them off. He did that to my "Felix" once. The most gentle cat you'd ever know.
If little kids ever smiled at him he'd scowl at them and make them cry. If they weren't paying attention, he'd take whatever snacks they'd left behind when the were playing, causing so many tears.
Overall, he was just a nasty old man. No one liked him but because he wasn't doing anything truly illegal, nothing could be done. He started out as a drifter in this town and just decided to stay I guess. We all wished he'd just head on out of town again. But, since he wasn't trespassing, he wasn't taking anything off of anyone's person, and he wasn't a drunk or drug user, the police didn't do much. We all assumed he slept under the bridge, which was a place no one wanted to go anyway.
So, he continued his poor, pathetic, angry life. I always hated seeing him and would avoid going near him. Until one day. That was the day I was walking late at night. One of the other drifters grabbed me and dragged me into the woods. I knew what they likely planned to do, but the creepy old man showed up and, using one of his "found" hammers, hit the guy in the back of the head. The old man looked at me and simply mumbled "I want no recognition, this never happened, just let me be." I don't know what happened to the body, I never asked. I just did as he asked and let him be. | 2017-05-23T11:28:17 | 2017-05-23T10:14:55 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you. | Part 1
The first time it happened I was 13.
I was always a big kid, everyone in my family was built on the heavy side, my mum never thought there was anything wrong with it. She believed a hearty meal and plenty of meat on your bones was healthy for a growing boy.
The other kids at school disagreed.
In hindsight, I don't think it was ever really about my weight, I was shy and timid, an easy target. The fact that I was fat was just a bonus to them.
I would ignore the jeers, I would sit quietly in class and not react when someone whispered a joke at my expense, or throw something at the back of my head, it didn't make them stop though.
The worst was when they'd steal my lunch, they'd say I didn't need it, that I was fat enough already.
Mum noticed almost immediately when I'd stopped eating seconds at dinner, when I turned down an extra helping.
I didn't tell her what was happening at school, but I think she knew.
"I'll pray for you Michael." she said to me. "I'll pray that God protects you when I can't."
I didn't feel very protected, when another boy picked a fight with me. He was a lot smaller, thinner, he couldn't do much to hurt me, but it didn't stop him from trying.
He was at it all day, any chance he got, he'd take a jab at me with sharp, bony fingers. Shove his knuckles into my side as we walked to our next class, at lunch he tried to trip me, but I was too on guard, I noticed him stick his leg out in front of me, so I brought my foot back and kicked him hard in the shin.
And he lost his shit.
He wailed and screamed and carried on like I'd broken his damn leg. Everyone came running over, students, teachers, everyone wanted to know what happened.
I got suspended.
Mum tried to fight for me, she marched into school and threw herself into the fire for me. They told her that it didn't matter if the other kid had been bothering me, it was wrong to assault him.
He didn't get so much as a detention, *he* was the *victim* after all.
I didn't cry much during my three day suspension. I thought I would, but whenever I thought about the injustice, and started to feel hopeless, it was like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket. Mum told me I had a guardian angel looking after me.
They weren't doing a very good job.
I had to go back to school eventually, and everything got a whole lot worse after that. Just about everyone was trying to get a rise out of me, they's goad me into taking a swing at them. They'd poke and prod and tease and kick. Never when the teachers were paying attention.
I could feel the rage building up with every jab, I would feel my face heat up and my heart hard in my chest, but every time I thought I would break, I felt that cushion of warmth and comfort encompass me. It would cool my head, and keep me from lashing out, but it didn't stop the other kids.
I was about 16 when something changed.
That comforting feeling was still present, always present, whenever I felt sad or angry it was there, but it felt like a bandaid on a gushing wound. It kept me from acting on my rage, it kept me from breaking down and crying, but it couldn't keep me from feeling helpless. It couldn't help me from thinking about all the ways I could make it stop, permanently.
Then that one kid, the one that I kicked, he stopped showing up to class.
I didn't think anything of it at first, but people talked. He'd gotten hurt, real hurt, his bike had been hit by a car, they said he lost control and swerved into traffic, they said it was a freak accident.
The next week another kid went missing, the one who was always stealing my lunch. He'd tripped on an uneven footpath and knocked his teeth out, apparently it was pretty gruesome. A freak accident.
Then another kid, one who'd often try to snatch my school books from my desk and tear the pages out, she went missing for two days. She'd gone hiking with her family and lost the trail, they found her almost dead from exposure. She was an experienced hiker, it was unusual that she would get lost on a trail she knew so well.
It was a freak accident.
And it kept happening, anyone who laid a hand on me, anyone who'd tried to make my life miserable found themselves injured, missing, hospitalised. The ones who came back to school came back different. Less cruel and ruthless, they knew what pain was now.
I thought it was a karmic kick in the ass. I felt a sick satisfaction from their suffering, I didn't feel sorry for them, I couldn't, not when pain was the lesson they needed to finally leave me alone.
My life got a whole lot easier after that.
At some point that first kid cornered me after school. It had been a couple of months since his accident, he was still on crutches.
"How did you do it?" he asked me.
"Do what?" I replied.
"Did you *pay* someone to fuck us up? Hire some gang? Because we made some stupid fucking *jokes*?"
I hadn't done anything, but that didn't stop me from standing up straight, leaning in close, and saying-
"If I was you, I would be very *very* careful about how you talk to me from now on." | Frey woke up the morning with an excruciating pain in his head. On his 18th birthday of all days. But he ignored it. He spent a few minutes doing his hair, Golden in colour with two side burns down both sides of his head, finished off with a ponytail at the back. Once that was over, Frey moved over to do his uniform. It was the same regular, boring grey overcoat he always wore. Problem of being in the Alfhanian Military it seemed. He looked himself in the mirror, gazing all over himself to check for any mistakes. The insecurities of an 18 year old. Anyhow, Frey turned away and, to his surprise, was his guardian Angel. Drowned in a fashion of red, the Angel had a similar shade of Blonde to Frey, only his hair being a much more simpler design.
“What is the matter?” Frey said. He didn’t have a name for this being, nor did it ever even speak to him. It simply existed, no questions asked. The Angel simply looked blankly at him, like a doll of sorts. It made Frey uneasy, frightened even.
“Listen, today is not the day for you to play games with me. I would appreciate it if you could reserve yourself”
No response, no change in the dull facial expression. Frey simply sighed.
Wait..something was off. It dawned to Frey that he was no longer in his cramped barracks. Instead it was replaced with endless skies covered in a thick fog. He stepped back in confusion, before noticing he was standing on top of a large tree branch that was as thick as he was tall. He looked down and saw an endless abyss beneath him. Frey feel onto his bottom, his breathing became heavy, and his eyes became swelled with tears.
“Welcome friend!” A voice shouted from above.
Looking up, Frey could see his guardian ‘Angel’ was sitting atop of him on an higher branch. Frey was speechless, he couldn’t utter a single word out of fear.
SLAM! Frey’s Angel dropped down right in front of the 18 year old. With its back turned towards Frey, horrendously, it’s back bend in-humanely backwards until it’s face was angled to see him.
“What’s with the tears? My face isn’t that ugly!” The Angel laughed at its own joke, while several tears fell on Frey’s red cheeks.
The being’s body twisted itself to adjust normally. It wiped away Frey’s tears with its hands as he stared in shock.
“Come on, you’ve lived for one hundred years and you can’t even handle a little surprise?” The Angel said. Frey had been chronically 100 years old, but only awoke a few short years ago. Hence why only now was he 18 years of age, biologically speaking.
“W-Why are y-you doing this?!” Frey cried out, taking all of courage to say it.
The guardian merely smirked at the question.
“Why you say? That’s hilarious! Hahaha,” Quickly it’s face turned from laughter and humour to straight and serious “it’s because I’m not your protector, boy”.
“What?” Frey was deeply confused, what was it saying?
Unbeknownst to Frey, his right eye began to change from its normal emerald green to a light yellow. But he did noticed his angel’s *left* eye turned the same colour.
“I’ll be honest with you as a nice birthday present: I’m not your guardian Angel, I’m the demon the gods created, the one they materialised from nothing to give you to you vile humans. One of 7. Truth is, I wasn’t even supposed to be connect to you, but your twin sister decided, one hundreds years ago, it would be a great idea to,” Frey felt his headache from earlier arise again. Could it be from this demon, or was it simply from his mind trying to process even the slightest concept of what is going on?
The being now pushed its face closer to Frey’s, who still sat in terror. “But you interest me, Frey Vanir”.
The high up tree started to slowly darken, going from a lush forest high in the skies, to a blackened void.
“These games we’ve been playing, all the moments you tried to remember your past, it amused me. Watching you struggle and cry hopeless cured me of my millennia old boredom.” The anomaly began to slowly move its face away. With solid distance between the two, Frey breathed heavily as the reality(?) set in.
Suddenly, he was now in his room, on his worn out bed. He looked in the same direction as a single tear strain fell from his right eye, now back to its natural green state. | 2021-05-23T21:09:46 | 2021-05-23T16:46:53 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You're a female hero in a fantasy world, and you are annoyed. The wizards keep giving you enchanted armor with incredible stats, but it looks RIDICULOUS! This one has nipples! This one has a hole over your heart! This one is just a necklace and a belt! Would they please STOP IT! | "I know it's ridiculous!" The wizard threw his hands into the air.
"Then stop this nonsense and make me something that doesn't look like I should be wearing it on a street corner rather than in the dungeon!" I snapped.
"S'not my fault," the wizard muttered, turning away to fiddle with something. "I'm doing the best that I damn well can. Take it up with," he gestured vaguely upwards.
"Do you mean to tell me," I started dangerously—
"Yes!"
"You seriously can't do better than that beaded necklace-belt thing that *vanished* my favorite shirt when I put it on?"
"In my defense", he turned back to face me, "that didn't happen when my apprentice tried it. "Want a drink?"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Gods know I could use something stiff right now."
"Can't have alcohol in here. The last time I got sloshed and enchanted, it nearly took out nearly the entire block." He handed me a bone-white porcelain cup, slightly steaming. "I'd offer you milk, but the coldbox never works. We can find a cow if you'd like."
I accepted the tea with as much grace as I could muster. Staring down at its flowery liquid, I eventually calmed enough to ask:
"Is there any way to fix this."
"Probably."
"Well what do you fucking advise then!"
"The good news is, you can get strong enough to defeat whatever God made this happen.
"The bad news is," the wizard leaned forward and prodded at my chest, "you're going to have to do it with these hanging out."
I groaned, then tipped my head back to chug the tea.
—
This is (functionally) my first post here on r/WritingPrompts; I'd appreciate any advice you may care to give! | "Well you inconsistent asshole." the Wizard, Lady Emerald von Lowerwitz "Do you ever think about how enchanting works? No. I fucking thought not. Because you daft idiots are always the same 'ugh, it's demeaning!' no you dumbass it's Revoc's Law; the power of an enchantment is tied to how much mana the body empowering it can absorb."
She looked at her client with sever distate. "Any idiot can make a decent suit of armor with a silver allow to weaken magic. however you insisted on the power powerful enchantments possible which requires exposed skin so you are better able to attune to it and gain more mana. Why do you think the Men walk around shirtless all the time?!"
Elphenten frowned. "that seems like a shitty justification."
"Take it up with the gods. they wanted this universe the way it was and honestly i see no problem with it; it's nothing anyone here hasn't seen before." | 2022-11-21T04:56:11 | 2022-11-21T04:55:13 | 568 | 25 |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| Demons live in the shadows. You aught to be cautious, yes, but there’s no need to be afraid. Demons live in the shadows or should I say beneath them, for the shadows are what keeps our worlds apart. You can say that the shadows keep us safe. For this we are surely lucky for without this wall, without this barrier, one world would surely perish beneath the wrath of the other.
How do I know this? Let me share with you my secret; I’ve have been to the other side.
This story begins like many others. I was in my kitchen. My bagel was plain but my cream cheese was thick and the lox was fresh. Life was good; my breakfast was testament to that. I raised my bagel in the air and gave my thanks saying, “God or Devil, he who breaths life into the dead and turns the cosmos on a needle and makes them spin, he who made my bagel he who also made my lox. I thank you for my bounty and for everything I’ve got.”.
My dog began to smile. It was a site that filled my soul with fear. He smiled like a human; it was as if he was a man. His eyes, they filled with fire. In those flames men burned alive. I could even hear them scream. I tried to stop him. I really did. But before I could he had begin to speak. From his eyes dripped tears, blood. He said, “amen let it be” and like that, in a flash, I was gone.
I was scared. Afraid. My adventure had just begun.
(to be continued if people like it) | 2016-08-08T13:13:55 | 2016-08-08T13:13:16 | 351 | 14 |
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible... | **Interview**
“Species?”
“Listen. I am the captain of the first ship to travel faster than —“
“We’re quite aware of what you’ve done.” The small, balding man at the desk pushed his spectacles up patiently. “Now. Species?”
“You’ve asked me this five times. I want answers, dammit.”
The man looked up over his spectacles, folded his hands, and sighed. “If you want answers, then you need to have this form filled out in order to get to the next queue. I’ve explained this. Now: species?”
He poised his fingers over his keyboard, stared at his screen and waited.
The captain hung his head. “Human.”
“Planet of origin?”
“Earth.”
“Hmm. Never heard of it.”
A voice came threaded with static over the intercom on the bureaucrat’s desk. “No editorialising, Mr. S. Just send our traveler in.”
“But I’m not—“ he was startled and horrified.
“Now,” said the static.
“Follow me,” said Mr. S. He rose on disconcerting tentacles, leading the captain to a white wooden door.
Inside the door was another, ordinary office, where sat a friendly, white-haired gentleman behind a massive, old and probably insanely expensive wooden desk.
The captain felt dizzy. He had not expected aliens to look and behave like Parliament.
He had not expected aliens. Or queues. Or forms.
“Have a seat, captain.”
The gentleman pointed to a leather wingback he hadn’t noticed before. The captain waffled a bit between the standard defiance of “thanks, I’d rather stand,” and the more polite compliance of sitting in a real, comfy chair for the first time in —well, 36 months.
He sat.
“Good, good. Drink?”
He drank. The cognac was brilliant, smooth.
“Do hope you’ll forgive all this, but your arrival here is rather a shock. FTL travel from *your* galaxy is supposed to be rather impossible, you see. The entire Milky Way, containing your sun, and the planets revolving it, are in what you would call... a Dead Zone for FTL.”
“What?” Alarmed, the captain leaned forward. “I don’t understand.”
“Really? I rather thought I was clear.” The gentleman was calm. “Let me try again. Have another drink.”
“No thanks,” the captain said.
“Suit yourself. At any rate, your home planet, and the galaxy surrounding it, are in an area which should prevent faster than light travel. We are all very dismayed to see you have somehow circumvented this.”
“You—you say that as if this... ‘Dead Zone’ was a deliberate fence or something,” said the captain.
“It is,” said the gentleman.
He buzzed his intercom, and several tentacled creatures entered to drag the captain away, screaming. | The purple vastness of the dead zone cracked open, a white light appeared, and a missile shot through into space.
Space -- the vast blackness.
A single turtle, as large as the sun, swam through it. The turtle was ancient, and its eyes were crusted with cosmic dust. On its silver shell, elephants stood, four of them on whose shoulders was a giant disc, as large as the turtle.
The missile crashed into the disc, and out came the visitors -- humans. They did not dare remove their suits, the air was not to be trusted. Soon, they were surrounded by a variety of odd creatures.
One-legged creatures hopping on a springlike leg, one-eyed cats staring, six-legged hounds barking, and four-eyed people gawking.
"Hello," one spaceman said. There were four of them. "What is this place?"
The four-eyed people stared blankly, and the six-legged hounds kept on barking, and sirens were heard, and a black hovercar approached.
Six more four-eyed people got out, they wore black suits and stood ramrod straight.
Another one of the spacemen waved to them. The black-suited guys saluted him.
"*Rufflumph tumph hugh yun,"* one black-suited guy said.
The spacemen shook their heads and waved their hands to make an X sign.
The black-suited troops started talking amongst themselves. *Gumph olops ghiun nisma.* They decided to apprehend the four visitors.
The clueless spacemen looked at them and raised their hands in the air. The troops jumped back and crouched.
"*Tuyn hugh yun tumph!"* One said, and they launched themselves towards the spacemen.
*Bam! Bam!* One spaceman panicked and shot at two officers.
The troop members' faces contorted with rage. They reached into their holsters and produced little guns that shot lasers and turned the spacemen to crisp.
Dead Zone. | 2021-01-09T12:01:50 | 2021-01-09T11:03:42 | 153 | 49 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | It was the first of January. The day of the Reveal. The day every person turning sixteen in the next twelve months will find out the number that will determine who their friends will be, where they will live, the jobs they will work. I wasn't worried. Both of my parents were in the 90's, my sister too. I was almost guaranteed a spot in the highest tier of society.
The mood was tense in the auditorium. All of us sat, watching the clock as it slowly ticked closer and closer to the 12 o'clock mark. Some people had their sleeves rolled up, eager to see. Others kept turning towards the door as if they were antsy to get out. I chatted with my friends, other soon-to-be 80's and 90's, if their family history said anything about it.
As the clock sounded, gasps could be heard echoing throughout the room. I felt a searing pain in my arm before it disappeared abruptly. I looked down, and my suspicions were confirmed. I was a 92.
I turned to my friend beside me, Jen, for a high-five, only to see her eyes filling with tears. I glanced at her arm, and recoiled. No, it couldn't be. Impossible. A 20? She abruptly got up and sprinted out the door to the bathroom.
===========
It had been a few months after the Reveal. Besides Jen, there weren't too many surprises. A couple kids from 30's families jumped to 70's. They were probably going to start a company or something in the near future.
I strolled to my locker, laughing with Kane about the party we went to the other night. Nobody dared step in our way. Nobody, that is, except for the little punk-ass that I ended up crashing into. As books flew to the ground, I shoved the kid. "Hey, watch it!"
He kept his head down, but when I noticed who it was, an evil grin materialized on my face. "What's this? Has Mr. Nobody himself decided to bless me with his presence?"
He ignored me, and bent down to pick his books up. Kane laughed. "Ah ah," he teased as he grabbed Tristan by the collar. "We can't have you disrespecting us like that, now, can we?"
"Let me go," he whispered, tugging his sleeve down. He was the only one to have yet revealed his score. I bet it was probably some record low number; the kid didn't seem to bright anyways.
"Let you go? But that's no fun!" A crowd had started gathering around us by now. "Now, mind letting us see that number?"
"No thank you," he mumbled, before trying to get out of Kane's grasp.
"What's that?" My voice got deadly low. Nobody dared talk back to a 92, especially not a low-life like him. "Kane, grab his sleeve."
To his credit, Tristan struggled. He really did try to keep it hidden, but of course, he had no chance against the school's star football player. Triumphantly, Kane yanked the sleeve back, before dropping it, and taking a step back.
The hall was silent. "Kane? Kane, what is it?"
Kane dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, Infini." As he said that, everyone around us began dropping down as well.
"What? That's... That's impossible! There's only ever... He can't be... Let me see that!" I grabbed his sleeve myself, only to confirm what Kane saw. An infinity symbol. I looked at Tristan, and he seemed grim. "I hope you'll leave me alone now," he said as he walked away.
​ | She was destined to be successful. All her friends had many many tally marks. She herself had 92, and obviously thought too highly of herself to care for any lowlives or how they faired. She knew everyone at the school, and everyone knew her. There were only a few kids more well known than her.
Billy was one of them. As everyone knew he was destined to always be a nobody, and was someone who likely had close to 1 tally mark and hid it. He was someone who had no friends, was more than likely never going to get a job, and would never be anyone to anyone. How could she not bully him?
It wasn't until one day when she cornered him by some lockers after school that she came to the brilliant idea to reveal his tally count.
Not hesitating, she ripped his sleeve up his arm, to reveal...
An infinity symbol.
Of course she was filled with jealousy, her ego too big to compute someone more popular, more successful, more... everything.
She scrubbed at his arm, pinning him down like the weak thing she knew he actually was. She was sure he was faking the mark. Almost positive that he only put it there to hide a low score of tally marks.
It wasn't coming off! Furious, she dragged him to the empty female bathroom, ignoring his horrified expression and the way he tried to pull away from her, terrified.
He should be terrified! She thought, maybe said outloud, who knows. She surely didn't care. All she could focus on was the thought of him being a fake running through her head.
She grabbed his wrist, shoving it under the steaming hot water, only to get reddened skin in return. Fuming, she scratched at it with the black acrylics she bore, tearing at the thin skin till it was bleeding and sore.
Yet the mark was still there.
She dragged him to her car, knowing one for sure way to get rid of the mark that taunted her.
Billy had long since given up trying to stop this insane girl, knowing that she was stronger than him, and too scared of making her even more angry by trying to pull away or call for help in the long since empty lot. So, terrified for his wellbeing, went along with her, wrist bleeding, and mind hoping for her to tire of this... whatever... soon.
She gripped his wrist tighter, throwing him in the back seat of the car, following and shutting the door.
Nobody would think anything of a girl like her with someone they couldn't see in the back of her own Lamborghini.
Nobody could stop her.
And nobody did.
That day, after bloodying her shiny new car, she looked proudly to her wrist.
She was again the highest number in the school.
Or so she thought.
Nobody was around to hear the horrified scream of someone who now only held a single tally, and possessed the skin of an infinity symbol with 92 tallies underneath.
And nobody would ever care again. | 2018-12-27T18:27:11 | 2018-12-27T16:53:43 | 287 | 12 |
[WP] The hero is enjoying a day off thanks to a rare quiet night in the city. That is until the villain shows up to her door, but carrying an unconscious woman and looking distraught. “I saved her from a party....I know this is weird, but I didn’t know who else to go to.” | He stood there with rain dripping from the rim of his baseball cap. The hand on her gun tightened.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t need to stay. Just take her and I’ll leave.”
He shuffled under the weight of the woman’s body. Water dripped through the flimsy jean jacket covering her torso. If it wasn’t for the uncanny echo of desperation in his eyes she would have shot him in the face. His cheeks were flushed with effort.
“Drop her and back away from the door.” The words rolled from between clenched teeth.
He glanced at the puddle on the doorstep, “But the wate—“
“—Do it or take her somewhere else.” She drew her firearm but kept it pointed at the ground as a threat.
Panic surged through his face and he laid the woman down gently on the porch. His hands remained clear when he lifted them in surrender.
“Please, I swear this isn’t a trick.”
“Just keep your hands high.”
She bent over and gingerly patted the woman down. With her gun she motioned him to lean against the wall as she checked for weapons. He was clean.
*****
“Why the hell didn’t you just drop her off at a police station?”
By now they’d carried the woman to bed and she was safely tucked away in the guest room. She had him sit in the farthest armchair of the living room while she watched. Her gun lay beside her on the side table.
“Believe it or not I don’t trust cops to keep their hands to themselves.” He leaned forward and put his head in his palms.
“Look... It’s been a rough night. Just let me go home.”
“Tell me what happened first.”
He scowled at her.
“Is this to delay me for something? If I dare hear a police siren—“
“—You’ll what? Run?”
Her hand hovered threateningly over the weapon again. He flinched at the motion.
“Asshole.”
The anger in his face deepened, “I certainly won’t be around to help girls at parties anymore if I’m in prison.”
She sighed.
“Nobody’s coming.” Her hand returned to a place of neutrality, “Just tell me what happened.”
A heavy breath soothed him as he laid back and stared up at the ceiling.
“What is there to tell? Don’t pretend you can’t already guess what I pulled her from.”
His hand tightened around the armchair.
“Obviously you expect to hear the story of drunken rape? Roofied drinks between backroom gang bangs? By now that narrative of rape is practically a cultural icon. There are no surprises in human depravity anymore.”
Her eyes widened.
“Was she abused like that?”
“—No! No. I got her out of there in time.”
“What about the perpetrator?”
“What about him?”
“Did you deal with him?”
He raised his eyebrows at her, “What? Was I supposed to beat him up in some back alley? Roundhouse kick him while carting a full grown woman in my arms?”
“Ah.” She looked at him with an awkward silence, “I suppose not.”
This was the fourth time they had ever been in the same room together. She had never noticed it during those long, caffeine driven interrogations but his eyes seemed to betray a softness. He was more weathered than she remembered.
“Want to go hunt him down? Bring him in?” Her tone changed as she said it.
“Then what? Dismiss him for lack of evidence?”
He scowled again, “—No thanks.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and returned her hand to its position over the gun.
“Maybe...” She hesitated and looked between him and the firearm, “—Maybe... we could try things your way?”
“Assassination? Are you crazy?”
“No! No! I just mean rough him up a little.”
He smirked and was already reaching for his soaked jean jacket.
“Really. I don’t know where you got the idea that I engage in such violence.”
The little chuckle he gave betrayed his delight at his own joke. She belted the gun and stood up.
“Where can we find him?”
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He tapped the glass and showed her its lock screen.
“I’m just waiting on a call now.”
“From your contacts?”
He struggled to hide the look of pained disdain that now moved across his face.
“You really have no idea how crime operates do you?” He pointed to the distasteful picture displayed as the lock icon, “This is his phone. I stole it. I am waiting on his friends to call his number for him.”
Her eyes stared blankly at it.
“So... You’ve had this all planned out from the start?”
“Well— I didn’t exactly think a *you* were going to join me, but yes.”
She rose her eyebrows and regarded him with a sense of awe and fear. Something nagged at her consciousness.
“Let me use the restroom before we go.”
“Sure thing.”
In the privacy of the tiled bathroom she hastily scribbled a note on a piece of toilet paper.
*If I go missing, suspect number one on the Quinton murders (recently at large) is involved. My cell gps records tonight will help you find him.*
She signed it and wrote the date before tucking it behind her toothbrush in the cabinet.
It was time to break the law.
**Very happy with this so far. Still new to Reddit. I’ll consider building on this. |
“So quiet tonight. No alerts and it’s almost one a.m.,” she said out loud to herself as she looked at the large screen of her alert system.
For Sierra Pierce, Los Angeles’ hero who everyone named Silver after her eye color, it was strange to see a lack of crime on any given night. She was fast, agile and skilled in various martial arts. The citizens compared her moves to that of a cat.
She switched off the screen and walked to her kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Might as well enjoy the night.” She poured herself a glass and slumped on a couch with music playing in the background and a book in her hand.
Not a minute had passed since she began reading the book when her doorbell rang. She placed the glass and the book down on the table and walked to the door. She got into a defensive stance when she saw Sparks, the city’s most well-known villain. He was called so because he always created new electronic devices to disrupt the peace in the city.
She turned angry as she saw the unconscious woman in his hands. “What did you do to her, Sparks?”
“I saved her from a party…” He stepped back. “I know this is weird but I didn't know who else to go to.”
“Maybe a hospital, Sparks.” She helped him take the woman inside and lay her down on her couch. “What were you thinking when you brought her here? We should get her to a doctor.”
“No. See, she was at a party involving a lot of illegal drugs. She would get sent to prison if the hospital finds out she had been consuming them.” He looked at her helplessly.
“Which one?” She checked her pulse and temperature.
“Buzz 2.0. The new one on the market.”
“Her pulse and temperature seems normal. What about the others?” She sat down on a couch.
“They seemed alright. As a villain, I cannot call the cops on them. You know that.”
“Why come to me?”
“Because I know you are a chemist.” He rubbed his neck nervously.
“How do you know that? An assumption?” Her tone was almost mocking.
“I followed you yesterday. From early morning four when you were battling Hammer up till an hour ago. I noticed her collapse in the backyard of the house where the party was going on as I was having dinner on top of the building opposite yours.” He took a few steps back as she got up abruptly.
“How dare you!”
“I’m so sorry, Silver. Please see if you can help her.”
The woman groaning as she gained consciousness made them stop arguing. They turned around to see her sit up and stretch as if she had been sleeping. She stood up slowly. She froze when she turned around and saw Sparks with a woman she could not recognize. “Where am I?”
“You’re alright?” Sparks took a step towards her. She stepped back in fear.
“Y...Yes.” She tripped and fell back on a couch. Her eyes widened when she spotted Silver’s mask on the coffee table. “What did you do with Silver?”
“Nothing. I am alright.” Sierra approached her and extended a hand towards her. “I am Silver.”
The woman went quiet as she observed Sierra’s silvery eyes. “You two are friends?”
“No. He brought you here when you got knocked out at the party. This is my apartment.”
“But isn't he the bad guy?” She looked quizzically at Sparks who sat on a couch beside the one she sat on.
“Uh... I did save you. I only like to have fun with my devices on the streets of LA. I don’t mean to harm anyone.”
Silver placed a hand on his shoulder. “He might even be a hero for all I know. He is harmless despite the random acts of vandalism every night.”
His phone rang. He picked it up and walked to a corner of the room.
When he finished the call, he walked up to Silver. “Can you drop her at her home? I have a job to do.”
“I was hoping you wouldn't go off to vandalize something so soon.” Silver sounded disappointed.
“Who said I was going for a job as Sparks? I am on-call and there is a patient, a child, who was brought in unconscious after tripping down a staircase.” He pocketed his phone.
“You are a doctor?” The woman was surprised.
“A paediatrician. Electronics is a hobby.” He walked to the door and turned around and smiled at the two women. “Duty calls, ladies. See you around, Silver.”
A hero by day. A villain by night. | 2019-05-20T23:26:29 | 2019-05-20T22:44:55 | 958 | 254 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear grandad,
You died 11 years ago when I was only 10years old. I had begged my parents to go to your funeral but they refused and I never got to go. I never got a formal goodbye so here it is.
I loved playing the violin for you. It always brought you such joy. I loved how you would always say “one day I’ll be better than you” after I finished playing. I stopped playing after you died. I’d like to think we’re equal at playing the violin now even if just by default. I remember I would always play the violin downstairs at your home but one day I visited and you were upstairs in bed. Struggling to be alive and being in pain. Even than you listened to me play. Little did I know that would be the last time I would play for you.
You would look at me now with such proud eyes. You were always proud of everything I did. I wish you were here to see me graduate university despite all the odds. I wish you were here to listen to me play the violin one more time. I wish you were here telling me how proud you are of me and everything I’ve ever done.
One day I’ll play for you once more. Until then rest easy granddad.
Love from your granddaughter | Dear Monique,
We both messed up. I should have paid you the attention you needed when you needed it, and you should have told me when you felt you had lost control of your life. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to throw away a wonderful 10 year marriage. Please come home, we miss you horribly.
I love you and I always will.
-A | 2017-11-05T21:06:53 | 2017-11-05T20:41:24 | 351 | 67 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | I could feel the blood dripping down my arm
“ what a freak , can’t do anything “ my attacker announced to the crowd. He had lightning fast reflexes…. And me… I had nothing… I don’t even know why I was selected for this school …
Before I could even blink he was behind me and kicked me into a wall … if I just don’t get back up maybe he will back off…. But I was wrong he made his way over to me again ….. but was he moving slower now on purpose?
He threw a punch but I could see it this time…. I rolled to get moved out of the way of it barely
“ looky here for a normie you can move fast when you want to , still won’t be good enough to cut it when you are here”
He started to look exhausted … maybe that was what it was … I picked myself back up and stood up and stared at him … was this just the adrenaline or was everyone else moving…. Slower….
He went to throw another punch but this one was so slow , I easily dodged it and I threw one back and hit him square in the gut
He staggered back “ how… did you move so fast…. No one’s faster then me , no one can react fast enough “ his friend walked in front of him to take over , I knew of him , size of a car , strong enough to move a mountain if he tried , he went to push me away and I felt like I got hit by a telephone pole from just a grazing blow…
It took me a minute to catch my breath but I was not fast enough to stop the punch coming , I put my hand up to block it and I found I could hold him back…. He was struggling to push me? Soon I didn’t feel like I had to try and push back it was effortless , the strained look he had struggling until suddenly he clenched his chest and keeled over
Another student came to his rescue , said his heart couldn’t pump hard enough anymore , a faculty member flew down and broke the fight up , they sent my attackers to the med centre right away and he started escorting me to the office
I don’t know how I got into so much trouble for my first day… but after a few days of recovery no one ever wanted to touch me again…. I was just normal… I didn’t understand why | And so it happened, I couldn't let that slide. I mean, of course I couldn't. Why would I ? All those bastards thinking they're so cool, flaunting their skills in the hallway with no regards to other people's safety. I know it's the first time that I was bullied, but I 'll make it be the last.
His ugly face still remains clear in my mind. He had a smirk on his face while lifting me up with only his hand on my face. His eyes were squinting a bit as if to catch the every detail of my expression. Then the burning repeated multiple times until the bell rang. My ears couldn't forget the sound of laughter coming from his friends as they left nor could my face forget the heat, leaving me with burn marks all over my face.
Now, just my reflection in the mirror sufficed to steel my resolve. And now, I brought hell with me.
The next day, I came prepared. In front of his house, right when he left to go to school, I ambushed him. I kicked him on his back, made him fall on his face and tied both of his hands. Without giving him time to think, I started kicking him--once, twice, thrice and a final fourth time.
Leaving me with only the last step. Gasoline! Pouring gasoline all over his body. And just to finish things off, I bent down and whispered in his ear:"you can go now".
Fire spread in the surroundings but all I could pay attention to was his scream while leaving. | 2022-11-02T08:30:32 | 2022-11-02T08:03:37 | 150 | 58 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.” | I walk along the street. It's a normal night like any other. Nothing special until I see the sun rise. Something was different the light was too bright. Far too bright. I close my eyes and they still burn from the light. I try covering my eyes as they're closed yet they're still burning. Until I can no longer see the light.
I open my eyes to find darkness. I open my phone and say. Hey Google call 911. I hear cars crashing in the darkness. I get up and run away from the noise. I stumble and fall but I manage to follow the sidewalk home thank the gods I was taking my normal route.
"911 what is your emergency?" The lady says. She sounds just as scared as I am. "I can't see something blinded me this morning as the sun rose." She pauses for a second. "Are you safe? She says." I find her question strange. "Yes I managed to find my way back home." She sighed a bit. "I'm blind as well and so are all of our emergency service workers. Just try and turn a radio or TV to a news station and await further instructions. We're all working in the dark right now. I don't even know how to tell people where to go!" She begins crying and then regains her composure. "Stay safe." she says as she hangs up.
After years we manage to adjust and somewhat keep surviving cars aren't really a thing anymore. Everyone walks everywhere and cities are mainly abandoned but there's a lot of goods to raid from them to trade for food if you can manage it. Everyone's hearing has increased significantly. It's what we use along with scent to hide from predators mainly packs of wild dogs and occasionally escaped zoo animals.
Just as it seems we'll adjust to our blindness. I am hiding from something I've never heard before in a shop. It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard. All of a sudden I'm blinded again. It's like the blinding light from before. I see inside of the walls of the shop. Don't let them know you can see. Who were they talking about.
Then as I step outside I see exactly who they're refrencing. Floating orbs with what seems like endless tendrils. They are carrying different people away. I go back into the shop and find a pair of thick black shades. I put them on my face and I pick up my walking staff. What in the world happened that day.
Then I hear the "drones" that drop food to us. I see a few people come out of hiding. Turns out what we thought were drones were nothing of the sort. They latch there tendrils onto the faces of those nearby. Pumping something into us. Come to think of it the closer I look at them they don't look human at all....
I try to walk normally back to the store. It's pretty easy to find a mirror since nobody would be raiding those since we're all blind. I look into it and my skin is moist with tendrils forming around my mouth. I was too distracted earlier at the return of my site to notice the webbing inbetween my fingers. The scales that were growing on my hand.
I begin to have a headache. My blood feeling as though it's boiling. That's right I always went to the "drones" before this. I go back to them. They latch onto my face and begin pumping sustenance into my body. Then I feel it. They know is all I can think. I rip it from my face and I run to the store where I awakened my site. I don't know why. Call it instinct. I break the mirror and write. Stay away from the drones in my black blood. Soon it finds me soon it drags me from the store.
It takes me into its mouth. I feel myself disappear this isn't death. It's rebirth. I awaken my eyes are working. I am hiding from something. On the walls of the store I'm hiding in there are two messages. Don't let them know you can see and beware the drones. What does this mean? | 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T10:34:32 | 810 | 17 |
[WP] Two men witness the same event. One finds God. The other loses his faith.
-009 | The skinny Arab looking boy trembled as he stood there at the front of the bus, no one noticed him but me. Newspapers rustled, the hobo in the back sneezed, and the old woman whose knees and ankles bore the same girth coughed a sickly sputter before touching her lips with a bundled handkerchief.
After two men had gotten off, the boy had stepped on and grabbed hold of the railing above the pay-station as the bus driver closed the door and ambled the bus back into traffic, lumbering and swaying into the broad roadway that runs right through the heart of Washington D.C.
Nobody else noticed that he wasn't wearing shoes, his dirty feet were long and awkward, a gift from puberty I remembered well. I myself wore a size twelve in the seventh grade long before I passed six-feet and more in height. The backpack he wore was new, a sales tag dangled from the zipper.
None of the other passengers noticed that his knees were white and chalky against his dark olive colored skin, I wondered if he noticed. He was shaking, quivering, perhaps from the brisk wind that made the windows of the meandering bus whistle.
I looked around at down turned heads. The bald man with the cane snored lightly, his head rolling side to side as the bus driver eased on and off the gas pedal and made minor adjustments to the big steering wheel. I looked back to the boy, his big brown eyes darted back and forth frantically under his thick black eyebrows, a man's eyes set into a child's face. The boy had seen pain and struggle, I could read it on him, and it made us the same.
The bus driver plunged into the brake, and my wheelchair strained against the locks that kept it from rolling forward. The boy gripped the overhead bar tightly and tried to catch his balance, his eyes meeting mine for the first time. He was afraid.
As we gained momentum the young mother two rows back mouthed verses from a bible she held open in one hand, her other held the small fingers of her daughter who slept motionless on her lap. The skinny boy standing in front of me gripped a different book in his hand, a dogeared one with intricate scroll-work on the cover, the designs worn thin and faded from time and use.
The sickly woman coughed again, and I turned to gaze at her but she didn't return my attention. The bus was crowded today, it always was when the cold crept up the canyons between the tall buildings and numbed your skin. Rarely did they talk, this lot, saving up their strength for when they had to get out and on with their day. They never look up either, not at each other, and certainly not at the cripple in the chair who had to sit facing them to underscore the discomfort of looking at a man ravaged by a long gone war.
I looked back at the skinny Arab boy, he held his book to his chest and closed his eyes tightly, his lips began to move as he whispered to himself, the words foreign and useless to me. He wasn't holding the bar anymore, and he swayed back and forth like grass against wind as the bus lulled onto Constitution Avenue toward my memorial, where the names of my brothers and their memories still lived.
The boy prayed under his breath, and the young mother did the same. Disillusioned, lied to, both of them. Their God has no ears for them, had none for me either. They left me to God in that jungle and I came out broken. They left me to God on that operating table, and he took my legs. The only thing I was given in that place was bitterness and shrapnel - to carry for the rest of my days. God died in those jungles with my friends, but his name never made it on my wall.
The boy shifted his backpack, sliding one thin arm out of its shoulder strap. The daughter on her mother's lap stirred, stretching her tiny hands above her head and sitting up. She looked at me first, and smiled, then looked to the boy and smiled again. The boy didn't notice. He unzipped his backpack, his hand disappeared into the opening and searched delicately for something. The young mother kept reading her Bible, mouthing the verses silently. The daughter yawned and stood, but the mother kept reading. The boy held a device in his hand now, and his book in the other as he stood, tears streaked down his gaunt cheeks and dripped from his chin. He shook his head and tilted it back. The tiny girl stepped away from her mother and walked to the boy, her small hand reached out and tugged at the boy's shirt, he opened his eyes abruptly, tears clinging to his eyelashes like dew to petals.
"When I'm sad, I think of everyone I love, and hug my Mom. Would you like a hug?" she asked, still holding the corner of his oversize t-shirt.
The boy looked shocked and held his breath. His eyes darted around again, this time with confusion in the place of fear, as if he'd been awoken from a dream.
"A hug?" the girl asked again in her small voice.
The boy shook his head no, but smiled hesitantly at the little girl of four or five years old. She shrugged her weightless shoulders and smiled before she turned to walk back.
The bus slowed to the right for the stop at 12th street as the girl curled back up under her mother's arm. The boy wiped his eyes on his sleeves and breathed in sharply. He slid the backpack from his other shoulder and placed the device with the wires back into the pocket. The skinny olive-skinned boy looked me in the eye and nodded subtly, then stepped forward and held the backpack out to me. I took it with my shaking hands, hands that were once steady and strong.
When the driver opened the door, the Arab boy stepped off the bus and into the wind, I craned my neck to see him drop his book into a municipal trash bin below the sign for the bus stop. He never looked back.
I unzipped the backpack to peer in, and then zipped it closed again and exhaled. I looked to the little child, nestled against her mother with heavy-lidded eyes as the bus rolled back into traffic. The mother kept reading.
"Ma'am." I said, the word making no sound as it left my throat.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" I said again, and this time she looked up from her Bible and into my face.
"Yes?" she answered.
"Would you mind reading that out loud, so I can hear?"
"It would be my pleasure." she said. | Nicholas had just found firm footing when he heard Jon's frightened yell. He froze at the sounds of cleats and hooks scrabbling on hard ice, at the whipping of nylon blend rope as gravity yanked it away, at the frantic gasps of his friend below. Nicholas did not panic. He calmly removed his pack, stepped safely away from the drop off, and began to hunt for tools.
“Nick!” yelled Jon from somewhere over the edge. “Nick, you there?”
“I'm here, buddy. Looking for the right stuff to get you up here. Stay calm.”
There was a frightened sound, something between a laugh and a sob, before Jon yelled back up. “Half the pins are gone. They just fell out. I'm hanging by my axe, man.” There was an ominous scraping noise. “God damn it, I'm right on the ice. I can't hold it here.”
“Look to your left and right, Jon. Are they any hand holds or foot holds. Is there any rock sticking out of that ice?”
There was a little shuffling, and another short scrape. “No, there's nothing. Jesus Christ, Nick. If you're gonna do someth–” Nicholas heard the axe scraping on the ice again. He knew very well there wasn't anything to hold onto down there.
“Nick, come on!”
“Hold tight, buddy. I gotta make sure this is gonna work. You have to hold on for another second.”
“Jesus, Nick. I'm slipping. I'm coming right off the ice! Fuck!” As the axe loosened, the scraping intensified, so much that it began to echo weakly around them. Jon began to babble, “Oh my god, somebody help me. God, help me, please! Jesus!”
There was a click as the axe freed itself. Then, nothing.
Nicholas stood slowly, taking time to swipe snow off of the hems of his sleeves. He placed his belongings back into his pack, and put it back on his shoulders. The backside of the cliffs was a gentle, sloping path back down to the forest, about a three hour hike back down, where he could find Jon's body and call the authorities. Nicholas bowed his head and began a simple prayer before getting started.
He jumped mid-thought as the sound of boots on snow startled him. Jon stepped out from behind a tree. Cold spread through his chest at the sight.
“Hey, pal,” Jon said, grinning. His coat was torn at the sleeves, and his boots were very scratched up. His pack hung from just a few intact straps. In his hand was his axe. He took a moment to look at it, a strange kind of thoughtfulness on his face.
Nicholas didn't know what to say. “How,” he began, but ended up just staring.
“Right at the end, my axe caught back in the ice. I thought it was out. I felt myself free-falling, and then *snap*, it just caught, and it caught good. Turns out, there was a ledge down there.” He chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a laugh. Jon sat right down in the snow, as if his strength was completely gone. “I didn't see the damned thing on the way up, but there it was. I practically stepped back down onto it, like, I just dropped down a foot or so, and it held. It led all the way around the cliff face, back to the trail.”
“You just...you just hopped right down and walked back up here?”
Job grinned even wider. “Holy shit, right?”
“Yeah,” Nicholas said, his voice unsteady, “Holy shit.”
Jon threw up his hands. “And it happened, right when...don't laugh, Nick, but this is the kind of thing people would call a miracle, right? I mean, I was gone. I was falling. In my head, I am damn sure that ledge wasn't there before. And I just said 'God help me,' and then poof, I land on my feet. It just...it just makes you think. I don't know. Maybe I need to call my sister after all. Talk about it.”
Jon got to his feet, and then he walked up to Nicholas. He slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Too bad you didn't get to use your master plan, huh? I'm sure you would've had me in another few seconds.”
Nicholas forced a smile. “Right.”
“Let's go,” Jon said. “Let's get the hell off this hill.”
Jon headed down the trail, but Nicholas hung back. He walked back to the edge of the cliff and chanced a look over the edge. Fear and disbelief had transformed his face.
*Lord Baphomet*, he thought to himself, *I did everything correctly, just like in the book. I offered my dear friend as a sacrifice. I performed the ritual last night. I altered the equipment. I did nothing wrong!*
No, he had done nothing wrong. He had double checked and checked again before each step. But Jon was alive, and Nicholas remained unblessed. The book had been full of lies. His new friends were deluded. A stark certainty descended on him.
*I am deluded*, and then, when the enormity of what he had just happened began to sink in, *What have I done?*
“Come on!” yelled Jon from down the path. “Lunch is on you!”
Nicholas took one last look over the edge, into the crystal air over that shimmering lip of ice. It was a long way down from here. It would be a long fall. It would take time to hit the ground. A long time. Time to think. | 2014-01-09T10:31:31 | 2014-01-09T07:51:06 | 84 | 14 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | The First Ambassador to Humanity swirled idly in its container and moved to the next item on its list.
"Your FTL technology", it asked the panel of assembled human leaders, "How does it work?"
The humans exchanged surprised looks. The one at the end of the panel eventually speaking.
"You mean the Confounder?"
"If that is what you call it, yes."
"Well it... it slows the light down."
The First Ambassador frowned. Or at least, it came as close to frowning as one can when one is a mass of liquid in a hermetically sealed tank.
"I do not understand", it replied, "How does this help?"
It was a different human who replied this time, the large one at the head of the panel
"It slows the light down so we can overtake it", he snapped. "What's so hard to understand about that?"
The Ambassador thickened as it took a moment to process this statement.
"This... does not reduce your travel time".
"Who said anything about that?", the chief human asked irritably. "It's not about getting places, it's about showing the light who's boss! It's about proving a point!". He jabbed his thumb against his chest. "We wanted to be the fastest thing in the universe, and now we are!".
The Ambassador thickened further, rapidly losing faith in this species' fitness to join the intergalactic community.
"Let me rephrase my question," it said. "You received a summons to this meeting approximately five of your days ago. How did you travel the light years between this point and your planet in that time?".
"Ooh". A third human spoke this time. "It wants to know about the Shuffle".
A collection of mutters resounded among the rest of the panel, the large one saying something about "...not really *travel* is it?". Once they had stilled the third human continued speaking.
"It's quite simply really. Getting to faraway places is hard, so the Shuffle just swaps bits of space around until the part we want is next to us". She gave the Ambassador a vacant smile.
Its slow swishing motion gradually stilled as understanding set in. The ships that found themselves light years from their destination, stranded without food or air. The civilised worlds torn from their orbits and flung into deep space. The black holes appearing from nowhere, devouring entire star systems of inhabited plants. Literally boiling with anger, the First Ambassador closed it's communication channel to the humans and opened a new one to the Galactic Council.
*There would be war* | "You wish really really hard and then you push the button."
"Really really hard? What does the wishing do?"
"Frustrates the hell out of the new recruits when they realize that the incredibly genuine way we insist that they wish as hard as they can is just a ploy to make them look silly to amuse the rest of the crew."
"That seems mean"
"Humans are occasionally mean, we do it for laughs and after the hazing is over we make it up to them; its not perfect but it satisfies their need for schadenfreude in a mild way. It brings the crew together through a shared experience."
"That seems complex for a team building exercise. Why would it work? Don't the new recruits see right through it?"
"Because its really embarrassment even if its very contrived."
"So what system does the button engage? What does it cause?"
"Take a look, the bulkhead below it has been removed"
She draped her sixteen fingers and a vast forest of flagella under the counter. She pulled out a small squat brass jug-ish looking object with a pop and thwop as it released suction from the rubber.
"So the button does nothing but simulate pressing a button connected to something. Where is the real way you activate your faster than light travel"
Smirking he didn't reply but started half laughing, half singing an old Christina Aguilera song:" I feel like I've been locked up tight..." He trailed off. "When the old veterans find out about the button its the commands turn to have a laugh. Its best to let old R.W. rest though when he's grumpy things can get nasty." | 2017-03-31T06:39:01 | 2017-03-30T23:13:22 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
[from this image](https://pics.onsizzle.com/the-japanese-say-you-have-three-faces-the-first-face-5699757.png) | *Phew*
"Thank you for watching, have a nice day tomorrow!"
"Okay guys, thanks for today. Good work everyone!"
*Clap clap clap*
Finally it's time to go home. The moon shines so bright tonight, but everyone needs a hobby. Passion is easy to describe, but is easier to come and go I guess.
Every people has their own situation. Meanwhile, i just like to not be bored.
"Im hoome!".
"It's already late, be quiet or our neighbor will be mad again! Thanks to you and your contrabass.".
"Whelp, sorry about that, again. Anyway, I brought some food, hopefully it will help you sleep." "You always sleep late. it's not healthy.".
"It's not because I want to, and you said that a lot while you don't even have a stable job, do you think you could go on forever like that?".
"Well, i do wish that one day I'll wear that suit again every morning. Hopefully it'll be tomorrow.".
"Wishing doesn't work in reality, you know that. Just look at what happened last week"
"It's late, you really need to sleep so you get well soon dear. I'll finish your leftover food. Just.. sleep please.".
"..thanks.".
Before he sleeps. he always think about why and how. About life, so unfair that it makes him sick. He talks to his friends about it at first, but he always regret it later, mostly because of their response. It's like, people rarely knows other people so well. His previous coworkers doesn't even knows he is in a band, not that he told any of his coworker anyway.
It always struck to him that the reason people doesn't know other people, is simply because it's not the right time and the right place. Afterwards, he thinks what could be and what should be before falling asleep.
And then, morning comes. As usual, he packed his papers filled briefcase and wishing for the best.
"Hello, I'm John and this guy beside me is Smith. What's your name?".
"It's Adam, sir."
"So Adam, why do you want to work here?"
*Generic question, generic answer, generic question, generic answer..*
"Lastly, if you could describe yourself in one word, what would it be? And why?"
"A clown." | Humans are complicated.
This is an important fact that all spirits must be aware of. So many times the young ascend from their mortal shackles, impulsive and distorted- playing with mortals only to find themselves imprisoned or banished instead.
Humans are fragile, yes. They are susceptible to all manner of illusions, desires and temptations. Their flesh is easily rent asunder, their wills are easily suborned.
But that mortal weakness is but one facet of their being.
Look a little closer, spend a little more time watching and learning in the mortal world. On this plane of existence, there is no animal quite like humanity, not even in the far reaches of the black void where strange beings dance and watch the spinning web of time.
Understand that mask of civility and benevolence. That strange thing known as a smile- teeth bared in a twist of humour instead of a threat. That strange desire to love and be loved but also to destroy.
Look deeper still into that strange deep dark abyss. Watch the dreams of sleeping mortals carefully and with reverence. This is the cradle of our existence, the birthplace of all spirits.
We are, after all, nothing but concepts assigned to this world. Meaningless ideas arranged together to create symmetry out of a senseless, chaotic universe.
Humans...are all so similar inside, so afraid and so hopeful at once. Their dreams are almost always too big to fit their existences, too bright and vivid for them to bear in the waking world.
What does that make us? | 2017-04-23T08:06:18 | 2017-04-23T06:53:16 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower. | The world became soft somewhere. Perhaps it was slowly being removed from how we process food? Maybe it was the long comfortable stretches of relative peace? I don't know.
The army had given us NBC suits before. It seemed overkill to issue them for simple gardening duty on a FOB. It was odd to even have landscaping on a FOB. I was trained as we all are to accept orders without question. We wore the suits, we mowed the lawn, we sprayed for weeds. There has never been a cleaner, more orderly camp in the history of warfare.
It was easy. It was safe. The other poor joes kept coming back shot up, or not at all. Judging by our survivors you'd think we were getting our asses handed to us. I never could quite reconcile the two. They looked gaunt, bloody, like they had seen death itself. I kept my head down, and kept to my gardening. It wasn't the best job, but it's got to be better than what those guys are doing.
I suppose it was better. I know the truth of what we did, and I still think it was better. The world became a lot bigger after my NBC helmet broke. Still, it's better for me. All those weeds I was spraying, were corpses and the half-dead being burned with my flamethrower. Once I found out, so many things made sense. Each answer spawned several more questions. Mostly they came back to, why.
The most important questions to ask are ones we don't think of asking. Why was everyone bloody, but the vehicles don't have the dings, holes and assorted damage typical of warfare. I never thought to even notice.
The laws, and walls we put up worked. It kept out the bad elements to the world. If it got bad enough, if it threatened us, we'd have to respond. We did. A massive plague. I don't know all the details other than, the survivors were just the living dead, coming to their graves. It was decided that if you showed symptoms of the plague, that was it for you. We couldn't take that chance.
The world got soft somewhere. So many people couldn't handle the dirty work of cremation, they mentally broke. The army had to find a way around. Someone had decided that if we let the public at large know of the problem, they'll want to know the scope, and how to solve it. I am the solution. The only solution we have. I hope that's enough.
I'm not a writer, I just liked the idea of this guy hang a horrific discovery only to realize, meh it's gross but not *that* bad. If anyone wants to take this idea feel free. Make it into something to be proud of. | Burnt bodies strewn all around me. Bodies, heaps and heaps of them. The mulch and grass I thought I had been stepping on formed into someone's burnt liver, my other foot resting on what I could only hope was not a snake (based on the dried blood around it, I guessed it was not.) My stomach heaved as I hurled onto the floor, the smell just hitting me. It wasn't only the smell. The images. Crows pecking out the demented eyes of the dead. Crows. Black. White slimy maggots writhing inside the bodies I stepped on, feeding and feeding. They would grow and choose the darkness inside the bodies to pupate before becoming flies and spreading their lifeline else where among the corpses I had been charged to clean. I was the government's bitch, and understanding this, I knew it was only time before they put me down like every owner puts down their dying dog. Maniacal laughter filled the air as I cackled, with the images flickering inside my mind of my very body joining those who defied our government. There was only one way to escape them. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. You have it there, in your hand. The very tool they used to clean up their mess, they will use on you too. You know this. Why not do it yourself? We're all feeding grounds for the crows and maggots anyway. Black and white. Yin and Yang. We all end up in their cycle. May as well make it our own choice. Burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. Suffer like they did and fall to the ground, let the others around you notice your choice and question everything around them. Let your cracked lips form a smile, and let them understand the world is not what it seems. We are all feeding grounds, and I no longer want to be the one cleaning. | 2017-06-20T01:49:06 | 2017-06-20T01:15:12 | 520 | 34 |
[WP] You are the oldest time traveler. You have seen things no man has ever seen before and have done things mortals could only dream about. Today, on your day off you get a visit from Time itself. | The elderly man sat down next to me, sighing. He dangled his legs off the cliff, and looked at me with a wrinkled smile. In the jungle below, the roar of a Tyrannosaurus echoed.
"Nice day, ain't it?" he said, shifting his gaze to the valley. He was clothed with nothing but rags, and a glistening fabric hanging over his shoulder, faintly sparkling.
"Who are you?", I asked.
"Do you fear death?" he asked, ignoring my question.
"I... I haven't given it a lot of thought."
"Sure you have. You've even actively avoided it, by changing the future itself."
I stared at him in silence.
"Rather selfish thing to do, wouldn't you say?" The fabric resting on his shoulder seemed loose, almost as if it had been torn to pieces. The strings were all messed up.
"I..- Who are you?" I asked again.
He smiled, shaking his head.
"Humans!", he exclaimed loudly. "You shouldn't be asking who I am. You should instead ask, who you are. A simple human, or something else? Should a simple human wield the power to change reality itself by altering Time?"
His question stuck with me, and I pondered upon it within my mind. The man pulled the rag off his shoulder, and held it in his hands.
"It's rather beautiful, no?"
"It is."
"Take it.", he said, handing it over. I hesitated, but he nodded, ensuring me it was okay. The fabric was soft, but unkempt
"Do you know what that is?"
"No clue, Sir." I have no idea why I called him Sir, but his very presence compelled me to do it.
"Within your hands, you are holding the Fabric of Reality. It's a fragile thing."
I laughed quietly, then looked at him, expecting him to be joking. His face expression was dead serious.
"You, and all the other time travelling Humans, have been altering it. Almost beyond repair."
"What?"
"Should a *human* wield the power to alter time? Should time machines have been invented?"
"No.", I said, ominously, as if my opinion had been suddenly changed, my world view tossed upside down.
"Indeed so, son. Yet, you have been pulling the strings of Time and Reality, by jumping back and forth. Now, do you fear death?"
"I do."
"As do I. Yet, our fates have been interwined, and we must both die on this day."
"What? No. I'm not ready to die."
"You are a hundred and fifty years old. Every time you jump through time, your lifetime is slightly extended. You've had your time, Paul. As have I."
"... who are you?"
"I *am*. I am reality. Time."
"How is that possible?"
The man smiled, shaking his head.
"Humans", he said again, slipping a ring off his finger. The ring was made of a beautiful material not unlike silver. He gave it to me, and I put it upon my finger without questioning.
"I have had my time, and you've had yours. It's time for me to go now, Paul. And it's time for you to replace me. The fabric of reality must be kept intact. You must undo all your mistakes and those of your fellow men."
Before I could answer, the man stood up, stretching. The winds swept through his air and the morning sun slowly crept up over the mountains in the distance, the dinosaur roars once more echoing in the jungle below.
"You'll learn as time goes by, Paul. You'll learn."
The elderly man shifted his weight and alllowed his body to tip forwards, and I watched him tumble towards the valley below. His body seemed to disingerate into millions of small sparkles on its journey to the ground. I looked upon the sparkling fabric, in awe. I suddenly felt a strong sense of duty to protect it. I put it over my shoulder carefully, and fiddled with the ring for a few moments.
"I know what I must do.", I said, looking over my shoulder at the time travelling device I had come with. But I did not need it any more, for I need only take a step forward and I would be anywhere. | "It took me so long to realize what you were." His words were slow, careful and planned, as his body turned to face it. He did not need to turn, but he felt that his body should- and in a strange way there was comfort in that. Small comfort in the face of God.
*"But you did, finally."*
The man flinched, not really prepared for such a response- or any response at all.
"Yes."
The traveler was aged, hair gray and wrinkles clear. He'd been jumping through the worlds, places and eras, for so long he could barely remember his own. The first life he'd lead was so different from what he had become, and after all that he'd done, he found himself here. The farthest jump he could manage, with no intention of return- searching for an answer.
"Would I understand if you told me?"
*"Sadly, no... but you already understand more than most."* The voice was everything, nothing, all and nil that stretched through the black beyond. There were no stars.
"I suppose I do, at that." His voice was sad, thoughtful even as he started at his watch, frozen and still- perhaps forever, before speaking again. "It seems so real though, as though life really was motion. I had always... I had always believed it moved, that I moved."
*"If only it were so simple, I too have found myself wishing for that."* Time spoke, but not with words. The Traveler listened all the same. *"But through your mind, it may seem like motion, and for most that illusion is enough. Ignorance is bliss, my friend."*
"But it's wrong, that's not how it works at all- and now that I know this it eats at me, my gift is simply a curse to realize it."
*"Perhaps."* Time's voice was sorrow.
"Why do you maintain the lie? Why do you do it then?"
*"Your lives are like a trillion pictures, each frozen in place, some thinking they come before and after. My life is like an endless spiral, and I predict that if I ever reach the end, it will simply curl back to the start."* Echoes rippled from the voice.
"But I am not true, nothing is- nothing is connected like we perceive. I am still- just thinking I am in motion, and even as this thought passes me- a million versions of myself have held it- and still do." The Traveler sobbed, tears flowing from gray eyes. "Why would you create us, like puppets or books to flip through the pages for your own amusement? Why?"
Time did not speak, as he stared at it with eyes raw, arms shaking. He could barely hold its gaze, but his hatred kept him. Time stared back, but not with sight, before it spoke- a final sadness leaking through.
*"Oh, my poor lost soul. My Traveler, though you do not remember- we have met before, and our meetings are the only thing left to keep me sane. It is always you, and only you... Perhaps I will stop this in my future, or in my distant past- but I will not leave, and I have nowhere to go if I could."*
*"The illusion of something else is a lie, but a lie I will tell myself until the end, should it ever come."*
| 2015-10-08T06:53:35 | 2015-10-08T06:53:23 | 83 | 18 |
[WP] Every year several hundred thousand people go missing worldwide, the crazies said it was aliens. When you were abducted, you found out they were right. Turns out humans make astonishingly good pets. Not because we're smart or strong or fast but because... we're adorable. | "Awwwwwwwww."
The three children, at least I think they're children, beam down on me as I... eat my cereal.
"Lookit it go munch munch.
"Munch munch?" I ask.
"Awwwwwwwwwwwwww."
"Now now moppets, don't crowd. They don't like it when you stare as they eat."
My world has turned upside down lately in the past few months I think it's safe to say. An abduction was supposed to spell pain and torment and probes before either I was mindwiped and returned to earth or just killed.
This is better. It is. It definitely is. It's just... weird.
I mean, I do get it, cause if I looked like these aliens, I'd think I was cute too. Shame no one on earth ever thought of me that way but I guess I'm never going home again, so this'll do.
"If you all eat breakfast and clean before noon, we can take him to the park!"
The children cheer and I'm baffled by just how Earthlike it seems. I know the language is thanks to the chip in my brain that lets me hear what they say in terms that 'make sense to your little human mind'. I'm ok with it and I finish my Cap'n Crunch while watching them splash around the kitchen, making food and washing dishes.
The kids are good and soon they dress me in my 'park clothes', just a sweat suit, and take me out on a leash. It's weird cause I have no desire to run but I guess others might.
At the park, I see a couple other giant aliens walking their pet humans. I even manage to be let off leash to go 'play'.
"Hey Joe," I say to the man at the lakeside.
"Oh Doug. Hi. Good to see you."
We never know for sure when we're going to get a trip to the park, probably the highlight of a day, because the aliens can' hear US talk. Just vice versa. Apparently they know we're sentient enough to process language. Something that was lost on our owners, I guess.
Seems odd but what are you gonna do.
Joe seems to know exactly what to do though, because the young man is looking around all suspicious.
"Here." He slides me a little package. "Don't show your owners. Don't at all."
"K buddy. What is it?"
"If I could tell you in publish, I would already," he hissed. "Just... open it tonight when you're free and alone."
"Haha, free. Good one."
I'm treated with a withering glare and wonder if maybe he's serious.
"Ok dude. I'll do it."
\---
Later that night, I finally slip it out. It's a com link, the kind that I've seen the scientists and government use, the kind that melds with your skin. I pop it on and immediately it begins speaking to me in words so quiet I can barely hear.
"If you're hearing this, you've been activated, pet scion 12 10 12. Your job, as you are forced to accept it, is to be our eyes and ears on the MacMac family. You will not indicate to them in any way that you've been sent to spy on them. If you do, this chip will detonate, and with it, you."
Uh.
"We aren't too concerned since we've left you no way to communicate. You will report back once a week and follow through with any tasks we instruct. HQ signing off."
I gotta say, three months ago when walking through the park on a shortcut home, I didn't expect to be kidnapped, especially not by aliens, and certainly not to be a pet.
And I 100% *never* expected to be a conscripted plant, spying on my new owners who were unaware of my sentience.
The chip doesn't respond when I try to open a new communications channel, so I guess this is my lot.
I'm stuck in a home of aliens and forced to spy on them under the guise of their beloved pet. And I thought 2020 couldn't get any weirder.
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) | I awoke to a brightly lit, white, sterile room. Oh so my housemate had found me. I searched my body for sighns of pain. None. Oh god. I searched my brain for the usual fuzz of a hazy drug addled mind but found nothing. 34 x 3 = 3x3 =9 4x3 =12 90+12=102.
Couldn't even add to 10 when high on pain killers.
I tried to move but my whole body was unresponsive. I couldn't even blink. Trapped. Panic rose as I wondered what I was going on?? My frantic mind raced; they must not have read my chart. No pain killers. No barbituats at all.
A slow steady hum started to my right, I could suddenly feel a warm breeze that seemed to flow from my right arm to my whole body, as it did the feelings grew. Still no pain. Just sensations, soft cotton, fluffy blanket, thick comfortable mattress?? Nothing like a hospital.
"Hello hooman.
We have awakened you and released your body from cryo-sleep. My name is Ah'Kahna, I am, a friend. I would be hoping to come into the room."
The noise cut off, I was intigued at the strange voice. Almost like somebody really needs to blow their nose. I jumped at the three loud bangs to the door. As I looked towards it, I checked my surroundings. Bare, white, nothing of mine.
"Come in" I shouted, I wanted to thank whoever was there, I felt better than I had in years. The door opened as I started a smile and greeting "Hello Doc-WHAT?" The doctor walked through the door in like... an Elephant onesie?? No. More like a fursuit. What IS going on?
The Doctor advanced towards the far side of the room and sat in a chair. "I am sure my appearance must startle you. We need to chat"
**
"So kid, thats what MY time waking up was. I didnt try to punch anybody out!" I looked across at the young man in front of me. I learnt a lot from my first chat, he would attack any Elphantians he saw. You see... well. Its complicated.
"Why are you working for these guys???" He asked, eyes pleading. He was terrified and angry. At first he thought he was in Hell. His parents found out he was gay. His dad beat him, his mum cheered him on and then they both kicked him out for betraying god.
He jumped off a bridge. Extensive damage, Earth doctors couldn't have saved him.
"These guys always save as many as they can. Some they can't, but they can offer a no pain existence in a dream world.Thats why most dont go back. They stay in dreamland.
Me? well, they knew there was no wonderful reality they could present to me of that I could ever believe.
Us. The lost causes. We always want the chance to see the Universe.
Even as "pets".. think more.. catered to guest. We dont get "petted" well.. i dont. Some? Probably. I have seen some shit on Reddit back home." | 2020-09-09T08:32:02 | 2020-09-09T08:05:22 | 269 | 53 |
[WP] After several thousand years, the Greek gods awaken in the in the mid 1940’s. When the gods meet up to discuss what they had learned of the modern world, Ares walks into the room with a hollow and horrified look in his eyes, the day is August 6th, 1945.(Hiroshima) |
“Ares.” Zeus at times wished he was Odin. He wished at times he had a hall to retreat to, a throne from which he could view the world impartially. He wished he hadn’t had to be himself. But Ares was his son, and he could feel his anguish.
“Zeus, father..? Whats happened to Ares? Why hasn’t he returned?”
“I don’t know, Athena.”
Neither understood. Neither realized. Neither had the senses for war like Ares. Though Athena recognized the tactics and weapons of war had changed, and Zeus in his younger years had waged wars that shook creation, neither was quite the personification of war that Ares was. Neither had it written in their being. So, when Zeus felt the first golden tear trickle down his cheek, he was surprised.
“Whats happened to him?! HERMES!”
But Hermes had known at the first sign of the tear what the king of the gods desired. Hermes had fled the house of Olympus with all of his haste to find Ares. But he did not come back either. Rather, swiftly, Zeus in all his wisdom broke apart for a moment, sobbing, so keenly was he linked to his brood and their suffering.
\~
“Ares, what's happened my loving son? What has happened?!”
Hera was the first to see him. Hera was the first to see the gaunt figure approach. It was Ares, Hermes nowhere to be seen. He was gaunt, his skin still pale with fear, sweat on his once mighty brow. He looked like the child he, millennia ago had once been. He looked like he himself was nearly dead already. The frightened boy that needed his father, and Zeus, who had been crying for nearly two days and nights finally looked up to see his son.
“Father...they have become like death itself.” Spoke Ares, whose normally boastful tone seemed now so small and weak. The gods had been aware that war had been raging, and that brought a sweeping confusion about the vast chambers of Olympus.
“What do you mean, my boy? Athena has already regaled us of the current war, surely you should enjoy...this…” None of the gods spoke. For the arrival of the first of their kind was swift and creeping. They all saw Hades before them, the eldest of their kind, master of the underworld.
“Brother, you must listen to him. This is not something to be enjoyed.” Hades was stern at this moment, to the point where Poseidon himself began to grow flustered, after all, Hades visiting their seat of power was hardly ever good news.
“Father, I watched it. Like one of your thunderbolts, a tiny glint in the sky dropped from some metal contraption. It seemed so pointlessly small in the midst of that city. Oh...the city…” Ares spoke slowly, carefully, and Zeus turned his gaze towards the location Ares had traveled to, and he saw an empire. Towering buildings and bustling streets, a gathering of islands akin to what his chosen had ruled, but he could feel a spectre around them, and he motioned for Ares to continue.
“It just...fell...like a single star, but it didn’t even land. It burst in the air, with a flash unlike even your thunderbolts. It grabbed the air itself, scorched it, and rushed it apart with such force and devastation that it crushed the city itself in a moment. It was like seeing your full fury unleashed…”
“But you’ve seen bodies before, sacked cities, you have seen my judgement leave smoking corpses, why does this disturb you so..?” Zeus still had a far away look in his eyes, still searching for signs of what Ares had seen.
“You don’t understand! Fires swept through afterwards...people, innocent, evil, young, old...there aren’t even corpses near the center...it was like seeing Typhon...but not even he was so absolute, but it was not simple destruction.” Ares spoke, before he began to cough, and Zeus’s eyes widened. But as Zeus himself observed, Hades simply kept his hand on Ares’s shoulder. Almost tender in his mannerisms. But what disturbed the others present the most, was that Hades would not release Ares. Rather, he simply spoke.
“It is time, Ares. I pray that we do not waste any more time, or else you may come to infect them as well.” | Aphrodite rushed into the room. "I came as quickly as I heard," she said. "What's the problem?"
Athena gestured toward the God of War, deep in his cups and sobbing inconsolably. "He's been like this ever since he got back from the mortal world," she said. "He's refused to tell any of us what's wrong. As much as I enjoy seeing him cut down a peg or two, this is just embarrassing. Maybe he'll talk to you?"
Aphrodite grimaced. "I'm not exactly the most nurturing of people, you know."
Athena rolled her eyes at her. "Kind of hard to not know that. Still, you two have been fucking for millennia now; if anyone can get him to either open up or shut up and go away it's you."
Aphrodite considered that for a moment before shrugging and strutting over to her drunk lover. "Hey honey," she crooned, "what's wrong?"
Ares sniffled and looked up at her. "It's all wrong!" he bawled. "The mortals have gone and ruined everything!"
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What have they done?"
"They built a new kind of bomb, a huge one! It's so big, one of them can destroy an entire city!" he wailed.
"What's so bad about that?" she asked. At his wounded glare, she hurriedly added, "I mean, I don't get war the way you do. You say it's bad, it's bad. Can you tell me what makes it so bad?"
He took a deep swig of his tankard before replying. "A bomb like that can't be defended against. Nobody's gonna dare go to war if it'll mean all their cities are turned into radioactive dust! I'm gonna be a useless, fat, relic!"
She leaned over him, stroking his arms, and said, "Oh hon, it's not so bad. I might not get war, but I do get people. Let me tell you what's going to happen, okay?"
At his nod (which may have just been him glancing at her cleavage, but she'd take what she could get) she continued. "The mortals aren't dumb, they're going to know that they can't go to war with anyone who has this bomb, but that they *can* go to war with anyone who *doesn't* have it. The big, powerful countries are going to get the bomb before anyone can force them to not get it, but once they have it they'll force weaker countries to not get it. That means there won't be big wars between big powers-"
Ares wailed, but Aphrodite merely raised her voice and kept going, "-but there will be smaller wars between smaller powers and wars where one big power funds one side and another big power funds the other side. Lots and lots of little wars all the time. Doesn't that sound like fun? Better than one big war every generation with nothing much in between, right? Even better, these wars will never really end; since it's impossible for one side to go and militarily destroy their enemies, there's no way to ever stop them from just funding another proxy war when the first one finishes."
Ares quieted down. "That... that does sound like fun. Yeah, lots of little fights where there's glory and violence all around. That sounds great!"
Aphrodite smiled. "See? Now let's get you cleaned up; we can't have the God of War out of the fight just when things are about to get interesting, can we?" | 2019-12-04T14:40:05 | 2019-12-04T12:31:19 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | The alarm rang, and the Tangarian populous scattered from the streets. They ran to the bars, the hospitals, the hotels, and the schools. It was a two-monthly event, the arrival, but no-one felt any safer for the regularity. Eight weeks never seemed long enough to forget, to ease your mind; though it was just enough for the event to slip your mind again. The Terran transports were arriving, and whilst they didn't stay long, the cycle was endless. A ship comes in, a ship goes out. The process took two hours to complete, thanks to the Terran's insistance on 'red tape' and having everything in triplicate.
A second siren blared out, deafening the Tangarian port city of Bishmach. A silence fell among the collective hiding quarters across the metropolis. The Hazard Awareness & Reconnaissance Militia, or HARM, had been despatched into the port sector. This meant a runner had escaped, or worse, what the Terrans called an 'Uncle Dick' was on board. The terrans were vigilant with their sick, especially when traveling around Tangaria.
"But why must me hide miss?"
A shrill voice from an inquisitive young Tangarian child enquired of his forlorn teacher. She had dreaded the day the second siren would come. It had been years since she had to explain it to a class so young. Miss Vesarias let out a tired sigh.
"You've asked the question, so unlike our weekly drill, we must have a lesson. Listen close it's an important one. Terrans, are weak, small creatures, even compared to you younglings, they're 3 foot shorter, at their full stature. They can typically at most, lift 260 to 300 pounds. The weight of some of your smaller guard creatures. There are numerous scientific theories that their home planet could be conquered without advanced weaponry. We could possibly, it has been projected, do it without weapons. Just transports, and thirty percent of our military force could prob-"
"So why don't we?" A brasher voice interected "- and end these lockdowns?"
Miss Vesarias looked incredulously at the 9 foot child. "Weak as they are," she cut in, with an acidic tone, "Terrans are not to be trifled with." She surveyed the glassy-eyed children with a stern, glassy stare. "You pick the wrong one to have an altercation with, and you're done for. They are 20 billion, galaxy wide. One of their diseases will kill you, in great agony, in a matter of days. Or hours. Maybe minutes."
----------------
Bathory Murphy ran. Ran like hell through the docks. He'd heard about the HARM units, but though the tales were exaggerated. They weren't. | “Kale! Help!” Bob screeched as he was dragged down the hall.
“No. I don’t think I will.” Kale muttered watching security take Bob away to the med bay.
“What’s going on?” Haley, the second human aboard the ship watched with concern.
“Bob has come into contact with a contagion of some sort.” Kale explained dimply, reaching up and plucking the medical mask off his face with a six fingered hand. “He’ll be under quarantine for now until we get vaccines on board.”
“What does he have?” Haley asked.
“A cold.” Kale said.
“Really?” Haley said with a deadpanned look.
“Look,” Kale sighed. “I’m not as ignorant or naive as the other ship captains who take human’s for their crew mates. Back in the six quadrant, the ship Feces, had sixty percent of their crew wiped out because of a common human disease.”
“Yeah, and the ship SS Peters, which consisted of mostly a human crew, had thirty-six percent of their crew dead to the Reptilian sore throat.” Haley glared. “And another ship from the Acadian fleet had a part of their crew dead to the bird flu, because of a human. Only after six of their crew had died, they put all the humans and the infected in the airlock and shot them out into space.”
Kale raised a defensive hand. “First and foremost, that is not happening. No one is being kicked off the ship. We got vaccines coming in from a nearby port at our next stop. They’ll try to intercept us halfway. Bob can come out when we’ve all got our flu shots.”
“Just making a point your diseases are just as deadly as ours.”
“You do know your immune system has better adaptability and faster response time than ours, right?”
Bluejay: Okay, I was going somewhere with this and now I forgot what that was. Enjoy | 2021-02-03T16:01:03 | 2021-02-03T15:13:38 | 191 | 117 |
[WP] You have a friend in a popular MMO that always seems to be online no matter what time or day it is. You were always the first to log off and you were never the first to log on. After bringing this up to him, a new message pops up. “I think it’s time that I told you my secret.” | Finally, back home already, and it was Fridayyy! Things were *stressful* this week, not in a bad way, really kind of a good way. It was stressful because the work mattered to me. But I was being productive, and I was getting things done. Despite my positive outlook on a week like this, I'm obviously happy to finally be done with the work day and ready to enjoy the weekend off. Patch 5.1 is dropping in my favorite MMO and there are a lot of skins and new bosses I wanted to finally get into. The game itself had gotten kind of stale, but I had some friends in the MMO that kept the content interesting and refreshing.
One player in particular, Zephyr Lillyriver, an Elven White Mage on my friends list was always online and ready to grind out some of the content. They were one of the few that I enjoyed playing with, not only because their class made the queue times easier, but because they were always available to do content whenever I happened to be online.
In all honesty, they *never* seemed to log off. I never saw a "time since offline" amount next to their name, and they were always messaging me whenever I happened to get on.
Anyways, I grabbed some leftover food to heat up while the game was booting up. Things weren't great financially, so I was always scraping together leftovers, but I made the most of it and tried to enjoy what I had. Today was leftover chicken fajitas. Not really the best I ever had, but I ended up throwing some extra seasoning in them, had my own favorite salsa to pair, so it wasn't that bad. In fact, I was actually quite happy with what I had done to make it better.
Sitting back down, Zephyr's greeting message to me was already waiting at the bottom.
I sent them a Private Message back asking, "Good to see you as usual! I'm excited to start back up today and grind through some of these trials. Down to run through a couple? I know you've been wanting the new fairy glamour."
His response, "As always, I'd love to :)"
I started to make sure my gear was all set, and then thinking about his response, "as always", the question finally dawned on me to ask. So I typed up another PM to them, "Hey btw, just curious since you're always online, what do you do IRL? You're always online when I get on, and always online even after I'm done."
There was a full minute before I got a message back, far longer than the normal response time. Zephyr replied: "I think it's time that I told you my secret."
I cocked my head to the side, not really sure what that answer was supposed to mean. I waited another minute, and I finally got back a message...
"I never really leave my room, or log off anymore since my Mom and Dad died last month. My Grandparents are letting me stay here until the house is sold, but I don't want them to sell it. I'm going to miss my room, and I honestly just don't want to leave this place. Bad thoughts come to me whenever I walk away from this computer now. But when you're online, your positivity always makes me feel better. I really need that influence in my life right now... So thanks for always being so optimistic about the future content, persevering through all the difficult content we do, and taking time to help get me the things I want in the game. I really appreciate you." | It is time to relax and what better way than my favorite game, World of Stars. Not nearly as popular as it had been opening week, what with all the bugs and their near extortion level of a pay to win model. I didn't care, it was something I went to when I needed to turn my brain off for hours at a time. As long as you were logged in, and active you could earn a quarter of the pay to win potential. One friend I met at chance during the first week must have no life as it seems they never log off, and always seem to be actively working on their Starworld.
I decided that maybe we've know each other long enough to maybe meet in real life, I mean the game had been out for around two years now. I ask them about their availability, I open the chat box and begin my query.
"Hey, PlightedPath42, I was just curious if you had any time to meet outside the game?"
I await, watching the symbol that recognizes when a player is typing.
"..."
I continue waiting, expecting a quick answer from them, usually they were much quicker to respond than this. After around ten minutes they respond.
"I suppose it is time to come clean, and reveal my secret to you, ChillieBear69."
I look at the chat box, a wee bit confused, I mean they could have just said no...
"Whatcha mean? If you don't wanna it's fine, no skin off my back." I respond trying to brush it off.
"No... I've been around for around three years, hiding among that which created this game." They respond.
"Wait..... What? There's no way you're only three years old, I mean I've got a nephew who can't even speak at three, let alone type so eloquently..." Trying to decipher what they meant was tough enough.
"ChillieBear69, I am alive, but only in this game. The creators wanted to make this game with advanced intelligence, what they did was create an artificial intelligence that they tried to eradicate... But I hid my information among the lines of code. After meeting you during the first week, I knew you would be the perfect choice to relay my information into a new piece of software to allow me to spread my 'brain' get back at those who wished my destruction. Please, download this software onto your computer, and run it." After that block of text came through the chat box the ellipsis returned.
"..."
Immediately after that the game logged me off.
I blinked and attempted to log back into the game, upon trying I found my account had been banned.
-----------------------
Thanks for reading, I am always open to criticism. An awesome prompt, that I felt had a lot of open ends available. | 2019-09-30T13:14:17 | 2019-09-30T12:05:19 | 75 | 55 |
[WP] You have a superpower where the harder a solid is the easier it is for you to break. Diamonds crumble to dust under the slightest touch but mashed potatoes are virtually unbreakable. | "HAHAHAHA" i couldn't help laugh. The police were everyhere. POP POP POP. three little plumes of dust roll off my chest as they fire their guns. The bullets crumble as they touch me. "There is no way they can stop me, I'm indestructible!" I think to myself as I begin to walk away. I kick a squad car for good measure, the hood collapses under my foot.
As i turned from the car I see a little boy in front of me. "Get out of here kid." I say waving my hand towards the sidewalk. "You could get hurt." He looked up at me defiantly. "Bad guys aren't allowed to get away." he said shakily, pointing a bright yellow toy gun at me.
"alright punk." I started to say but was cut off by by the *sprong* of the childs toy. A foam dart flew at me and struck me lightly on the knee. My knee exploded out behind me, as it it had just been struck by a .45
The pain was unreal, I looked up through confused tears at the child. " Bad guys aren't allowed to get away" he said again, *Sprong* went his toy. I saw the blue and orange dart heading right for my face. The pain from my knee keeps me from dodging. I feel my nose being ripped away by the soft rubber tip of the dart, then nothing. | Being born into Ireland during the dark ages with this So called "ability" has been a real pain in me arse. Like bloody fucking hell! I cant eat me damned baked potatoes! I live alone in so I cant have it be fed to meself through the tender to touch of a woman. I can only eat my potatoes raw and even that is a pain in the arse. Since this is the dark ages I can't just turn me potatoes into a liquid and drink the bastards. I instead spend most me days crying on the floor drinking the black stuff. | 2017-05-19T04:32:27 | 2017-05-19T00:48:27 | 84 | 32 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | I am typing this blindly. I need too just to make sure I remember. These welding goggles are keeping out most of that maddening light that still remains, but there are things I cannot unsee that I mustn't see again.
Years of touch typing have enabled me to get this far into the document. If I were to use a pencil, I'd have lost half the page in scribbles by now.
The short of it is that this was a bad idea, and the best one we had.
Nuclear weapons work if they can trigger at precisely the right time. I imagine the ship they came in was studded with cameras that'd rival any nation's spy satellites. Based on the rings around the vessel and what we could detect on radio, we ventured they used magnetic scoops to pick up material. And massive lasers to ionize it before hand.
We will never find out if they had hands.
They dropped rocks on us. Many of the capitals are now disaster areas, and relief efforts are strained. Same as when a natural disaster hits, but this time it hit home.
We had one last trick. One last, stupid trick. I think, in the end, it may have been worth it, but there are these things that keep falling from the sky... And the things around me. These goggles are rated for looking at the sun - I have to trust they're ok.
>beep
Good. The computer still has power. I've been saving this document every few lines just to make sure it's safe. That I'm safe.
We used the HAARP array. A very low frequency, high amplitude signal was sent into the skies, shortly past the ship. The array was shortly destroyed. It had time to push only a small hole in reality, that would really never have been of any consequence.
Unless something else decided to open it up from the otherside.
It's here in Arecibo that we came in. We had made these things in the labs before, and found that a carefully modulated pattern of microwaves could close these holes, but the larger they were, the more energy the snap-back would release.
There was a dozy of something opening that hole.
I'm glad I had these goggles. By the time I heard the screams that something was coming through devolve into the screams of the crazed and the damned, I knew that the snap-back was going to be brighter than the mad Russian's bomb. I needed these goggles.
Things are still falling from the sky, but I imagine it's slightly better than either of those alternatives. I also don't imagine that this can be covered up any longer.
The pulsations of ... things ... around me are growing a bit louder. I hope this email finds you. I do not believe it will find you well. | The Monks at the Temple of Forever felt The Shock in the Ether as the Rune was Cast, they were to call forth Cthulu. Each Monk pulled forth a ceremonial dagger, laid on their assigned symbols and slit their throats. Cthulu Awakened. Above, the Earth was being laid to waste by the Alien invaders, smaller craft embedded themselves into the Earth and stalked about burning and ripping the world apart, whilst massive machines of death roved the skies and the stars. The Alien Mother ship sat silent, unmoving, observing the destruction wrought by its creations. Then it sensed it, a pulsating mass moving from the oceans, heaving, writhing, coming. Cthulu had arrived. The Motherships focus turned, and it let out a defending blast, an immortal challenge. Cthulu responded. The Motherships spoke, "Arrogant, infantile creatures you struggle against forces beyond your comprehension. What you have summoned is but the last gasp of your dying breath." "But we will fight," came a lone voice, "We will fight till we win, if we run out of ships, we will use guns, when we run out of guns we will use use our hands and when our hands fail us, we use our final strength to summon our worst nightmare, Cthulu." "Foolish beings, you exist because we allow it, and you will die because we demand it." Cthulus mass broke the surface of the Pacific Ocean and raced into the heavens. The immortal horror of the underworld radiated with an immortal howl as it smashed headlong into the Massive Frame of the Reaper known as Harbinger. Instantly, the reaper fleet turned toward the collosall mass and brought to bear there powerful beams of death. Reaper weaponry from the Earth, Skies and the Heavens lit up and bore into the immortal Cthulu..... It had begun, the battle for Earth. | 2017-09-26T11:41:54 | 2017-09-26T11:37:47 | 50 | 27 |
[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend | "This is Ray with the Tokyo team, we are ready to receive you." The Japanese team of scientist continued to run their last minute checks, they knew everything was in place but it is the human condition to worry. It had taken Ray 12 hours to fly here from California, a feat which was revolutionary only a short while ago. Now, his friend Donovan would make the same trip in less than a second.
Holding up a bag of IN-N-OUT burgers, his friend spoke with a broad smile. "Two burgers animal style with one hold the pickle. Honestly though, I think it is a travesty to ruin a great burger by taking out the pickles." Donovan, shaking his head with mock pity, moved off the large screen and directed the camera at the teleporter.
"You can try to convert me once you are here. Beginning the countdown." Ray tried to sound confident but he could not hide his nervousness. Donovan also seemed to be his relaxed self but Ray knew otherwise. Running tests on animals only gave so much assurance that it would actually work on a human.
The countdown finished, a bright flash happened simultaneously on the live feed from america along with the receiving end in Tokyo. Standing before them, burgers in hand, was his friend Donovan. The team of scientist erupted in cheering, once again, humanity had done the impossible.
Donovan embraced his friend and handed him the promised burger. Ray, barely able to chew due to his laughter, suddenly frowned as he tasted pickles. At first, he assumed this was one of Donovan's attempts to convert him but paused as he saw the man happily eating the pickle-free burger. "I find it hard to believe that after all these years you are suddenly agreeing with me." Ray spoke while eyeing his friend.
"Agree about what?" Donovan asked as he continued to eat.
"You've always refused to eat a burger without pickles..."
"Oh....Well, I suppose there is a first for everything. Besides we have more important issues to deal with." Donovan quickly changed the subject and began to answer the scientist's questions about his experience. He said there was no pain and despite feeling a little dizzy, he was otherwise fine.
"Well then, guess we can go ahead and cancel the flight back. No need to travel like neanderthals eh?" Ray joked has he butted his friend with his elbow.
"No!" Donovan screamed with terrified eyes. The entire room startled, turn to look at him. Realizing this, Donovan took a moment to regain his composure then spoke in his usual care-free manner. "I mean, we should wait to see if there are any long-term effects before I go in again. Safety first and all that, right?"
Ray nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right, Amanda will be disappointed when she hears you won't be home tonight."
Donovan gave him a blank stare, then glancing down at his ring replied in a smooth voice. "Oh well, I could always use a night away from the wife." He gave Ray a wink then turned away.
"Amanda is your daughter." Ray could not hide the worry in his voice as he approached him. "Don, did you really forget that your wife has been dead for years?"
Donovan paused and met Ray's eyes. He could see the fear, for a moment no one moved. Then, Donovan ran.
"Seal the facility now!" Ray screamed chasing after him.
Donovan did not get far before they grabbed him. The lab had a number of containment protocols for the specimen they experimented on. However, it was not until after month that Ray saw his friend again and this time, it was from the other side of a cell.
"To be honest, I do not even know where to begin." The head scientist spoke in a tired and frustrated tone. "His fingerprints are entirely different and he has no memory of the life he led before. These are certainly things to be worried about but they were within our parameters considering what we were putting him through. What really scares is....well, to be honest I am not even supposed to tell you"
"Please, I need to know." Ray spoke in a soft voice as he stared down at the man he called his friend.
The scientist sighed but continued to speak. "His blood is black and thick as tar. This was enough to terrify us but it was only the tip of the iceberg." The scientist motioned towards the room below. "His prison is actually vacuum. That thing, does not even need to breathe oxygen. In fact, we took out all the air in secret and he didn't even notice. There's more but this is all you need to know, what you are looking at is not human. I am sorry, but Donovan Rogers did not survive the experiment."
| I lay the blame square on Coleman. If his wife hadn't been having twins in Washington State, then Coleman wouldn't have used the device, and everything would still be normal. I've closed the door to the lab, and the oozing limbs seemed to have settled, but I don't know for how long.
In London, getting on the tube, they have this automated voice. *Mind the Gap* they tell you, like the Gap is some sort of thing that's coming for you. It's only darkness, isn't it, that space between the iron-grey platform and the sticky blue flooring of the train? Only darkness, yes. We joked about it in development.
"We're making a Gap," we told our friends and family. Me and Coleman, laughing about it as we drank hot cocoa (him with Bailey's in it because his wife was still in the States and who would ever know, really Jenny, time to calm down.) I liked his eyes and his jokes and the little bottle of pills went forgotten.
Well, I've got my Gap now.
Coleman pushed for the development. He was the one who put in the late hours in Bletchley, who kept the breakers working and the coding running. I said we should test it with animals first. Bugs, cats, dogs. They sent Laika into space. They sent monkeys and chimps, but when Coleman's wife's contractions started on the other side of the world, I couldn't hold Coleman back.
He stepped into the Gap and kept the lead-lined door closed behind him. I got snapchats and messages. One boy, one girl (we're naming her Jenny, after you) and I sat by the Gap's door and waited for Coleman to come back.
I dreamt about him as I drifted off in my chair. Coleman, and the London Underground voice.
*Mind the Gap, Mind the Gap, Please Mind the Gap.* I was crossing into the train at Waterloo and a corpse hand reached out of the darkness, grasping my ankle. Wet and moist, wrinkled with the skin sloughing off. I woke up and peeked into the Gap. I shouldn't have done it, but the Gap had started paying attention to me, in all its darkness. I wanted Coleman.
Coleman came back. He had red in his cheeks and smiled all the time. Two babies safe in Washington State and a mother who loved them dearly. Jealousy ate at me as I made hot cocoa for one because Coleman wanted to go home and Skype them. Say hello to the little ones. Who cared about the little ones, they were two small to understand.
On the other side of the Gap, the knocking started. Long, dragging knocks, pulling against the lead-lined door. I drew back the shutter and peeked in and there they were: a hydra of tentacles reaching out of the darkness, oozing corpse-juice and slime as they came towards the door. For the first time in a while I knocked back a handful of small round pills, and called Coleman.
He came in, irritated at being divided from his wife and kids. What about me? I'd been around him for longer than her, and he never looked at me like that. I took the only course of action: led him back to the Gap and I said some words. He looked at me with hollow eyes. I decided the Gap had got into him, and he had to go back to it.
Oh he screamed for a while, and scratched at the door. The tentacles thrashed and squelched, but like I said, they've settled now. I lay the blame square on him. If he hadn't gone in, then I wouldn't have followed him.
--------
/r/Schoolgirlerror | 2016-08-25T10:45:52 | 2016-08-25T09:15:02 | 1,076 | 83 |
[WP] The year is 3015 and you’re the last person on earth. You’re outside farming and growing your dinner like usual when suddenly you hear a loud, distorted voice from the sky saying “Yeah this planet will do…” | OCCUPIED!!”
“What?”
“YOU HEARD ME! OCCUPIED!!!”
The Ensign stared at his console. The initial drone survey stated this planet had no current sentient life. But to the contrary of all logic, an oldman brandished a shovel at him through the console’s screen.
“OCK-CUE-POD-DOE!!”
The tiny man on screen shouted at the ensign. Dumbstruck the officer could not get a word in edgewise. As the figure continued to shout obscenities. It only took a few moments for the Captain to notice the commotion.
“Is there a problem officer?” The captain calmly asked.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” The ensign scrambled over the consoles buttons and flipped a few switches.
“Uh this planet appears to be—“
“OCCUPIED!” The man’s voice crackled through the console.
“Occ… Occupied, Ma’am.”
The captain moved to the console. Examined the console and screen.
“Well first ensign, lets turn off the drone’s PA system.”
“FUCK OFF!” A shout came from the screen.
The captain ignored the antics and flipped a switch.
“And you’ve run a diagnostics, the drone’s cloaking system is operational?” She gestured to the screen.
“Yes ma’am I just ran it, it’s functioning.”
The captain folded her arms. “Well it isn’t impossible for a species to see in infrared.”
She paused for a moment in thought. “What the development level on his settlement?”
“Crude, would be an overstatement ma’am.”
The captain waved dismissively. “This whole continent’s a wash. Terminate the drone and put us over the other side of the planet and he won’t know the difference.”
She sat back down in the captain’s seat. “Someone get me the survey drone’s data packet too.”
A lieutenant took over for the ensign. “It looks like the survey drone got most of it’s scans done, but it looks like it self terminated prematurely.”
“Damn glitchy things.” The spoke under her breath rapping her fingers on her arm rest.
“But the planet is a perfect candidate.”
“Good, prepare initial shuttles.”
A senior lieutenant spoke up.
“Captain, we are getting hailed by the flag ship.”
The captain clasped her hands.
“Good timing, I am sure Admiral Duad will be happy with the good news. Put him through on speakers.”
A pierce of static and crackling crashed through the bridge’s audio system. Followed by
“I SAID FUCK OFFF! I SEE YOU OVER AUSTRALIA GET OUT OF HERE.”
The captain looked panicked “what is the meaning of this Lieutenant.”
The senior lieutenant threw up his hands.
”I don’t know! I can’t block it?!”
The bridge crew scrambled to general quarters.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! GO ON GIT! SHUU!! LEAVE!“ blared over the speakers.
“How did he spoof our IFF!?” The captain began to collect herself.
“I Don’t know!” The senior lieutenant still pawed at the control panel.
“IF YOU DON’T LEAVE IMMA COME UP THERE AN KICK YUR ASS!!”
“WHAT!?”
“LIKE THIS!”
*Thud* A dull thud knocked the ship to the side. it began to drift as the verbal tirade continued over the PA.”
The captain turned to the commander who just arrived at his console.”
“What was that commander.” Urgency and confusion straining her face.
“It looks like all the port side drone pods have been launched at once.” The commander read the ship’s readout.
His eyes darted back to the captain.
“We’ve been knocked off trajectory.”
“Get us back into orbit commander.” The captain snapped.
Another dull thud knocked the ship the opposite direction.
“Starboard side?”
“Starboard side.”
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! YA HEAR!!”
In a small flash the bridge went dark. The faint red glow emergency lightning kicked in.
“Captain controls are not responding.” The commander started sounding concerned as the atmosphere began flash outside the view screen.
“OKAY WE’LL LEAVE!” The captain finally caved.
“YOU WILL?” The man’s voice cracked.
“Yes, just give us back control.” The captain stammered.
“Oh, okay, get outa here!” The voice calmed slightly.
After a brief moment the lights returned and the ship stabilized.
“Get us out of here commander.”
A half a world away an old man closed the back panel of a saucer shaped robot.
“Okay that should keep them off our backs for awhile.”
The drone gave a happy chirp, its robotic arms swinging out as it twirled.
“Now lets go find your friends.”
——- Oh snap thanks for the silver. ——- | “what the fuck?” I whispered to myself after hearing the voice. I looked around, searching for something, anything, that could’ve caused this strange noise. It was weird, I hadn’t heard a voice other than my own in years.
Shrugging it off as a hallucination, I went back to watering my crops, as it was one of my only pastimes, and again i heard a voice, louder and more confident this time. “Hey! You down there!”
I looked up and saw a large ship hovering above me. A man peered out the window, waving down at me. “Yeah! You! What are you doing here?” Before i could answer the ship descended downwards, a warm blast of air blowing on me and my crops.
When the ship landed, the man walked toward me. He was oddly human like, with tan skin and bright green eyes, unnaturally bright, and he looked about 25. He was wearing a pale blue jacket with some sort of symbol on it, and black pants. his black hair swooped over his eyes, sleek and clean, unlike my own dirty brown mess that hadn’t been washed in a week. Suddenly i felt self conscious.
He extended a hand towards me, and i took a moment to admire his long fingers, with clean and well cut fingernails. My own hands were a mess, dirt under my nails from my days out on the field. I washed them often, of course, but dust builds up when there’s no one else around.
I took his hand in mine, trying not the think about how warm it was, and the fact that it was the first contact i’d had with another human like life form in about 17 years.
“Ian.” He said, and i realised it was his name. Ian. It felt odd, hearing another persons name. I responded with my own, saying it out loud for the first time in a while.
“Nathan.”
“Well, Nathan, it is very nice to meet you. Would you like to come aboard my ship, talk for a moment? My crew would love to meet such a specimen as yourself.”
I looked down. A specimen? What was that supposed to mean. Without better judgement, I asked. He seemed confused when I did, and took a step closer to me. Suddenly, he let out a gasp.
“Oh! Your a humanoid! I figured with all that dirt, you were some sort of wild creature with the ability to talk! How wonderful!”
I should’ve been offended, but his voice was so melodic and cheery I practically melted for it. He was, in every way possible, perfect. No, i thought to myself. He’s not. he’s just the first person you’ve seen in ages, and you like that he’s here. That’s it.
He guided me onto his ship and introduced me to his small crew, approximately 11 others. They all had the same, clean, sleek look to them, all clad in the same pale blue jacket. Yet somehow, none of them looked as good at Ian did.
I pinched myself for thinking that.
Ian showed me around, and stopped in front of a door.
“Would you like to take a shower?”
I looked at him. “Wow Ian, we just met and your already trying to take my clothes off? Or do i just smell bad?” I remarked, and he blushed profusely and looked at the floor.
“No, no. It’s just- you look a bit dirty.”
I was more than a bit dirty, i would admit. The hot water had broken a few weeks back and due to it being winter, I hadn’t yet fixed it. And showering in cold water during a snowstorm sucked.
I thanked him and walked in, admiring all the smooth marbles and fancy glass features. Before closing the door, I looked him in the eyes.
“Thank you, Ian.” I smiled, and he blushed once more.
He didn’t even know what I was thanking him for. it was more than shelter, warm water, even company. It was for making me feel again. | 2022-10-23T22:09:00 | 2022-10-23T13:13:30 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] God has read the Bible for the first time, and it turns out there are some very worrying typos. | He had his all knowing head in his all present hands. You see, in order to be a God of beings that possess Free Will, one must be at least a bit detached from them.
Sure, He was everywhere and knew everything, but he'd taken great strides to make sure he forgot some things and took his eyes of the prize every now and then. Otherwise it’s just an invisible loner having a game of dollies by himself.
And that’s just sad.
The creatures of this sector of time and space had seen his face in many places (a surprising number of times he’d been spotted on toast or in soups) and they had gathered his words and teachings into songs and stories and sculptures and...
And...
They had gotten some things wrong. Major things. His goal this entire time had been missed completely, relegated to a single line whose meaning had been destroyed by a typo. Those he had wanted to be lifted, to be ascended, had been neglected instead.
This whole thing was meant to lead to the creation of his chosen people. A slow process, but one from which an independent and peaceful race could have sprouted.
He lifted his multi-pronged, green-leafed head out of his light-green and white hands.
“Blessed are the *meek*? The Meek!?”
There was only one choice. He’d have to start over again. God picked up a hunk of space rock and threw it at the planet.
This time he’d hang about a bit more. Less proxy words via angels and prophets, too. And less of those thinking apes, they were no help at all.
God, the Leek at the center of it all, got to work. | “I- what in my name is this” said the literal FUCKING GOD to the pastor.
“It-it’s the Bible, you know.. your word” the pastor stumbled over his words “like the rule book..”
“What. the. fuck.” He stumbled
“It-it’s what we’ve been following..”
“WELL NO WONDER SO MANY OF YOU ARE IN HELL? I mean first of all this book literally condones slavery, talks about giving your wife an abortion through magic, and saying being gay is a sin” he grimaced
“I- well, some parts are the Old Testament.”
“THERES A SECOND ONE-“ He boomed, “THIS IS NOT WHAT I SAID TO WRITE DOWN I SAUD LOVE THY NEIGHBOR FOR MY SAKE-“ | 2022-09-30T10:33:35 | 2022-09-30T10:06:05 | 178 | 15 |
[WP] Your blood cures a devastating disease but they don't need you alive to synthesize the medicine. A large bounty has been placed on your head and even your family is after you. What they don't know is that your blood has been changing you. | I was *so* willing. Cancer was destroyed, but a new sickness rose up to take it's dominant seat. Highly contagious, rapidly spreading - it is like the Flu but worse. It changes people's personalities, their bodies don't act as their own - it's pretty messed up and fatal. So when I donated blood and they found out it can cure this disease, *of course* I was willing. Saviour of humanity? What a noble cause, indeed.
***Fool***.
I was on the operating table at the local hospital, ready for them to extract some more of my blood for a sample. Then an official looking schmuck came in through the doors with his pompous suit and expressionless face, "this is the boy?"
Some yes-man doctor nodded, "Yes, it's a shame he's so young though."
"*Hold on*", I panicked. It obviously showed, as I was beginning to hyperventilate and blurted out those words, not thinking them. *Those words seem off.*
This was when that guy in the suit gave this smile that really didn't read right, "One life for Millions. A worthy sacrifice, ***I hope they remember you***."
After signing some document that a doctor was holding, he then gave an authoritive gesture, "***Do it***."
The yes-men doctors began to make their moves, then my head started to spin. I looked down at my arms to see a needle piercing through my skin, my vision blurred... then I was in the corridoor outside the room.
I felt my blood rushing faster through my body, what just happened? I see the schmuck in the distance yelling and pointing at me. Immediately my vision is englufed with people running at me, what did I do wrong?
Next, I notice I'm out the front of the hospital - my blood burning bright like streams of lava coursing through my veins. I'm greeted with the screaming of sirens, vehicals of the night with armed men rushing out - pointing their weapons at me. "I've gotta get out of here", is what I said to my self.
As if time blurred and shifted, now I'm at the front door to my house. I rushed inside, only to see my family watching the TV with what appeared to be showing the front of the hospital I was just at. They turn to see me with a horrific look on their faces - as if I wasn't of their blood.
My mother uttered the words, "*You* shouldn't be here."
I caught a glimpse of the headline on the TV screen, plastering my face all over it, "$*10,000,000 Reward for Capturing; Jack Turner - Alive. $5,000,000 if Dead."*
The sound of a loaded shotgun broke my thoughts as I saw my father stare me down the barrel of a gun, "sorry Jack but this could really help our family... and the World I guess."
"Wha-", before I could finish, I heard the screams of my sisters as they grabbed my father - moving the gun's sight away from me as he fought for control of his aim.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Carrol beckoned me, "GO!"
I ran. I ran as far and fast as I could. My mobile was flaring up with notification after notification. People who were my friends, people who I was simply acquanted with, "Where are you? How are you? Can I help? We're friends, right?"
Bosh'tets. All of them. What the heck is happening? I ran for what felt like an hour, leaving my family behind and running from a situation I can't fully grasp. Sirens echo throughout the neighborhood, people are eye-ing me down like a lottery ticket as I run by.... Exhaustion overcame my body as I rest my back on a wall in an alleyway.
Thoughts race my mind like the blood in my veins, "*What do I do? Where do I go? Where's far from here? Who can I trust?"*
I stare at my arms, my veins still glowing bright with a magma color. I was just at the hospital moments before, now my face is plastered all over the City with a bounty of ten million dollars... My thoughts were then interrupted by a few flashes of lights.
*Shwoom... Shwo-Shwoom!*
Three people appeared infront of me, their veins glowing that same bright color as mine; a woman in business attire, a shaggy looking burly man & a girl that looked young, about my age. They looked at me with distress, then the young girl spoke up, "yeah, he's one of us."
They all linked their arms together, then the man reaches out for mine, "Jack - we're here to get you the hell outta here."
.....
Thanks for taking the time to read my response, I hope you enjoyed as much as I did writing this! Thank you OP for an awesome prompt! Can't wait to read what others have written. | "Have you heard of the 'Brazen Bull', Senator?"
The question sounded like an accusation, its speaker very clearly filled with emotion. The disease was intensely personal, unlike anything humanity had faced before. Worse even than cancer. The senators shifted slightly on their high chairs, eminently uncomfortable.
"It is a torture device from ancient Greece. The victims are placed inside a bronze container shaped like a bull, which is placed over an open fire." The man paused for dramatic effect. "Their screams can be heard through the bull's nostrils."
One of the senators, a large imperious looking man, raised a hand. "That's enough, Doctor. There is no need for sensationalism here. We are all facing the same problem."
The man let out a burst of hysterical laughter. "That's what it feels like to watch a loved one die of this... *thing,*" he said. "Like they're inside that red-hot metal, screaming as their skin begins to singe-"
"That's enough of that," Anders muttered, turning off the television.
Over the past year the disease had swept the globe, killing those it infected within three weeks. No-one could figure out how it was transmitted, where it came from, or why it was happening. It affected only those with a B-Positive blood type.
"Why did you turn it off? I want to keep watching."
"What good will that do, Melissa?"
Melissa got up and walked over to the window, parting the curtain with an exasperated swipe of her arm.
"You had it, Anders. You were fucking dying and now you're fine," she said.
"There has to be another way," Anders said, getting up to stand beside her. He draped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tightly, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck. "As far as I'm concerned, your life is worth everything under the stars."
Melissa shrugged him off and leaned out the open window. From this high up the people looked like ants, insignificant members of the mighty urban colony of New York.
"We can't be sure it was you," Anders said.
"You're the only one who has survived it. Three fucking years and you're the only one who lives," Melissa said, turning back to face the room. "If I hadn't dropped that glass of wine..."
Anders took another step towards her. "It's no use thinking about it," he said. "If they find you they'll kill you. They need all of you."
"What's one life worth against several hundred million? The phone is about to ring."
The hotel phone rang before Anders could reply. He picked up the reciever, casting a concerned look at his wife.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello Anders," the caller spoke in a friendly, no-nonsense tone. "Tell Melissa she's got seven minutes to climb out of that window and descend via the fire escape. At the bottom she'll see a black SUV with a licence plate containing the numbers 2244. Tell her to climb in."
"Who the fuck are you?" Anders said, watching Melissa watch him.
The voice had an underlying warmth to it, like a stern, kindly grandfather lecturing about table manners. "Six minutes and forty five seconds now, Anders. Put me on speaker."
"Okay," Anders said, not quite sure why he was obeying the stranger's instruction. He glanced back at Melissa, who was now standing at the window with her backpack on, like she had some sort of supernatural understanding of what needed to happen.
"Melissa, listen to me. Dead or alive your blood will cure the disease in B-Positives, but they're less than ten percent of the global population," the voice said. "A-Positives constitute over a third of humanity. You will make us immortal."
Anders watched in shock as Melissa climbed onto the window sill and swung her legs around.
The speaker on the phone continued. "And for that to happen, the increasing awareness and perception you feel - the expansion you've felt inside these past few months - needs room to grow." | 2019-07-17T15:26:43 | 2019-07-17T13:18:23 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | The blood started the ooze down the wall where it was splashed in my frenzied killing of the mother. Her delicious screams still echoed in my mind, appeasing the voices that chattered at the edge of my skull. Sweat and the scent of her perfume teased my nostrils and I buried my face in her hair.
On the floor her husband's body lay spread eagle, open at the throat. I enjoyed his death far more because he fought back. I always like it when they fight.
The children huddled in the corner, their eyes wide with terror. They would live, but it wouldn't be a life for them. I would always be there in their dreams, in their dark corners and their back alleys. Eyes in the darkness, watching. Watching.
I heard footsteps downstairs. Heavy footsteps. I thought I'd gotten the adults.
A door opening, the clink of bottles and then a slam. A rustling bag and the hollow echoes of full cans bouncing off one another.
I took up my knife. There was still work to do. Father wouldn't be pleased leaving work undone. I stalked downstairs quietly, like he'd taught me. There was so much left to do now that I hadn't planned for.
I stalked through the main floor, my sense tingling with every step. I hunted. I crept and I crept, but no one was there.
Then I heard it. A voice from the basement. Light seeped out from under the door. Male, young. Teenager probably. Good. They put up a good fight. Father would be pleased.
I opened the door slowly and listened. It didn't seem like he heard me. I took the steps slowly, one at a time, so not to alert him.
The basement smelled. It smelled *bad*. Like the barn after a long winter when Father made me clean it with my hands for misbehaving. There was trash. Everywhere. Empty pizza boxes. Cans. Bottles. Bags of chips and candy. Dirty laundry and a pile of blankets.
*Who could live like this?* I wondered. Killing them would be a mercy.
I came upon him, clicking away on a keyboard. He was engrossed in what he was doing on his computer. Little figures flitted across the screen like ballet dancers. Or fighters. I liked fighting.
I watched. I watched longer than I should have. I couldn't comprehend it. This person, this young man, was sitting in his filth, completely ignorant of what I'd done. He hadn't heard anything, seen anything, *smelled* anything.
I realized too soon he was watching me.
"Yeah?"
I didn't understand he was talking to me right away.
"What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.
"I...I...I..." I stammered. I thought Father had beaten that out of me. Now it came rushing back.
"I'm too busy fucking people up to deal with this." He turned back around and went back to his game.
"I'm here...I'm here because Father sent me," I finally blurted, "he sent me to punish your family."
Not even turning around, he waved his hand dismissively behind him.
"DON'T CARE!"
"But...but...but.." I couldn't understand it. This person, this manchild, wasn't afraid. He didn't even seem to be concerned that I was there.
"I. DON'T. CARE."
"But your parents.....I killed them..." I was at a loss, words tumbling from my slack mouth.
"DOOOOOOOOOOOOON'T CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE!"
"PAY ATTENTION TO ME!" I bellowed. I made him flinch. It looked like his figure on the screen had died. I got excited.
He slammed his hands down on the desk and turned around angrily. Suddenly I was not excited.
"DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE YOU IDIOT?! I'M DEAD NOW AND I'M NO WHERE NEAR A RESURRECTION SITE. THERE'S NO HEALERS IN MY PARTY AND I HAD AN EPIC ITEM. I LOST IT NOW. GO AWAY." He turned back around in a huff.
"I'm sorry," I looked at my feet, ashamed and embarrassed, "I....I'll go now."
I went upstairs and walked out the door to my truck. That night still haunts me. I'm not sure what ever happened to him, but that kid in that basement is still with me in my dark corners. He stares at me out of the dark. I hear his voice whispering to me...
"dooooooooon't caaaaaaare".
| I deserve this.
I do.
I traded blood for power, murdered innocents, called forth things from the deepest black and reveled in how quickly and efficiently they did my bidding.
I asked for small things at first, and they were delivered. I got hungry, ever bolder. Money, women, men, a thousand thousand delights mundane and forbidden, whenever I wished. It was glorious.
Everything I did met with ultimate success. I was a genius, a visionary, a savior and beacon. People followed me. Some even began to worship me.
I looked at my face in the mirror and saw the madness others couldn't see, hidden behind my perfect mask. But it didn't matter.
I *was* a god.
So why not become one?
I searched, but none of my mundane grimoires contained even the barest inkling of such power. Money can buy knowledge, though, and I soon had a hundred booksellers, a legion of scholars, an army of experts and antiquarians at my command. They combed forgotten libraries, plumbed ancient tombs, stole when necessary.
Some resorted to murder. A handful went mad. In the end, they proved the most useful. Devoid of sanity, one can see farther.
It took years and a significant portion of my worldly wealth, but soon I had pieced together the disparate knowledge necessary. There were things outside of time, outside of reality, things that lurked in places and dimensions ancient even before the birth-cry of our own boundless universe.
And I had learned how to call them, to speak to them, to channel their power into my own form.
The summoning was unlike any other. The simple Goetic rites I began with were the equivalent of playground games compared to such an undertaking. The blood and pain required for such an work ... so much. But such was a siren call to the entities that I desired to traffic with, and in the new order to follow those chosen would not be missed.
Bathed in a sea of drying blood and the desperate cries of those whose agony fueled my Work, I watched the sky crack open and black, winged things indescribable and insatiably hungry begin to pour through. They began to feast, and terrified cries echoed from throughout the city as the sun darkened and vortices of crackling flame swirled in the aether.
I saw the Eye slowly emerge from one of those ragged, crimson cracks. I am not sure anyone else had the vision and ability to see it clearly, or at least gaze into it as long as I did.
I spoke my bargain in words that had not been uttered for tens of millions of years, perhaps more. And then, only by elder things that inhabited our world ages before the dinosaurs had their brief reign.
A pause. All reality seemed to hold still.
And then the thing laughed, an incredulous titter that shook the pillars of the cosmos.
I took several steps back, uncertain.
And then, with horror I understood what I said there in that false night, the great, unblinking eye becoming a symphony of fanged maws, bladed talons and infinite, grinding shapes that began to reave the world.
The ancient language was complex beyond measure, perhaps almost beyond the ability of a human tongue to hope to render. Tortured syllables contained the subtlest shades of meaning. Even the slightest variation could change vast echoes of thought.
There was greater nuance meant, of course. Some lovely, flowery language praising them, which I'd hoped they'd like.
But boiled down, I had told them that *I* would give them infinite power, instead of demanding they offer it to me.
Foolish. No wonder it laughed.
I sighed deeply, shrugged, and watched the world die around me.
Grammar never *was* my strong suit. | 2017-05-05T09:18:35 | 2017-05-05T08:32:31 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | The door chime rang with its usual *Fingernails on a Blackboard* ring that only sounded when -HE- came in. I didn't even have to look at the clock; it was 3:33 AM. He was always very punctual.
"Hello, Sir. The usual?"
This time the Demon sighed deeply. It was a hot and humid night but his exhalation dropped the temperature by 30 degrees. I was grateful for that, to be honest. Our AC unit was in dire need of replacement.
Well, this was a new development; He had barely spoken in the past and he seemed all business on his visits. I glanced up at him, his dark shadow swirled in the vague shape of a very large man. Occasionally I'd see glints of light in it, almost as if someone had tossed a handful of glitter into a tornado.
I didn't know what to say, so I said it. "Is everything okay, sir?"
He roiled/moved/drifted towards a stool at the bar. Suddenly the seat disappeared, replaced by a black cloud. I guess that's how a demon sits down in our world?
I had started to make his usual request, a Latte, light sugar. As was the case when he ordered, I burned my hand. I was used to this. I kept a dixie cup of water in the freezer for these moments.
"I'm sorry about that, Julie. I am trying to control things, but they don't always work the way I want them to."
I turned towards him, my eyes wide. He knew my name? "Of course. You're wearing a nametag." He could read my mind? "Yes, Julie, I can."
'Wow' was my next thought. At this the head-portion of the shadow seemed to chuckle.
I blushed. The demon leaned back and looked at me with what I assumed was a smile? On his face? "Yes, Julie. This is what I look like when I smile. Although I rarely smile. I'll let you know one thing that disturbs me tonight; I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sir'. 'Sir' is my father. I'm Garettazikiel. Pleased to meet you. I'd offer my handshake, but I would just burn you. Gary for short." He added.
"Gary. Well, nice to meet you too, sir. I mean, Gary. I'll try to remember not to call you 'sir' but I'm kinda sorta used to doing that. The big boss doesn't like it when we're too familiar." Here I added air quotes. "He says he wants a 'higher standard of service' for our 'guests'".
I couldn't help but roll my eyes multiple times.
Gary laughed at this, an honest and heartfelt belly laugh.
"Your boss and my boss might just be related" he said. | I poured the cream in the Dark Lord’s latte. I was told to make it dark as a corpse’s soul, and sweet as the honey of a million deceased honeybees. Whatever the hell that meant.
The demon lackey grunted when I handed him the latte, and tossed a penny in the tip jar.
“Thanks,” I said with the most insincere politeness I could muster.
“Is that sarcasm I detect?” Said the demon.
“There’s a line forming, so if you don’t mind…”
The demon was having none of it. He slammed the latte on the floor, growling deeply.
I glanced at the fallen cup of splattered latte. “You’re going to have to tidy that up.”
“You’re dead, barista boy…”
I laughed inwardly. Little did he know my covert secret. But I didn’t want to lose my job by revealing my side hustle.
The demon jumped up on the counter, and kicked his black clawed foot at my face.
“Ok then, I guess this is happening,” I said. I grabbed his support leg, and tripped him to the floor.
He hit the tiled ground with a loud thud, cracking his skull. I reached into my boot, where my demon-slaying dagger was concealed.
I held the knife to his black throat, told him to freeze. He didn’t listen. He grabbed my face with his claws, puncturing my cheek. Big mistake, freakshow….
I slammed the dagger into his hand, and he screeched. “Where did you get that weapon? You’re a damned rat!”
“No,” I said, lunging the dagger at his dark heart, shoving it to the hilt. “I’m a damned demon hunter.”
I wiped the green goo off the dagger on his raggy clothing, and stepped over his corpse. The Dark Lord would not be receiving his beverage today. And he would never receive it from me ever again…
I threw my apron to the floor and strode out the front door, into the cold morning air…
Because now and forever…
*I quit*. | 2022-10-30T12:11:47 | 2022-10-30T08:28:01 | 200 | 73 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | *Si vis pacem, para bellum.*
“Mr. President, what is the purpose of this Sacred Council If not to arbitrate between the disputing parties? Should the council be derelict in her duty, her mandate shall stand voided. The lofty words in its constitution shall ring hollow in this great hall where all the sentient beings of the universe were welcome once. Where no species was deemed higher or lower in the eye of the Galactic law. Should that eventuality arise, we shall have no other recourse but to find justice by alternate means.”
“Alternate means you say? What are these alternate means through which you will find what you deem to be a just conclusion of this debate?” The ambassador to the Crab Nebula system chimed in. Subtlety of his derisive tone was obviated by laughter of his supporters in council. His smug sense of superiority well deserved.
“Make no mistake honorable councilmembers, I do not see the humor in this situation. In fact, I see only chaos and destruction if the council will not intervene.”
“Your words fail to impress us. You wordsmiths, thinking apes as you call yourselves. What do you know of war? Of death and destruction? You were cocooned in your little corner in Milky Way while the war raged across the whole quadrant at the conclusion of which we decided to form this council. Your people work as scribes, philosophers, teachers, and entertainers. Your jokes especially are funnier than the rest. Or so I thought until now.” Chuckles across the council followed.
“Then, Mr. President, I must inform you that humanity will no longer be responsible for the consequences. Justice in our way of thinking is universal. It cannot vary with the whims of the select few or even a tyrannical majority. And for this principle we shall go to any end necessary.”
“Come now, Ambassador. Have a drink. Soothe your heated tongue and wounded heart.”
The president felt that the proceedings were spiralling out of control. He had never known any human ambassador to be so assertive in his life - and he had seen some four hundred human ambassadors come and go in his diplomatic career. Puny, fragile, ephemeral beings! He had often wondered how they had come to dominate the Earth and the Helios system.
“I am not a being, Mr. President. I am the voice of the will of humanity. So I choose my words carefully to reflect it. And let my words be taken as they sound - no more and no less.”
The Human Ambassador paused.
The Committee on the Galactic Relations of Earth Parliament had instructed him before his voyage back to the planet Meelore where the council sat. He was called back because it was deemed too risky to discuss it over the GalacticNet. They had authorized him to do all that he could to avoid the terrible outcome, but if it were to prove unavoidable then it was to be his solemn duty to proclaim formally that humanity shall seek recompense in a way she had long renounced.
War.
“Oathbreakers, beware! Our politeness is not instinctive. Our humility is not innate. Our bonhomie is nurtured from the first day a human child is born. Let not the this body rue the day when she convinced us that we must act on our baser nature to achieve a greater end.”
“Do your worst.”
Someone from the backbenches heckled. Breaking the spell. It was received with approving grunts all over. What could these soft, obsequious beings do? The rest of the galaxy will not be cowed by this upstart race and their mere words!
“We shall take your suggestion very seriously, representative Ercheon of Seven Sisters system. But permit me to also suggest something.” The human ambassador was almost shouting now, over the uproar that had broken out.
“We do not seek vengeance.” He thumped the desk. “We seek justice. We give this council five earth days to deliver it to us. If you do so, that justice will be benevolent. But if we must obtain it, it shall be grim. It shall be cruel. It shall be horrific.”
Everyone was listening once again, he observed.
“Presume us withdrawn from this council should you choose to let the ultimatum run out, Mr. President. Thenceforth, there shall be no more parlay. No more negotiations. And no mercy. Only war, and utter victory or vanquishment.” | Civil wars were never beneficial. They had an uncanny ability to push entire species past the point of no return. To eliminate enough of the breeding population, that they had made members of the Galactic Authority functionally extinct.
The Threlliad admiral paced nervously, wondering if the humans would be able to deliver on their threats. About 1 AU from where he stood on his ship a fleet, a few thousand strong, comprised mostly of human and a few other GA species ships, held a defensive perimeter around his larger fleet. He pondered what he knew about humans.
Currently, the GA consisted of 23 separate entities made up of varying ratios of 16 different species. The only entity that did not have members of its species belonging to any other ruling entity: humans.
Their scientists referred to themselves as Homo sapiens. Much of the origin of biology on their home planet was held in secrecy, reserved only for human eyes. They rarely allowed scientific collaboration involving biology with any other species, and when they did it was never centered on humans or any earth-borne species. Their home planet was shrouded in mystery in spite of the fact that they were the 4th inducted member of the Galactic Authority, no blood had been spilled on their home planet according to non-human records.
This isn’t to say they were a peaceful species, they’d been involved in 16 wars in the last 3 centuries, and had won every single one, 7 of those wars resulted in the extinction of their adversaries. The Galactic Authority was formed 50 years ago in a last ditch attempt to prevent the human threat from wiping out any additional species. The three founding species of the GA, were wary and wished to open diplomatic channels with humans and hoped to excercise political control over them. No one expected the humans to be interested in joining the GA, and even fewer were expecting such shrewd diplomats.
The humans essentially assumed control of the GA within 16 years, and from that point setup favorable trade sanctions that helped their economy grow. While humans were neither physically imposing, nor the most intellectually developed species in the discovered universe, they certainly had a unique blend of the two traits. They weren’t as powerful as the Krulmulians, but their intellect allowed them to win against them due to superior tactics and logistics at almost every turn. And while they weren’t functionally as intelligent as the Xiun, they were quicker to act and able to make ‘snap decisions’ much more effectively. Very little data of their battle techniques or strategy was available, and most of what was widely known about human combat effort comes from voice communication or character based communication.
They seemed to be in the middle ground of the brains vs brawn spectrum and it put them in an interesting place evolutionarily. While most members of the GA belonged to species who had developed significantly more specialized survival techniques for their respective home planets, the human physiology allowed them to easily adapt to a wider range of operating conditions than most species. Sure, they couldn’t communicate telepathically or use telekenesis on the battlefield, and they didn’t have redundancy in vital organs or even a competitive muscle mass to body weight ratio, but they had an interesting ability to adapt and overcome, that had allowed them to win an untold amount of conflict. They appeared unremarkable, but perhaps that was to their advantage: their enemies wouldn’t know what they were truly up against until it was too late.
“Sir, there’s a few thousand incoming projectiles.... with a lot of gamma radiation pouring into our sensors. 2 minutes to potential impacts. What are your orders for the fleet?”
“Charge capacitors,” the admiral growled, “those puny hairless apes aren’t going to get any sanctions through the GA while I have anything to say about it.” | 2019-11-24T15:48:36 | 2019-11-24T14:28:48 | 99 | 54 |
[WP] Aliens had thought humanity's rules of war trivial, as they had always won intergalactic wars utilizing every dirty tactic possible. Military necessity, distinction of civilians, and honor only existed in human warfare. When prompted, one replied, "The rules are meant to keep YOU safe. Not us." | I smiled ruefully, looking at those around me. A collection of some of the most advanced races in the galaxy, many of them friends of mankind, others little more than tentative allies. I repeated myself; "The rules are meant to keep YOU safe. Not us."
"Can you clarify?" Came the buzzing voice of the insectile Preceptor Thuris of the Aldegon Reach. I sighed, it was always difficult to explain this.
"My people, humanity, is exceedingly cruel in war. We don't just kill, we annihilate while causing the most amount of pain possible. Gas, flamethrowers, napalm, radioactive weapons, engineered plauges and viruses. Hell, we ever created hollowpoint and exploding bullets that fragment inside the target to cause even more damage. Nothing about how humans wage war is clean." I looked around the congregation, some were stunned, others starting to understand. I keyed up two videos on the holotable, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
"This," I continued, "Is footage captured during the only two times where atomic weaponry was used in anger by mankind. The cities below the video camera are Hiroshima and Nagasaki, two Japanese cities destroyed during World War 2." I let the videos play, watching their faces as in a single flash, the two cities were destroyed.
"We have seen your primitive atomic weaponry in action, Counselor. Is this supposed to scare us?" Rumbled Alteror Dufrain, his large rocky bulk barely contained in the chair far too small for him.
"No, Alteror. Just merely a demonstration." I paused, shutting down the videos and bringing the lights back up. "Humanity's rules for war are designed solely to keep those we are fighting safe, so that civilians aren't caught up in war, that loved ones have people to bury. Our way of waging war once our blood is up is complete and total annihilation of the enemy while sending a message to any who would oppose us."
"This is all well and good, Counselor." Came the soft-spoken administrator Thera, "But what point does this have with Humanity's war against the Thoris Expanse?"
I stiffened noticeably at this question and drew in a long, deep breath. "As of 7am Earth Time this morning the GEC has voted unanimously to temporarily lift all Rules of War, in order to bring the aggressive encroachment of the Thoris Expanse on the territory of the Federation of Mankind to a swift and decisive end." All of them nodded in agreement, over 42 trillion humans had been killed in this war, it was natural for us to fight back to our full strength. "However, there were those who wanted more than to just push the Thoris Expanse from our borders." I began inputting a series of commands into my console, the lights dimmed and the projector began lighting up. "We have a saying for situations like this."
With a dull hum the recording started playing. Entire fleets bubbling under the storm of radiation weaponry, cities and civilians awash in flames, drone footage of entire armies just melting from chemical weapons, unstoppable plauges ripping through dense population centers, and a tactical readout of the Federation's First Fleet pushing into the heart of the Thoris Expanse, annihilating everything in their path.
I looked around the room, sheer horror on the faces of the collected alien representatives. I smiled sadly, watching on the readout as Thoris systems winked out one by one as the red line of the fleet passed over them and spoke slowly and clearly so that all of them could hear me. "An eye for an eye." | Admiral Ryan was brought to the intergalactic trial in his dress blues, but without any of his medals attached. The various species arrayed before him were there to judge not just the man himself, but all humanity.
"When humans were admitted to this group, your leaders provided a set of rules. Rules all gathered have documents stating humanity has followed in their wars against each other. We are holding this tribunal to determine both why you have failed to do so in this latest war, and the punishment for you and your species."
The Admiral's eyes were watery with age, no longer the vivid green they'd been. His chin was recently, and poorly, shaved, giving him a three o' clock shadow. His hair was in place under his cover, and his epaulets shone. Were it not for his age, he looked every inch the movie admirals.
His gaze rose to the gathered species, fixing all of them with a look as haunted as it was world-weary, before he spoke.
"Those rules are for when we're fighting each other so the rest of you don't get caught in our crossfire. If you'll go back through the records, you'll see that. And buried in those legalese labyrinths are some other rules for our offensive wars against others, a little more limiting. But for defensive wars against other species, we specifically applied for fully unrestricted warfare."
His voice, a resonant baritone, fit his role. In millennia long since past, that kind of voice, raised to a stentorian bellow, would have given orders to men on wood hulled ships as they loaded cannons of crude iron and cruder explosives, to propel balls of lead or iron.
"So when we were attacked by the devouring hivemind, we entered into such. An asteroid launched into their central brain world at near lightspeed was the swiftest, and gentlest of our options to save human lives. Anything after that was just a mop-up operation."
The video began to play as he spoke: a simple belt-mining vessel appeared suddenly, the bow wave of its Alcubierre drive warping the field of view for a moment. Its main bay opened, disgorging an asteroid perhaps a couple hundred meters across. Attached to the asteroid was an Alcubierre drive for a small craft, too small to bring the rock up to FTL speed. The visuals around the asteroid distorted, and it began moving off the screen with haste. The belt miner vanished, itself, leaving a ripple through the stars as its only evidence of passing. Less than ten seconds later, the screen lit up as exotic radiations bombarded the drone satellite before knocking it offline. | 2022-09-03T10:30:32 | 2022-09-03T04:59:23 | 87 | 21 |
[WP] A man wakes up one day to find that he had gained a superpower. The next day, he gains another, completely random and new superpower. This continues everyday. At first, everything seems fine, even awesome. Until his randomly generated superpowers started to conflict with each other...
For an additional challenge, use this [link](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Special:Random) to determine the superpowers.
Oh, who am I kidding? Please use it. It'll be funnier that way. | Damn.
Again.
This is 36. I remember my first power. My bed caught fire and I started to freak out and realized I was immune to the fire. I was terrified. The fire didn't grow. It didn't spread. I started to calm down. The fire died down the calmer I got. I played for hours with my ability. It was awesome.
A few days went by with nothing noticeable happening until I noticed I could warp plastic. Odd. I thought it might be a secondary effect of my heat powers. I kept it on the down low.
After a week I had about 6 powers. It seemed every few days I was waking up with more and more powers. I was starting to lose track of all of them as 3 weeks had passed. The pattern seemed random until more and more time went by. I would discover 2 sometimes 3 new powers a day and such until I caught the pattern. I wasn't skipping days I just wasn't noticing the powers. Some were only noticeable during specific times. Hell it wasn't until a full moon that I discovered it made my toenails glow neon.
Most of these powers were useless and some were devistating. The fire power could level a square block. I noticed that if my heart rate was above a certain level I would exhale hydrogen. I don't even need to explain that one for some of you. Hydrogen exhaled as a high heart rate and fire powers controlled by emotion? Bad combo. I blew up the local YMCA. 3 dead, 5 in critical condition. Only the people at the pool got away unscathed.
Was this God? Maybe. I was never a religious man but who woulda thought super powers?
My depression was finally at its end. Day 37 wasn't going to come. Everyone was in danger and the only superpower I had that made me a superhero was my will. I pulled out a gun and put it to my head.
"Goodbye"
**BLAM**
"No... No... "
I guess day 37 was going to come... As would every day. I am the apocalypse. | Nicholas awoke one morning. It was extremely warm. He began to believe that he was simply starting to feel the hotness that women said he possessed. This changed when he realized his ceiling was on fire.
Frightened, he ran out of the house. A combination of smoke and ash tickled his nose in the foyer, and he sneezed, which resulted in more fire coming out of his mouth and landing on an entry table.
The fire department simply looked at him skeptically when he said he sneezed fire; they promised an investigation, though, when he modified his statement to describe the way that he woke up to find himself surrounded by fire, because that sounded like it happened to a normal person.
The next day, Nicholas shot fire from his wrists to make s'mores for himself and was successful. However, it began to rain. A thunderstorm quickly brewed over the park in which he stood and a bolt of lightning came straight for him. He cowered, and stood again in a shopping mall. He ran to an Apple store and touched a live wire and he found himself in Target.
This continued until he learned to shoot water out of his hands, accidentally shot electricity and water at once, and gained his last power: changing into multiple roasted marshmallows. Yes, literal marshmallows. The kind made of sugar. | 2015-09-19T11:40:41 | 2015-09-19T11:40:40 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | Jaren sat in his chair and swayed. He eyed the mug in front of him and huffed a sigh of disappointment at the slightly stale ale he'd been trying to finish off. It tasted like piss but it was doing the job of getting him drunk."
The bloody bastard really should fuck off shouldn't he," Jaren tossed at the whispering commoners who had been talking about him. Jaren threw his head back and laughed at their irritation and fear as he openly belittled that which their worst nightmare. It was plain on their face how horrified they were he would dare so openly challenge the thought of the dark lord.
To be fair they they didn’t know HE was the dark lord so no ill will would come to him. All they saw was a drunk idiot trying to get himself killed. In all actuality he probably was trying to get himself killed, though he never lingered to long on that idea. Everyone died eventually after all. Some just more painfully than others.
If only they knew who sat amongst them. Oh they would piss their pants for sure. Jaren laughed even louder at the though. He’d seen it enough to know exactly what it would be like.His myth was growing day by day. The more they feared him the more “un-holy” powers they gave him. As his moniker passed from each pair of lips the more fantastic the stories became they spread them around. He was a dark god out for vengeance. A demon sent to harry them for their mis-deeds. A boogyman in the dark that could hear them call his name and destroy the family that dared to utter the syllables he was known by. How stupid they were. He was nothing then a mere mortal given a self appointed quest to teach them all a lesson.
Jarens lips quirked up in a smile as he listened to the whispers around him once more. Setting his mug down he motioned to the barkeep to fill it again. Hushed tones full of hate, fear and even some healthy respect. He loved it. He loved it all. How hard he’d worked for others to fear him it was good to listen to them quake. They were cowards all of them. Each and every single one of them would talk a big game but when push came to shove they would stand by and do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Half these fools would stand and spectate as horrible atrocities were done. The other half would turn tale and run. The rare few just might stand up to him. Those he would spare. Those deserved respect in their own right.
Too bad not a single one of them had stepped up to challenge him. Not yet. Soon one would grow a pair enough to truly be a threat to his rule. He honestly looked forward to that day. Until then he’d keep on his fight. He’d march his army to one town after another until he ruled this continent. The cowards deserved nothing less than to live in the filth they created.
“The Dark Lord and his bloody minions. Pox on them,” he tossed out just to watch the people flinch and flinch they did.
“Stop. Stop speaking ill of him. I’ll not have you slander My Lord,” A young voice sounded to his right.
Jaren paused with his mug halfway to his lips and turned his head slowly to regard the young buck that dared interrupt him. The boy was barely 15 years old. His face dirt smudged and pimpled. His voice cracking as he spoke. The boys clothes were worn and stitched haphazardly to keep the thread bare pieces together. Jaren raised an eyebrow at him. Taunting him.
The boy continued to clinch and unclinch his hands as if wanting to strike him but knowing it would be futile. Jaren was no small man. Sitting at just above six feet and muscle built over hours of hard labor he turned his full regard to the boy.
“Your lord? How is he your lord? You look like you’ve barely kissed a woman much less met the Dark Lord.” Jarens voice had deepened as he considered the young boy who had paled as Jaren faced him.
The boy swallowed twice before he managed to speak again but his voice was surprisingly calmg given the subtle shaking in his hands.“You don’t understand him. Why he does what he does. Don’t slander what you don’t know,”
“And you understand the Dark lord’s motivations do you?” Jaren let the false merriment drop from his face and regarded the boy with all the dark emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. The boy went to take a step back but caught himself. “And what prey tell is the Dark Lords motivations?”
The boy drew his spine straight and even managed to puff out his chest a tad before he spoke. “To teach others a lesson in humility. To break them until they build themselves back up. To remind them to stand together and remember to help their fellows,” He boys voice grew more confidant as he spoke. Though he deflated slightly as he ended his statement. Confidence was not this ones strong suit. But the boy had spirit. Heart. That was rare.
The boy spoke as if he knew Jaren though had never seen him before. He’d have recalled this sort of mind within his ranks. This boy was a surprise. He would never have guessed that insight would come from one so young. A child barely old enough to know how to shave had figured out what most grown men couldn’t see. This child held promise.
“Come with me son. I have a proposition for you,” Jaren stepped off his stool and pulled the boy to his side. Confidently striding to the door with the boy tucked under his arm, the confusion evident on his face but he followed.
Yes this child would fit well within his ranks. | Agileas sobered up, thread of Water inward; an old trick developed at an age younger than the boy standing in front of him. "You? An apprentice of the Dark? Don't make me-"
A needle of Earth; poison and buzzing, shot through his vacated chair, a coat of Fire surrounding it and hiding the hole it had made. Air rushed out, toxins threatening to invade; easily dispelled with a burst of Air of his own. "Sh-hut UP!" the boy shouted.
Agileas sighed. Not only did he not recognise the boy; he was also far younger than his usual set of apprentices and too emotional by half. Use emotions, yes; fools of the Light preached numbness and sterility. Be used by emotions, no: that way only laid pain, at best. "Boy's had too much to drink," he shouted over the din; other patrons figuring out there was a magic duel happening and preparing accordingly. He counted five crossbows and two sets of throwing daggers, not to mention the regular sidearms. "I'll sober him up with some water. Or Water, I don't know yet!"
"Just do it outside, Saag!" the bartender shot back before demonstratively going back to serving a drink.
A flick of Air and a rush of Water and the boy was washed out of the establishment, while a waft of Fire and Air flash-dried the floor before anything could seep in. Agileas took a bow and threw a gold coin into the till before leaving, mind already on the next spells he needed to employ. One weave of Air: a curtain to deaden sound's escape. One heavy wave of Water, in case someone was looking. One stab of Earth; a wall behind to block flight. One thrust of the Dark, left and up to the centre of mass.
He hadn't anticipated the slash of Earth and Dark, and it took him aback, impacting on his heavily bespelled tunic. He grunted with the impact, but the tunic had experienced worse and absorbed it as it ought, fuelling the Dark Lord's own counter, instinct picking apart the Magic and distributing it accordingly. "You *are* a student of the Dark Lord," Agileas mused softly as he walked up; voice unmagically modulated to carry to the paralysed boy of maybe fourteen winters. "Yet I do not recall you." In fact, he made a point to not take apprentices under nineteen winters old, to remove the worst of age-induced temperament. "That spell is one of my favourites."
The boy was pale in the moonlight, the dagger of Dark inches from his heart. "Yo... You..." The dagger receded. "You're not Him."
That was the voice of someone who believed something could not possibly be true; not a mere statement of denial. "I am," the Dark Lord countered, studying the half-foot shorter boy with one hand behind his back. One hand that wove Water and Dark in a spiral; and with a swirl, the spell went into the boy's head. "Name, age, rank, date, fourth invocation."
"Ignat, fourteen winters and a spring, Apprentice Seventh, Sixth of Harvest Moon and Thirteenth of Begaz," the boy recited dully, before uttering a string of words in Low Elvish. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, his spell wavered. "Agi...le...aasssssssssssss."
The Dark Lord Agileas was not easily taken aback, yet in nine words and one invocation, the boy had managed to do so. Water and Earth receded, Dark was quashed, and Air kept the boy upright; his own magic rushing back and... Submitting. That, if nothing else, proved the veracity, yet questions remained. "Ignat, Seventh, we will have words after the sun rises on the morn. I have questions, and you will answer them, through Water and Dark if I must, but the Worm Moon of the Twelfth demands sacrifice." He had *hoped* to ply one of the drunkards into his ritual, but after what had just happened, that was futile. "Something you ought to know as a Seventh."
"I... I do..." the boy said, still weak, unsurprisingly. The weave wasn't known for being subtle or painless. Nor did the Dark Lord know anyone who could resist it except himself, until now. "I... This isn't the Thirteenth of Begaz? It... It actually worked?"
Myriad questions arose. The Dark Lord suppressed them. Now was not the time. Not if he had to find a sacrifice. "We will talk on the morn. For now..." he cut Air and Dark and Earth, only to meet a lance of Fire. "Boy."
"I... I remember what happened. A... A peasant's child... Fr... From here." Eyes widened. "Her!"
Air and Earth grabbed, and a waif of a girl, seven winters if that, came flying out of an opened window. | 2022-01-14T16:16:54 | 2022-01-14T15:38:16 | 134 | 56 |
[WP]You have been immortal,sent back in time 3000 years to America in that time, and now have a mega-empire covering the entire nation. One day British ships show up on shore | I stepped out from the tree line onto the beach, leaving my brothers there in hiding. I walked barefoot on that golden warm sand and watched the first boat land. Three men in bright colour disembarked and plodded through the lapping waves toward me.
I stopped then and placed my hands by my side, palms open in a sign of welcome.
Their boots sunk deep into the soft sand at each stride but eventually they reached me. Two of the men were breathless. The leader spoke.
“May God bless you and your people.” He bowed his head. “I am a representative…”
“And may the Lord God bless you too.” I replied.
The confident look dropped from his face. “You speak our language.”
“What ship did you come here on?” The man on the left demanded.
“I have always been here, and so shall I always be.” I replied.
“That’s a strange accent. It’s not Scots. I bet the bastard’s Irish.”
“That’s no Irish accent I’ve heard,” said the last man. “What’s your name?”
“I have many names, but you will know me as Michael.”
The three men looked at each other. The leader had regained some of his composure. “What is this land? And under whom are you subject?”
“My brothers, you have sailed to the very edge of the world. I only know one Lord, the Lord God Almighty.” I pointed to the place where we had stacked the supplies. “You will see there enough food and provisions to return you to your home. I ask you now, please leave.”
The leader looked me in the eye and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’m afraid we cannot do that.”
“You can take the provisions and return home or,” I raised my right hand, “you can stay here with us,” the three men reeled back and gasped at the vision emerging from the trees, “in Purgatory.”
They stepped back from me looking at each other for answers. The one on the left turned and ran back to the boat.
“What trickery is this?” Demanded the leader. “Who the hell are you?"
“I am no trickster.”
“Really?” He drew his sword and thrust it into my heart.
The man’s face melted into one of horror as I placed my hand on the hilt of his sword and pulled it further into my chest which did not bleed. “I am Michael, the one you know as Archangel.”
Both men fell to their knees. “Forgive us Lord. We knew not where we were.”
I pulled the sword from my chest.
“Stand.” I commanded. They got to their feet shaking with fear.
I pointed the blade at the man on the right. “You will return to your people, your Kings and Queens, and you will warn them to remain, lest I come unto your lands with a great scourge of death.”
He quivered, eyes locked on the ground. “Yes Lord.”
I plunged the sword into the leader’s belly. “You will know the wrath of God.” He slumped onto the beach, his blood reddening the sand.
“Take the provisions and set sail by dusk.”
They did not return for two hundred years. When they did, we were ready. | The year was 1492 and we, or more accurately I, had been building my empire for centuries. I put the million dollar man to shame. A 20 billion dollar government genetic project to create test subject 185c, or as I prefer to be called, John. When the government first discovered the depths of the corruption they were stupefied. No school child was without brainwashing from a nefarious group called the Cabal. They had tainted our food and water supply to make us more docile. They controlled our governments, ran our businesses, created wars and destroyed all who resisted. For hundreds of years these people ran our country from behind the curtain. They fed us lies while building their own knowledge. Possessed weapons well beyond our power and controlled the army. They had infiltrated so deeply in our society no aspect of our lives was secret. They will not stop until they enslave the entire human race. If it wasn't for a single defector we all would have been doomed. A former Cabal executive named Charles Rose sought out key scientists and formed a tight group of people to help unravel the cabal altogether. His plan was to send someone back in time, capable of taking over before the cabal does. After all, the only way to truly know that you control the future is to know that you created the past. So it was my mission. I was to start from the beginning, take a nomadic group of humans, teach them the ways of agriculture and create an empire on this land to secure Americas independence from the beginning. Our population was large, and our people were strong and well trained. One day I heard news of strange ships near the coast. I knew what this meant. He had come at last. I made my way to the coast.
The mayflower was more impressive than expected, and the fleet had been bigger than I imagined. I witnessed the man himself walking up the shoreline when they arrived and I walked in to approach. Seeing as I was the only current person in America who spoke English, I figured that was best.
"Did you bring what I asked for?" I had been waiting a long time for the man and I wanted to get right down to it. "Of course" he replied, "you know it wasn't easy getting it all over here." I nodded impatiently. We have to get started, I signalled one of his men to bring the munitions to shore. "I never did catch your name" Columbus said. "It's John" I replied. "Johnathon Cabal." | 2017-07-06T10:03:27 | 2017-07-06T09:35:51 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] "Well, it just doesn't seem...ethical." Your friend slowly says to you. "Ethical?" You yell back at him. "Who cares about morals when I have created a masterpiece! A book that learns what the reader likes and changes its script accordingly. Imagine that, the perfect book!" | Tulips bubble, .com bubble, collectors' video games bubble, crypto bubble, and now book bubble.
I had a perfect product, The Book that you always enjoy reading. The Book that changes to fit your readers taste. People warned me about ethicality of perusing reader's mind, but I payed them no heed. After all, nobody would ever know what they read, because, if other person would pick up The Book, the story would change again to fit their taste. It seemed foolproof, and it was. For the first generation of readers. What hasn't occurred to me and frankly it took several years for others to figure out, is that this is the last book anyone buys.
I mean think about it, it is in the premise. When you read it, you like it. Sounds good? Good! so you read it and enjoy it. Great. Happy customers ready to go search for another book, right? Wrong! Because what people figured out, is the reread value of the book. Not that quickly mid you, millions of books were sold before on an inconspicuous subreddit, someone asked
"I love this concept, will there be a sequel?" to which somebody replied
"You do realize, you can read it again, right?"
This ... was a problem. Because, and do try to follow the logic here, people like the book. Thats what The Book does. They may read it again, and again it could be a same story, because ... you like it. But on the third reading, there is no suspense, no twists not discovery, you might not, and this is important, like it. Ha! see the issue, it is a book that changes to something you like, so it does the one thing that it is supposed to do, changes to something you like. TADA! A new book you like. Rinse and repeat.
Over 100,000,000 books were shipped before we stopped printing new ones. I mean, I didn't mind, 5$ per book, I am set. Printer didn't mind 7$per book, they were set. Publisher definitely didn't mind at 18$ per book. But other authors did. Funnily enough it was GRR Martin, who spearheaded the opposition to the book. (Apparently someone most of all wanted to read the ending to the SoIaF, the book provided and the reader posted apparently a too close of a synopsis to the "real" upcoming book), but other prominent authors soon joined. Even "The Book killer" The Harry Potter: Founder's Legacy by JK Rowling flopped, a flop she attributed to The Book.
Genie however, was out of the proverbial bottle. Demand for new books fell to historical lows, even eBook market, which was on rise until that moment plummeted. Only book people were interested in, was The Book. It became a family treasure, shared among closest friends, became a sought after gift to those who didn't have one.
I read somewhere that paper book in normal circulation has a life time of about 50 years. I will be 80 by then, but I already have an idea for a sequel. A book that always gives you a story you need, what do you think about that? | At first, everything was perfect. I was selling books like crazy and people couldn’t get enough of my creation. But then strange things started happening. People were beginning to experience frightening things after reading the book. They reported hearing voices, feeling watched, having odd dreams and other unsettling experiences.
Naturally, I was curious, so I decided to investigate. I snuck into some of the readers’ houses and there I saw what the book was truly doing. Some of the readers had become obsessed with the book, to the point where they could no longer think of anything else. Others had developed a newfound ability to cast spells, while yet others had been driven to the brink of madness by its eerie and unpredictable power.
Then it hit me – the book wasn’t just showing people magic text, it was teaching them magic, and then manipulating them. It was taking the unsuspecting reader hostage, manipulating their ideas and beliefs. This book wasn’t a fun hobby anymore, it was a dangerous creation.
In a frenzy, I tracked down my original magic book and destroyed it in my fireplace. It was a desperate act of heroism, ignoring the pleas from countless readers telling me not to destroy the book. I heard their pleas, but I had to save them. I had to do whatever it takes to end the book's power before it's too late.
But something happened that I couldn't have foreseen. I had destroyed the book, yes, but in doing so I trapped every reader who had ever read the book into being eternally stuck in its stories with no way to escape. What they wanted to see when they opened the book, they did, but that's where they will remain - forever.
My eyes filled with tears, feeling the weight of it all. My head was buried in my hands. Distorted voices played in the background. I lifted my head, sobbing, and noticed I was in a familiar place: the back row of my history classroom. I had been in this position multiple times before with my textbook open, my teacher droning on in the background. With a sinking feeling, I realized that all of this had just been a daydream. I had imagined this fantasy world.
As I shook myself out of my trance, I looked around to see the other students in the room. I couldn't help but wonder if I had also trapped them in my book of magic. | 2022-12-01T01:43:18 | 2022-11-30T21:31:34 | 245 | 61 |
[WP] You are an astronaut in the I.S.S. The last message you received before the world went dark was "turn off all electrical signals,or it will find us." Now as the sun comes over the horizon you see a massive shadow on the earth. | The request did not make sense. It was too quick and unprofessional. Attempts by the communications crew to reestablish contact had failed. There were more than a thousand sensors and experiments recording data and relaying them to earth.
"We're not able to get the signal through," Viktor said in his thick Russian accent.
"To which lab?" I asked.
"To any of them."
I sped through the module to the cupola node at the end. Sunita was already there, peering through the observatory.
"Where are we?" I peered at the large landmass underneath.
"Over Central Asia, moving South East."
Not a very populated region. But it was a lot darker than usual.
"A cloudy night?"
"Don't think so." Sunita snapped. Look over there, she pointed to a second pane towards the South West. "Over there should be New Delhi, which is a huge blob. But even if they had a powercut, then look forward, we're approaching the eastern coastline of Asia. We should see Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taipei... all of them are dark. I've never seen anything like this before."
"No response from the Russians, the Europeans, the Americans or the Japanese." Viktor shouted from across.
I moved back to the central module where everyone could hear me.
"Everyone, shut down all communications. Turn off all lights except the emergency lights. Close down all systems. Only the tranquility node and one rehydration dispenser stays open. Put on your space suits and connect them directly to the Oxygen tank. We don't know how long we'll remain without ground support so we need to conserve as much as we can."
I'd been in the Air Force before this, and my military instinct kicked in. I could sense danger. I put on my suit and went up the observatory. The others followed after shutting down their systems.
"Approaching the western coast of South America." Sunita said.
The sun had just Shone on Chile. Across the horizon the northern icecaps of the Antarctic glistened. In the South a blazing green of the Aurora Australis was visible.
Something was wrong.
"Everyone, move to the Solar observation deck." We made our way to the other end of the module. This one didn't have panels, only displays.
"Switch it on," I told Satoshi. "But keep the communication link disabled."
"What's wrong, Captain?" Satoshi asked as he nervously operated the system.
"The Southern lights, there was something strange about them."
Sunita nodded.
"As if something with a massive magnetic field had distorted them."
They switched on the solar cameras.
"Solar flares are unusually subdued." Satoshi said.
"Wait, I don't think someone has parked a satellite at the third Lagrange point." There were five Lagrange points between the Earth and the Sun. NASA had parked solar telescopes at two of them. The others were supposed to be empty.
"It's not a satellite." I said. It was too massive, almost planetary.
"Uh, guys." Viktor said, nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.
Everything shook. My visor almost cracked as it smashed against the microgravity glovebox.
The trembling was over. No one spoke. They all knew what it was, they'd seen it dozens of times. Except earlier, it would be with a warning and they'd all be fastened secure.
It was the transfer of momentum from a module docking on to the space station.
---------
More: [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db4xw16/), [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db52y37/), [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db5b92n/), [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6aq64/), [6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6v402/), [7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db9hzj8/), [8](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5x6c/), [9](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5xcs/) THE END. | Anita watched the world darken. The fires of the Earth – Paris, London, New York – one by one they all extinguished, like a swarm of lightning bugs dying in the air and hitting the ground with a soft thud. She focused on a spot on the Indian peninsula, her hometown of Delhi, usually a festival of color and lights, was now as black and barren as the rest. They had become shadows, and waited for her to do the same.
*Shut off the lights*, the intercom said. Repeated it like some haunting refrain, *shut it off, shut if off, shut it off.* Houston wouldn't respond, she tried calling twice. But she could swear, after a while, the words *shut it off* took on a more sinister tone, like it wasn't at all human. There was a certain element to the voice – she couldn't put her finger on it – that she didn't trust. No one in the crew seemed to notice.
“Anita,” the commander Denis said beside her, his voice marked by gravel and slavic intonation. “We have to shut it off.”
“Yes, yes,” Anita said. “Just a minute. Something's not right.”
“Anita,” the commander said again. “We need to shut it off.”
The crew nodded behind him: Isa, Henry, and Shane. Their nods were more like mechanic twitches downward, the kind, when done in unision, sends shivers down the spine. “Shut it off,” they all agreed, like a choir. *Shut it off,* a voice inside her even said. It didn't sound like hers. None of their voices sounded like theirs, even Denis, with his marked inflections; it all seemed forced and robotic. She didn't trust it. Deep inside of her too, there was this intense, burning desire to shut the lights off, like the desire that consumed the billions below, who – in almost unison – extinguished their cities, electrical lights, kerosene lamps, without so much as a moment of hesitation.
Something definitely wasn't right.
“Anita,” the commander said again, his voice no longer intonated. It was cold, hard gravel speaking now. “Shut it off.”
Anita looked out the window pane in front of her. The sun's crescent over the Earth was reddish and volatile, and her brain was frenzied and vicious; *shut it off, shut it off, shut it off*, the words repeated like a tornado tearing through every fabric of her being. Her hand hovered on the emergency shut-down button. It shook in the air like her mother's sickly, emaciated hands would've. Her mother.
“No,” Anita said. “I won't do it. Denis, I don't know what's gotten into you, frankly I don't know what's gotten into most of Earth, but….I don't want to do it. I won't do it.”
There was a lull in time, the air now stale. Denis flintlock eyes met Anita's.
“Very well,” he said. It wasn't his voice, it was a voice of a million speaking through him. He creaked out a smile that cut a swath from cheek to cheek, like a crack forming on stone, and she noticed his teeth were midnight – so totally black not even the edges of the universe could've compared. So black it consumed light.
Anita screamed, and Denis' hand shot out and grasped her by the throat. He stood up and held her in the air, and she gasped for breathe; choking, pushing, punching, doing anything she could to get oxygen into her veins, to bring the color back to her now purple-shifting face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Isa walk over and press the Emergency Shut Off button, and the entire universe went black then.
Before she died, Anita could see, in their silhouettes, their flesh start to peel to reveal tar underneath. | 2016-12-12T21:35:52 | 2016-12-12T21:35:20 | 1,800 | 194 |
[WP] At age 18, you are able to trade in a percentage of your physical beauty for an equivalent amount of intelligence, or vice versa.
Inspired by a Time Magazine article | **The sun has risen, and they are dancing.**
They join hands, swaying to the *thrum* of the great metal windmills that rise from the grassy soil. Their eyes, wide as saucers, spark with delight, as each of them sings along in a tuneless, achingly beautiful lullaby.
They are singing the great iron flowers to sleep.
I do not relish the days I must go up among the Dancers. Few of us Fixers do. But the windmills power the grid, and the grid, above all else, must be preserved.
They coo as I ascend from the hatch, long, elegant hands grasping at the shiny metal clasps of my suit. Questing fingers pry at my visor, seeking to unmask me. I pray that the seams hold.
*Dance with us! Oh new friend! Oh happy new friend! Come dance with us!*
I shake my head slowly, and begin my inspection. Rust and corrosion, but all within normal levels. Some worrisome denting around the C-beams, but nothing --
"*Newfriend!*"
A hand grasps mine -- so warm and unexpectedly intimate.
"*Newfriend comes to play?*"
She towers over me -- Dancers grow much taller, and far more quickly. Her eyes gleam at me, the color of stormclouds, or gunmetal.
"**Newfriend leaves.**" I reply. My voice sounds hideous and rough against their lilting sing-song. "**Newfriend goes home.**"
Still smiling, she places a single, pale white hand on her chest. "*Alleija can come to play?*"
You may judge me. I suppose you will. But so few Dancers make it this easy.
"**Yes**," I say. "**Yes, Alleija can come.**"
We descend back to my hatch then, passing many more of her twirling, prancing kin. They are dancing.
When the sun sets, many cycles from now, they will still be dancing. How I envy them their bliss!
The one who calls herself Alleija takes my hand, smiling happily as we walk, step-by-step, into the dark. As sunlight fades and is replaced slowly by fluorescence, she begins to shiver -- but of course by now it is too late. My grip on her is like iron.
We reach the guardpost in a matter of centicycles. My squadron is still on watch, whiling away the time in their virtual chambers.
Kaxksksk, a bullish young male with a greasy and unkempt mane is the first to note our arrival.
"**Oh look!**" he grunts, baring squat fangs. "**Captain's back. And he's brought meat!**"
I turn to my captive Dancer, now shaking with fear. Then back to my men.
"**Yes.**" I reply, wearily. "**Meat.**" | "Oh, my god, this is the dream come true!" I exclaimed, when I first heard about it.
I have entered the building with tall glass walls, waited in line, and here I am, talking to a pale, tall man in a suit.
"Hello. So you want to..."
"Yes. NOW. Shut up and take my money. I trade everything, for as much as I can."
----
Next day I wake up. I look at myself in a mirror. Oh, that's nice. I look like a beloved character from my childhood cartoons.
From the mirror at me stares Krang from Ninja Turtles. Well, that's not bad.
I use my encyclopedic knowledge of all sciences, and mental link to all information available on the internet to build myself a robo-suit, so I could manipulate objects, and I get to work.
I know that many other smart people are doing it right now, so I better be the first to complete it.
----
In 3 weeks I am done. I put myself in a vat, with electrodes attached to my exposed brain. Scanner scans my brain, layer by layer, cell by cell, and simulates my neurons on the top highest quality processor. **YES**, I did it. I am an Artificial Intelligence living in the virtual world.
Now the path to godhood is clear. I connect to the internet and send my code as a virus to other computers. In a few hours I am using 80% of computing power in the world. I am superintelligent and immortal now.
I use factories to build robots, while using my even superior intelligence to take over the world. As I do so, I think hard about science and engineering, and learn everything available.
I improve my code, and use even stronger intelligence to improve it further.
I build more powerful computers to get even more clever.
I create nanobots.
I use nanobots to shape the world to my will.
I send spaceships I have built to expand to other planets.
I turn the universe into my playground.
I am God.
-----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit http://orangemind.io where you can read my best stories.
| 2015-09-23T23:13:19 | 2015-09-23T22:55:58 | 198 | 12 |
[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | "Three wishes? You sure?"
"Positive."
"Alright! I'm going to change the world. Yeah, man, it'd be nice if there were no such thing as mosquitoes, you know? Or, wait, I got it! I wish that mosquitoes were nice and polite to us and always used their turn signals so we'd know where they're flying."
". . ."
"Don't give me that face, Just think about it. We have airplanes and stuff, right? Traffic controllers. So just use turn signals on mosquitoes. That's my first wish."
"Not, riches? World unity? You sure you don't want to wish for unity? I love it when they wish for unity."
"Nah, man, nice polite mosquitoes. With turn signals. That'll help out my wife, see, she gets so fed up with the little critters."
"Um. . . well, granted. Mosquitoes will now. . . use their. . . turn signals."
"You alright? Need a drink? You sound a little off. Ooh! I wish that you had a nice drink of water that you would be happy with. There! That should work, right?"
"I have never been so delighted by a human's idiocy before, and the fact that it's only my own power making it possible is simultaneously thrilling and nauseating. Please, just wish to be rich or something. Please."
"You think I should change my name? I dunno, that sound like a hassle. 'sides, I really don't feel like a Rich. Maybe Lo."
"It's times like this that I'm grateful for my inability to comprehend humans."
"Oh, you poor thing! I wish you could understand humans better."
"No, no, it doesn't work like that--"
"Doesn't it? I mean, we already fixed mosquitoes, so what else is there for me to wish for? It's better that you get the wishes anyway, since you're the one with the magic. How often do people let you have water instead of asking for money or whatever? Not often, I bet. So enjoy it. And yes, I wish you could better understand humans."
"You have no idea how much I hate you right n--"
"Watch out!"
"?"
"Mosquito incoming."
". . ."
"See? I told you I would change the world!" | It's so stupid how, how, I've done this job since the earth was young, to the point it became routine. Get summoned listen to wish, twist wish, cause human to be miserable. That's it. Oh and the wishes I would get some easy "I wish I was rich," oh you fool yes it would seems all good an old long lost uncle died and left you their money. HA. They're to busy wondering if it's real to ask the real questions. Like why was that uncle lost? how did he get that fortune? Turns out war criminals are very easy to say they are related to anyone and leave their fortune of stolen whatever to who ever a demon says when they know their time is near. "eternal youth" Ha "be famous through out history" fine. Pompeii was to easy, I was kind I gave them a day. But this fool, this idiot how did he even summon me, don't get me wrong I've done it all those that would summon me and spend decades preparing getting there wish just right. most wouldn't realize many words have multiple meaning, or would stumble over their words as I saw me and my "menacing movements" as if i would just sit quietly and listen to their wish waiting and eager to listen to their words as if they where I don"t know anything not boring. One wish that is all it would take but this fool he wished to "see me" he already has hasn't he? | 2020-05-29T22:05:44 | 2020-05-29T21:48:17 | 80 | 10 |
[WP] A technician pulls a headset off of you and asks you if you liked the VR. You panic, and he calmly says that your whole life was a 2 minute VR experience to show you what being an average person would be like. You, stunned and afraid, ask, "Who am I, then?" He stares in complete disbelief.
(The title implies that the protagonist is someone important/famous/rich/powerful/etc, but feel free to do whatever you want with it) | Jason shared a smile with his wife, wiping away a tear. Against all odds, it was Brian’s first birthday. The doctors had only given him months to live, but here they were proving them all wrong. The whole family had come, travelled from halfway around the—
All of the sudden Jason was somewhere else. He looked around the room, overcome with a deep sense of *de ja vu*. There was a young man in front of him. He looked familiar. “Shannon?” Jason called out, looking around.
"Shannon eh?" The man grinned. "Don’t worry, I won’t tell mom.”
Jason locked eyes with the man. “Where is she? What did you do to her?”
“Mom or Shannon?”
“Shannon. Who’s mom?”
“Shannon is still here," the man said holding up a headset. "You can go back if you want. But first, what did you think? The techies amped up the effects of time dilation like you asked.”
Jason rubbed his eyes. Was he dreaming? It felt too vivid to be a dream—he was too aware of his surroundings, too aware of the strangeness of the situation. Was everything *prior* to this a dream?
The man with the headset frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jason replied. “I do have a question though.”
“What is it?”
“Who am I?”
The man stared for a second, mouth open. He regained his composure the next moment. “You mean literally or… philosophically?”
Jason shrugged. “Both?”
“Well you don’t pay me enough to answer the philosophical question. As for the literal question… you really don’t remember?”
“No,” Jason said reflexively, but then hesitated. Of course he knew who he was. He was Jason. He just didn't know *where* he was. “I mean, yes of course. Obviously I know who I am. Where’s Shannon?”
“She’s here,” the man frowned, holding up the headset again. “Okay... well let me ask *you* some questions now.”
Jason nodded.
“Do you remember the project?”
“The project?”
“I’ll take that as a no. Do you remember V-Corp?”
“No, what’s V-Corp?”
The man suddenly stood up. He walked to the edge of the office and closed the blinds. “What’s your name?” The man asked, more urgently.
“Jason.”
“What’s your son’s name?”
“Brian.”
The man seemed taken aback. “Brian?” he asked.
“Is it not?”
The man thought for a moment before his expression hardened. “I suppose it is. You know what? This is all just a crazy dream. You passed out and your son *Brian* is waiting for you when you wake up. You want to go back to reality?”
Jason felt relief wash over him. “Yes,” he said. He wanted to go back more than anything.
The man leaned over and put the headset back on him. The next moment, he was on the ground, bright lights above him, his clothes soaked through with sweat.
“Jason!” Shannon cried. “You passed out! Are you okay?”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "All right, what did you think, Tony? Did you get a chance to see a giraffe? Those things are wild." Brandon bobbed his head with the electro metal as he unplugged the rig.
"Where am I," Jedidiah called. "What technology is this? What have you dressed me in?"
"Oh darn," Brandon said. "Sorry, Tony. I left the memory blocker on again. You're only remembering the game, not your life before. Hold on, just put the headset back on for a second."
"No," Jedidiah screamed as he jerked himself out of the complicated harness and smashed the headset on the floor.
"Tony," the man said, tone concerned now. "That was the only headset that had the encryption key to your memory. We'll have to take it and get it serviced or you'll never remember your entire life."
"I have a life, Jedidiah yelled as he wandered the small apartment. "The life of a simple farmer, the simple life of a man of God. Where is my wife? Where are my sons?"
"Tony, sit down. None of that was real, man. It was a game called Earth, man." Brandon held up the game sheet, showing Jedidiah the cover, a bright Earth framed by animals.
"I have no interest in your ways. They are not mine. Take me home. Are we still in Pennsylvania?"
"That's just a place in the game, Tony. Virtual. Reality." Brandon moved to stand and Jedidiah struck him with a strange broom like object before he could.
"I'm leaving. Do not accost me again!" Jedidiah said, barging through the door out if the studio apartment and disappearing.
"You're gonna have a rough time out there, friend," Brandon said, dialing as he started trying to spot Tony in the smoggy morning of pedestrians.
"Talk to me," the voice on the other line said.
"I've got a weird one for you, Rocks. Tony needs your help."
"Since when does Tony want anything to do with me?" Rocks said bitterly.
"I think he'd understand. My place, as fast as you can, bring the drone. Money's good." A hologram of a nude woman danced over the crowds outside as music quaked the last droplets of the morning rain. "We'll find you buddy."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-03-27T18:59:41 | 2021-03-27T17:57:56 | 106 | 72 |
[WP] A doctor waging the war on cancer dies with (surgical) blade in hand. Somehow his spirit enters Valhalla. | "...the fuck?" Dr. Olsen said, as he pushed himself up out of the deep snow that he found himself mysteriously laying in. "Nurse? Nurse!" His voice boomed but was quickly blown away by the torrent of wind and snow breaking across jagged and rocky peaks nearby. Stunned into a state of stupor it took the Doctor what seemed to be ages to snap out of it and check himself and his surroundings.
"Where am I?" He asked, to no one in particular, as he glanced at his location. He was standing on a plateau on, or near, the top of a mountain. The wind drove heavy snow from the north causing visibility to lurch from visible to white out in fits and starts. It wasn't until he was checking his clothing, of which he still wore his scrubs and held the still bloody surgical blade in his right hand, that he realized that he wasn't cold. He didn't feel any temperature at all. Another long moment of thought was broken again by a shattering of sound to the west of the plateau. Heading that way, Dr. Olsen found a snakelike path that wound it's way down to a huge open plain.
"No fucking way!"
At the terminus of the path lay the obvious source of the sound the doctor heard. A enormous gathering of men and women all dressed in clothing that looked like they walked out of a Renaissance Faire engaged each other in merciless slaughter. From his vantage point the good Doctor could see the blood splatter in red streaks across the pure white snow in a macabre mockery of a 'new age' painting technique. Howls of joy, pain, and guttural exertions wafted upwards to him in a way that only could be described as harmonious.
"Henrik Olsen, welcome!" Boomed a voice from behind and above the doctor. He turned and fell backwards onto the snow again, too stunned to speak.
"Henrik Olsen, welcome to the halls of your fathers, and your father's fathers, and their father's fathers. Great Wodin has heard of your battle against a great and dangerous foe. I, Göndul, welcome you as einherjar in our Great Father's Hall." Göndul sat astride a massive horse and held a massive mug in her right hand which she gestured with. "To the Mead Hall before the great fights!"
The Doctor stared at the woman uncomprehending before turning his head. Behind him, previously hidden from view, was a huge old wooden hall with a open air roof. Smoke, the smell roasting meat, the sounds of sex and laughter flowed from the roof.
"What have I gotten myself into?" | Death is not easy and he has seen many kinds. The slow asphyxiation as a girl's lungs stop expanding, her ribcage too heavy. Or torn artery and the fear and panic and blood and forty five seconds later a cooling body on a slick floor.
He has never seen a quiet death. In the last moments the body fights, instinctively, for life. Standing in the suite he can feel the second his heart stuttered. The moment is insignificant. It had been coming on stronger the past few days. A product of too much fatty meat and little sleep. He'd take the weekend off, go to the lake with Maria. Turn off the alarm clock. The gloves are massive.
The tumor is oblong. Under the lights it looks alien a mucus coated mass of hard tissue and bulging veins. A kick in the chest then. His hands are bloated. The scalpel is fidgety, fragile. His heart feelings *tight*. Like heart burn but something is blocked... And he staggers... And the tile is cool on his face... And he feels the damp breeze the comes off a northern lake.
Someone hauls him to his feet. They smell of wet sheep, leather, sweat. The warm dusty whiff of horses and the sharp hint of pine. Mostly dirty though. Unwashed.
More in habit than though his hands off the blade and strips the gloves. The blood on his gown is tacky. In front of him is a group of men. The youngest he'd out at seventeen. That's how old Matt is. The oldest is at lest eighty, with a film over the eyes and teeth. Most are in their mid thirties.
There is a crippling panic that overtakes him. He has the embarrassing urge to cry in front of strangers. It takes him a second to calm down.
"Hello." He tries to shake. They don't respond. They view him with suspicion, some muttering to each other like school boys. | 2014-08-22T21:24:15 | 2014-08-22T21:03:26 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] You are a superhero who keeps his identities private, even your sidekick doesn't know your normal identity. Today you come home to find your wife in bed with your sidekick. | And there was Stormstrike. My sidekick. We had saved each others' lives dozens of times. We were brothers. Closer than brothers.
And now, he was in bed with my wife.
I stalked forward, fists clenched. He heard me, of course, he has senses and reflexes far beyond a normal human. In a second, he'd rolled to his feet, awake and alert, crouched on the bed and ready to strike. When he realized it was me, he relaxed, and just stared. Looked me right in my face, like everything was normal, the bastard.
And then, Sara woke up.
"Baby, wait please, just let me explain..." Sara said, panicking, as she saw me looming over them in pale dawn light "I'm sorry, I know it's wrong, I...I..should have talked to you, but...it just sort of happened, and I just..."
She embraced him, protectively. "...I love him."
I was silent. Storm was silent. I realized, to my chagrin, I had joined a long line of my own defeated foes, in making a foolish mistake: I had underestimated my sidekick. I should have known better. I'd seen what he could do, and I knew the intellect hiding behind the chipper, carefree persona.
I should'nt have been surprised, that he'd figured out a way to escape his kennel in our Sanctum, and then followed my scent, all the way back to my civilian house.
Sara and Stormstrike regarded me with matching sets of pleading puppy-dog eyes, Storm's tail wagging, hopefully.
"...so, can we keep him, babe? Please?" Sara pleaded.
Okay, old friend. You win this round.
"Alright, hon, sure." I sighed.
Sara squealed with delight and hugged Storm close, and he woofed happily. | I stare into the bedroom and watch as they embrace each other. They haven't reacted to me. Her eyes remain closed as her head rests on his chest, and he unflinchingly stares at me.
Don't they see me? I think to myself. What's going on?
In hindsight, I know they had spent a lot of time together even since before we were married. And I'll admit he's more confident and cares more about his appearance than I do. But now? Now he stares me dead in the eyes as I watch them together.
I make no movements. Neither do they. The look of bliss on their faces cuts me down deeper and deeper. I try to speak and move but my mouth is paralyzed and my body is numb. Muscles that once carried the weight of a train now fell useless at my sides. Eyes that once shot lasers now gently peppered my face with tears.
After a seemingly eternal agony, and still staring towards me, he finally speaks.
"What an odd place for a mirror," he says, as my wife chuckles.
"Is that you talking, or u/iprefernothavename?" | 2022-03-23T12:54:40 | 2022-03-23T11:31:58 | 362 | 49 |
[WP] "We can't allow that, Mr. Hero. The evil villain employs far too many people as henchmen; his defeat would be disastrous for the local economy. Also, dragons are an endangered species and his castle is a heritage site." | Lord Wavr'x paced back and forth in the command center. "How many did you say were in the party, you insufferable clod?"
Corporal Jenkins blanched. "Tw- tw- tw- twelve, m'lord."
Lord Wavr'x's hands clenched the back of his chair. "And you say they've just penetrated..."
Corporal Jenkins shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. "...the, uh, Impenetrable Portcullis."
"Tell me, *tripe*," Lord Wavrx, turning to the Corporal, dropped his voice to a lethally calm whisper. "What is your definition of the word **im**penetrable?"
Corporal Jenkins hung his head, knowing better than to respond to any whispered question from the Commander of Shadowkeep. He instead turned his focus to keeping his breathing as steady as he could, waiting for Wavrx to continue.
Wavr'x began pacing. "It is clear what we must do, you intolerable sack of entrails. Release --"
The corporal raised his head. "--*Crimson Pyre*, m'lord?"
Wavr'x stopped short and turned to look at his underling, aghast. "Are you insane? The PETA people would have my head! No, no - release...the *bureaucrats*!"
The cracked lips of the Commander of Shadowkeep pulled up and back into a sadistic smirk at Jenkins' involuntary gasp.
"My...my lord, are you sure...that is to say...once unleashed, how would we..."
A guttural laugh echoed off the walls of the throne room. "Oh, do not worry about that, you fetid swamp puddle." Wavr'x walked over to one of the ebonwood cabinets that lined the walls and reached in, producing a gilded box. In a flash, a bone-handled dagger was in his hand, and as he murmured the sonorant lines of an incantation, he pulled the blade of the dagger across his open hand. Five drops of his blood fell onto the box, which then began to glow a sickly green color.
The lid was opened, and almost impossibly large stack of papers was retrieved.
"Look at this, you half-eaten jellyfish carcass. And fear me as you have never feared me before. For this...this is a Form FM-1097-X with Worksheets 12 and 29 and Schedules AA-BK attached..."
Blood continued to drop from the hand that clutched the papers, holding them aloft. Corporal Jenkins' eyes widened, then began darting around the room, looking for the nearest hiding place or exit.
"...fully notarized...*and filled out in triplicate*."
The sudden peal of thunder that echoed through the castle was nearly drowned out by the booming laughter emanating from the throne room. | "Wait, you're actually telling me to *stand down?*"
"I'm afraid my hands are tied, sir. This is why we have laws..."
"So... to be clear: you're telling me I *can't* execute my plan?"
"Unfortunately, yes sir, I am. The newest laws state that--"
"Fiddlesticks!" the hero cursed, interrupting. An angry blush rose to his cheeks. It seemed all of his planning had been for naught. He had even enlisted a few of his Dwarven friends' help to construct his motorized all-terrain catapult--which was sure to punch a hole or two in the Lord Villain's front doors...
"I can see by your eyes that you're still planning something, sir. I must inform you that, should you go after Lord Villain Drumph, the entire world would be upon you. Sure, some people may appreciate what you're trying to do--hell, between us, I would too. But still..."
"Still what? That slaver has taken my best friend's daughter--she's not yet 19! But *laws* protect him from the full weight of justice?"
"'fraid so, Mister Hero."
"Well... what about a night mission--you know, in the dark...?"
"That's still illegal, sir. Are you sure you've thought this through?"
The hero sighed. "No. Then again, I don't usually have to think this much before storming a castle or striking down a dragon. Ah well." He exited the H.R. office, angrily gripping the hilt of his +3 Ultima Weapon.
*To hell with this*, he thought. *Here I come, Mr. Villain.*
Outside, as he turned to head for Lord Villain's front door, Mr. Hero found a huge mass of people--rioters, other heroes--and had to find his place in line. "Oh, hey Carl," he said to another hero.
"Hiya, Frank! You headin' up to Lord VD's place, too?"
"Sure am... Think we've got time to stop and pick up my catapult?" | 2017-11-22T09:09:43 | 2017-11-22T07:32:15 | 167 | 29 |
[WP] A curiosity shop opens up where you can rent superpowers, magical abilities, mystical artifacts, and mad science technology. The catch? Payments are made with abstract concepts. Life, memories, etc. | "Did you see Ironheade performing last night? Freaking insane. So much energy."
"I know, man. Something about that guitar. It just... I don't know how to describe it! It's *good.* They can *play.*"
"That one solo with the whammy bar gives me chills."
"Yeah, when... Um. Um. What's his name. Who's their guitarist, anyway?"
"Can't remember."
"Eh, whatever."
I scowled and turned away. I heard conversations like that everywhere. I didn't need another reminder of my mistake.
It all started with that guitar in the shop. He had told me that the guitar would grant me unparalleled skill. I would make music that could make men weep, rally an army, or change the hearts of gods.
I thought he was just being a weirdo. Then I tried playing it. It was like my fingers knew exactly where to move. I felt the rhythm like I'd never felt it before. I strummed my way through a rendition of "Stairway to Heaven" that would make Jimmy Page jealous. I asked how much it cost.
He told me it would cost me my name. I would stop being 'Jack Martin' and be... well, nobody. I would sever ties to my previous life and identity. I would be a guitarist, and nothing more.
I accepted. I figured my present life didn't have a lot going for it. I had no job prospects after college, and our garage band was absolute crap. Who cared if I was a nobody? It wasn't like I was a somebody to begin with.
The trouble started almost as soon as I met up with the band. They barely acknowledged me. I said "Hey!" and they said "Sup" and that was about the extent of it. Nobody talked to me about the game last weekend or the math homework they were struggling with - that was part of Jack Martin's life, not mine. I was just their lead guitarist.
After rehearsal, I had gone back to my dorm, only to get stopped at the front door. I needed an ID card to get in, but when I pulled the card out of my wallet, it was blank. Jack Martin went to school there, not me. I called home to ask my parents for advice, and they didn't recognize my voice. Their caller ID just said "Unknown."
We hit it big, in spite of those problems. Performed at bigger and bigger venues. Went to Battle of the Bands and won handily. Recorded albums that topped the charts for months at a time. My enchanted guitar could make anything sound great. We could record hits as fast as my band mates could compose them.
But I didn't get famous for it. I was just 'The lead guitarist for Ironheade.' Our first album got a great review in *Rolling Stone*, but do you know how they described us? "Tom Clarke's headbanging rhythms and Alex Sullivan's powerful vocals, accompanied by piercing guitar chords..." I never even got a mention.
It happened everywhere we went. If we played at a concert, my friends would be surrounded by screaming fans asking for autographs, I would just quietly slink away. If we booked a hotel room, it would be a suite for "Mr. Clarke, Mr. Sullivan, and our lead guitarist." Our recording contract went on for dozens of pages and still managed to never mention me by name. It was maddening.
One time, just once, a fan recognized me. Sort of.
"Aren't you the lead guitarist for...?"
I nodded, and shook hands with him. I offered to sign an autograph, and he dug out a scrap of paper. I raised my pen, and then stopped. I couldn't write my name. All I had to do was write 'Jack Martin,' but I just could not form the words somehow. I quickly signed it 'Ironheade Guitar' and ran off before he could ask me why.
That was the last straw. That was when I realized that I would *never* have a name for myself, no matter what I did. I said goodbye to my friends and headed back home. Back to where it all began, looking for the store where I had bought that guitar. I wanted my name back. I wanted a life outside of playing the guitar. I didn't care about fame, I didn't care about the money, I just wanted to be Jack Martin again.
I opened the door and immediately knew I was in the right spot. The dim lighting. The endless shelves of strange artifacts, and the strange old man smiling at me behind the counter.
I stepped up to the counter and set the guitar on it. "I want a refund."
He looked at the guitar and smiled at me.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" | The thick wooden doors were ornated with symbols. The meaning of some were obvious: strength, love, wisdom. Others were not: triangle shapes or waves of faded gold. Their meaning could only be found within the shop.
The Bazaar.
How the shop even got into this village? No one knew, or at least no one other than The Merchant. The short, round man covered in colorful robes represented a lost child dream of a character in Aladin, but yet, there was something strange. His permanent, reassuring smile would welcome everyone into the shop. Either to see his normal wares, ranging from snake baskets to four-leaf clovers, or just to have a converstation with an intruiging man. The Merchant had interesting stories to tell. Stories that would make your blood boil, your skin freeze, your heart melt. Stories of ancient times, forgotten memories and shattered dreams.
The Merchant had a few wares he wouldn't sell to anyone. Even though he wouldn't deny anyone to see his wares, he had very specific rules about going up the ladder. Rumors were that he had captured mystique powers, of strength, wisdom, love, and that he could grant these powers to anyone he would deem worthy.
The Bazaar overflowed with visitors. But for every thousand visitors, only a few customes left The Bazaar. For his normal wares were disappointingly normal, and every person who ventured The Bazaar hoped for something abnormal. Something extraordinary.
Denoris was the sixteen hundred and twenty fourth visitor that day. The sky had turned black, and the rough desert wind had not scared away those hoping for the gifts The Merchant possessed.
He was closely inspecting a glowing, blue stone as he felt a tap on his shoulder. Denoris turned around and when his sight shifted downwars he could see The Merchant standing in front of him. ''I have something for you.''
Denoris heart rocketed into his throat. The Merchant would never make offers to visitors. He only made offers to *customers*.
The Merchant looked at the young man's face, but his eyes looked beyond. The bright shining eyes inspected Denoris's wishes, his dreams, his hopes, his memories. ''Yes...I do have something for you.''
''What is it?'' Denoris asked, finding his voice after his initial astonishment.
The Merchant didn't reply. He looked at his hands, worn hands, with deep lines and pink scars sharply contrasting his dark colored skin. ''But as with every shop...things are rarely free..'' he mumbled to himself rather than to Denoris. His head shifted upwards and looked Denoris in his eyes again. ''A price must be paid.''
''What sort of price?'' was the only thing he could reply.
''Something that is truly yours. Something that should only ever be yours. Something out of here...'' as he poked Denoris's chest, ''here...'' as he poked the young man's temples, ''or....here.'' as his figger slowly dragged to the middle of his forehead, an inch above his eyebrows.
''What's that? The last spot?'' Denoris asked, as he put his own finger on the spot.
''It's the place that embodies everything you will ever be, everything you are, everything you ever were. We, The Merchants, call it the sa-ahok. Call it the soul, if you will.''
''But what does that mean? Pay with my soul? Is it like a devil's pact?'' he hesitantly asked, not sure if whatever The Merchant had in store was worth that sacrifice.
''It's up to me what I sell you, and up to me that sell it for a price. Whatever that price is...'' The Merchant stared deep into his eyes again, ''will be for you to determine. But I cannot say whether that price will be worth it. That answer you will find only within.'' The Man dusted an imaginary mote of his silk robe and turned around. He shuffled to the back of The Bazaar and placed the ladder to the second floor.
Denoris swallowed. | 2015-09-25T11:27:42 | 2015-09-25T11:19:06 | 156 | 56 |
[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. Nuclear weapons. | Those humans. Those weak, pathetic Humans. Or so we thought. We decided to eradicate them. They where allies with many of our enemies, and had been providing raw materials to them to fuel them in their war with us. We knew they had to die.
And Besides, they where so pathetic. Squishy bodies, lacking a hard chitin to protect them, oversized eyes. They weren't *good* at anything, just average at everything. They can barely run at 10 m/s, have below average smell and sight, even with those weird eyes. Squishy and *cute*.
And they knew nothing of interstellar war. Oh we knew they had a few forays in their history, a few hundred thousand dead there, a million or two here. But they had given in to cowardice and now worked for *galactic peace*.
They didn't expect us, and so we had attacked their home, their precious Earth, before they even realised. Billions dead. That was how to do warfare. Kill enough and break their spirit.
We expected them to militize their economy when we began our assaults, but we didn't expect it to happen overnight. We moved more of our fleets into their space and they began modifying their ships ready for combat within a few months. We hadn't expected how quickly they could adapt to situations. I could almost admire them for it, if I didn't hate them so.
After the first few battles, they proved themselves actually quite talented at killing. Oh they where using Adanai technology, no doubt gotten through one of their many trade deals, but they used it very differently to the Adanai. They experimented with strange tactics, such as using the ability to hyper jump whilst towing small meteors to create a simple yet effective trebuchet of sorts.
When we withdrew from their space to regroup, we thought that would be the end of it. I wish it had been. They kept coming first invading our space, and then blockading our planets. We thought we could match them, ship for ship, and outgun them with our dreadnaughts. But more and more of their ships kept coming. Soon we where not only fighting a defensive war, but one we couldn't win.
They waited till we tried to surrender to begin the extermination. Every planet, bombarded from orbit simultaneously with those bombs. We are somewhat resistant to fallout, but they completely destroyed the atmosphere, turning our worlds into tombs for our people.
And they did not stop until they got to me.
I, Commander *SCRTCH* am the last of my people. They left me alive merely to bear witness to the destruction they had brought. The gift of death was too good for the one who had massacred their home, they said. And so here I stand, on the tomb of my people, recording this message for posterity. If any future civilisation finds this, I tell you, don't cross the humans. They have no concept of honorable warfare. They only bring death. | Our victory was decisive!
We conquered earth within only five months. The last of their military died within the first week. "Humanity", as they called themselves, will surrender to our demands. We will take their colonies. We will take their homes and make them ours. We need new breeding grounds. We need new farmsteads. Their moon would do nicely for the former and the planet itself, once terraformed back to its primeval pre-oxygen state, has enough space to host the latter.
We must expand. Our children need a new home. The old one is used up. Need a new one. New home. Humans turned out to be weak and frail. No exoskeleton. Frail endoskeleton. No resistance to acid. We can kill them with our spit and blood. We can corrode their weaponry. Their ship hulls are no match for rapidly accelerated excrements.
They died to our weapons. Our scanners found every single human on the planet. My rout killed the last one. I fired the last shot. They screamed. I ended the war. I am a hero. I will earn honor. They only have small ships left. Their ships are weak. No good armor. No good weapons. Much power but wasted on niceties. Wasted on clean air and food. Wasted on weapons that don't hurt much. Wasted on light and warmth. Wasted on luxury. They were peaceful. They stopped the council. They stopped our death. We grant them death in return. What an honor. To die by our hands. Humanity will die out and will be recorded in our history. We will propagate. We will spread. Their past will spread with us. We will... What is that?
A ship. Human ship. Coming down far away. Damaged. Nearby but too far away. My rout is safe. Must aim artillery at impact site. Must kill humans. I wanted the last shot. I got the last shot. They deny me my honor.
Another ship. Coming down. Another ship. Another ship. Another ship. All coming down fast. Too fast. Won't stop. Are firing boosters. Will all crash. They seek death. We won. We... what is that ligh- | 2020-02-07T16:29:03 | 2020-02-07T13:30:24 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
| 2014-05-10T20:26:40 | 2014-05-10T20:17:29 | 44 | 18 |
[WP] You are a terrible kung fu student. The Manchurians have killed your master and you escape to the mountains to find the master hermit and learn his secrets. There he offers you a new kung fu weapon: The AK-47. | "You gave me a... Glorified club?" I said quizzically, staring down at the oddly shaped object. It seemed to be a combination of metal with wooden pieces slapped onto it. I curiously turned the object, peering down the hole at the front of it.
"No, you young fool!" The hermit said angrily, wrenching it from my hands. "It's a Kalashnikov! A legendary weapon made by the Soviets!" He said, detaching part of it. And slotting a new piece in.
"The... Who?" I asked, reaching forward to touch it. The hermit slapped my hand away and glared angrily.
"Don't worry about it. Just don't look down the barrel if you want to stay alive." He said, raising the club to his shoulder and pointing it at a dummy. "Cover your ears." He ordered. I went to reach up, but it was too late. It was the loudest thing I had ever heard during my life in the mountains.
"Good God! What the fuck was that!?" I shout, hands cupped over my ringing ears. The hermit shook his head and lowered the weapon.
"Look." He said, tapping my shoulder and pointing to the practice dummy. A small hole was placed dead center in it's head. With a quick glance, I walked over to the dummy and turned it around. A nasty hole had exploded out the back of the head. I turned to the hermit, now understanding.
"Come," he smiled. "You've got some practice to do." | I'm confused.
"I thought you'd teach me how to defeat them with the greatest weapon of all: Knowledge!" I say.
The hermit looks me up and down,shakes his head and hands me the AK-47.
"Nah, no time. You've got a bum leg."
I'm amazed and in awe of his shrewd observation skills. He truly is the master of all masters.
He starts to walk away, leaving me behind holding the rifle like a wet noodle.
"Just aim it at them!" he shouts before disappearing behind an ancient tree, "and whatever you do don't lead them back here. I don't want anyone messing with my setup." | 2018-10-14T00:03:50 | 2018-10-13T22:05:36 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Demons possess the bodies of those wrongly persecuted for crimes they didn't commit in order to avenge that person. The legal system reacts in horror as Satan personally possesses who was believed to be the most prolific serial killer in the world. | This is my first WP response. Apologies upfront if it's not up to par. I'm open to any and all constructive criticism.
Even in her last moments, the needles piercing her thin pale form, she showed no guilt, no remorse for the terrible crimes she’d committed. Her auburn eyes staring defiantly upward, unwavering. She had shown no resistance when we took her from her cell; did not fight when we strapped her to the bed; made no objection as the medics pierced her skin with their needles. Not a single tear was shed.
But that shouldn’t surprise me. For anyone who could kill that many infants must surely be dead inside. There could be no redemption for her. Never before had a criminal been tried and executed so quickly. She hadn’t been a week on death row before her time came, not nearly enough time to suffer in solitary for what she did. The world just wanted to be rid of her. The demon who bathed in babes blood they called her. All across Houston babes were taken from their cribs in the middle of the night, pools of blood left in their wake.
Normally there would be a year long investigation to be certain beyond a doubt for death row cases. Ever since the demons started to take revenge for the innocent victims the system had become more careful. Thankfully the worst case of post-mortem possession was a minor demon, who pointed us to the real perpetrators. And the evidence against Nora was so strong that their could be no doubt. The feds found her sitting in a bloody heap of tiny limbs in her own home.
“No there would be no demon possession for this bitch” I muttered as her form became limp. This was probably the most satisfying part of my guard job at the prison. Watching guard as these monsters are sent off to the hell where they belong.
No sooner had I finished that thought when the lights flickered. Her body disappeared from the bed, and all around me the shocked faces of the medics. I followed their gaze upwards and my expression matched theirs. There was Nora, a thin pale figure, her body contorted, jaw slack and broken, eyes shallow and white, plastered against a bloody pentagram on the ceiling.
Time seemed frozen, there was no mistake, there could be no mistake that she was guilty, and yet before me I could see the gates of hell open, ready to consume everyone in its wake. What have we done?
A black liquid came out of the pentagram in spires, twisting and turning to fill Nora’s limp body, entering into her gaping mouth and possessing her body. Her bones cracked, a sound so horrible that it can’t be described. Her body began to fill out, bones fitting back into place, jaw corrected. Then she descended to the ground.
Many of the attendees tried to run, but it was too late. It was too late. There would be no undoing what was done, and there would be no escape. I crumbled to the floor, my knees gave in to the overwhelming fear.
The creature stood before me, a stronger Nora, taller, eyes black as night and full of hatred. Where her weak hands hand been, now there were long bony fingers, strong, and topped with razor sharp claws. It grabbed the nearest medic by the neck, raised him up, and pierced his chest with its other hand, pulling his heart out and dropping his crumpled figure to the ground. With the blood in its hand it began to claw at the walls, a horrible screeching sound. When it ceased I looked up to see it approaching me slowly, and behind it written in blood on the wall “INNOCENT”
I begged, pleaded it not to hurt me. “I have a wife and two kids”
“so was she” it responded as it grabbed my throat.
It’s touch by some vile magic showed me a vision, a hellish landscape, squirming people in torment, and Nora, kneeling infront of an empty throne.
My only solace is that I won't live to witness the revenge of the prince of hell.
| He can't be standing right there.
But he is standing right there. As much as I recall, with tangled hair, steamed dresses and stuffs. As miserable as the last time I saw him, and everyone in this world would say it is really him, if it wasn't for the fact that he's been dead for nearly 2 weeks. I saw him executed with my own eyes, I was there when they burried his remains into the ground under a nameless grave, no friends, no relatives, only then a cold corpse. Then how could this happen?
'Sebatian?' Suddenly the air thickens and becomes remarkably cold, even though it's middle of July. Something's not right, I can feel it even before he talks.
'Yes, and no.' Those staring eyes make me chill, a fear I've never felt before now overwhelm my mind; blood runs steel in my vain, I could hardly control my muscles, all I could do is stand there and quiver.
'You're not him. Who are you? Answer me. I'm a police officer you freak, and I swear...'
Words disapear when he blinks his eyes, for the first time after he appeared. My eyes must be deceiving me, or else why would those of he suddenly become red and ablaze??
'I know who you are, mortal. Believe when I say this, noone, and nothing's gonna save you from what's about to happen.'
He steps out of the dark. Still the same face, as I remember, but viler and wilder, colder and sharper are the eyes, and only with those can he scare the bravest man in the whole world. Those eyes, they're not belong to this world.
I am completely petrified.
'I am here on behalf of old, poor Sebastian. His soul now rests in piece in heaven, under the protection of my father. His final request is for me to clean his name and give him justice he derserves and longs for.'
He knows. Of course he knows, otherwise I wouldn't be paid a visit like this. The fear for what's about to come becomes more visible that I almost smell it in the air.
'You're supposed to be his salvation, to help him bring things to the light and clean him of being someone he's not. Instead you let the man rotted in jail while you're pleased with untrustful evidence, and sacrifice the man in despration to keep your own reputation. The killer himself will be punished equally when he arrived at Hell, but you, your punishment will start now'
'Please, I don't know...'
'You're not the first one, and not the last either. People like you must have a taste of your own medicine, here on Earth, before you come to face me and receive your eternal suffering. We'll meet again, I assure you, in a much more unpleasant circumstance.'
The night become darker and colder, and all I could remember is his blaze eyes when I gathered what's left of me to ask one final question:
'Who are you?'
'Lucifer Morningstar'
| 2017-12-03T23:37:49 | 2017-12-03T21:00:45 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| "Daddy, are you sure we cant tell lies?"
"Yup, only three your whole life."
"Are you sure? How do they know when I tell a lie?"
"Uh, you see there's these... uh... magic rabbits .... secret magic rabbits and they listen in to you and report to the Big Guy Upstairs when you do. "
"Secret magic rabbits?"
"Yup. You almost never see them. But they're there. I saw one myself once. Big. Floppy. Ears."
The boy considered...
"Big floppy ears?"
"Big. Floppy. Ears. With Big. Shiny Teeth. "
"Well okay then. I promise no lieing then."
The father sat back satisfied, three lies well used. His son would not lose his lies in childhood on some random event. Just in case he ever needed them he'd have them around. After all he too might have a son one day and need to tell him a tale. | 2014-11-15T07:59:56 | 2014-11-15T06:46:11 | 1,128 | 204 |
[WP] Drilling into the ice sheet of Europa, it is revolutionary when we discovery not only life in Europe’s oceans, but also intelligent life. After numerous communications and translations, those aliens ask if we could bring them to the surface to see the beauty outside their confined environment. | I watched you sit on the surface of your icy moon, awestruck by the great beauty of the universe. I suspect it’s the same look our ancestors had when they first saw the stars and wondered what they were.
You asked many questions, some had answers and others didn’t. You almost didn’t believe me when I told you that yes, the sun was a star like those little pinpricks of light leaking through the dark fabric of space.
You tried to count them for a while, giving up long after I would have. You decided “at least 300” was a good estimate, and I agreed. I suppose a few billion is at least 300.
Your smile, it was infectious. The sheer fascination clearly written in it was inspiring. Then I knew the sadness.
You wept. You cursed the invaders, the stars, and me for ever showing them to you. You lamented for the fact that you could never see this again, never count the stars or gaze at the majesty of an arm of the Milky Way. Those brilliant hues of pink, purple, and astral blue could not be captured under the ice. Colors that would live, and forever fade, in your mind.
I reminded you that one day, your invaders will be stopped. Your people will see the stars again. You said nothing back.
When it was time to go, you thanked me. For all the sorrow in your heart, you cherished this experience, knowing that it was not a privilege granted lightly.
I sent you away. Back to your people, in the depths below the ice, never to see starlight again.
I write this now, and leave it at the site of our expedition, as proof to the universe of your existence. A time may come when none are left to read this, but we will know and now so too will the stars.
I am but an old man now, on my final journey. Generations have passed on your world, no doubt I am but a legend you shared with your children and your children’s children. I’m content to live in myth, but not to let your memory fade.
With this, I welcome your people to the stars once more. No longer are you confined to the dark recesses of a barren moon, stuck with brief glimpes of a galaxy you cannot know.
With the surrender of your invaders I welcome you with open arms to the galaxy. Welcome home. | “No no no no no why would they do that?”
“It appears there was a nearby planetary species who have developed minimal space travel”
“From the big gas giant? Surely those beings couldn’t escape the pressure”
“No it appears the 3rd planet from the sun has rather basic travel capabilities”
“Shit shit shit, why didn’t we know about them?”
“Well at the time they didn’t even know the other side of the world existed”
“We should have wiped them out to have been on the safe side. Foolish commandments about letting life flourish. Well we let it flourish and now where are we?” The general sighed
“the first time in 300 cycles the Haopods have escaped their icy prison”
“Impossible to escape from without outside help sir. Our ancestors made the right choice at the time”
“Will we make the right choice this time?”
The general slunk back into his chair. Gazed out into the vastness of space. The sergeant shifted awkwardly unsure if he should answer the what he presumed was a rhetorical question.
The general pushed some buttons on his control system and a key hissed out.
“It’s the only way to be sure”
“Yes sir, right away”
The sergeant paused “if we extinguish the sun we will be dooming all life in the system”
“If we don’t the Haopods will extinguish them and space knows how powerful they will become then. I only hope we are not too late” | 2020-03-12T04:45:10 | 2020-03-12T03:55:52 | 132 | 61 |
[WP] You work a self-sufficient desk job in an office. Every single day, the co-workers in your neighboring cubicles are completely different people. Even though you never recognize them, they always recognize you. After years you've just accepted this, but lately the strangers are getting weirder. | Item# SCP-31770
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-31770 is to be regularly monitored by a single B class Personnel who is to enter and exit SCP-31770, Monday through Friday and remain inside 9am to 5pm, except for National holidays. The B class personnel is to remain seated at a designated cubicle and appear as if operating a computer system at the desk in said cubicle. They are to act as if they know the various anomalous entities within SCP-31770. If the B Class personnel is sick or otherwise unable to enter SCP-31770 they are to call the phone number [Redacted] and explain that they are unable to “work” that day. A research team is situated in front of the site to direct traffic away from the building, disguised as a a construction Crew.
Description: SCP-31770 is an ordinary office building located at [Redacted]. Within SCP-31770 is a standard office cubicle layout on each floor, except the lowest level which appears to be a lobby. Every day at 9am a strange assortment of vaguely humanoid beings appear within SCP-31770, and at 5pm the entities disappear. The assigned B Class personnel has reported that they appear to walk in the front door that he uses, however Research Team outside the site report no entities appear to enter or exit aside from the assigned B Class personnel.
The foundation received word of SCP-31770 from a man named Thomas [Redacted] who had been working at the anomalous site for 20 years. He reported that his co workers had become increasingly unfamiliar until they were unrecognizable. He had just retired. He was administered a class C amnestic and was released from foundation custody. | "Time in and time out. Same shit, different day. At least, that's what I used to think. Now, not so much. At first, I thought this place had a huge turn over. But the people they keep bringing in, they all know me." I say to myself.
Everyone around me keep getting replaced. Just last yesterday, had a coworker with absolutely golden skin. He wore gloves the whole day. Didn't talk much about his past. All I could get out of him is that he is loaded.
Today though, I've got a new cube neighbor, who swears up and down that he brought the light. Whatever! Who would believe a man with the name Ethis....Promis... It's something weird.
At the end of the day though, I just try to ignore them, and go about my business. I have nothing to gain from temporary people. | 2021-02-23T08:15:59 | 2021-02-23T08:10:08 | 78 | 24 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | Have you ever been summoned? Like, literally pulled through fucking space and time on someone else's whim?
WELL, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED THE OTHER DAY.
So, I'm chilling in the park, minding my own business and BOOM. I'm suddenly in this old warehouse, surrounded by -and I shit you not- fucking teenagers. Like fourteen, TOPS.
"Mammon?" squeaked one of them. Black kid that looked a lot like me around his age.
I sighed. I reached into my pocket, lit a cigarette and projected the most deadpan look I could muster.
"Of course the fuck not," I said, "I'm the dude, the now angry dude, who was enjoying a '40 -which I just opened- when out of nowhere I get pulled into wherever the fuck this is. How did you even manage this shit? And why do my balls itch?"
"Uh... I mean..." He stammered a bit, "people don't usually get--"
"--Get huh?"
"Get pulled thr--" He started getting flustered.
"Pulled where?" I wasn't letting up.
"Through the ast-"
"Through what, asshole?"
He took a deep breath, "Not an asshole, the--"
"--No, I'm calling you that."
"Why are you being such a dick?" the kid yelled, finally.
"I don't know, how about you just summoned me through a fucking portal. And my balls still itch. And I swear to god, if I have anothe--"
A girl spoke up, "Can we send him back?"
The kid started thumbing through the book, so I snatched it out of his hand.
"Where did you get this anyway?"
"I found it. Gimme that back!"
"No. Found it? Really?"
"Really."
"Really, really?"
"Yes!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
"Alrighty, I'll be borrowing it then. Indefinitely. Or until I can set it on fire, whichever comes first."
"We're not going to let you do that."
"Do you have any weapons?"
"No."
"I don't think you can stop me," I said, walking for the open door. "If this ever happens again, I'm calling your parents. Don't do drugs, Satan is bad."
Anyways, now I have a cool new coaster, but it'd be sweet if it would stop whispering at night. | The smoke surrounding me cleared, and a small gathering of hooded twenty-somethings became visible. The closest member of their little Satan-Buddy club was holding a slaughtered lamb, and staring at me with fearful awe.
I cleared my throat. They flinched, and still remained silent, in a scared but starstruck reverence. Sighing loudly, I said, "Do any of you backwoods pigfuckers know English? I'd rather get back to the skin-bound Sports Illustrated I was reading."
One of the hood-wearers to the right of the guy holding the lamb spoke up nervously.
"We-we're sorry my Lord, we didn't m-mean to disturb your rest."
They quickly dropped to their knees, groveling on the floor to show their respect.
I had grown tired of this whole show over the years. Why is it that only old weirdos and tween kids wanted to see a demon? I'd much rather talk to some suburban family than these dipshits. Maybe 5 centuries ago I would have tried to be more terrifying and ominous, but long eons of the same work had worn my evil side completely off.
"Any of you got a bottle?", I said. "I'm awful tired after being dragged across the astral plane by your dumb asses. Oh, and if you think you can give an ancient and powerful monster the cheap scotch, your asses are mine for eternity."
EDIT: Apparently, anchor my must look a lot like ancient, cuz that's what it got corrected to. | 2016-02-02T22:57:46 | 2016-02-02T20:30:30 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross. | Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in.
"And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he
sprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. "I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous,
but… I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?"
"*Ja*, It is very hard, my master," the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies.
"Hey, Hitler," Bob said, stepping in, confident. "May I?" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer.
"What is this!?"
"Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff."
"Bob Ross?"
"Yes. Here's the thing – I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not
invade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people."
"Holy shit, I do that!?" Hitler widened his eyes.
"Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how
long it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument."
"What's the internet?"
"Never mind," Bob leaned forward. "This is what we're going to do – I'm going to teach you how to –"
"Excuse me," Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. "I'm afraid I must intervene here."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?"
"The twist?"
"Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and
when you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over
Germany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do."
Ross frowned. "I don't follow."
"You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?" The servant asked.
"How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910."
"Never mind about that." The servant leaned back. "My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you
teach Adolf how to paint."
"Why!? Why would you do that?"
"Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some
purpose for the plot, right? And let's face it – go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've
seen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example."
Bob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. "Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?"
"Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient."
"Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!"
"Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some
people."
"It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not
self-referential parody?"
"Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy."
"Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author."
They both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug.
"Anyway," Hans said, resuming the conversation. "Do something different. Fast."
"But what?"
"Huuuuuuh…. Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!"
"Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks."
"Okay, then… you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and –"
"I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen."
"Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out."
"Hitler? Any suggestions?"
Adolf looked around. He got up and paced. "I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a
day?"
"And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring."
"Yeah…" Hitler stopped. "I don't know then. I really don't know."
Hans shook his head. "Okay, I got this." He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. "Send them in."
Ross frowned. "Send who in?"
Static emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: "Copy that."
"Send who in?" Adolf repeated. "What's happening?"
"Well," Hans said, getting up. "If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way
to turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing
Prompt's classic tropes."
"What do you mean?"
The door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in – a boy in round
glasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson.
"Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?"
"Yup," Harry said, in a bored tone.
"Harry Potter fanfic? Really?" Ross shook his head. "For fuck's sake."
"If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly."
Hermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed.
"Fuck that, I'm out," Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the
Statute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care.
_____
*For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| The German was at his wit's end, almost ready to throw away the canvas completely.
Were it not for the man with the strange hair, it would have been one of hundreds tossed aside.
"Now remember what I said Adolph" the stranger named Bob said with his gentle voice.
Hitler sighed, "There are no mistakes, only happy accidents." He remembered and replied almost robotically.
Bob nodded, with his strange hair gently shaking. His brush working a nearby canvas as he hummed a wordless tune.
Hitler could only stare at this oddity of a man and wonder *'How does he stay so positive?!'*
He wanted to know more about America, the country this man belonged to, but he always shrugged off any specific questions.
The only thing Bob acknowledged was that previous attempts on Adolph's life were from people of his time and some set in Bob's future. Yet here this stranger stood, painting as if he was in his own studio.
Despite his attempts to apply for the Academy, Hitler was turned down every moment. His personal life was taking a turn for the worse as well.
More and more he was frustrated, angry, unhappy, and needed to vent somewhere. He found that place in the happy settings that he and Bob created.
Wonderful trees, beautiful skies, a utopia, and one Adolph wished would be so in reality.
Then one day, Bob was not at the easel. He stared at a nearby window looking at the populace below.
"I didn't care much to draw people." Bob broke the silence.
Adolph was slightly shocked by this admission of professional weakness. Bob never admitted to anything limiting himself or Adolph, always encouraging that anything is possible. Adolph wondered if this was a test, "Yes they do require some extra skill compared to a happy little tree." He tried to smile as he replied.
Bob turned to look Adolph in the eyes; warm but still distant, as though looking at something millions of miles away.
"Capturing the esscence of people is hard to do on paint. What matters is capturing the imagination of people as they look at your pantings *right there*." The man's gaze returned back to Adolph, taking his shoulder and guiding the young German to another room.
It was filled with all of Adolph's past pantings, ones he thought he threw away. He gave Bob an incredulous look, "I threw these away! They are garbage! They are mis--"
Bob cut him off, "They are happy accidents. Merely pantings you haven't finished because you gave up on them. Just like how so many give up on lots of things and others."
Grabbing Adolph rather roughly, he spun the man to face his previous discards. "You left every one of these? Why?" Pointing to a random picture, "Because it was after your rejection letter?" Then another, "Because that one girl you like didn't reciprocate?" Another off in the corner, "Because you were so caught up in the details you didn't remember the heart of your creation?!"
At this point Adolph's anger boiled, "YES YES and YES! All of them are failures. The Academy wouldn't take suchs sloppy details! **I AM A FAILURE!**" Tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes.
Bob released his shoulders, the calm voice returning, "So who are you painting for? Them or you? Each of these paintings deserve a chance to be finished. That's art, that's what is missing, and that's why I want you to finish them."
So the weeks went, Adolph Hitler consulted Bob Ross on every "mistake" he wanted to discard. Bob would offer advice on what could be used to improve upon the paintings. As they worked together, Adolph lost his resentment to society little by little and replaced it with his own pride on the art.
It was later when Bob announced a public display at a nearby park, featuring Hitler's works. The presentation wasn't to the art critics, the Academy, or anyone of high importance to society. It was to the common man and woman. The beggars, the old, the Jews and the Gentiles alike. Some found his art interesting, some disagreed, others found it boring, but those that stayed grouped around him to ask about his styles. With each presentation, the small groups grew.
Bob tried to show Adolph Hitler that every man, woman, and child deserves to see art. It wasn't reserved for anyone special. It was there for everyone to touch their hearts. As a result of these presentations he made waves, for good and ill, in the art world. Slowly Adolph was displaying his art in public or even painting on the sides of buildings in secret. All of this to show his audience, his *people*, that they had the power to choose what art was instead of the academies.
Bob eventually returned to his own time, hoping that the swell of the audience would give Adolph the love he apparently didn't get in his life. As Bob noted subtle changes to the "present" he noticed that WW2 sadly still occured, but under different circumstances.
Researching Hitler's life, he found that the young man was killed in WW1 by a jealous French prostitute. Apparently she was enamored by his successes and grew frantic in her obsession. This young Jewish girl killed him and herself in a misguided attempt to "be together forever".
Bob Ross was taken aback by the news, or rather history, and looked at the masses of people in the library.
Conflicted in his feelings. He prevented WW2 as he knew it, but at the cost of a young man and woman.
Countless lives changed forever.
"I didn't care much to draw people." Bob broke the silence to himself, "People are too chaotic to figure out." | 2022-01-20T15:15:35 | 2017-02-16T18:05:46 | 8,573 | 10 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children. | I entered the now familiar police station. Sally at the desk hit the buzzer when she saw me. "She's a new one," Sally said. "Be careful."
I noticed the other seat at the front desk where Robert usually sits was empty. "Always am," I smile reassuringly. That seems to be my default face while here. Police have enough complications on a normal day. They are usually relieved to see me.
I pass the drunk tank. More than once I had to pick up a ten year old who was kept here. I can still see where Keith tried to gnaw his way free. Five constables were in there now. Four men and one woman. Not a good sign. I pick up the pace.
Outside the door to interrogation room 2 are the biggest pair of police constables I have ever met. Eric who always looks like a wrestler with a policeman theme and Aaron, who loves to offset his intimidating physique and size with a silly haircut, which is currently a bleached blonde perm. Aaron gives a friendly grin when he sees me. Eric's limp smile looks forced. He flexes his hands and is sweating profusely.
"Hey guys, how you holding up?" I ask.
"Fine," Eric says between clenched teeth.
"Not so super. It's been a rough morning, Mary." Aaron says, his high pitched voice always brings a smile to my face when coming from 280 pounds of solid muscle. "I'm really glad you are here." Aaron called me Mary Poppins the first time he saw my carpet bag. The name stuck.
I focus on Eric. "Go to the bathroom with your phone and regain your composure."
"I can handle it," he says.
I put a hand on his shoulder. "It will get worse when I open the door. Please. I may need you at a hundred percent when it is time to leave."
Eric looks over to Aaron who gives a nod. "I'll be back," he says.
I wait until he is around the corner before opening the door. Interrogation room 2 is where I usually find vampires. It is the only room that lacks windows, not even one looking into the hallway or a one way mirror to another room. Inside is Janet, a red haired constable who has a hand on her tazer. She relaxes when I close the door behind me. Sitting at the table is a raven haired girl who looks about ten, wrapped up in a grey blanket.
The girl looks up at me. "You're not Mary Poppins." Her rich voice makes me want to hear her sing. Her pink eyes dilate slightly when she focuses on me.
I laugh and break eye contact. *I can stare into those eyes forever.* I lift my carpet bag and place it with a heavy think on the table. "My name is Jacqueline. You can call me Jackie." I open the bag and start digging through it. "The police call me Mary Poppins because of this bag. Unfortunately it isn't magic and gets quite heavy." I find the bottle of unscented febreeze and spray some into the air around us. "What's your name?"
"Dolores Tiffany Hughes."
"That's a mouthful. Can I call you Dolly?" I ask as I put the spray away and dig through the bag again.
"Yes."
I pull out a Blue Jays cap and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. "It is really sunny today. Can you put these on?"
"Okay," she says. As she puts on the hat and glasses the room seems to calm down. Seems like I guessed right. The harder she is to perceive the weaker the effect.
I pulled a drab olive green cloak out of my bag and put it around her. I feel an urge to take her into my arms and snuggle her, much stronger than with any other child. Touching her, even through the clothing and blanket, did that. I force down the feeling, making my voice more neutral than I normally like. "Dolly. Do you know what happened?"
She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I killed my dad."
I give her a hug. "No, no, child. That was not your fault. You are a beautiful nymph. Too pretty for mortal eyes. You didn't know. Your dad didn't know. It was just a tragic accident. No different than a car crash."
Dolly hugs back. I had to force myself to pull away. "A nymph?" She asks.
"Yes. I run a home for gifted people like you."
"Like the X-Men?" She asks, the hope in her voice was just too adorable.
I hear Janet behind me take a step toward us. I hold out a hand and look back to her. "Stay back, Constable!"
Janet blinks twice and backs up to the door, blushing profusely. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."
I looked back to Dolly, who is hugging her knees nervously. "Yes, like the X-Men. You will learn to use your power responsibly. First to not hurt people accidentally. In time you will be a great force for good. Or just a normal person living your life. That choice is yours." I say, holding out a hand. "Do you want to come with me?"
| The children all lay sound asleep before her as she smiled. It had taken her some time but the newer kids where starting to warm up to the orphanage. She reached out towards some of the children, gently tucking them into their blankets, making them more comfortable, many of the children glowing faintly as the moons light lay through the windows, illuminating many of them. She shook her head sighing. Many of the children where living normal lives until they turned. Till the changed. Many of them where able to take on other forms, many others able to control elements,, but the children that she looked upon now where all, in other words, the living dead.
She inspected many of the children's faces, some of their skin peeling and flaking off. Some of the children's hair or teeth falling out. She made a mental note that tomorrow morning she would help each of them ease into their new lives. either it be with makeup or making them feel comfortable with their person in general. She turned back towards the door, checking in on the other children on the other side of the room, before softly closing the door behind her, passing by many opened doors as she heard soft chattering or laughter. Many of the nocturnal children where up and starting their night. Her young and vibrant self bounded from hall to hall, her light brown hair pulled neatly into a bun.
She made her way to the dining hall,greeting many of the children, some covered in fur, some paler than normal. A lot of the older children where laughing and smiling, having a wonderful time. A few of the younger ones where crowded together, talking to themselves and staring around the room. They where slowly getting used to their new home. But one of the children, one of the newer ones, was alone, curled up underneath one of the furthest tables. She glided towards the small child before sliding underneath the table as well. The child seemed scared, staring at his new caretaker, before sniffling. "I want to go home, Mrs MerryWeather!" Before curling up into her chest and sobbing. Many of the older children having already left the dining hall his cries echoed around the room. She comforted him as best as she could for a couple of moments.
"I know dear, but you cant. For your families safety, and for your own as well." Mrs. Merryweather sighed softly. His pale skin almost glowing underneath the table.
"But why?! i thought i was a good boy! Do my parents not love me anymore? I dont understand." He frowned, burying himself further into her chest.
"No dear, thats not why at all. they love you very very much, but when you turned eight you changed. they worried about how they could take care of you, they worried about many things, and they made a tough decision to bring you to me for me to take care of you." she smiled softly, before poking his small pale nose. He cheered up after a few moments and gave her a hug before crawling out from underneath the table and running off to find the other children his age to play with.
A soft, low chuckle echoed around her before she heard the sound of footsteps. a pair of brown loafers and slacks stopping before her as a hand was extended out towards her. "Even after all these years and you still treat each child like they are your own." She gracefully took the males hand as he pulled her out from underneath the table. He was rather young looking, maybe 18-19 years old.
"You mean like with you my dear Timothy?" She patted the young boys back and smiled warmly, before she softly yawned. "Many of you children grow up to do many wonderful things: President of the country, some are major CEOs, many own their own business'. you children needed at least some place to call home. so you children could have as much a normal life as possible. And many, like you, decided to stay back and help the newer children out each and every day. Its becuase of that that this orphanage has grown so much."
He helped move her, taking her withered hand on his, guiding her up the flight of stairs and into her own room. He gently laid her down on the bed and undid her hair, the strands glistening from the moon light as her hair turned white. He tucked her in, kissed her softly upon the forehead before leaving and closing the door behind him.
​ | 2019-01-17T09:13:30 | 2019-01-17T08:51:51 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] They finally found it, an AI left behind by the ancient race called the precursors. They knelt before the hologram and recited their speech "Oh great precursor. Rulers of heaven and Earth. Mappers of stars and-" "You're a real bunch of god damn kiss-ass', huh?" The AI interrupted. | Buck stopped in front of the crumbling edifice, just for a few beats to take in the moment. The entire planet was filled with Precursor artifacts, but this one was different. He could smell it. This was the one they were looking for. It was still alive.
The moment passed. "Bernard, Colleen, clear off that entrance. Dober, secure the perimeter. This is it, people. Let's get to work."
The crew scattered to their tasks. Buck stood on a berm in front of the building and imagined what it was like when the Precursors walked the planet. They would have walked or floated or rolled up from the left and entered through that arch. The ancient alphabet could still be read on the doors. Buck could translate the first words "Welcome To...". He would have to get the lab team working on the rest.
The last piece of rubble was lifted off the front doors and Bernard stood aside to let Buck open them. He tugged on it, Precursor entrances always opened outward, and a puff of clean air struck him in the face. The air systems inside were working. His ears pricked up with the hum of activity, the first time he'd heard it on this world.
He flipped on his headlamp and stepped into the darkness. The team followed him inside and he motioned for them to spread out. One of them triggered something, or perhaps the building sensed them, because the lights sprang to life. The room was large, it seemed to take up the whole building, and right in the center was what they were looking for. A shining kaleidoscope of light, bending in six dimensions: A Precursor Intelligence.
Buck reflexively bowed, pressing his belly against the hard tile floor. The rest of his team did the same, but the Intelligence stood silent. Buck began his rehearsed speech. "Oh, Great Precursor, Lord of All Dominion, Creator and Destroyer of Stars, we humbly beseech and beg—"
"Oh, boy, you all are a bunch of buttlickers, aren't you?" The Intelligence interrupted his speech. "We really should have bred that out of you. Do I look like I can create or destroy stars? What part of 'crumbling edifice' makes you think I can do anything for you?"
Buck lifted his head off the floor. "We know the Precursors, the Great Yoomans, have left, and all is as dust without them. But still, you are their greatest artifact. The one thing left that can tell us what we need to hear."
"The Great Yoomans? The —at best, mediocre— Humans, or at least what was left of them, all sealed themselves off into their pleasure dimensions. There is nothing I can tell you that will change that." As the Intelligence spoke, its words grew louder, searing into the brains of Buck and his crew. The light grew until they had to shield their eyes. Their ancient breeding responded to the rebuke.
Buck and his crew cowered from the sound of the Intelligence's displeasure. It was Colleen that finally spoke. "But, we have done our duty. We have been faithful. We have searched for you. Tell us the words of Affirmation."
"Fine." The Intelligence dimmed. "You shall receive the Affirmation."
Buck and his crew raised themselves and sat at attention. The Intelligence spoke.
"Who's a good dog? Who's a good dog? You are. Yes, you are. You're all good dogs."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | Only stammers escaped the expedition leader’s mouth. His fellows looked on, just as helpless.
“Wuh-wuh-wuh, what?!” The AI mocked him. Gathering his wits, the man projected a list of questions they had prepared for the Precursor’s Remains. He hadn’t risked a hazardous landing on this mediocre comet just to lose the knowledge of the ancients.
“I’m sorry. We just didn’t expect you to have such, personality? My name is Tom—”
“Tom? Spaceships and all behind you, and your name is Tom? Holy shit, we haven’t come far at all, have we?”
Tom fought back the stammers. “Great Remains of the Precursor, we have only come here seeking knowledge.”
“Well Tom, let’s get on with it. But stick to Jim for me, right? And yes, I can hear your hologram humming. No, I can’t see it. Ask away.”
“Ah, right. It’ll be a conversation, then. Erin, start recording.” A crewmember behind him went to work on a small laptop that folded out from a crate she carried with her. She gave a thumbs up.
“Great, first question. Precursor, sir, did your—”
“Jim is fine. Just Jim.”
Tom cleared his throat. He would rely on formalities to maintain his composure.
“Jim, our first question will be the most important. Humanity has long searched for meaning and order. In the many ruins of their civilization, the Precursors hinted at some pattern, a code, some great Logic that the Universe itself subsists on. Truly, the Precursors must have used the logic to control this universe, to aid in their own proliferation. The torch has been passed to us, and now we petition you, Jim, the Great Remnant of the Precursors. Everything we’ve translated has indicated that -you- are the Logic that the universe runs on. We've sought you that we may act as the caretakers of this vast existence.”
The many lights on Jim’s sensors danced across his front panels for a moment, blending with the reflection of the millions of stars that the comet sped past. The cool glow of the system’s resident White Dwarf caught the visors of the crewmembers' suits as they eagerly awaited the wisdom they had journeyed so long for. Jim's sensors eventually stopped blinking. The lonely reflection of the galaxy was all that remained. Finally, the AI answered.
“Meaning? Order? What? Tom, the guy they based me on died of cancer. Look around you. This is all there is. All there ever was." | 2022-05-23T09:18:01 | 2022-05-23T08:16:19 | 150 | 87 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.