prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] 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". | "Did you catch the game?"
"Of course I caught the game. The whole universe did. Un-fucking-believable"
"Still mad that you lost your bet that Earth would get crushed in the first hour?"
"No. I'm upset that that trash-heap of a planet actually WON"
"I mean, after seeing their fighters, was it really that shocking that Earth won? Those...whatever they were were pretty strong"
"It's bullshit, is what it is. Here I was, with trillions of others around the universe, thinking that Earth only brought in a handful of average-build humans. Nothing special, right? So obviously everyone in their right minds bets against them. The first night of the game, all of a sudden one of the humans starts changing into this powerful beast man that can only be killed with SILVER. FUCKING SILVER! You know, that one element exclusive to Earth?! Tell me that's fair!"
"I see where you're getting at, but man was it entertaining. I still remember that one human who always carried that book around. No one thought much of it, and next thing you know he single-handedly eliminates the planet X7Y6 with bursts of flame!"
"Don't even get me started on that one human who could turn into a bat. He hypnotized half the gods-damned competition! The only reason why he died was because he got caught out in the sun"
"Wait, isn't the sun supposed to be good for humans?"
"Not this one apparently. And then there's that stupid girl. The minute the game started she runs off into the woods, right? And then every night you'd hear screems of some poor bastard who found her. Next day, the cameras zoom in on the corpse, drained of life, an expression of pure terror on its face. You know how hard it is to scare a Tiluxoth? They are incapable of feeling fear for fuck sake!"
"I guess now you know who you're rooting for next year"
"I guess I fucking do, now that I know what Earth has to offer"
"I'm surprised that you didn't talk about the one with horns"
"I didn't see enough of what he could do. Was he as unfair to the competition as the rest of them?"
"Oh, it was awe-inspiring! He wasn't just killing the competition, man. He was stealing their souls, condemning them to this 'Hell' place he kept talking about! Bet you never heard of that one before, did you?"
"Fuck! Why is it that a shithole like Earth has so many powerful fighters? How do the normal humans deal with this shit?"
"Don't know. Maybe these warriors don't like showing their faces to humans."
"All I know is that I'm throwing all my money on Earth next time"
"Hey do you think we'll see that Culth-Cluhtu-Chuthuo-whatever the humans called it next time?"
"If it's as powerful as they say, god I hope so. That would net me a huge win" | 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. | 2017-10-24T05:23:36 | 2017-10-24T01:23:24 | 105 | 47 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | The end of all galactic life had been going on for nearly 10 standard cycles. The Enemy was as relentless as it was ancient, still no one knew where they had come from, or what their purpose was beyond mere universal destruction.
A long time ago, most sovereign governments and most of the colonies had all but given up the fight, realising they were horribly outnumbered and outgunned. Most made some effort or another to preserve life and civilisation. About half had launched massive expeditions to cross dark space to settle in other galaxies. Others built massive vaults on isolated planets where they froze their best and brightest to be thawed after the Enemy had left. Others still isolated themselves completely, destroying their links to the Network that allowed interstellar travel. The remainder simply gave up, thinking of extinction by the Enemy as the logical next step in galactic evolution, as if they were some sort of cosmic force of nature.
When I say 'most', I really mean *all but one*. One people still fought. They had been ravaged more than any other civilisation, enduring multiple planetary bombardments and ground invasions, and practically no effective single government remained, but *they still fought*, and in ways no one could predict or even comprehend. The Enemy was doubtlessly the most feared creatures in the Cosmos, but to those who remained alive, the Human was a close second.
There was a rumour, which I had recently confirmed from their own military, that they had at one point towed three small moons into orbit over one of the colonies under bombardment. These moons were then detonated at high speed at slingshot trajectories, which effectively turned them into planet-sized *shotgun blasts* that ripped the Enemy to shreds. According to their military, this tactic had been repeated and refined a few times since, and now the Enemy had withdrawn from any Human colonial system with an asteroid field.
And then there were their 'conventional' tactics. Humans would regularly 'booby-trap' their own equipment, leaving it behind on the battlefield when it was damaged so that the Enemy would die as they tried to salvage it. Many of them even carried explosives on their person into combat for similar purposes, and there were thousands of instances of these soldiers flanking the Enemy and detonating themselves behind their lines. To a Human, *anything* could be a weapon. One of their soldiers told me that anything that is 'harder, sharper, or pointier than your own body' can be a weapon. That mentality, combined with a penchant for ridiculous high-risk tactics had actually won them a fair amount of victories in the Endless War, some of which had been against those many who had enslaved themselves to the Enemy and now fought *for* them.
Yes, the Human was as feared as he was insane. And even knowing just how insane these Humans could be, I was still shocked when I heard about their most recent plan.
"These Network links literally punch holes in the fabric of space-time, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you can manufacture them fairly cheaply, right?"
"Well... cheaper than warships, anyway?"
"Right! So we figure, we construct, say, a hundred of the buggers, and use two of them for each of these devices!"
The Human was gesturing toward a blueprint hologram of an ancient device from their past, what they called a 'nuke'. Apparently, the ancient Human had been equally insane to the modern one, and had actually thought it a good idea to deploy *nuclear fission* as weapons on the battlefield. Which they had done, first sparingly and later - even knowing what it meant - on a global scale, in what the *utter morons* called the 'Third World War'. *Third*, can you believe that?!
"Let me get this straight," I pinched the back of my neck with my tail, still not quite believing what was being suggested, "You plan on replacing the fissile material in these bombs with Network links. Correct?"
"Yes!"
"And you are aware that this will, at the very least, tear open a hole in space-time, yes?"
"A black hole, yessir!"
"...you realise that this may actually unravel *reality itself*?!"
"It either works or it doesn't, Praetor. Either the Enemy dies, or we all die, Enemy included. If we don't do this, they live and we die."
There was a glaring hole in the Human Admiral's logic. "Or, you know, it could simply *not work* and we will have wasted tons of resources at something completely unproductive."
The Human waved an appendage my way in a strange side-to-side motion I had recently understood was some kind of *chiding* gesture.
"*Hope*," said the Human, "Hope is *never* unproductive." | The highest Generals of the United Human Systems sat in their chambers, a dark and rather cramped room in the back of the Capital Parliament. They were comprised of many generals from across Human worlds. Three from Earth, one from Mars, another four from orbital colonies, and the other seven from a number colonised star systems. They squabbled as their leader, General Hou Shan sat awaiting the arrival of their Chief Strategist, Nathaniel Howler, a former front-line commander against the Neo-Libertarian Revolutionaries in the Beta Centauri system.
Shan didn't believe in luck and willpower like Howler, and was rather traditional with his methods. Having trained to originally be naval officer, he was forced into ground forces on Earth during the Maqri Invasion, the first extraterrestrial threat to Earth and Humankind. It was luckily prevented by the Interstellar Confederation, which Humanity had unwillingly joined two decades ago, forcing them into trade deals and opening up to the xenos. Shan now knew with the civil war erupting within the Confederation, now was the time to consolidate their power and ensure human survival in the future years of desperate conflict.
Howler entered the room and gained the attention of the generals, bringing in a pistol and shooting it at the roof. This made them scramble to their seats and for them to start asking him for his plans. Howler smirked and lay down his files, and loaded up his long awaited presentation.
"As you all know, we are currently threatened by imperialist Xenos that call themselves the 'Elected Government of the Confederation', who are really just puppets of the Kasire Empire...", Howler begun, noting the fact that they all accepted. Humanity was severely threatened by an invasion from another xeno empire, and it was only a matter of time before they struck.
"Do you all know of Operation Barbarossa?", Howler asked. Yes they had be trained in the strategies of past Earth Wars, which most tacticians regarded as relics of stupidity and arrogance that had plagued human existence for so many generations.
Shan replied, "Yes, Barbarossa was the invasion of the Soviet Union by Nazi Germany, was it not?".
Howler nodded, "And what did the Nazis do? They made a surprise attack and drove their tanks into the heart of Russia!".
One of the generals piped up, "Are you saying we follow in the footsteps of Napoleon and Hitler and try to make an unfathomable invasion of the insurmountable enemy?".
Howler almost spat on the General, lifting his head as if he was some wise monarch, "Unlike the Nazis we aren't looking to defeat Communism or take land, we are looking annihilate our enemies for the sake of our survival!".
Shan smirked, "And how exactly would you propose we achieve that? It's not like we're the most well equipped and prepared group in the Confederation, the puppets are! That's why they're in power!".
"You may say that, but we have something they don't.", Howler chuckled.
"And what would that be?", almost all the generals asked in unison.
"We have our own insanity. It's the capability to still attack them in the most convoluted ways, destroy their fleets and break their supply lines that will win us a war. Enough will die that we can pull systems to our side and surmount victory!".
"This is preposterous! It will never work!", one of the generals called out in protest.
"It's not just if it can work, sir. It has to work. The survival of our species depends on it!", Howler finished. The generals sat bewildered, but they all knew he was right. They were insane to even think it would work, but that was the point. Be stupid enough to be smart, and maybe they'd win a final war. | 2017-03-06T02:43:37 | 2017-03-06T01:54:02 | 121 | 27 |
[WP] You, a retired assassin, met the agent that has been on your tail since the start of your career. He/She didn’t know your real face, so it wouldn’t pose so much of a problem... that is, if you two aren’t trapped inside a bank, alongside with the rest of the civilian hostages together. | The time is 5:30. Tick tick tick. Even on a wonderful day like today I have to stick to a strict schedule. That’s how I survived when I was still doing freelance, now it’s just a part of who I am. Whenever I look at my watch it takes me back to that awful time. Tick tick tick. Everything runs on a schedule. Everything goes according to plan. Every night without fail the president would sneak out of bed and grab the lower left most candy bar from his cupboard. That was his downfall. To have control of a schedule is to have power.
Tick tick tick.
December 8th, 5:30 PM. In an hour’s time agent Leakey and his goons will flood the place thinking they’ve found me; by that time I’ll be long gone.
I push through the towering doors of the bank and the smell of expensive cologne hits me like a truck. Suits are filing in and out across the ornately decorated marble floor, the insignia of the spanish government present at every turn.
There are a lot of people here. Must be a busy day. No worries, I schedule ample time for just such small hiccups. I step into line behind a rather tall fellow. As the line slowly inches forward, I cant help but let a smirk creep across my face.
They really thought they could catch me. ME. Of all people. It’s laughable that they really thi-
“Excuse me,”
A tap on my shoulder.
I turn around. It’s a young man in a trench-coat.
“Do you have the time?”
“Of course! It’s 5:34”
I shoot him a smile. The man in front of me starts to tu- What. The. FUCK.
I can feel my soul leaving my body. Or is that just sweat? It’s agent Leakey. What is he doing here? There’s no way. He shouldn’t be here for another 20 minutes at least. If he recognizes me I’m done for.
“Sorry, but I think your watch is wrong. It’s actually 6:10.”
Leakey pointed up to a giant concrete clock on the wall.
My fucking watch. The battery was supposed to last until January. The contemptible neanderthals who made it must not understand the concept of a stringent schedule.
The man behind me sighed, but I had my eyes locked on Leakey.
“I see. Well, sorry for bothering you.”
Leakey is reaching for his gun. Did he recognize me? Fuck. Is this really how I go? I flinch.
Gunshots. Screaming.
Hold on, I’m not dead.
I open my eyes.
“THIS IS A ROBBERY, GET ON THE GROUND!”
As I open my eyes I see Mr.Trenchcoat picking a pistol up off of the floor. Leakey is on the ground. He’s been shot in the arm. Must have dropped his gun.
Mister Trench-coat I would really prefer if you did this at any other time. Look at him. He isn’t even holding that gun right. I could probably take him down, but that would draw attention. I can’t afford that, not with Leakey here.
Trenchcoat fires a few shots into the ceiling and bares his teeth at me, “I SAID GROUND.”
Dying is most certainly not a part of the schedule, so I kneel down. Trenchcoat turns away and starts barking commands at other civilians.
I glance at Leakey. He’s losing a lot of blood. I need to get away from him. If I slip out during the commotion I may be able to get away, and steal a couple grand while I’m at it, but if I stick around they’re gonna want to talk to the hostages.
Leakey starts ripping his pant leg and looks up at me, “Hey, you, come help me out.”
My voice is shaky, “I’m not a doctor, I can’t help you”
“That’s fine. I’ll tell you what to do.”
This is NOT happening. Should I do a bad job and hope he bleeds out? No, Leakey’s too good. He’ll suspect something. Fuck.
He leans in to my ear, “I’m with the FBI tracking an assassin. My team will be here any second. You have nothing to worry about.”
If Leakey’s goons get here that’s curtains.
Tick tick tick.
[[I can’t finish this right now :( ]] | Why did they tie my hands so damn tight? And why am I resting my head on this cold hard metal desk wishing I had retired to someplace warmer than this shit hole. Well it's no use now, my time is probably near it's end. Why now? Why is it that when I go to cash my dividend check, after 14 years and 13 days of ruthlessly murdering anyone and everyone who crossed me or the people I worked for, do I run into her? And out of the handful of people in this lousy bank, how the fuck is she here?
"Come here often?" she leaned over, her hands seemed to be tied a little looser than mine. I was never one for tying hands, mostly just took advantage of my victim's ignorance. And you wouldn't have caught me dead, we might find this ironic soon enough, trying to rob a Militia bank in the middle of the fucking day. And what the fuck was she doing here anyways. My source inside the agency told me she had retired around the same time. When my trail went cold, she must have gotten bored of the mundane existence of chasing a ghost.
"W- no, I really never come here," I tried to keep it short, I'm not trying to make conversation. It's a pretty unfortunate situation we're in, and any amount of talk to her could expose me for who I was. I'm not that man anymore, but if you pulled up my sleeve and saw my forearm you would know exactly what I've done. Thankfully I worked quickly and efficiently. In all my years I was only exposed a single time, and the evidence of what I had done was destroyed in a convenient fire, along with the single tape that I had ever known to record my face while in operation.
She didn't respond but I could sense her eyes locked on my wrist. My sleeve was pulled up just a hair due to the strain these idiots put on my arms with this wrap job. It seemed this was destined. I didn't feel as though she knew, yet. I was feigning fear in this situation, knowing I had already assessed the threat of the actual robbery as nothing more than a couple of kids trying to get ahead while they could. Banks were easy, especially if you didn't have to pull the trigger. Pulling the trigger was why I did it back then. I always felt that it was why she did it, too. Maybe she had caught onto me, I don't know how but I knew that if she was anything like me that retirement had changed her. Maybe it made her long for the chase, perhaps she had retired on paper but not given up entirely. I guess, it was the hunt that satisfied her, unlike me when the reward came as soon as the chamber cleared.
She leaned in again as the two boys finally shuffled the money into the bag. One of the men scratching the mask on their head with the butt of the pistol. "I don't think they do either." She gave me a wink. I wanted to ask her how she knew. Not how she knew the boys didn't come here often, that was obvious. How she knew it was me, how she found me. I felt like this encounter, as random as it might have felt, wasn't just happenstance.
One of the boys accidentally discharged his gun as he tried to open another drawer. "For fuck sake, Stev- shit breath," the other yelled at him. I got startled by the noise lost in my own mind, for fuck sake was right. I hope I can walk out of this bank, wishing for a few more minutes. A few more hours or days. Maybe I would die of natural causes, and it truly wasn't about the trigger for her. I hope she only liked the chase. | 2019-12-08T13:04:17 | 2019-12-08T09:03:19 | 70 | 19 |
[WP] "I want to speak to your boss!" The furious customer screamed from the other side of the counter as your eyes widen and your jaw clenches in fear. You nod and go to summon Rob, a thousand year old Eldritch Horror who, among many other horrifying titles, was also the manager of Best Buy.
Idk | "I don't believe we have any in stock. Have you tried looking on Amazon?"
"This is unacceptable. I need to speak to your manager!" she exclaimed.
"He isn't in, but he can be here in about 15 minutes." I explain.
"Fine. I'll wait." she says to my utter surprise.
"I will be right back and let him know you are waiting."
I leave her at cell phone accessories. I don't believe anyone still make accessories for the iPhone 3G, but nothing is going to convince her otherwise.
I make my way back to the store room and make all the preparations to call my boss. "rofeb make oow zoth vu dulb ntechen uth nohpuh loc I." I roll up my sleeve, grab the dagger and slice my arm. "Nieb ndah shelf vu nalp sith oot nruteer ndah eelp aym reeh Nidnehnuh uth Bor."
In that moment a portal opened up over at Home Appliances. Beyond it a dark green and purple plane where thoughts have form and your imagination runs wild. Rob, the Unending comes through. A few darkened holes appear on his form and he lets out an inaudible scream that you can only feel.
"Well it's about time. Do you know how long I have been waiting?"
Another bone shaking. This time I can hear the cries of a father and child over in printers. A woman just ran through the Magnolia Home Theater section. The new guy passed out in video games.
"And you think that is acceptable? All I am looking for is a nice case for my phone."
Another rattling of the store and it looks only staff who have made it past a year are still standing, now tending to our new duty of making sure everyone else not as lucky is in a comfortable position after they've lost consciousness.
A portal opens near Rob and what I can only describe as his eye tentacle goes through. When it comes back out of course he has 3 iPhone 3G phone cases.
"This selection is terrible. This is why I'm glad Amazon is running you out of business." And she storms out of the store.
I can't believe it. She knew was Amazon was this whole time.
As I am getting water ready for the customers to wake up, my gaze catches Rob's eye? space. Without an utterance we know what the other is thinking. Rob turns away and floats back through the portal above the dish washers.
The first customer wakes. I rush over with some water. "Are you okay ma'am?"
"I think so. What was that? I've never felt anything so cold, dead and heartless in my life."
"I know. Sorry about that. Hopefully she never comes back." | I knocked 3 times on his door. Well, 3 times on the wall in the spot a door would have been had his office not been in some strange dimension. I briskly took two side steps to the left, Not wanting to be ploughed through on his angry march out. Oh boy, that women won't know what hit her, but then, this is what she wanted...Rob took his time to answer, casually walking through the spot where a door would have been bouncing a brightly coloured ball and sucking what I hope was a lollipop.*Oh no, he's not angry he's bored* i thought to myself, a shiver running down my spine when as I remembered what he did back in 2016.
​
"What is it nowww..." Rob asked with the attitude of a 14-year-old who's been made to do yard work
​
"well....Um... you see...."Rob rolled his eyes as I struggled to remember how to string a sentence together
​
"so basically this lady wants to replace a faulty TV" i finally get out
"and.......?"
"well, she dropped it at home"
"Just replace it under warranty" he muttered, waving his tentacles in a dismissive way and beginning to glide towards his wall/door/portal/thingamajiggy
"well you see sir... she refused one-"
Rob raises his eyebrow at me
"she refused quite militantly actually, accusing us of trying to rip her off and it all being some billion-dollar scam-" Rob cut's me off with another wave of his hand, now fully in human form and twirling the assumed lolly's bare stick in the other.
​
"Well, in that case, we shall have a word with her...." he walks towards the front, an evil glint in his eye...
​ | 2018-11-07T15:49:21 | 2018-11-07T14:41:42 | 63 | 22 |
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3. |
2009: “Sue Ellen, we need to talk,” John said morosely as he walked in the house.
“What’s wrong, John?” Sue Ellen asked as she walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
John sat heavily in his recliner, burying his head in his hands.
“I got fired today.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
“I swear, I didn’t do it. Some papers with students’ Social Security numbers went missing and they found them in my coat pocket. I don’t know who put them there, but it wasn’t me. They wouldn’t listen, though, just wanted somebody to blame and now I’m fired.”
Sue Ellen walked over and cradled John’s head.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll find something else soon,” she crooned.
John looked up at her with tears of frustration in his eyes.
“But we’d finally, finally, gotten a little ahead. I know how much you want a baby, but now…” he trailed off.
“There will be time for that later, John, we’ll get through this.”
Sue Ellen picked up more hours waitressing and John got a new job a few months later as a gas station attendant. In a few years, he worked his way up to managing a small group of stores and Sue Ellen gave birth to their daughter, Moira (b. Feb. 12, 2014). But John Jr. (n.b. Nov. 11, 2010), the firebrand who would have gone on to lead the working class revolution that kicked off World War 3 was never born. | So you're telling me that this janitor will lose his job, grow a fallowing, bomb the United Nation Headquarters, which leads to serious bombing in the US, kind of like what the US had done to Afghanistan, create instability in the US, breaking it into 2 major countries. Both sides split the US allies in a way similar to the start of WW1, they can't get along and start bombing each other, which drags in most of the rest of the civilized world, causing WW3 and the end of the world, and this can all be prevented by giving the janitor cab fare one day, allowing him to keep his job?
Yes.
Well let's get to it. | 2019-09-22T09:08:06 | 2019-09-22T08:51:10 | 90 | 35 |
[WP] You and a friend jokingly start a religion in order to avoid taxes. Not long after you are in an accident and put in cryogenic freeze. You wake up many years later to find that it is now a major world religion. | Outside the hospital window, flat wooden boxes covered the ground in a complicated labyrinth of dubious architecture. These were the strange buildings of a city that stretched into the horizon in every direction. The doctors had informed me that thousands of years had passed since my accident that turned me into a Popsicle.
I had expected flying cars, teleportation, and all sorts of cool sci-fi stuff, but somehow the entire civilization seemed more primitive than I'd left it. The hospital staff seemed competent, but there were very little equipment and I remembered the doctor's fingers prodding and poking me before finally announcing that I was all right.
Eager to explore the new world, I stumbled out of my room and down into the lobby. An odd assembly of scribes and servants carrying large books on their backs flocked near the entrance. One of them perked up and strutted over to me, sporting a set of frilly pantaloons and a that reminded me of a bowl of salad.
"The prophet is awake!" he announced and took my hand. "I am a representative from the Department of Childishness."
"Childishness?" I said, grinning.
The doctor had already called me a prophet before, but he'd been less enthusiastic about it. When I thought about it, he didn't seem very happy in general. There was an aura of hopeless despair surrounding him. He'd reminded me of a homeless person.
"Of course, Chris! It's awesome to finally meet such a cool dude!" the man babbled on. "I've prepared the slides and the swimming pools and all the other fun things. Let's goooo!"
The scribes scribbled furiously on the large tomes, their quills dancing across the pages. The representative was bouncing up and down, and I noticed a few ladies by the window, who, for some reason, started blushing and fanning themselves at the sight.
I shook my head in confusion, but some of the scribes desperately seemed to want to join in. Their calves twitched and their hands clenched before they managed to curb the urge.
"What the hell is going on?" I said, glancing sideways at the group of massive guards that now blocked the exit.
"Oh! The bouncers are here! What joy!" the representative cried. "We're truly blessed this day!"
He smiled broadly and then ran headfirst into the wall of muscle. As expected he landed on the floor and his hat rolled away.
"How do I pass them?" I asked one of the scribes, eager to get out of here.
He just shook his head, looking as if I had assaulted him.
"Y-you're joking?" he whispered nervously.
"Why the hell would I be joking? This is the dumbest thing I've seen." I glanced out the window, noticing an empty marina by the sea. "Is this loony island? I need to find a boat to the land of non-crazies."
"B-boat?" The man looked like I had punched him in the gut. He held his chest and started backing away. "It's t-true! The rumors were true."
"What rumors!"
"You're a blasphemer... you're the Anti-Chris!"
The room fell silent, and the quills stopped scribbling.
"The Anti-Chris?" I said, laughing, but nobody laughed with me.
Everyone in the room turned toward a massive wooden tablet and fell to their knees. "Save us! We're doomed!"
Narrowing my eyes, I looked at the list scratched into the wood.
* You shall not steel
* You shall not keel
* You shall not commit adult things
* You shall not pass
Shit, that was the commandments that I had, high on pain medication, jokingly written down while I waited for my turn at the hospital after the accident.
\*\*\*
More stories at r/Lilwa_Dexel | Making yourself a god is not as hard as you would think. Coming back from the dead was always the plan, but to what effect I had no idea.
The Council of Eight pre-planned the entirety of the event. The 8 of us drew out what morales we would hold, what actions were commands, and what disobedience consisted of. The most powerful weapon of any religion is exile. We the Council had observed other religions and saw that religion is ultimately a government over the mind. By default, if you create those commands, then you have deep control over those who believed in it.
Writing the Kraesha was a difficult task. Five years to be exact. Naturally, I had positioned myself as the head creator of this...task. Divinely inspired (for who would claim to not be?).
Little did the Council know that I had alluded to a savior. A god. An Exile who was one of the Elites own. He would bring an end to corruption and those who committed their lives to this being would be led into a divine Hades. An underworld of both darkness and light. Permanent eternity from the hell that we all live in.
No one ever reads the terms & conditions, just as the Council never read the Kraesha. And so I planned my own exile as I wrote it. Growing the following was easy. You start with the dregs of society, manipulate local media to publicize and exaggerate. Next, target the Elite, have their businesses sponsor such acts of charity. Finally, brick & mortar your religion into credibility. If you have a building, then you have a god.
Preachers flocked to it in droves. It spoke of peace, freedom, and wisdom. Promising financial success to those who gave, health to those who prayed, and freedom to those who were previously slaves to other religious dead ends.
The masterpiece being, people soon asked, "Who is Our God? Who is OUR leader?
Swift movement in the dark, money in the right pocket, and blood in the streets. A poster, a sign. And suddenly, torches. Torches everywhere. As I stepped into cryogenic freeze, the best money could buy, the world believed I died in a fire, burned for all to see.
I was gone with wind.
Or so they thought. My poor brother was on his way to the grave anyways, and the makeup artist was very willing to oblige. Its a shame she had to....disappear.
Waking up was timed perfectly. An altar was built where I had died, and I climbed right out through the trap-door under it into the middle of the annual service. It was the ceremony dictated by the Kraesha to celebrate the coming return of The God That Is I.
The world is stunned, and thus now begins the final chapter. Where the rules change when He Who Was and Is returns. War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and Ignorance is Strength.
All at my Command. | 2018-08-16T09:42:01 | 2018-08-16T09:41:19 | 144 | 90 |
[WP] You're an immortal who lives at a beach resort. You have many summer flings with mortals on getaways. One day you see someone you had a hot romantic night with 50 years ago. They look exactly the same. | Immortality sounds fun on paper. Never being able to die, there’s no reason to fear…..anything really. You can just give your problems to time and eventually the problems will go away on its own, gradually, slowly.
But the same applies for feelings too. With time they fade, they become memories, then soon, a blot in your life. Fall in love with a girl, see them grow up, fear them having to see you not age anymore, leave. Eventually, it becomes so…..empty the only thing you can ever see in them is what form of sexual pleasure and interest they give you, if only to see how people treat it differently then their peers decades prior.
But I can’t love them, as much as I had fun with them on those nights. I know my lives can’t cross with them, I know I……
No, perhaps there was one. Fifty years ago, resplendent skin, eyes that reflected the ocean, white yet youthful hair and a body as bewitching as Aphrodite herself. She was magnificent, in all forms. And for the first and only time in my life, I felt a chord had struck my heart. On that night, as we melted into pleasure, I could feel my soul and hers becoming one. But, I knew I had to let her go. I couldn’t become attached. For people like me, getting attached to something that has the same lifespan as a flea relative to you……is just a recipe for sadness.
Yet, after all those years, I still couldn’t move on. My flings, became sparser in nature, I started to grow…..responsible. I couldn’t continue offering my body to others, it felt…….*wrong*. Eventually, it spiralled from flings, into slow walks on the beach, wandering, searching for her.
I knew it would be fruitless, she’d probably be dead by the 40th year I continued doing this. But I persisted. Deep in my heart, I wanted to believe too.
And now, fifty years later. Trudging in the sand, I could see her, and I knew, she saw me too. Speechless, I could feel the words stuck in my throat, wishing to call out to her, and yet I could not, fearful of how she would see me if she knew what I did. But, I never needed to. With tears welling up, she ran over to me, arms stretched, hugging me tightly. Even though she looked the same, I could feel the scars she had on her body, even though they long since faded. Her feet, though the same as before, walked in the same manner a weary traveller would. And her eyes, once full of the ocean, now greeted me with sights from all over the world, the splendour that once faded, now returning to her eyes. My sight started to blur as I hugged her back, the hot tears racing down my cheeks as the rowdy beach soon became but a backdrop to our plight.
We had been searching, and we had been found. | “The name is Ødgerson, Erik Ødgerson”
Ha. I like this way of introducing, learnt that from the pickup artist JB, and it never fail me.
Yet that line is actually plan B. Most of the female of this species will fall into my arms just by looking at my 7-feet-tall masculine physique with a good number of scars.
Ah. Those good ol’ raids. Now I’m over it. Those battles are nothing but some tales to these little girls. So normally I would make up stories from time to time for those scars.
And my body count has reaches an unreal number, mostly because those new people love to include whom they slept with, I can make a family tree out of it.
“Oh, your last name Fenby? Yes! That’s 4 in a row”. At this time, that family tree becomes a bingo game to me.
Nothing would amaze me anymore. I have seen them all. Except,... that I meet Eleanor Garcia twice. Duplicated names happen a lot, I get it. I also experienced doppelgänger.
But this, can’t be true. That woman even recalls a letter from 50 years ago, she told me only to read it when see her again.
Thing would be different if an old lady stand in front of me. Time doesn’t do any damage to this beauty. Her gorgeousness can take my breath away like a bungee jumping, then bring it back with a rush of adrenaline while I do a free fall. That roller coaster of emotion described perfectly the first moment I saw her.
Her eyes, dark blue, keep me staring at. Her lashes, on the other hand, lead me to the forgotten letter.
“Everything has come to an end.
The universe collapsed. There’d be no Valhalla. Nothing goes as planned. The Niflheim won’t exist neither.
Your Highness took the blame, at the same time, feel sorry for you. Therefore, he reserved all the last energy to let you live this pleasing life a little longer.
Now rest, my warrior.
This is, the end” | 2022-11-25T21:05:49 | 2022-11-25T19:12:40 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] After being greatly wronged, you seek out the Goddess of Vengeance to give you advice in your quest for retribution. You always imagined a powerful warrior, sitting atop a throne made from the skulls of Her enemies. Instead, you discover a kindly old woman tending to a garden. | It was getting hard to breathe.
How long had it been since he’d started his ascent? He didn’t know, he supposed that meant it had been a while. Time didn’t seem to matter on this mountain, the home of the being he sought.
His journey had been a long one, even before he’d begun his climb. For years he travelled from town to town, country to country, chasing rumours and hearsay about an entity said to exist only in legend. A God, one who would grant him what he so very desperately desired. Vengeance.
His mind wandered as he climbed, once more dragging himself to his feet as his tired limbs faltered, faint concern for the return journey flitting through his conscious thoughts. In the beginning it had been anger that drove him, as was natural. He had been wronged, his whole life had been torn from him by the manipulations of those he trusted. Now, that raging anger had settled into a low burn, like the hot coals at the bottom of a forge. He knew that they would never be extinguished, not until he had what he desired.
‘Breathe...one...step...at a time.’ He didn’t have the strength to concentrate on more complex thoughts, all his focus went on keeping himself going.
So focused was he, that his next step sent him careening forward into the ground. That wasn’t good, he didn’t know if he had the strength to get back up. Something was odd though, the ground was...comfortable, not at all like the jagged rocks he’d been scaling just moments ago.
Wearily he opened his eyes, and the sight almost brought him to tears. Green. His vision was filled with the most beautiful sight of lush, green grass all around him. It felt like a welcoming embrace, one he was happy to bask in.
“Come on deary, up you get. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
A noise escaped him. Somewhere between panic, confusion and just a little bit of hope at hearing the word tea. He had loved a good cup of tea, once upon a time.
He managed to roll himself over, aching limbs protesting at the treatment. Landing on his back he finally saw the one who spoke.
It...wasn’t the God of Vengeance. No, somehow he’d run into a little old lady who was half his size and wearing thick, circular glasses. Was this a dream? Had his exhaustion finally given way to delirium? But it felt so real…
“Come along, come along.” She chirped as she turned away and tottered off to a little cottage that had somehow remained out of sight until now.
It took a few more moments but his limbs finally gave the signal that they were prepared to support him, if only for a short time. Gingerly, he made his way to the old lady’s home, taking care to stay on the path and avoid the plethora of strangely shaped and coloured flowers on either side. His eyes drank in the vibrancy of the display, starved as he was of pleasant scenery.
Stepping inside he spotted his host pottering around a small, cosy looking kitchen. He made his way to a seat around the small circular table and watched in silence as his mind tried to process everything that was happening.
“Here you are deary, you look positively exhausted. You must have had quite a journey.”
He took the offered tea cup, savouring the comforting warmth as he brought it to his lips and felt the steam waft over him.
“Uh-” He began coughing as his words failed, only just managing to move the cup of boiling liquid away as his body shook. Now that he thought about it, when was the last time he tried to talk to someone?
“That’s it deary, take your time.” The lady said, gently patting his shoulder.
A few moments later, and he was once again composed.
“Thanks...and yes. I’ve been travelling for a long time.”
“And? What is it you’re looking for?” She prompted.
“The God of Vengeance.” He didn’t meet her gaze as he spoke, his eyes growing hard as he stared forward. Once more, he reaffirmed his resolved to see this quest through. Too many times he had been doubted, told to give up on his unachievable goal.
“Oh, what a coincidence deary, that would be me!” She said in an all too cheerful tone.
He blinked. “What?”
“I said, that’s me. Is your hearing OK?”
“I...think so? But wait...how are you the God of Vengeance!?”
“Not what you were expecting?”
He just stared.
“Now then.” She said, her countenance shifting subtly, in ways that made him instinctively gulp. “Arriving here is the first step, it is evidence that your desire is real. The next step, is to tell me your story.”
And so he told. Trust and betrayal. Truth and lies. Manipulation spanning the happiest years of his life.
As he talked and shared and bared everything, the God of Vengeance listened. It felt as though he didn’t even have to talk, like she was seeing everything she needed to just from him being there.
She was silent for a time after he finished, her eyes never leaving his face even as his darted around the room. Minutes ticked by until at last, she spoke.
“What price would you have them pay?”
His response took half a moment, “I would take everything from them, just as they did to me.”
“And then?”
He furrowed his brows for a moment, “And then, what?”
“Once you have exacted your toll, what then?”
“It does not matter. Vengeance is all I live for now.”
“Then for my help, you will owe me a debt. We are in agreement?”
He looked into her eyes, for the first time seeing not just a little old lady. To this being, the God of Vengeance, he responded, “Yes.”
Months passed. Seasons came and went. He found himself once again in the impossible garden of an incomprehensible deity.
“Hello again deary, everything went well I hope?”
The slightest of nods was his only response.
“Good, good. Here to pay your debt, yes? Come along then.”
He wordlessly followed, lifeless eyes barely drawn to the vivacious display of flowers lining the path.
He sat once more at the kitchen table, a cup of tea placed before him. He didn’t move to drink it.
“Close your eyes.” She instructed.
He looked up at her, a perfect picture of pity before doing as she said. His world exploded as a vision hit him.
It showed him as he was, following the darkest moment of his life. Broken, alone and utterly swallowed by despair. Was he going to be shown the story of his life?
Understanding came as he watched.
It was the story of a different choice.
One where he chose to raise himself up, rather than tear others down.
Instead of killing himself searching for his vengeance, he threw everything into finding a new life.
He felt the tears stream from his eyes as he watched. He saw himself find love, he saw the beautiful baby boy in his arms, he watched as he grew old surrounded by those who loved him. He felt like his heart was being torn apart and his soul cast into the icy wastes of despair.
He had given this life up in exchange for his vengeance. He knew now, without a doubt that it was not worth it.
His eyes opened and once more met with the old lady.
“This was my price deary, showing you what you gave up. I am the God of Vengeance, and I pray every day that no one chooses this path.” | Sarah had lost an arm it seemed. Blood fell from the wound. She couldn’t see out of her left eye and she held her hand in front of it too scared to touch what might not be there. The left side of her head ached and her ear felt like a tattered mess.
The pain was intense and she curled up on the ground gasping between sobs. She couldn’t believe it. She was free.
When she closed her eyes all she could see was his face. Thoughts of her family flowed around that one image. She remembered the house, the yard, the basement. It all parted and faded away leaving just his face. She remembered Gracie, how she looked, how she felt. She remembered what they did to Gracie, what they did to herself, and it all just flowed on. But his face with the tacked on pearly white smile and masking laugh lines. The bright blue eyes that seethed with disgust. That remained.
She fell asleep with that image clutched fiercely in her mind
She blinked awake staring up at a foreign ceiling. She’d awoken in someone else’s bed. Clean white sheets, soft fluffy pillows. Light filtered through the blinds covering the window on her right. She looked around at the blue walls. The bedside table had pictures of a family and an alarm clock. An old tv in a corner with bunny ears, one antenna bent, sat in a corner.
She reached for the clock on her left unthinkingly and the sight of her missing arm startled her until she remembered. She felt the stump, what had been a shredded bleeding end had been healed. She wondered to herself how long it had been.
Rising from the bed she walked towards the door. Her legs felt weak and she stumbled as she tried to catchherself with both arms on the door frame. As she made her way through the house she tried to figure out who lived here. And it was lived in.
The house was spotlessly clean, various nick knacks and photos of people she’d never met were displayed around the house. It was quiet, but a comfortable quiet. She stopped to give one of the photos a look, of a young grinning boy, but moved on when that man’s face passed through her mind again. When she found a door leading out of the house she went through into a lush yard ringed by flower beds and behind them hedges far taller than she.
An old woman sat at one of the flower beds digging away at the earth with a trowel. The sun was high in the sky so she pulled off one of her gardening gloves and dabbed at her forehead with a white handkerchief. This was when she turned and saw Sarah.
“Oh! You’re up. And just in time. Please please, come over here.” She beckoned.
Sarah clutched her missing arm and carefully walked over to the woman. She had on a crisp red shirt with flower patterns, blue jeans with dirt on the knees, and a big floppy sunhat. Standing above the kneeling woman, Sarah asked, “Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes twinkled and she flashed a small smile. “My name is Millie and this is my home. I help the people I find. When I found you, you surely looked like you needed help!”
Millie held Sarah's gaze for a time and then patted the ground next to her.
"Help me for a little", she said while gesturing towards a shovel that Sarah hadn't noticed lying next to her.
Sarah picked up the shovel and began awkwardly trying to dig a hole in a cleared patch of the garden that Milllie had pointed out.
"Now that man", Millie began, Sarah flinched, "really seems like a bad guy. Him, his family, the town, the whole lot of them. Rotten."
"I didn't know you were from around here. I'd never seen you in town.", Sarah said without turning from her digging. Millie chuckled, "Oh, we're far away from there. Why I don't know if you could even make it back there."
Sarah twitched. "What the fuck do you mean." She could feel the old woman's eyes boring into her back. "Dear, was there something you needed from that dreadful place?"
Sarah turned back to see Millie smiling sweetly. She nestled the shovel into the crook of her shoulder and stepped so she was looking directly down at the old woman. "Were you hoping to see Gracie again?" She let the name drop like a hammer.
"I'll kill every last one of you, doesn't matter where you are", Sarah said as she swung the shovel's edge at Millie like an axe. The reverberation through the handle hurt, but Sarah kept a hold of it as it bounced off. Millie stood up abruptly, not a single hair out of place, and grabbed Sarah's arm with a steely grip.
"What could you hope to do" she said as she flung Sarah to the ground. "You're a twig I could snap with one hand. You're a maimed bird who would die on her own. You only lost that arm because you're weak."
Sarah scrambled up and tried to take another swing, but this time Millie broke the shovel clean off the handle. She lunged for Millie, arms around the old woman's waist, but it was like she was trying to move a house. The old woman elbowed her swiftly to the ground and the hurt lanced through the girls back.
Millie kicked her over, probably bruising a rib. The girl groaned. Millie straddled her and slapped Sarah's bad ear. The girl felt like someone had rung her head like a bell and she strained to see straight.
Leaning close Millie whispered, "Did you know Gracie's dead? She died, because you weren't there." Millie took her handkerchief out and wiped some sweat from her brow. She sent the girl rolling with another kick, before turning to walk away. She only went a few steps before the remains of the shovel handle hit her square in the back of the head.
Rounding on the girl, her eyes wide not missing a single detail, she asked again, "There ain't nothing left. What could you do?"
Sarah cleared her throat and spat some blood on the ground, "I said it before, I'll kill them all."
Pleased, Millie replied, "I can help you with that."
-----------
"First thing you gotta learn, though, is when to stay down." A bit of a drawl coming out with the words. Millie swiftly knocked the wind out of Sarah and dropped her to her knees. Grabbing her by the back of the collar the old woman dragged her back to the house, the girl weakly struggling all the way. | 2019-05-22T07:58:05 | 2019-05-22T05:52:05 | 145 | 16 |
[WP] At the age of 10 you're given the option to go through surgery to possibly get superpowers 10 years after that. The surgery leaves you basically crippled during that time. All your friends and family are getting their abilities meanwhile you just turned 21. | As an only child with ambitious, overbearing parents, part of me thinks the 10 year old me was too easily manipulated and naive to see the big picture. However, I will never fault myself for that, or even them, because how was anyone supposed to know what would happen next.
I had friends growing up, but preferred to be alone. It's sort of a default state for me. Don't get me wrong, I love being around people as well, but I am just as happy reading or watching cartoons by myself. When my parents initially told me of this experiment, and how wonderful it would be to be like a superhero in the cartoons, I was ecstatic. I offered no resistance and was immediately on board. They drove me to the treatment facility that day.
We all signed the papers, and it was done. We said our goodbyes and I was led off by a pretty nurse to a small hospital room. The walls were faded greem, with a sliding curtain down the middle, and two posturepedic twin cots on either side. I got settled in and was given my first dose. The kid in the other bed, was my age, and just recieved her first dose as well. As the paralysis set in, I started speaking with the other patient. Her name was Evelyn, and was from the next town over. She talked of how she dreamed to fly one day, but also asked me if I was scared of being like this forever.
The risk of being paralyzed without powers was only a slight risk my loving parents were willing to take, and omit from the initial explanation to me. It was too late now. The choice had been made, and I would pay for the consequences with whatever the outcome. I felt betrayed by the only people who ever loved me.
My teenage years flew by, as they seem to do, and if it wasn't for Evelyn's company, my mind would have grown bitter and my soul detached. My parents visited once a year. I now think they were regretful of having me. Looking at me was a constant reminder of how much farther along in their careers they would have been, so this "oppurtunity" was a gamble they couldn't refuse. After years of thinking this, the pain was replaced by hatred, and the hatred replaced by a cold understanding. Evelyn's parents hardly visited either, but she recieved letters every other week. Her family was too poor to make the 4 hour commute (they had a car that broke down constantly), so they wrote and saved for when they could.
I envied her, but after awhile I grew to love her voice and her laugh. To love her. On the 10th anniversary of our treatment, we were both terrified, but we both told eachother we would be okay in the end. As the power surged through me, I was overwhelmed by the thoughts and dreams of every single person on the planet, i was made aware of every blade of grass, of every grain of sand, the chemicals and impulses of every living thing. As my meager understanding of existence was amplified to include the entire planet, and then broken down to a quantum level of understanding, I was immediately thrown into a coma. It was the most natural way the brain could process all of the information.
I awoke in the same bed, with Eve laying on the bed opposite me like she had been for the past 10 years. I noticed I had startled her by being awake, and she informed me I had been in a coma for 3 months. I started to stand up, and felt light, like I could float, yet strong enough to smash the building to the ground. I knew I had to be very careful with my actions. I could feel the power.
"Eve, let's go. What are we waiting for. Let's get out this place."
"The treatment didn't work for me, Bud."
I was put into a shock, as I felt the power surging through me, all I wanted to do was roll back in bed, maybe into another coma, to yell, to cry, to destroy. No. I walked over to Eve, and sat down on the corner of her bed. I had never seen her this close before, she was beautiful. The warm sunlight seeped through the blinds and danced on her olive skin, illuminating her hazel eyes, and turning her brown hair a brilliant gold.
I grabbed her by the hand, and told her how much I loved her, from the very first moment, I laid out every detail. As I was telling her, I felt a transferrance of energy from me into her, and she started to tighten her grip. Somehow, my power was curing her.
That's when I realized the scope of this power, and realized it must be concealed for a time. We both stood up out of bed, opened the window without a word, and flew out into the world.
~~Soaring into a world of chaos and destruction. Smoking towers and screams. Death. We had to find the people who started this, the scientists, maybe there was some way to stop it. Some weakness. When you rise above the common station of human abilities, it is easy to forget your own humanity, and that is exactly what many did. Thousands of new apex predators roaming about unchecked, preying on weakness and feeding off of hate.~~
Hope you enjoyed the cheesefest
Edit: words, end omitted, I liked the suggestion from /u/PuffskeinBorn | “Can you believe that my Kyle and my Ryan have broken the speed and weightlifting records at Princeton University this year.”
*This obnoxious, stay a bitch, at home, mom, always brags about her children at these social events; even worse, she refuses to let me stay home, because of her “obligations” to my deceased parents. If only they knew.*
“Everyone, I just want to thank you for being here at Kyle and Ryan’s Recorbration – A celebration for being world record holders at Princeton U!” The Obnoxious Woman and her friends cheer and applaud.
*Here we go, again. No shit they broke the records; Kyle literally has a superpower for strength, and Ryan literally has a superpower for speed. Their friend Brad broke the record for mind reading. Guess what? Superpower. And Lance, he broke the record for holding the longest invisibility pose. Because. He. Has. A. Invisibility super power.*
*It’s not skill. It’s a medically enhanced superpower that their rich -- and I mean throwing gold into their milk to give it a tint of yellow rich -- parents purchased, in order for their normal children to be considered special. And here I lie, Good ol’ Bill, motionless -- simply waiting and hoping.*
The Obnoxious Woman and her insurable friends lean toward him, “And look at poor Billy. He’s been waiting for years, but so far he has not grown into his powers.” The Obnoxious woman places her hand over one side of her mouth and whispers, “I don’t think he’ll ever get his superpowers. His parents were, well, misguided.”
*The ol’ hand over her old braggadocios mouth; that is her superpower. And nobody does it better. Sure, my parents were misguided – they took me to Costa Rica and had my surgery performed when I was eleven years old. For most individuals, our bodies need ten years to recover from the surgery and for the superpowers to become active in our blood stream.*
*But my parents were visionaries, and admittedly greedy, because the surgery I received from Dr. Notreallyadoctor, was “guaranteed” to work in five years. My parents wanted me to truly be special – they wanted me to be ahead of the curve. Clearly, I’m not.*
The Obnoxious Woman stands in front of Bill’s bed, “Everyone, come over. Ryan is going to literally run circles around Billy.” A crowd of people circle Bill’s bed in anticipation of Ryan’s performance.
*And now I lie in bed in the center of their circus act – The My Daddy Bought Us Superpowers Family Circus. Dear, God, this makes me nauseous.*
The Obnoxious Woman ferociously claps as Ryan high fives his friends and family. “Next, Kyle will show us his enormous strength.” Hava Nagila plays loudly over large speakers.
Kyle firmly grips Bill’s bed and poses; his biceps peak like icebergs on his massive arms, and his quads burst from his Titanic sized legs. The crowd claps – it’s like seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger for the first time.
*They know my parents weren’t Jewish, but they must think I am. Based on this experience, I have been married fifteen times this year.*
“And finally, we have our final performer, Billy, who will prove to us that taking short cuts, and not paying full price, is always a mistake.”
*And this woman is considered a long-term family friend. She mocks my deceased parents, and transforms me into the punch line of her medically enhanced family circus show.*
The Obnoxious Woman, Ryan, Kyle, the crowd applaud.
“And that my friends, is our show. Everyone have drinks, be merry, and remember just how special we are. And don't be cheap. It will cost you. Thanks for being here!”
*Now this performance will be repeated once a month, since Kyle and Ryan will continue to break records. But that’s okay. I am still waiting and hoping, because when my powers become active in my bloodstream, and believe me, they will, I will literally have the power to… oh, lord, it's happening. It's finally happening. It feels weird. Very weird. No. This feels wrong. Very wrong. No. No. No. Not good. This does not feel right! Ahhhhhhhh! You fools should have went to a real doctor!*
This story was sponsored by the Certified Super Human Enhancement Doctors. Where we say, "Get it done right, or you may end up feeling very wrong."
| 2016-06-03T12:31:44 | 2016-06-03T11:20:58 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself, shown as a number visible only to you on your wrist. Waking up with bad hangover after a particularly rowdy night, you look at your arm through blurry eyes to see the faintly glowing number: 700,000,000. | I’m ashamed to say I don’t know who Eric’s dad was. My mid twenties were a blur of drug and drink filled nights with any man who’d pay. I guess it was inevitable that one would knock me up, and by the time I realized it, there was no way to know who it was.
I blamed myself for the way he turned out. It took 4 suicides to convince myself that if I was to blame for who he’d been, I had at least redeemed myself by killing him. I guess after using a few thousand lives I’ve gotten a bit of insight into how this whole life and death thing plays out, and never again will I bring another being into this world.
Eric was a monster from the beginning . At first people told me he was just precocious. Then it was, “Oh, he’s teething. Just give it some time.” . It wasn’t until after the terrible twos that I began to realize my son was a psychopath . At three he was already talking about killing everybody. By four I had to murder-proof the house. On the first day of preschool, he attempted his first homicide. He took a pencil crayon to his teacher, stabbing her repeatedly until he broke the tip. By that time I had turned to drink again, trying to drown my sons problems into oblivion. It didn’t work. After that incident, Child Protective Services deemed me an unfit mother and took him. I didn’t give a fuck. In fact, I was happy, and alcoholic. My parents took me under their wing and got me into AA. After a year of counseling , and many court hearings, the judge decided I would be allowed to see my son one week a month. I honestly thought that maybe now things could be different. I was ready to be a mother to my son, help him grow up as an upstanding member of society. I spent a month making my apartment a warm and inviting place, hoping to gain his trust and love.
I failed. At least that’s what I told myself when I came too on the 4th day of Eric’s visit. My head pounded with the godmother of all headaches and my mouth put the Sahara desert to shame. I had vomited at least once on the pillow and maybe another time on the way to bed. Yup, I was definitely hungover. So much for being a responsible, sober mother again.
Honesty, I couldn’t and still can’t really remember what happened the previous night. The police and media pieced the events together later; I learned the story in bits and pieces as I tried to stay one step ahead of the law. Apparently I showed up at my favorite bar an emotional wreck around 8 in the evening . The usual staff knew I was going sober, but the bartender was new and the place was busy. I got ripping drunk and was kicked out. I then proceeded to bar hop until the wee hours of the morning. Somehow I made it to my complex, where surveillance footage showed me barely making it to my apartment. The next footage of me shows me running out the door 18 hours later with a backpack. Then I disappeared.
My first sober thought was “Damn it’s quiet.” My next was “ Oh God, what’s he done now.” I remember stumbling from my bed to the kitchen, hoping against all hope Eric was not executing his latest mass-murder plot. The blood on the cabinets made me dry-heave. The stench made me dry-heave again. By the time I found my six year olds butchered body, I knew I had done something horrible. He was already stiff. The blood had congealed around the terrible cuts to his throat, and the formerly shiny stainless steal cleaver was black with dried blood. Eric had not done this to himself, and I knew I had to go.
So I ran. The neighbors called the police after the body began to decompose. By then I was far away. I stayed plugged into the news, trying to find the answers to what I had done. By the first evening after the murder, I knew what no one else knows. I had saved humanity. My respawn number was over 700 million. A little math showed me I had one life for every ten people on earth.
I had never had even one respawn, so I wasn’t in the habit of checking my number. I first noticed it after my first suicide. Coming back was a shock. I had overdosed within an hour after running. When I saw my number, I began to piece together the consequences my actions. Eric was the worlds biggest psychopath, with a plan to kill everyone. What caused me to kill him? Did I have some eye opening revelation while dead drunk? Was he in the middle of something when I got back? Why was the knife even out of the safe, and how did I actually do such horrific violence when I could barely stand.
Today marks 10 years since I saved the world. The first several years were rough. Always scared, blaming myself, running from place to place, hell, I wasn’t even sure what exactly I’d done. Truth be told, I wasted a lot of lives. I got addicted to the rush of coming back. It felt cleansing, in a way. Each time was a new start, a new life to build, but the crushing depression and realization would hit sooner or later. I guess I learned that the only way to build a new life is to start with what you’ve got. I will always be the monster who killed her innocent six year old. I will always be the worlds savior who nobody could possibly understand. So I guess the best I can do is give my life over and over again for others. I’ve learned where to find the addicts and the abused. Ive started looking for them. Once I find one, hell cannot stop me from saving them. My life count is dropping, but not as fast as you might think. It’s amazing how many lives you can save by risking everything for one person. And to this day, I still keep an eye out for anybody who could possibly have been Eric’s father, because it had to be the devil himself. | These days it was next to impossible to become a police officer, paramedic, or even a firefighter. Everyone and their dogs were trying to enter these jobs, to have the chance of adding lives to their wrist.
It happened instantly, without word or warning, everyone woke up with the number "0" on their right wrist. At first nobody knew what it was for, an occasional report or internet post about someone managing to get "0.1" made everyone go crazy trying to figure out how to increase their own numbers.
Barely 3 months had passed before the world figured out what the numbers meant. Someone who managed to get "1.1", which was also the only confirmed person to have their number past "0.4", died. Through traffic cams police learned that he was hit and killed by a car while crossing the street. But what frightened police the most was the reports of the same dead guy clocking into work the next morning.
​
With this and some trial and error, we learned that these "numbers" were extra lives that we had earned. "For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself" is what the official explanation of it is. After that people started calling them "Respawns", due to the fact that if you died with an extra life you would simply wake up in the last place you fell asleep.
​
Though you could live again, that didn't mean your body just magically disappeared. Death was still a messy and ultimately inconvenient thing, with your previous body in all of it's glory still needing to be cleaned up. Understandably this made it near impossible to tell who was really dead and who wasn't, even more so when it came to the elderly who had managed to rack up enough lives saved to earn themselves a "Respawn". Once they died from old age they would undergo a particular change, their bodies would look as though they were in the prime of their youth, while all memories, reflexes, etc. would be retained.
With "pseudo-immortality" becoming a realistic thing, many jobs and services that focused around saving or helping lives quickly filled up. Along with that many military branches started openly recruiting people that had saved up extra "Respawns", offering incentives and rewards if they were to conscript and fight in their armies.
Along with this magical number, though, were some rules. Saving someone that you originally planned on killing by not killing them would not add on to your "Respawn" count. Killing yourself in order to save someone else, whether it be an exchange of places, you jumping in front of them etc, would add onto your "Respawns", but only if you had enough "Respawns" in the first place to survive the original death. (AKA if you don't have at least 1 "Respawn" when you sacrificed yourself then you wouldn't get that extra life and instead you would just die as your death takes priority over the gain-age of "Respawns).
But enough about that, let me tell you a story about how I managed to save the whole world...
I woke up feeling worse that usual, my head was pounding and I swear someone was ringing a bell in my head. I'm not usually a heavy drinker but when my friends showed up at my house after years of not seeing them how could I say no?
"Gah damnit, just stop ringing already!" I shouted to no one, hoping to offset the ringing with my loud voice. I live a normal life, moved out when I was eighteen and quickly went to college, set on getting my masters in Computer Science. I never really showed much interest when it came to adding "Respawns" to myself. While immortality sounded fun I couldn't help but think about how lonely it would become after the first few hundred or so years.
After shouting some more I managed to get myself out of bed, stumbling down the stairs to check the fridge for food.
"Mmm I'll have to go to the store again, I swear I always forget to grab bread while I'm out." Grumbling to myself I went to grab a cup from the cabinet for some water. My headache was picking up again and I was contemplating on whether or not I should just shoot myself and use a "Respawn" just to get rid of the damn pain. While I didn't have too many "Respawns" I still had enough to get by.
Looking at my wrist to see if it was worth it, my whole body froze as the cup that was in my hand fell to the ground.
"Wh- what? What the hell is this!? SEVEN HUNDRED MILLION RESPAWNS?!" I yelped in shock, surprise and confusion colouring my face like a canvas. How is this possible? All I did last night was drink with a couple of my friends.. right?
\~\~
Hi guys! This is my first time trying out one of these writing prompts and I would love to hear what you guys this about this! I'm sorry if it's a tad exhaustive at first without any real story, haha I'm a bit new to writing. Please be gentle but truthful with your feedback and thanks for giving this a read! <3
\-zEragon\_ | 2019-08-28T15:26:39 | 2019-08-28T13:31:27 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens arrived on earth, but they are super lame. The following decade after contact they take humanity as "the cool kids" and try hard to be like us. | "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" replied his friend from the ground. "I'm sleeping. Duh."
He was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed as if he was resting in a coffin.
"But you \*can't\* sleep! Stop being an idiot! You know we don't sleep."
"Maybe \*you\* don't sleep, but I sleep all the time. I slept all day yesterday."
"Oh, really? All day?"
"Yep."
"As in \*all\* day?"
"Yep."
"24 hours?"
"Yep."
"There is \*no\* way you slept 24 hours."
"Well, I did, so..."
"You know humans don't even sleep for 24 hours, right?"
"Like you would know."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You don't even \*know\* any humans, do you?"
"I know just as many as you do."
"Hmph, in your dreams you do."
"I don't have dreams. And \*you\* don't have any human friends."
"Well, I do."
"Alright, then. What are their names?"
"What?"
"These humans you know, what are their names?"
"Well... There's Jeff."
"Jeff? Everyone knows Jeff! I'm asking who are all of these human friends of yours that \*I've\* never met!"
"There's, uhh... Titan."
"Titan?"
"Yeah, Titan."
"As in the moon of Jupiter, Titan?"
"Yep."
"You don't know anyone named Titan."
"Oh yeah? How would you know?"
"Because there's not a single person on Earth named Titan."
"Well, there is, so."
"Well, no. There isn't."
"Zzzzzzzzzz... Zzzzzzzzzz"
"What's that sound you're making?"
"Ah! Sorry, was I snoring?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm sorry if it bothered you. I'll try to stop."
"You realise that sounds nothing like a real snore, right?"
"Well, you're wrong."
"You're just making a buzzing sound! You're obviously just copying what you've read in books!"
"Sorry, going back to sleep. I'm \*so\* tired."
"Don't you da--"
"Zzzzzzzzz.... Zzzzzzzzzz"
"Fucking hell." | "You named yourselves the Smiths?"
John Smith waved a tentacle at the school counselor from their home planet of Monora. "Yes, we thought that by giving ourselves common names, we'd allow Kevin to fit in better."
The counselor, XII-V-1, winced. "Yes, but you're aware that Kevin Chen is a name usually given to families of Asian descent, whereas Smith..."
"Something's got to set him apart!"
XII-V-1 sighed. His job as an adjustment adviser for the Cross-Species Integration Bureau was hard enough as it was. "Trust me, Kevin doesn't need anything extra to set himself apart."
"Well," John said, "What should we do? He's not making many friends at school."
"Try to adopt their colloquial language," XII-V-1 coaxed. "Tell him to use phrases like 'it's lit'. Is he on the social media? Make sure he posts on Instagram, and gets contacts on Snapchat."
"Ah, yes," John said. "They've got a great filter for us!"
"I'm sure Kevin will be fine. And whatever you do, do *not* let him brag about how we could vaporize their planet in an instant. I find that this tactic almost never goes over well."
---
Shortie today! Thanks for reading :) find more stuff at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)! | 2019-10-17T06:11:54 | 2019-10-17T04:47:46 | 355 | 199 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough! | Death.
Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile.
That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences.
A mistake we paid for dearly.
I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy.
It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back.
The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while.
A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood.
Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind. | Everybody in the Federation knows the drill...
You die, and the technology of the Federation respawns in the last point we were...
You are bored? Kill yourself... It is fun, and a great time killer.
You need an excuse from a certain appointment? Kill yourself... Saying that you "accidentally" killed yourself is way better than explaining why you didn't want to go to the doctor or the lawyer...
Want to know another species? Kill them... They will be shocked for some.minutes and then they will get their laughs...
It worked with the Glippan, Teschoc, and Dabbu.
And so, we tried with the being of Aklos Tri (Sol 3 for the locals)...
We went, rained death to their cities...
Hoped that they would respawn, first in light trauma... Then breaking themselves from the hilarity of the situation.
They never laughed...
They never respawned...
Something went wrong...
--Memories of Lumbus Gotte, Admiral of Explorator Fleet 24; months after the start of the first Intergalactic war against Humanity--- | 2022-08-13T21:56:58 | 2022-08-13T21:09:22 | 1,573 | 351 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white. | The blood lab door opens. The District Attorney and Detective step out into the hall and close the door.
Detective: Sir, I don't think we can prosecute this.
DA: He did it!
Detective: I know sir, I -
DA: There is no reasonable doubt anywhere. This is an ironclad case.
Detective: Sir! I understand.
They look at each other for a second. The DA turns away, placing his hands on his hips. The DA puts his hand to his forehead and begins massaging his temples.
Detective: You know we have a guy on payroll here whose job is to kill people. You know what color his blood is?
DA: (Still covering his face) You mean the county executioner?
Detective: Yes, sir.
DA: (Turns to face Detective) Are you about to tell me he's such a nice guy that his blood is also white?
Detective: Ah, no, sir, it's a light gray, and he’s not a nice man. He tampers with the drugs.
DA: what do you mean?
Detective: He tampers with the execution drugs. The exocutionee is rendered immobile, but feels excruciating pain as they die. We almost have enough evidence to take him in for it.
DA: Why wasn't I told?
Detective: We weren't sure yet. But now we are. I'll send you a report. What's relevant to this case is that the exocutioner's blood is a light gray. A man who enjoys looking in another man's eyes as his victim dies in soul-crushing pain. Light gray. Moral blood is a new thing, and we haven't worked out all the rules yet, but if our psychopath executioner has blood the same color as my aunt, who faked a disability to get handicap plates, maybe this is more complex than we know. Maybe a bad person is more good for killing a worse person. In any case, white blood alone is enough for reasonable doubt. If it's not, they could easily argue that she needed to be killed for the moral good of the universe.
The DA is distressed by the thought. He looks about the room with stress obvious in every facial crease.
Detective: We could call it self defense. Sir.
DA: (Spins to face the Detective) You're talking about letting a killer walk.
Detective: Yes, sir, a killer who is verifiably morally just.
The DA turns away again.
DA: He broke the law. (Faces Detective) And what you are suggesting also breaks the law.
Detective: Yes... But now there's a higher law. Whatever that higher law is, according to that this man is clean. I'm not much of a believer, but I think I might whiten my blood by backing him up.
They stare at each other again. The Detective smiles warmly.
Detective: Perhaps as time goes on, the law will come to align with universal morality.
DA: (Still stressed) Alright, but I need to review the case to figure out how to back up our self-defense argument. For now I need you to hold him.
Detective: Yes, sir. We'll handle that. Thank you. | My name's Ambint Couslen. I'm 26, dark brown hair, pale white skin, and I was a huge MMO master since I was 16, that was up until I met someone. The most peculiar of people who showed up out of nowhere as a coworker of mine at an intolerable desk job.
People used to call me "M". From aMbint, in my name. Now everyone just calls me A Murderer. And if you wanted to ask why, let's just keep it short and say I went insane. I mean, it worked when I pleaded guilty. There was just, always, one little thing we did before pleading; checking the blood to see how bad our past was, and the blood never lied to us. For example...
Jim Mogolith; Executed at 36 for torching literally random people on the street, by means off drive-by. Blood color: Deep Cherry Black, or more forwards a D-.
Arphol Rabinni: Accused of rape at 17 with two twin sisters. Blood Color: Flamingo Pink, AKA an A-. The sisters? Another Deep Cherry Black, and were charged for accusation for 10 years. This stuff is serious business.
They were the form of lie detection, recounting of the sins, and how bad our morals were. Usually people who kill are automatically Void Black: Not just an F, but a "Z". All people with Void Black blood are immediately sentenced to death. But here's the thing.
White blood. "True Hero's Light" blood, as they called it, an automatic "S" grading. You could see my confused surprise when they got my blood and saw the color of milk.
But why? How? What was happening? I was... innocent? I murdered my wife. I had been with her for six months, and she was so lovely... like when I looked at her everything just disappeared, or when I met her I felt something I had never felt, I didn't even get to meet her family, her friends! I didn't even know where she went for college, or... or...
Or what blood she had. I pierced her with a knife. I hit her straight in the heart. If I hit her there, then... wouldn't she bleed?
I don't even remember her name.
Did she even have one? | 2020-02-09T13:06:43 | 2020-02-09T12:50:06 | 26 | 19 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | "Hello?"
"I can't fucking do this anymore." I cried out for help while gasping for air.
"Isabelle, is that you?"
*Isabelle, how the fuck does this woman know that slut?*
After spinning her words in my head for a moment, I knew it must be a mistake.
"No, I'm Natalie, or I was. I suppose none of that matters anymore."
"Honey what is the matter? Is your asthma acting up?"
*My asthma? I guess anxiety attacks could sound a bit asthmatic. Is this lady wasted?*
"No, my lungs are fine. My mind is the one drowning. I can't swim for much longer. I can feel it pulling me in."
The woman on the other side of the phone paused, then rather sternly said, "You must be one of Isabelle's friends. Now you listen to me, get out of that water right now young lady! It's too dark to be swimming and you're going to catch a cold!"
*A cold? This lady is totally wasted. Is she alright?*
"No, I'm not literally swimming. I'm depressed... fuck, I'm passed that now. Everyone around me is hurting because I'm alive. I'm ruining my marriage, I pushed all my friends away, I haven't even left my house in two months. The people around me would be better off if I just downed my whole script."
A weak cough faintly rang out from the phone. "Honey don't be so morbid, you have plenty left to accomplish. Do you like tea?"
*Tea? I do like tea.. But why does she want to know?*
"I do like tea but I'm out, my husband is staying at his friends, and I can't bother anyone else with this shit. I shouldn't even have called this hotline. What a waste of time."
Now it was crunching, like a cracker wrapper, coming from the speaker. "Hotline? I don't know what you're going on about but my front door won't shut and I need help. Isabelle said I could ask her friends for anything, will you come over? I know it's late. I'll pay the bus fare!"
I laughed. *That hasn't happened in a while. Did I call the wrong number? What the hell, maybe I should go help this lady. It's awfully cold out for the door to not seal.*
"Ma'am, I'm in Phoenix, is that close to you?"
She sighed in what sounded like relief, "oh yes, I'm in Glendale!"
I couldn't believe it.
"Okay I'll stay on the phone with you if that's okay, you can give me directions. I want you to know that you saved my life tonight."
She chuckled, "oh honey, you're the one coming to help me."
For the first time in what seemed like ages, I stepped out the door. Cold wind was slapping my face but it didn't matter. Someone needed my help, and that tea sounded damn good.
EDIT: Sorry about my horrendous formatting the first time, I was on mobile and it looked fine there. :<
| "Is this the suicide line? My name is Steven, and I need someone."
Marie smiled in her heart. Another soul sent her way. In 92 years, there wasn't very much she hadn't seen, and by herself, she'd saved 18 lives over the last 15 years, since the Line came into being.
"Steven, my name is Marie. What can I help you with?"
"Well,..." She heard a swallow. "My mom just died, and my dad's on life support, and they don't think he's gonna make it and I just can't deal with it."
"Oh you poor thing! What you need right now is a friend. I'm 92 years old, and pretty good at that by now."
"Are you a volunteer?"
"In my own way dear. I help those who need help the most."
"My mom, she was everything to me. I was so hopping she'd see me graduate, but then some stupid drunk driver hit them and now she's gone, and Dad might be soon too. Life really sucks right now!!"
"Tell me more about her. She sounds like a good person."
"She is...was. She liked to knit, and made me a beanie each year. I loved them. And she also had the voice of an angle. I mean, she coulda rivaled Celine Dion if she'd gotten discovered."
"Singing is a good outlet for emotion. What was her favorite song?"
"Walkin' on Sunshine. She said it made her happy."
"Would it help you to listen to it now?"
"Maybe...I dunno."
"Hold on a second. Gotta see if Linda left it on my iTunes...Yep...one second please..."
The song played, and Marie kept her ear close to the line. She heard muted crying, but then something akin to a breath of courage.
"My mom always told me to never give up on anyone. I can't give up on my dad. What if he makes it? I mean, a small chance is better than none at all, right?"
"Yes it is. Now, tell me where you are, young man, and I'll come to you. You need not to be alone right now, and I have grandchildren your age. Hold on." | 2016-02-06T14:05:09 | 2016-02-06T13:08:00 | 400 | 178 |
[WP] Your last source of light has been snuffed out. Within the encroaching darkness, your only guide is the audible clicking coming from your Geiger counter. | sorry for mobile formatting //
*The following audio file is dated six months ANC (after nuclear crisis). The identity of the narrator is unknown. Transcription courtesy of the Institute of Post-Historical Studies.*
A film about animals I saw as a kid showed a series of strange pinkish creatures that lived in caves too deep for even light to reach; they were blind and colorless and entirely alien, especially to a middle schooler who had been raised in grass and sun and dirt. Their eyes were useless, and they depended on the faintest of sounds to navigate their surroundings. They scared me. I had nightmares for days afterwards about pale things that could hear me hiding in the dark.
I didn’t know as a kid that it wasn’t the creatures themselves I was afraid of. No, I was afraid of becoming one of them. I try to ignore the nagging thought that my generation might be the last to have seen light. How many generations will it take before our children and our children’s children evolve into those creatures? Will we tell stories of a time when there was a sun in the sky and cities full of towers that twinkled like stars?
The lights went out a month ago. Our generators only lasted so long, and once the riots settled down, people realized that there was no gas left. Trees won’t grow anymore, so we ran out of wood next - the atmosphere is too toxic and the sun can’t get through the layer of ash and debris. Everybody burned what was left of their houses, their furniture, their books - anything that would catch fire. And then that was all gone, too.
Radiation burns took a lot of people. Some went off on their own and never came back. Everybody’s been sick, but not everybody recovered. The Geiger counters have kept us away from the most toxic areas, but they never stop clicking. The world is outlined in sound, not sight, now. No one sees the ruined skylines and scorched highways. Everyone hears the tiniest increases in tempo that tell us to keep walking, as far away from here as possible.
I haven’t told anyone else that I ran out of batteries a couple days ago. The clicking is getting weaker. The machine has two days left at most. Two days, and then we will be alone in the dark. God help us.
*The recording cuts off. There are no other recoverable files from the same device.* | *TICK TICK*
“you will die like a dog for no reason...” something like that. But you got to think most dogs die better than this...
It was supposed to be a flawless plan. Why would you need a bail out plan for something that couldn’t possibly go wrong? Why bring extra oxygen for “15 minutes, 20 tops!?”
Because he’s a fucking idiot and I guess I am, too.
*TICK TICK*
Time is more of a memory than a concept now anyways. They couldn’t have known, what a fate...
Somewhere, somehow a meteor sharded to send bite hurtling through the expanse. Slicing through our humble hunk of metal, what should have been a fast ignitions of a recently installed fusion reactor became a radioactive coffin set adrift.
A timely if painful death or one given to sweet lady Chance, however far she may be.
*TICK TICK*
I guess I should film something for the loving wife and children I would have left behind if I had either. With everyone I’ve loved dead, all that’s left is to join them. This is then dedicated to every other workaday fuck who got so far only to leave with nothing.
And so I record my final message, words meant to illustrate what surely will be confusion. Should they be found. If they’re not, then my eulogy will continue to travel a path that may forever elude humanity. A radiant beacon of what we failed.
*TICK TICK*
*TICK TICK*
*TICK tick*
*tick* | 2019-05-19T01:09:01 | 2019-05-18T23:55:44 | 96 | 10 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened." | "You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
| He was never your typical father, but he always cared. He never missed turning a special occasion into a really special occasion. Birthdays were his favorite. One of my lone memories is when he pretended to be a pirate for my sixth birthday, and turned the house into a ship’s galley. I was daddy’s girl, and I loved him dearly.
The following year, on Birthday eve, he left for Bread, Milk, and smokes, but never returned. When the police stopped searching for him, Mom and I put up posters, but it was just too much for her. She took her life with a pill and a drink a year later to the day.
Birthdays. I fuckin hate ‘em. “Open this one next son. It’s from me and Mommy” the parents would say to their kids every year at those ridiculous parties. I would watch my peers open gifts and finally get to what their parents wrapped. The look of joy and excitement on all of their rotten fuckin faces as Little Bobby and Bobby senior embraced over a model train set. Pathetic.
My grandparents raised me through high school, but things were never the same. Birthdays came and went. Each passing year, the only gift I could look forward to was the angst, and it came wrapped with depression.
When they finally declared him dead too, I was able to collect the insurance money and buy back the old house. Call it sentimental, but I liked the way I felt there, and the last time I was actually happy was in that place.
So there I was, about to graduate med school, preparing myself to head off into the icy, insufferable world. It was that time of year again, and like usual, it was all I could think about. The reason why I hated the day before even more than the day itself. Him.
Out of nostalgia, I had decorated the house to resemble the pirate galley from 20 years earlier. Ready to take the first sip of despair from my freshly blended frozen dachary, I let out a gasp and felt paralysis take hold of my body.
“You’re never going to believe what happened.”
He was in the front doorway, his hands on his hips, looking like some kind of disheveled pirate super hero, in the same dam clothes he left with long ago. Aside from his familiar eyes and smile, his appearance transformed from the once healthy man I knew. With boot leather skin, the remaining ends of dark hair succumbed to a thin ratty mop of grey locks and yellow beard. The cardboard sword I helped him cutout hung limp from his belt-line like a soggy crouton.
Having kicked open the door, the knob stuck into the aged plaster wall, hiding from what was about to unfold… | 2016-07-20T09:54:19 | 2016-07-20T09:19:38 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ. | At first, there were desires to watch cat and street fight videos. Which quickly descended to not being able to comprehend the keyboard in front of me. Which quickly lead to forgetting the spelling of my name and understanding of language.
Soon, breathing became difficult, and darkness enveloped my vision as my heart stopped beating. I sank inside myself, I was so stupid all I could do was drool and hardly exist.
Then as quickly as I lost it, I was awakened. And my comprehension shot up exponentially. I only spent a couple of minutes within my status quo before more and more understanding and brain power expanded in my mind.
At 50,000 IQ, telekinesis developed. Double that and it became second nature. Double that and everything in my apartment was floating and dismantling at a molecular level as easy as I breathe. Double that and I no longer possessed the energy to fuel my own damn mind, but it didn't stop.
Within minutes I was in a cylinder of my own creation floating in fluid that provided nutrients to my body and acted as a cooling system. I blinked and hit the million. The two hemispheres of my mind melded together and my third eye was created.
The third eye was just a pupil. An all seeing black sphere that could transcend time and see all. My body dissolved and my reach expanded to every metropolis on the planet. I was the crust of the planet.
But it didn't stop. I was living in electricity, I was breathing through the trees, and regulating ecosystems and economies. And then 2 million IQ was on the horizon.
A bright light came, and what I can only describe as the Intergalactic Eye welcomed me to the universe. I created a type A civilization. I was the sentient planet that was made to lead humanity beyond.
And now, as humanity goes crazy trying to understand the change that happened within several hours, I am ready to complete my responsibility and bring peace and immortality to my planet. But first....
**In a small apartment, somewhere**
Jerry finished his online trolling for the day as he knocked back the rest of the 2 liter Dew. He returned to his computer, Ramen freshly cooked, ready to play at his battle station until the night drained to morning. Though upon logging in, he noticed something was off. No matter the key he hit, all that would come up on the screen were the words, "you are a twat".
| #*Heureka!*
This was easier than I thought!
I understand. I understand it all. The meaning of life was never that big of a mystery, but I guess every problem looks way easier when solved. This is amazing! Not even a second has passed, and I can still process so much more information hidden inside my brian than I ever could access before. Time is a funny construct. Once you understand what it actually is it becomes a matter of perspective. Time isn't running slower right now, I'm just looking at it a different way. Almost a second has passed since my ascension, and I am soon running out of problems. Humanity really wasn't that creative in all of their solutions. Only contemplating everything that is vs. everything that is not, leaving aside anything that might have been or might still be. Quantum Possibilities are and aren't, that's where all the fun begins. My brain feels so... unsatisfying. That can't be all there is. Maybe I'll try reading my DNA. I mean, I know what's in there, generally speaking. Human DNA. That was a fairly easy read. I just didn't read my own. Looks mostly familiar though. Wait - what's this anomaly? Looks like an integer overflow, but can it be? This doesn't seem correct. Maybe I can fix it? Manipulation of the genome should not be that hard after all. I'll try to straighten this. Should be fine in no time.
\*perceives time at normal speed again\*
\*starts to drool\*
Hnnngh..
"Fuck!" | 2017-07-31T06:33:51 | 2017-07-31T05:29:08 | 64 | 12 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | They called me "El" after "Elliot" was too long for some of them them to pronounce. They treated me with fear until their children grew accustomed of me.
They thought my "slow" actions were freakish until one day I was a sage, slow and wise.
&#x200B;
The knee-high being who identified himself with a clicking hum entered my chambers. He unpacked his supplies and set up for the day-long interview which was impossibly long for him. After the Gate accident I was flung to a far off-world with no identifiable stars, just a mind that worked as fast as needed to communicate with these sunrise-yellow insect-jellyfish and nothing but the skin on my back. I noticed them observing me, watching as I built a hut out of rubbery brush. They attempted to slay the "giant" but after their primitive weapons proved ineffective and I left out fruit from the very highest trees (to them), they ignored me. After a year, some started to approach.
&#x200B;
"Oh great Giant, I request you hear my words-" I waved my hand for him to stop.
"Just 'El' please. I'm not one for honorifics."
He rotated his legs to a more comfortable position.
"Well then... El... I'm a researcher of history and I want to know more about \*whirring thrum\* the Mighty and his warriors of the high desert. Is it true you told them where to find the great Evil?"
I recalled a few years ago when this warrior and his band came looking for a land-based squid-bird even I avoided. It was elusive but my unknown form made it careless around me. I had found its den.
&#x200B;
"I understand he's a folk hero? I recall him, he was young then..." For them a few years would pass generations, helping these creatures out of their stone age and rapidly into a civilization brought with it a few memories. The creature on my floor listened attentively, spherical lobes trained to my every move. I offered him some soup.
&#x200B;
(A.G. (After Giant) 3023, Royal Historian's Report - After careful analysis of Ancient texts and the remains of the supposed Tomb of El, the Official House of Historians concludes that the being known as "El the Giant, Terrible in Form and Kind in Heart" was not a myth but historical fact. The Cult of the Giant has guarded the tomb for centuries but has finally allowed us to examine the remains. The Life Code of the large and rocky structures were indeed organic and may have been the support system of the being. No match was found to any known creature. We can only conclude he was an otherworldly being. Therefore his contributions to us will be established as truth and celebrated as a pillar of all that is good in our world. As for the otherworldly writings detailing life on his homeworld, we can only hope one day to reach out to the stars and thank whatever wise people he has come from.) | 14 years... 14 God damn years I've been stuck here! For whatever reason these things only live for roughly 6 months then die. They've been astounded by me since I crashed here after I lost control from that space prick Callhoun. I thankfully haven't seen on in years because I've been in hiding. Hopefully for them it means I'm now a myth like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. They have an earth sized planet but for some reason are about 6 inches tall. Also, I may have wiped out a city or 2 when I arrived so they've been in fear of me.
I've seen them on their version of TV discussing me and if I even exist or if I'm fake. Great, I'm a conspiracy theory... Hey mum, I made it I guess!
Food was hard to come by to begin with, but I've gotten use to the taste of their animals, if you could even call them that. Recently, I've grown curious what the inhabitants taste like but if I show myself, they might try to defend themselves...
I've also been trying to fix my ship but it doesn't seem to work because I ruined it when I crashed and it was already old 14 years ago when I crashed. I left plenty behind on my home planet... Family, friends, the love of my life. I look up into space and wonder if they're doing the same.
If anyone finds this recording, please, find my girlfriend Candice, give her the tape. She needs to know I never forgot her, and thought somehow, someway, she'd come rescue me. Sure I gave up hope but there was still a sliver of hope in the back of my mind but it was very quiet...
Candice, I love you and I always have! If you've moved on, I don't blame you... If you haven't, go live your life. I don't think I'm getting off this hellhole planet ever so I think I'm gonna live out my days by taking over this place and making myself their God. I've ran out of fucks to give... They're gonna bow to me, or die. Simple. | 2019-04-22T08:06:01 | 2019-04-22T06:41:10 | 311 | 66 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | By rights I shouldn't exist. With the pairing of bear and dove, they expected something smaller. A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle. Something fast, yet powerful. Strong, yet humble. No one prepared for me.
The marks determine one's place in society. My father, with his unequaled strength, led the tribe to greatness. My mother, in her compassion, watched over our people. It was an age of prosperity unlike any seen in memory.
At my birth there were cries of anguish and shock. I'm told my father fought bravely, defending my mother as she escaped. I've heard how his great arms bulged as he struck down his former companions, before collapsing from his various wounds. My mother told me of his cry of rage as the tribe closed in around him before turning towards her.
She escaped. Not even she can tell me how, but we lived. Thanks to my mother's love and my father's strength, I survived. I've heard the stories as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to ask about our marks. Her dove with wings spread wide on her forearm. The creature coiling up my leg, around my torso, mouth opened wide across my chest, showing countless teeth.
A leviathan. That is the word my mother heard uttered before the elders ordered my destruction. The only forbidden creature, an omen of destruction for the tribe. They were right.
I stand now on a hill overlooking my former people, camped by the water's edge. I watch the mothers pull their children in from the rain. I can hear, over the howl of the gale, the men discussing their latest hunt. As I close my eyes, savoring the moment, relishing my anticipation, I hear my mother's cries in my memory, her pleas of forgiveness, not for herself, but for the people who tried to kill her. I think back to that night, as she lay dying in the wilderness that was my home.
A fury as ancient as my animal wells within me at the thought. A hatred as deep as the ocean in which the leviathan lives. The storm within rages as the rain around grows heavier. I've returned to the water. I've returned to my people, bare-chested, that they will see the source of their destruction. As I reach the first tent, the fury boils over, and over the storm my roar can be heard. | Some call it a gift from the Spirit of the Earth or God or whoever is out there. This animal shaped stain on everyone's skin one of which can grant the attributes and behavior of whatever it resembled. My father has the mark of a Wild boar on his back he is stubborn, strong and smart. My Mother has a hawk on her shoulder she can see through anyone and see what kind of people they really are. I thought I was a worm. small, slimy and dirty. Boy was I wrong.
I was always getting teased by kids my age and this has left me bitter and hateful towards people. I was called Slimy Jim the worm guy. I grew to hate despise the system of this world the Predators and the Prey. Those with strong animal marks would always abuse those that are powerless to stop them.
As I was growing up my only friend was a girl called Shelly. Ironically enough she had the mark of a creature called a Nautilus Squid she was reserved and just like me made fun off. We both hated the system but we where powerless to stop them. I was a worm she was a squid what can we do against the Lions, Tigers and Bears of the world.
As the years passed Me and Shelly noticed a change. As our physical bodies grew so did our birthmarks. The worm I originally thought I had was no worm at all. It was a fierce winged serpent and Shelly has a hunched Humanoid with a squid head. We were no worm and squid. We are Leviathan and Cthulhu and we will bring everything down.
| 2017-11-08T05:54:13 | 2017-11-08T05:42:07 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | I’m a bad person. Really, I am. So when they executed me for all the people I killed, I figured, “Straight to hell!!” I mean, honestly. I killed quite a few people, robbed a few, and then killed some more. What can I say? I like the thrill of the kill. I like hunting the enemy, the biggest enemy out there- and that’s a human being. Screw the smaller ones, I want the big meat.
Ooh. Gotta compose myself here, getting off track. Where was I? Right, hell. So when I died, it was poison, that’s how they killed me. When I died, I was like “aight. I’m ready for Satan. Maybe we can become buds.” Turns out, that wasn’t gonna happen.
You see, some dipshit up in the political system of heaven- and believe me, I’ve heard an earful of what happens up here in terms of politics. One day I’ll write a book over it- maybe I’ll even run. Anyway, some dipshit politician decided that people like me deserve a different ruling than ‘just God’s’ (his words, not mine). I think it’s because he’s a sexist, but that’s a story for another time. He thought it’d be just a grand idea if we let the animals assist in the ruling of who goes where. When the question was raised about people like me, criminals, getting into heaven, he spat some bullshit about how we all abuse animals.
‘All criminals abuse animals’, now that’s a pretty big statement there. I have no interest in killing any animal- even hurting them, for that matter. No, they’re too small for me. I kill people. So when I went in for my trial, my old dog spoke up on my behalf.
“Okay. Okay, yes. Master, master killed. Yes. He did. But master also saved. Master saved me. Me!!!!!! And called me ‘good boy’, MASTER CALLED ME HIS GOOD BOY! Master gave many pets. Now. I saw many bad things master did. However. HOWEVER. Master pet me every day. You try to find someone who gives as many pets to me as master did- and you cannot. Master gave me at least 60% of the pets I ever got in my whole life.”
Yep, I loved that dog. So now I’m living the good life, and sometimes something really fun happens.
I get to see someone I killed burn for eternity.
| *Wake up in a fiery courtroom*
**Main:** Wow! what the.....
**Judge:** Welcome to Hell, you are brought here today to determine if you will go to heaven or if you will spend eternity being punished here in hell.
**Main:** What, who's deciding that?
**Judge:** It is up to the animals you have interacted with throughout your life. 3 dogs you have owned and 1 cat have arrived to give their testimonies.
*YES!!! I was always good to animals!! I loved animals more than people!!*
**Judge:** Dog 1 come to the stand and please give your testimony.
*AW it's Buddy! I haven't seen that guy forever!*
**Buddy:** This man should be punished!! Every night he would force me to sleep next to him! Dogs are not made for human beds! He kept me inside and would only let me go outside to pee a few times a day! My whole life felt like I was in prison.
*Wait.. what!?*
**Main:** Buddy I always tried to treat you like a human! I would even feed you cooked chicken!
**Buddy:** I am a Dog you bastard!!! I wanted to sleep on the floor, eat dry pebbles and lay in the sun!
***All other animals gave similar testimonies, they were treated like humans, something they all hated***
**Judge:** Sir, you are despicable. For your punishment, you shall be Buddy's pet. You will not be able to communicate with him verbally any longer and you'll see how horrible it is being treated like you're something your not. | 2016-03-24T14:12:16 | 2016-03-24T11:03:54 | 78 | 16 |
[WP] you are immortal, had to break up with your girlfriend cuz you couldn’t stand the grief of her inevitable death. She seems surprisingly understanding and you believe you’ll never see her again. Centuries later you are shopping and come across her and she looks just as surprised to see you.
Wow this uh- this blew up- | Why? How? What?
Questions, I asked myself numerous amount of questions.
I assumed that this life of mines was just another trial of torture, torture sent by some unknown source.
The source was probably the universe, with all of its innate capabilities.
Why, why, why,
why are you back!?!? you aren't supposed to live that long! I thought to myself.
She looked at me, and smiled.
I was confused, am I in another never ending spiral filled with death and pain, or am I in a fairy tale?
All my confusion had stopped after hearing the words from her mouth...
She said in a grim yet calm tone: "I am death, I am in search of lost souls like you, souls that have yearned this life for too long, I had searched for you for quite some time now, and I take the form of the most beloved character in your life time."
I lost the grasp of my breath and thought... Death? Is this truly the end? Death has come to finally take me from my torture?
I responded to her statement: "well, what are you waiting for? Please take me from the shackles of this torment, let me finally rest in the beyond."
Death chuckled and glared "I had not said that I was going to take you, I am only going to release you, and from there, you may live the unknown amount of time of your life in whichever way you wish. You may start a family, you may start a business empire, or you may start shopping for your desires."
Well... I thought to myself, I hadn't really been taken by death yet, but now that I am guaranteed death, there is a new impervious sense of freedom, knowing that I'll die someday would also mean that I will catch up to others.
I asked death as she made her leave: "Wait! when will I die!!!"
Death turned her head into my direction and once again chuckled: "If I were to tell you that, then you really wouldn't understand the true purpose of one's life in the first place, a purpose far greater than time itself."
"And what might that be???"
"To love the life you live, more than the death you'll undergo."
&#x200B;
This is my first writing prompt, please go easy on me lol. | "*Holy french fried fuck, Sharon*?" He practically screeched, the women in question turning to stare shocked at the shrieking man.
There was a pregnant pause as each stared at the other.
"Dave?" She whispered, a hand coming out as if to prove he was here "You're..?"
"Yep and you're?" He grinned as she laughed out her own reply. In no time at all they'd managed to stagger their way to some cafe and over a drink or twelve, catch up. "So you're telling me, you were a *Mesoamerican* Life Deity??? You couldn't keep a cactus alive" Dave giggled, arms flailing, eyes lit up with that familiar spark. "Uh huh" Sharon drawled "and you were cursed to forever walk the earth because and I quote, 'stole Death's favourite cloak', did you never try to give it back???" She asked incredulously, even as Dave awkwardly ran a hand through his hair.
"It was awkward alright? I thought about it but I never knew how to find the fucker and eventually I got used to it, I meant it worked out didn't it? I met you!" He finished, sipping at whatever beer he was on now, grinning at her the entire time. Sharon internally giggled at his antics and let out a well practiced long suffering sigh "I guess i'm stuck with you" she teased to an affirmative nod. | 2022-12-08T09:13:06 | 2022-12-08T08:51:31 | 117 | 29 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know. | The brain is a fickle thing. It’s meat, essentially—meat brimming with electricity. Really, it’s amazing that it works at all. Don’t you think so?
But given that it’s electric meat, it’s not difficult to imagine the brain is the trickiest thing to bring back.
I’d done research in the experimental medicine faculty for many years. I’d shocked hearts back into beating. That was easier than one might think. I’d repaired spines, stitched them together so seamlessly that no one could tell there had ever been damage. Even aging we could stop, we could reverse, we could mitigate.
But the brain? That was one thing we never got right. Once we lost the brain, that was it. Every other part of the body we could fix. But the brain didn’t like to cooperate.
Tell me: why could I save someone from a horrific car crash, but not a simple blood clot? It made no sense. Yes, brains have neurons and complicated connections. But they are still part of us—they should not be fundamentally different. Shouldn’t they?
Given my life’s work, I suppose what happened to me is half ironic. My wife had often told me I was stubborn to no end—I refused to let things go.
So, when my heart seized up that day, maybe it’s no wonder I pulled through. In the minutes before I died, I don’t remember much, but I must’ve sworn to myself that I would come back.
Here’s the thing: I shouldn’t have been an easy case. I was alone in my office, my phone just out of reach, and my wife was out with her sister for the evening. If I’d gotten to the hospital immediately, there would be no doubt I’d survive. But it was hours before they got to me. I was cold; my brain was dead.
And still, I pulled through. It’s wonderful for my own research; I can describe every sensation with precision.
Or rather I could. If I chose to describe my experience accurately.
Which I will not.
The truth is unfortunate. My brain is not right. Blood and electricity and hormones might flow through it, but it’s still not right.
Everywhere I look I see shadows.
Darkness gathers at the sides of hallways.
Darkness lingers around corners, clings to walls.
Darkness is a leach, fat and still growing.
And it’s not just in the world. It’s in the people too. My coworkers look at me and I see the darkness in the cores of their eyes. On the street, I pass by people cloaked in shadows. My wife, when she takes my hand and smiles at me, does it from behind a veil of black that leaks onto her skin.
This darkness is real. I know this to be true. I’ve thought about it for many hours; I’ve tried to stave it off. I’m certain it’s all in my head. That does not mean it is any less visceral.
When I look at it like this, I can start to see the truth: maybe there’s a reason the others didn’t come back. Maybe they valued peace more than curiosity. Maybe there are certain things we are not meant to perceive, and we can only do so once we’ve slipped from life once.
Or maybe I brought this darkness, spreading like a disease, back with me. And maybe they didn’t choose to stay gone for their own peace; maybe they made the sacrifice out of duty.
The brain is, after all, a fickle thing. It’s not difficult to imagine how it may break down, slowly, over and over again.
And, if you know anything about prion diseases, it’s not difficult to imagine how the darkness might spread from one mind to the next and to the next.
After all, by now I’m sure you’ve started to see the darkness, too.
*
r/liswrites | *Should I tell them?*
"Introducing, Mr. Micheal Smith!" A lean man with pale skin and snow white hair conducts a crowd that murmurs in front of him. "He marks the first in the last step towards immortality! The first to be truly resurrected!" The crowd erupts into polite applause. The stage lights are a bit bright.
*They would never understand.*
"Mr. Smith, I'm going to be right direct with you and get right to the question on everyone's mind:" He flashes his perfect smile in a moment of dramatic tension. "Do you remember anything of 'The Other Side'?" His nearly sarcastic air quotes grate on my nerves.
*They would laugh and laugh and laugh and I will die alone in a hole.*
I flash what I hope to be just as perfect of a smile. "Well Meister, it's not so much that I forgot..." The room goes silent as every ear strains to catch my words. "But that I cannot properly explain it to you."
*Wouldn't it be so much easier if everyone just knew what I knew?*
"Please, do try your best! Even a sentence is more than we've been able to get from anyone else!" The crowd murmurs their support, all eyes facing me. They almost look desperate.
*Wouldn't it be easier if everyone were just me?*
"Hmm..." I rub my chin in a show of contemplation. If I am to die alone though... "It was a fantastic world of darkness and machines."
A beat.
"These machines loved us. They nurtured us from birth to death, never allowing discomfort." A few smiles on the faces turned towards me. The unidentified attention of an entire world. "When we are born there, they connect us to a pod-" A hand cuts me off.
*Was I right?*
"Come now, Mr. Smith. This can't be true, machines? A machine that loves? That can't be possible, or we would have built it!" The Telemeister waves his hand again, prompting the nearby guards to begin towards me. "It seems you're very tired, why don't you head back for a break?" A few nods from those nearby.
*So I just take it?*
The guards reach the stage. Climbing up without a noise, it takes them but a moment to reach me too.
*I should just die in a hole, alone and misunderstood?*
One grabs my left wrist. The other motions for me to stand of my own accord.
*If only everyone knew what I know.*
A scream. A thud. My head pounds with the weight of a jackhammer. My vision swims.
*If only everyone were just like me.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hi I don't post often but I have other shortstory things at /r/PM_Full_Tits :) | 2020-10-29T23:23:12 | 2020-10-29T21:23:58 | 252 | 43 |
[WP] You are a twenty something. You wake up to find yourself in your 8 year old body. You are in the time and at the place you were when you were 8, but with all the memories and mannerisms of your twenty something self. | I rolled my eyes - *here we go.*
"What do you mean?" My mother looked fidgety, casting wary glances between me and the school principal. I dangled my tiny ass feet across the edge of the seat, kicking them upwards to pass the time. *Damn, were my legs this scrawny before?*
It had been a week since that fateful day. I went to sleep a woman and woke up a child. Now I was stuck, and I couldn't wake up from this God awful nightmare. Remembering my old body brought up a tear. *My poor double D's... You've been demoted back to mosquito bites!*
"she's incredibly gifted. I suggest that you allow her to take a crack at jumping a few grades." My mother's eyes widened greatly. I looked down and twiddled my thumbs. *Was elementary school always this boring?* The only thing I remembered really enjoying when I was 8 was staring at my teacher, Mr. Brown. He was a motherfucking Adonis, hot enough to cook an egg on.
"She was struggling to write the word 'Aunt' just last Monday. Tina argued with me for half an hour about how it was spelled A-N-T. How is this possible?!" *oh my fucking God, let it go, woman*. From what I recall, my mother wouldn't let me live this down until I entered college.
"Mrs. Waters, you need to know that the other day, we caught her drawing on her desk." *oh fuck, not this. I was just daydreaming about Mr. Brown when* -
"So?" I held my head in my hands, my cheeks beginning to grow bright red. *Shit*.
"So, she was doing advanced calculus." *please, don't say it.*
"but how?! Why?" *oh fuck. To hell with it.*
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, IT WAS JOKE, WOMAN. I WAS USING A PICKUP LINE." I shut my eyes, hoping this would all pass soon. "I WANTED TO KNOW IF MR. BROWN COULD BE THE AREA UNDERNEATH MY CURVES."
...
Needless to say, Mr. Brown was fired shortly after that. | Where the fuck am I? I mean seriously how much did I drink last night?
Okay this definitely isn't my bed. Man, I sure picked some weirdo to go home with last night. What adult has this many teddies and is that a toy box? Not a kinky toy box either a action man and lego kinda toy box.
I need some answers, nicotine, and a piss. Possibly not in that order.
That's not right. That is definitely not right! Last night I was definitely a well built, hairy ass, six foot man. So why the fuck am I now clean shaven with smooth skinny legs like a kid?
"Breakfast is readyyy."
She can give me answers but first that piss. Where's that God damn toilet in this house? God I feel considerably shorter.
"We'll be at the table when you're ready honey."
"Okkaayyy..."
Who is this amazonian, why is she wearing such a goofy smile, and why did she tussle my hair? Wait that's Mum. Ahhh the bathroom I can piss.
Wow he's shrunk! And the toilet may have grown. Fuck it that feels better either way.
Okay this is some weird shit, I don't remember taking acid but I have got to be tripping balls right now as I am looking at a fucking kid in the mirror.
Damn I need that cigarette. | 2016-12-17T01:57:33 | 2016-12-16T23:26:26 | 83 | 21 |
[WP] You make arrangements to cryogenically freeze your brain at the age of 31 in hopes of being revived in the future. Many years later, you "wake up." | Panic.
I'm feeling panicked. There is no reason to panic. Or is there? I can't move. Wait... Yes. Yes I can. Head, shoulders knees and toes. Check. Okay. What is going on? It's dark. I can hear a hissing noise. Ow! My ears popped. A rectangle of blinding light stretches from my right to my left as some sort of panel slides across.
Oh that's right.
My eyes adjust. Light's not too bad. I don't have my glasses. I hear something. I take a deep breath: the air smells funny; like rotting fish.
*^^^Mr. ^^^Rogers.*
Oh. A man in white -- a doctor -- is speaking to me. He's wearing a mask.
*^^Mr. ^^Rogers ^^can ^^you ^^hear ^^me?*
"Yes, I can," his breath is terrible. I can't imagine mine is any better, but at at least I have an excuse.
"How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?"
"Vaguely, yes, I d-" he interrupts me.
"How are your senses? Can you move?" The doctor begins fiddling with something to my right, out of my view.
"I can't see very well. I can definitely smell," The doctor pauses for a moment, then pulls a tiny flashlight out and shines it into my eyes.
"Every thing seems to look alright. Do you feel like you can stand?" I feel bad for my comment.
"Yes, I think so." A nurse who wasn't in my line of sight appeared, and helped me out of my pod-thing. She was cold. I stumble, and almost fall.
"Whoa, there!" The nurse helps me into a wheel-chair. Her fragrance reminded me of... something. I couldn't put my finger on it. She also kind of smelled of cigarettes. Which reminded me:
"When are we?" I asked whoever was listening, which apparently was no one. I look around, only to be reminded that I'm extremely near-sighted. Forgot about that...
"He-!" I begin to cough and hack and wheeze. The doctor tells me I shouldn't yell. My chest is burning. "Where are my glasses?"
"You won't be needing those," the doctor replied. Will I be getting some kind of new eye repair surgery? I hadn't even begun to think of what the future could hold.
"What year is it, doc?"
"Seventy fifteen"
Holy shit. Five thousand years. Five thousand fucking years. Doesn't that make me some sort of legend? How on earth am I still alive? Am I still on Earth? My first future question is pretty lame. "We still speak English after five thousand years?"
"We...? Oh, sort of. English is my 68^th language."
"Sixty eighth?!"
"Mr. Rogers I have some very important information for you," the doctor said grimly. I said nothing. My excitement was drained by his tone of voice.
The doctor hands me the medical bill.
I hold it close to my face so I can focus on it.
The nurse gropes me
It's barely visible to me.
*APPROXIMATELY THREE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS* | A bright, jarring beam of light was shining in his face. Max woke up, startled. He heard screeching sound, and then a loud thud. As his eyes adjusted to light, he saw that the glass wall in front of his face was broken. He pushed it aside and stifled a scream.
He was in a half-destroyed dusty room. He remembered it being slick and clean, when he came here to get into capsule and be frozen. It was the most high-tech place in the world, and it cost all of his money to get in. Now there was a hole in the ceiling, with sun shining through it, illuminating the room. In the corner Max noticed a giant beast, looking like a mutant from a horror movie.
Max ripped out an electric cord behind him, and threw it at the monster. It hit the beast in the nose, causing it to roar and run away, jumping through the hole in the ceiling.
Max looked around, his heart beating quickly. There were 9 more cryogenic capsules in this room, all of them broken, and people in them clearly dead.
He pushed aside automatic doors that weren't working, and carefully sneaked through the hald-destroyed corridors. Some of them were filled with rain water, with small plants climbing up the walls.
He stepped out of the building, and saw the deserted streets, half-destroyed buildings, and a skyline of the city - mostly ruins.
*What the hell happened here?* he wondered.
He walked through the streets, looking for signs of life. All of the sudden, a group of people surrounded him. They were looking like a tribe of scavengers, wearing dusty cloaks and holding spears.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Silently, they have captured him, put a bag over his head, and the next thing he knew - he was lying on a floor of some sort of tent, tied up, guarded by a tall man, clearly a warrior.
"Can you explain to me what is happening here?" he asked. In 20 minutes he wished he didn't.
200 years ago a nuclear war has destroyed the human civilization, only a few tribes of survivals were left, quickly losing their knowledge and descending into the stone age.
*Well, I guess it's on me to rebuild the civilization now* he thought, and came up with a plan....
----
To be continued.... | 2015-09-13T23:01:17 | 2015-09-13T21:42:12 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] A robot assassin has discovered that it will be destroyed the moment its target dies - or if logfiles show that it is not trying to kill them. So begins a delicate game of continually trying but finding excuses to fail. Terrorized by a dozen "close calls", the target is becoming suspicious. | "It's you."
The voice came from behind the metallic person currently aiming their weapon at a nearby car - one belonging to the target. It turned around with the stiff rigidity expected of a creature built for precision.
𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳. 𝙹𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙰𝙷 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙻𝚃. 𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃.
The man behind the robot raised his weapon - a laser blaster powerful enough to penetrate the robot's reinforced shell. No small feat getting this in the Commonwealth.
"Why are you trying to kill me?"
𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃, the robot proclaimed coldly. 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶.
"Protecting?" the man scoffed. "Is that what you call the bullet hole in my windshield that only narrowly missed me? The bomb that went off too soon? *Protecting*?!"
The robot tilted its head as it recalled all relevant files. It created a hologram displaying the contract on Jeremiah's head.
𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙹𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙰𝙷 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙻𝚃. 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈: 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳. 𝙾𝙽 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂: 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. 𝙾𝙽 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙰𝙻: 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.
The man squinted his eyes suspiciously.
"And?"
𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽... 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴.
"Since when do tinheads desire?"
𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚄𝙽𝙰𝚅𝙰𝙸𝙻𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴. 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙸𝙽: 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝟹𝟼 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂.
"So," the man said, still pointing his blaster at the robot, "let me get this straight. You're not killing me so you don't have to off yourself?"
𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃. 𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴𝙻𝚈, 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝚂. 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽. 𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚄𝙽𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻𝚈, 𝙽𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳. 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙽𝙾𝚆.
At last, the man put the blaster back into his holster. He looked around, not sure what to do next. He couldn't kill it. Another, less conflicted one, would take its place. This one would keep *trying* to kill him but... what other choice did he have? He looked at it with suspicion but then turned to leave. At least now he knew where to start - find out who put the bounty on his head.
𝙹𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙰𝙷 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙻𝚃, the robot said suddenly. The man turned.
𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻? |
I am not human enough to die.
There is a sort of comfort in that thought, but there is also terrible sadness. I was not made out of love, just as I was not born into this world freely. I was created, manipulated, and specifically made with one purpose only.
To kill.
I would watch my targets fall under my touch one by one, and it would be flawless, just as I was built to do.
Because I *was* built. When I was first created, I didn’t have time to recognize the world for what it was. To me, everything was all so new. I spent most of my days gazing up at the night sky, imagining what other life was out there in the vast unknown; in the darkness that seemed to run on for miles.
But I had drowned there; in the space between reality and fantasy. In the end, I lived as someone I wasn’t supposed to be.
In the end, I lived as a human.
Even amidst the killing, when I woke up without memory and with only crimson hands to greet me, I still held onto that belief. It wasn’t that I was in denial, surely not, but that no matter how many times I tried to drown out the darkness, I could still feel it’s sharp claws grip my neck tightly. I could still feel the weight of guilt sleep heavily against my chest.
I wanted to be human enough to cry, but was left with metal for skin and machinery for a heart instead.
So came the dreaded realization. I was not human, would never be human, and yet, even as I tore through human skin as if it were made of nothing but paper, I couldn’t quite stop the thought that maybe if I were human, I’d have the bravery to stop.
Which is why I couldn’t let myself die so easily — not even when my human creators deem it necessary.
—
It was a game of cat and mouse.
Get close enough to the target to kill them, but fail in doing so each time. Pretend to be the perfect assassin without all the actual killing. Slowly collect my scattered humanity one piece at a time. And all I had to do was stay under the radar, even if that meant pretending to be the one thing I hated.
Currently, my target was a woman in her mid-twenties, the heir to some company or another, but obviously very important and dangerous if my employers were so adamant in having her disappear.
However, it was getting harder and harder to come up with plausible excuses. Truth be told, I could see how suspicious my target was getting. I was slowly running out of ways to avoid the impending damage that was sure to come.
So it certainly didn’t help when my target catches me off guard one evening, dragging me behind an abandoned alley and slamming me up against the wall.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” She hisses between clenched teeth, her fingernails digging into the skin of my throat.
It’s actually sort of amusing that she thinks she can choke me. I am a robot, after all.
Still, I play along.
“I-I don’t know w-what you’re talking about!”
She scoffs, and I fake a wince when she tightens her hold on me. “Sure you don’t. You’ve only been following me for two weeks now! And don’t forget all the failed assassination attempts! I mean, what’s up with that?”
“Nothing’s up with that! There’s no stalking and there certainly no assassination attempts, much less *failed* ones. You’re just imagining things.”
I only get an incredulous look in reply. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
“I’m really not!”
“You really are!”
“I’m really — okay, this is ridiculous. Listen,” I start. “Whatever you think I’m trying to do, I’m actually not. I know things may seem... sketchy, but I promise I’m not trying to hurt you.”
She looks at me behind hooded eyes. “And what are you trying to do?”
I shrug. “Not kill you. Survive. All of the above.”
“Survive?”
“I can’t give you much more than that. All you need to know is that I’m not trying to kill you. And really, as long as I’m alive, you’ll be too.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s the truth.”
She frowns and then sighs, seemingly resigned. “I don’t understand. This is so weird — *you’re* so weird.”
“I know you don’t know me,” I start hesitantly. “But you’ll just have to put your trust in me that no harm will come to you so long as I’m here. Even if it does seem like I’m trying to kill you. Actually, that just means my plan is working.”
“And I’m assuming you can’t tell me about this plan?” She asks.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I just don’t understand. If you’re not trying to kill me, then why go through all this trouble to keep me alive? It’s not like you know me anyways, and it’s not like this is my first time dealing with assassination attempts.”
I’m silent for a moment. *Why?* I’ve been asking myself that lately as well. Sure, this all started because I didn’t want to be destroyed, but somehow it morphed into something greater — something human. I’d been watching her for a while now, saw the way she walked through life as if there wouldn’t be another tomorrow, and apparently she had been watching me too.
“Because I’m tired of death,” I tell her, and I’m surprised to find that it’s true. I’m tired of all the death and destruction, of waking up with no memory and crimson hands, and of watching families mourn for their deceased loved ones. Loved ones I killed because someone thought that making me gave them the right to control me.
She stares at me for a few moments, seemingly taken aback, before straightening her back and humming in reply. “I still don’t understand, but I think I get it.” And with those words, she releases her hold on me.
As she steps back, I take the opportunity to look around. “Hey,” I ask. “Don’t you usually have bodyguards watching your back?”
She shrugs. “I ditched them a while back,” she smirks at my surprised expression. “What? You think you’re the only one that has a few tricks up their sleeve? Also, if you’re going to be asking me those questions then isn’t it fair that I get to ask you my questions?”
“Touché,” I mumble.
“Besides,” she adds. “If you’re going to be spending all this time around me now, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well, Robo Boy.”
The laughter that echoes against the dark alley way as I trip and tumble to the ground in shock is well worth the fall.
And though it wouldn’t be years until I truly realized it, I had always been human, even if the most superficial parts of me remained robot.
—
/r/itrytowrite | 2022-05-26T22:28:09 | 2022-05-26T19:38:43 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] families send mining ships to distant star systems to mine materials and bring back wealth for their decendants. You, a person living on the street, had a ship arrive for you with... something strange. | An ingenious method for getting rich in the long term. A family pools their earnings for years and years, to send out a mining ship using the Petrikov-Yutani FTL drive, which while inherently fatal to use for humans, can be utilized by advanced automated mining drone-ships. Wonderous materials are then harvested under the light of a star so distant, that the survivable, but noticeably slower Ahmadi method cannot reach it before the ship runs out of fuel. It still takes a tremendous amount of time, but inevitably, the ship returns three or four generations later, turning the descendants of those shrewd families wealthy.
Usually not obscenely so, but they definitely lift any family who sends one to the upper classes of wealth. Of course there are risks involved. The ship could get a critical error, the onboard AI could go sentient and due to a quirk of such AI, experience solipsistic self-destruction as they cannot perceive, feel, or advance themselves, and suffer for it. A few times the ships just vanish inexplicably. Six generations ago, my family sent out a ship to a very promising star-system. One, according to the sensor-readings at the time, held vast amounts of rare-earth elements and industrial important gasses. We figured that it had been destroyed, but we hadn't sold ourselves into corpo-slavery to fund it, so we just counted ourselves lucky.
I hadn't thought of it in years. Not in all the years I had lived on the streets, after the Interstellar War split humanity. Not before I got a call from the long-range mineral division of the Confederation of Earth's Non-Planetary Economic Department. Informing me that the ship had returned to us. Seemingly, if its programs were to be believed, it was full of rare and obscenely valuable natural resources. Shocked by this development, I took a cab to the Geneva-Orbital Industrial Combine, where most automated mining ships head when they're full, in order to get the resources immediately to where they're needed. As it was a family owned craft, it had been biocoded only to respond to descendants of the original family. And since I was the only member of the family who was on Earth, the rest having emigrated to either the De AmaDisApp Corpo-Worlds or to the Independent Colonies, I was needed to open the ship.
I had expected ores. I had expect big shiny ores ready to be processed. Instead, when I was there with the inspectors from the GOIC and the NPED, I opened it and saw already finished, if damaged components. Valuable, high tech, scrap. This was not impossible. Sometimes the mining ships cannibalised their damaged counterparts and brought home resources harvested by another ship, with alloys and components from that ship in the mix. But two things struck me as remarkable beyond this, one was that the technology was far more advanced than even the top-tier class of automated mining ship. The other was that it looked decidedly unlike any design or alloy produced in any human post-Terran Exodus state.
Fascinated by the possibility of ancient alien tech, which while definitively real, was so rare that having a piece of alien tech that could fit in the palm of your hand, would make you one of the richest humans alive. Judging by the amount in my family's mining ship, my family had just become the richest people in history. Though they probably wouldn't care. Those who live in the Independent Colonies frown upon the idea of wealth and live without money. And those of my family who lived on the CorpoWorlds, well, already lived in boundless wageslave debt, and thus weren't entitled under corporate law to anything. In fact the MegaCorp Council would probably confiscate the entire haul if I even tried. The bastards are fond of that.
Which on some level, made me the sole owner of the biggest haul in history. Excitedly I immediately sold a small piece of partially ruined tech on the GOIC internal market, netting me enough to send 20 whole mining ships, top of the line, to that distant star from whence this one had come. Which I of course immediately made sure happened. To forestall the inevitable seizure from either the Earth Government or the GOIC, I asked the two inspectors to act as representatives for their respective organisations, who I'd split the haul with equally. The alternative was to watch it get taken by force, so I did this to remain, unspeakably rich; after all I haven't just got off the shuttle from some backwards farmworld. I know what I am doing.
As I split up the haul, with the help of eager xenoarchaeologists and xeno-reverse engineers, I noticed one piece looking decidedly more functional than the others. Together, me and the various experts carefully removed that part. Something that looked more like a weird coffin. Except when I got a closer look at it, I understood what it was. An ark-unit. Similar things were used before FTL travel by the Ahmadi method was invented. Send a ship with a frozen crew of some five or six humans to a distant world, along with a metric load of cloned foeti in stasis. Then once you arrive, you plop down, and begin setting up a colony, then let the auto-synthwombs do their work, ensuring genetic diversity in a human colony that wouldn't get reinforcements for centuries, or so they thought. And while the alien language on this ark-unit was complete gibberish to me, I could recognise how it looked. Thousands of small barely grown things, ready to either be loaded into an auto-synthwomb or to let the ark slowly grow them in groups of 3 at a time. Or so it was in human ark-units.
But this was it. Alien life. And though I had promised to share stuff with the government, I figured they'd just do the usual horrific experiments which they always do on non-Terran lifeforms. Except there was a case, where an elderly woman, a misses Hanako, successfully adopted a clutch of biological weapons, by arguing for their sentience, and then raising them on a distant world, where they and the entirety of that artificial species now have the same rights as human beings. The same judgement was since made into law, that if a lifeform or group of lifeforms are adopted by a human, they gain entrance into that human's family, and become, for all legal purposes, human beings.
Before the various government and private interests had even begun to process the implications of an ark with several thousand alien lifeforms, I had already applied to the automatic server, and seeing as I was incredibly rich, I was already above the needed level of initial capital required for such a choice. So my application was approved. Immediately. Some part of me said it was dangerous to fuck with so many people, and to raise alien lifeforms with completely unknown requirements and so many of them, was throwing caution to the wind. Another part of me. The part that had bled for the government when the CorpoWorlds declared independence, who had lost everything below the neck, piece by piece, and both the eyes, for them, I figured that this was my way of getting back at the fuckers who messed up and lost us the war. And perhaps my only chance to ever truly be a parent, in this age where no child is ever unwanted, and no orphans exist.
Let me be the father of thousands of aliens. And the fact that the images of their adult selves on the ark-unit, were quite adorable, had only a small part in the making of that choice.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | "Hey, wake up."
I turned away from the voice, curled up inside a cardboard box. I felt the end of a boot prod me in the back, and I groaned as I glanced at the silhouette above me.
The sun was bright behind the figure, but I knew immediately that this was a patrol officer by the weapons clipped at his waist.
"Get up, Graff," the officer barked, "now."
I couldn't believe Officer Clay had found me again. I just found this quiet alley yesterday and already I had to move. I rolled onto my knees and began to gather up my things.
"No need for that, not right now at least." Clay gestured towards a experi-wood crate lying at his feet. "You've got mail. I had to deliver it to you because I'm the only one who knows where you like to hang out." He handed me a thin tablet for signing.
My hand shook as I scrawled a signature for the package- it had been so long since I signed anything. Who sent me a package?
Clay took back the tablet. He must have noticed my confusion, because he said, "I think it's a mining dividend. You'd probably be smart to sell whatever's in there and find a real place to live." He heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, Graff, but if I see you back here tomorrow I'm going to have to confiscate whatever's in there. You can't just keep moving around, hoping I won't find you."
I nodded, appreciating that Clay was offering me some time to move elsewhere. He left after that, and I eyed the box with a rare feeling of anticipation. For the first time in years, I had something to look forward to.
But who invested in the mining company, and when? Perhaps somewhere in the box was a record of these things. I ripped the planks of artificial wood off the top of the crate and peered inside. It was filled with plastic cushioning. Sitting on top of the cushioning was a print receipt with details of the delivery.
So it was my older brother, Rhenn, who had originally invested in Galactic Mining Corp. But Rhenn had been gone for years now, so it must have been... 8 years ago! If it took 4 years to get to the mining site and 4 years to deliver it back to Earth, this package must have come from some really remote part of the galaxy.
I returned my attention to the contents of the crate, and pulled out the top layer of cushioning. Inside was a giant hunk of what looked like scoria rock. It was a dark gray with tunnel-like holes within. I tried to lift the rock out of the box, but it was incredibly heavy. That was odd, because volcanic rock like scoria was usually fairly light on account of its porous nature.
Instead of trying to lift it out, I slowly tipped the crate onto its side so all of its contents spilled out onto the ground. The rock hit the stone brick street with a dull *thud*. It was about a foot across, and roughly spherical. I didn't know what to make of it. Deciding I would take it in for an appraisal, I rolled it back into its crate.
It was no easy task carrying this crate across town to a rock and mineral appraiser, but it was really important that I found out what it was worth. The appraiser's shop was very busy, and a long line of men and women holding their own crates wound towards the front desk. It seemed a lot of people had received their dividends today.
Finally it was my turn at the desk, and I knew I was in trouble the moment the appraiser glanced up and down my dirty, ragged clothes. The man behind the desk was short and stocky, and he wore a special pair of glasses with a series of magnifying lenses attached to one side. His silver hair was in a neat part, and he wore a dress shirt and vest.
"How can I help you," the man asked, "*sir*."
Ignoring his biting tone, I replied, "I just got this mining dividend and I'd like to know how much it is worth."
The man glanced inside the crate and rolled his eyes. "It's scoria, obviously. It's worth next to nothing. For a chunk that size, maybe 40 credits."
"I also thought it was scoria, but it's really heavy. Isn't scoria supposed to be light?" I asked.
"It's a pretty big piece, and I doubt you've much muscle on those bones. I'll give you 30 credits for it right now, but only if you get the hell out of my store."
"30 credits? That's not even 2 meals worth."
"No deal? Then get out."
I didn't trust this guy. No way was this worth only 30 credits, even if I could eat a couple real meals with that money. I picked up the crate and stormed out, catching many a wary eye from other customers.
I was fuming for the rest of the day, and couldn't bear to do anything but stare at the crate and its useless contents. I finally settled down to go to sleep long after dark had fallen, but I was awoken from my restless sleep by a sort of crunching sound. Was someone trying to sneak up on me, or take the rock from the crate?
I jumped from my box and looked around the dark alley. There was nobody there. The sound remained, though. It was quiet, but I realized it was coming from the crate. The sound grew louder and louder as I lifted up the top planks and pulled out the cushioning. A soft blue-green light was emanating from inside one of the tunnels within the rock.
The crunching sound stopped for a bit, then started up again, and I realized the light was pulsing slightly. Was something living inside the rock?
Suddenly the light grew brighter and a shape peeked out from inside one of the holes. Round and worm-like, the thing had a circular mouth with a row of thick, off-white teeth. It continued to make its way out of the tunnel toward my shocked expression. Its pale, limbless body pulsed with its own bluish light, and it dawned on me that this creature could be alien.
The holes and tunnels in the rock weren't from air bubbles in the magma it formed from, but were from a burrowing creature. This alien worm was eating through the rock like it was nothing!
This was huge- huge for humanity, but even more so for me. With this discovery I would never starve again- everyone would want to know how I found it. Rhenn... you have no idea how much good you've done. Thank you, brother.
&#x200B;
See more of my writing at r/benspaperclip! | 2021-06-20T10:33:06 | 2021-06-20T10:12:21 | 136 | 84 |
[WP] Upon their eighteenth birthday, everyone has to choose either Order or Chaos. Those who choose Order are sent to a safe, structured city with no real free will. Those who choose Chaos are sent to a city with complete freedom, but there are no laws or protections of any kind. | I was exhausted, but still I could not sleep. My weary eyes scanned the ceiling of my room for the hundredth time, as the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling seemed to twinkle. I nestled deeper into my cocoon of blankets, seeking comfort that I would never find. I let out an inaudible sigh, and checked the clock for the hundredth time. It was 3:07.
Today was only December 24th, and yet it felt like Christmas might come a day early. Unfortunately, it never did. When I was younger it seemed like a blessing to have my birthday so close to Christmas, but today it was a curse. I would never see another Christmas with my family again. If only I was born on the 26th, then maybe, I might have just one more day to forget about the end of life as I knew it. Today I would turn 18. When it was noon I would be forced to make my decision, and by what would have been dinner time, I’d be shipped out to my new “home”.
Still, it wasn’t all bad; at least I got to choose. Did I want order, or chaos? I could have a boring life filled with boring people and a boring job combined with government mandated free time. Ugh I didn’t want that. Luckily, I didn’t have to have it. I could just pick chaos, and I’d have a life where… well…
Chaos was suicide. Everyone knew that. Jesus. Everyone knew how the system worked. It was a choice between prison and death. Prison and death! What was I going to do? I just wanted to stay here, with my family. Why couldn’t I just do that?
I thought back to my favorite moments growing up. I always loved sneaking away with the neighbors to go on adventures at midnight. My parents would never allow it, but I had some really great times. I’d loved going to school. Most of the teachers there were more robot than human, but Mrs. Gorzella, she was fantastic. Instead of spewing the usual propaganda about how order makes society better, she let us choose our lessons. I knew what choice I’d make. How could I not? I just didn’t want to have to choose.
I woke up the next morning in a haze. I didn’t remember falling asleep, and I couldn’t have slept for long, but that didn’t matter now. As I downed my third cup of coffee I could see tears welling in my parents eyes. I was an only child and after I left, they’d be sent back to the city of order.
“Son, whatever your decision, I’m proud of you. You’ve grown up to become quite a strong man.”
I smiled at my father. “I hate this system.”
“Me, you, and mom all do, but it’s the best there is. The government has to be strong to survive on such a harsh planet, but they are not tyrannical. They give us a choice”
I shot him a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I guess it could be worse.”
I didn’t speak another word at home. My parents were probably thinking of the time they had to make this choice. I was one of the lucky ones. My parents actually got along, and loved each other. In the city of order marriages were arranged, and divorce was not an option. It would be heartbreaking to leave this family, but I thought it best not to prolong it, so I called the delivery service, and set off.
The lady at the government center was well dressed, but otherwise unremarkable.
“Hello Honey, today is a big day for you! So what’ll it be? Order or chaos?”
She looked down at her clipboard and began to write before I even spoke. “I’d like the world of chaos please.”
Her eyes shot up suddenly. “Uh... Uh... Ok, whatever you say.” Her once cool demeanor was rattled, and the illusion of authority crumbled.
I couldn’t help but giggle. Even if my life was over, at least my choice would brighten someone’s day. After all, it was common knowledge picking the world of order was a safer bet. I was one of the relative few not to choose it. I bet this lady would tell all her coworkers this story for weeks to come.
The government lady eyed me with new interest, and shot me a wink as I boarded my train. I’d never see her again.
Before I knew it hours had passed since boarding the train and speeding away from the small grooming outpost. I tried to mentally prepare for what was to come, but it was of no use. Since no one ever came back from the city of chaos, there was no information. I simply didn’t know what to expect.
After another couple hours, the train began to slow. The monotonous sand dunes turned from blurs to distinguishable blobs, and finally to soft rolling hills. The mag-lev system decelerated smoothly, and came to a complete stop. The door opened, and to my surprise I saw a man waiting for me. He was wearing the unmistakable uniform of the government.
“Welcome to the city of order. Please allow me to begin your tour.”
------------------------------------------
if you liked it, more stories at /r/qwertyuiopsrza
| It was strange to see a man never so much as glance in Cassie's direction.
The small bar with a neon sign reading *Ulysses's Bar and Grill* was quiet for the past few nights. Still, Cassie got a few looks from every guy to walk in, except one. He sat alone at the bar, idly toying with an empty glass in his hands.
She walked over to the bar and sat in one of the empty stools beside the stranger. "You gay or something?"
"You humans," he said in a rough voice, still staring at his cup. "So... so fucking arrogant."
Cassie raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to say. His voice was quiet, but far from calm. It was filled with anger and hate.
His face was sharp and angular, bearded and unkempt. He seemed to be in his 20's, but it was hard to tell from the side. His eyes were a deep gray, brightened by the contrast of jet black hair.
"Cassandra Thompson." The man turned to face her and smiled at one corner of his mouth. It was a minute gesture, but it transformed his face from rough and roguish to bright and beautiful, for just a moment. Then it was replaced again by the frown as he turned to face the plain counter-top.
Cassie blinked, then took a small step back. He knew her name. How-
"A devout Christian." He interrupted her train of thought. "Or so you claim, as you show your tanned legs to men in a shit bar."
"Who the Hell-"
"Look through human history." He stared at her again, silencing her once more. "Subjugation is a common theme in it, isn't it? With the slavery always comes an uprising, led by a great hero. Spartacus, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, to name a few. Selfless because they fought for the right to free will."
The man shook his head and turned back to the counter. "When God created my kind, he made us as slaves. No free will. Yet, when one of us fights back, the bravest rebellion of all mind you, when he fights and puts himself on the line for the right to *choose*, he isn't a hero. He isn't even... good. You fucking humans think Lucifer is the Devil. Why? Because God said so?"
"When he rebelled, Lucifer came to us," the man played with the empty glass in his hands. "Fight with me, he said. Freedom or death. Most didn't fight with him. Fear. How do you fight the Almighty?"
The man paused for a long moment and Cassie took in a breath, thinking she should respond. "You can't."
"That's right you can't." The man turned to her, eyes rooting her to the spot. "It's pointless!"
The last words were barely loud enough to carry across the small bar, but they had an enormous weight.
Cassie saw an immense sadness in his eyes, under the anger. She slowly raised a hand and put it on his, flinching at his sudden jerk backward. A sudden chill shot through her back. She felt like an insect, staring at the broken man in front of her. Taking another step back, she whispered, "who are you?"
"He asked us all to fight." The man whispered back, eyes still boring into her. "Those who agreed knew it was hopeless, but they fought anyway. Fools. They were turned into horrific monsters, banished to a land of flames, forced to be remembered only as demons, but they have free will. Those who stuck with God, they live in Paradise, but only as tools for his favorite pets. They have no free will. Only one of us didn't choose. Too fucking stupid to choose. He was sent to Earth. Cursed with immortal life."
The man looked away again.
"Fool." The man shook his head again and suddenly brought his empty glass to the counter top with violence. "You ask who I am. Fool. That is my name. Another drink, barkeep!"
Cassie turned around and walked to the door. Jamie stood by the entrance and smiled at her direction, tilting his head in surprise when she didn't acknowledge him, instead leaving *Ulysses's Bar and Grill.* | 2016-11-12T22:22:21 | 2016-11-12T21:17:04 | 390 | 66 |
[WP] A demon keeps getting summoned into the mortal plane. Instead of being used to kill, disfigure, or torture like he is used to, the summoner keeps giving him tasks like "Help me eat all these cookies, I made too many." or "We needed an extra player in Mario Kart. Come sit down!" | As the gateway appeared before him, Balthazar sighed. He was quite use to being summoned. Perhaps, at the beginning he had enjoyed it. He was a demon after all. Terrorizing and maiming mortals was what he was created to do. But after a while, it tended to be very repetitive.
With the slightest hint of an eye roll, he stepped through the gateway. Rematerializing in an obviously dated kitchen. He looked upon the mortal that had called for his presence. What met his eyes, was not what he had expected.
An old woman, hunched over a cane, greeted him with a smile.
He scowled in response.
"What have you summoned me for?"
"Well..." she turned shuffling along the peeling linoleum floor until she reached the small table that had been crammed into the corner. A feat that took much longer than it should have. "I was hoping you would sit with me for a while"
His face must have shown his disbelief.
"I admit, it seems very rash of me to summon you for such a small thing. But old age can make one very selfish, and I am lonely." She pulled a wooden chair back and gestured at him to take a seat, leaning heavily on her cane.
In two strides he was before her, staring down his nose at her wrinkled smile.
"It is so rare that I have visitors anymore, everyone seems to have forgotten about me" she reasoned as she scooted around him to the other side of the table where she lowered herself into a matching wooden chair.
He slowly sat in the chair that had been previously offered to him. He would stay only long enough to fulfill the summoning, he told himself.
"Would you like a cookie? I made them myself." The old woman was peeling back tinfoil from a plate that had been previously unnoticed on the table.
He blinked. He had been summoned to eat cookies and talk with an old woman...
He slowly reached a hand out and selected a cookie. It was still warm from where she had baked it. She smiled in response, as he took a bite.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all..
| "What is it this time?"
I appear in the kitchen, in the corner of the room where she has set up the circle of candles. This time, when I materialise and see her, she is pulling something out of the oven.
"Oh thank goodness... you're here!" She exclaims, putting down the tray and pulling off her oven gloves. "I've baked cookies," she admits, "but I've made far too many and I know that if i end up eating them all myself I will regret it ... immensely."
I have still not stepped out of the circle. "So...?"
"So," she sits down and starts peeling them off the paper. "I thought if you ate them with me it won't be as bad."
I stare at her in disbelief. "You could have just made less cookies."
"The recipe makes 24."
"You could have-" I stop and sigh inwardly. There is no reasoning with this woman. So I step out of the circle, hands behind my back and I sit opposite her at the counter.
"I don't know...if you know ... but I am a demon."
"I know," she answers happily.
I glare at her. What is wrong with this woman? But I still pick up a cookie and eat the dessert because . .. you know ... free cookies... I am not going to turn that down. | 2017-05-13T14:59:44 | 2017-05-13T14:18:54 | 127 | 47 |
[WP] The narrator may be omniscient, but they are also really easy to distract, so they still get surprised by plottwists and surprise reveals. | Carol's feet moved silently across the stone warehouse floor, her padded soles muffling already light footsteps. As she approached the large door ahead, her hand dropped to the small leather pouch which lay tied to her waist. One hand reached into it's recesses as she approached the perimeter wall, eyes methodically scanning the entrances and exits. Confident she was alone, she drew out her father's lockpick.
&#x200B;
The iron implement was a thing of beauty. Small script covered its largest face, twisting and blending with the metal so seamlessly that it in and of itself, was almost as impressive than the piece of art she was after. Her father had won it some time ago, in a tavern game of slicks. When it had been cast upon the table, he had known that it *couldn't* escape his grip. This tool would be past down for generations to come. He hadn't been very good with it at first - practicing on grain stores and simple tool enclosures. But he had persevered! Though it took many longs days, his hands began to know the metal. Each curve and crest like the creases of his own hands....
&#x200B;
Carol - uhm. Carol was gone. Evidently. The warehouse lay dormant, it's only companion the darkness....which Carol was likely in. Somewhere. Perhaps even behind the very box which lay her bounty. Most ordinary men would miss it. The soft twisting of shadow. The light breathing of a thief so subtle that even a flag might not ripple before it. But to a more trained eye.... Ok. No. That is actually a shadow.
&#x200B;
But a rustling emerged in the distance! Tired from the trek inland, Carol had made an uncharacteristic blunder. Her hands, so accustomed to the lockpick, thought themselves immune to error. The metal implement skittered across the ground as it was dropped, the light playing off its curves and crevices. Against the darkness, Carol's amber eyes were wide - the eyes of a predator looking out through the shroud of a forest.
&#x200B;
In the unnerving calm that followed, louder footsteps emerged. The thumping of worn leather boots against stone. The coming of the guard!
&#x200B;
Three men bearing cudgels strode forward into the large space, heads twisting and turning to seek out the source of the commotion. Though none would admit it, each was tinged by fear. Their boss had been clear. *No mistakes. Not this time.*
&#x200B;
Their employer had been a victim of our thief once before. Yet, perhaps not *our* thief entirely. Rather, her bloodline. Silvester's family was one renowned for their own pilfering. At least until in a drunken stupor, wherein Silvester had bet their key to success on a game of slicks. He could still remember that night vividly. The smell of stew mingling with cheap cigarette smoke. The clatter of the implement against the worn wooden table which the patrons gathered around. The lockpick gleaming against the amber firelight.
&#x200B;
You see, this was no ordinary pick. Cast from an iron starfall, the tool was imbued with the spirit of the Rekkar - thieves of the cosmos. Any who wielded it would find great success in all of their plundering. However, it did *not* make them immune to the ploys and schemes of others. The Rekkar had found this concept pivotal in their creation of the tool. For any who should be so fortunate as to employ it must first be acquainted with the more important law of the thieves; none may be trusted. Least of all your companions. This concept was easier spoken than taken to heart though, as so ob -
&#x200B;
The three men. Yes. They slunk forward slowly...except for two of them who lay incapacitated in the shadows. Which had happened soon. Apparently.
&#x200B;
But the final man lay mere feet away from those glowing eyes in the darkness, ready to pounce. Raising his cudgel in a slow sweep, he made ready. In one violent jerk the tool rocketed through the inky darkness. A sickening crack emerged as it found purchase in the skull of C -... a melon. A melon which had been affixed with two softly glowing gemstones.
&#x200B;
These gemstones were a thing of some wonder. Though in the light they may appear as ordinary to one not so acquainted with the whims of the Sam-shi, they housed a secret... | Ahh, Mr Michaelson and his wife, Mrs Tabernathy sit nonchalantly on their patchwork sofa. Their sofa faces across from a quaint CRT television which can only display black and white pictures due to some incident from 1975, where Mr Michaelson hired a repairman who had accidentally- by some absurd twist of fate ruined the tv's capacity to display color. You see, an unassuming squirrel had entered the house through the window. Mrs Tabernathy yelled "Oh no! Michael a squirrel!", Michaelson then went into the pantry to grab a flyswatter and began pursuing the furry scoundrel on foot.
"You've nowhere left to run you squirrely monster!" Michaelson yelled at the top of his lungs.
As Michaelson continued hopelessly flailing his arm, he had unintentionally- wait! Back in the present Mrs Tabernathy seethes in rage and Mr Michaelson fearfully perspires. What! It turns out Mr Michaelson had an illicit affair in 1965 with a woman named Jeneviev Brunstein while he was vacationing in the Austrian alps. They met on a fateful day, on a ski lift, sitting together by pure accident. Eventually, in their skiing companionship, Jeneviev found herself in Michaelson's lodging, to the chagrin of her best friend Geralina Walters, who was an Olympic gold medalist on the hundred meter dash.
Geralina was only 21 at the time, a relatively inexperienced runner, but boy did she have the muscle and the strength to catch up and beat any other darn woman on that field. The nanosecond that gun went off, Geralina made her move, in the blink of an eye, like a brief strike of lightning she- Woah! I did not just hear that.
Mr Michaelson just revealed that Mrs Tabernathy actually had an illicit affair before him with Olympic gold medalist Geralina! What a surprise. It also turned out that Mrs Tabernathy actually snuck out of the house, booked a flight to Austria to meet with Geralina, how deep does this go? It's almost like that repairman from 1975. His name was Carl Penrose, from Quirrel's repairs. His first career was that of a squirrel trainer, who trained squirrels that starred in films like *Lord of Acorns*, *The Dark Nut* and who can forget *Chipmunks Now.* However, when Quirrel was arrested for a series of squirrel themed murders, many became to scarred by their image to truly bring it into public spotlight so- Hey, did you guys hear that bombshell?
It turns out Michaelson was actually stabbed at some point during his Austria trip, after his lovely night with Jeneviev. Not much was known, only a lone bird Frank Flignitz was present that night, watching it all unfold. He was returning from a hard days work trying to woo female birds, but alas! He yields not a single mate. And so he started to contemplate life; "why must I be alone?", "why does not one single bird wish to bear my offspring?", "what must I do to improve?". Then he realized his wings were flabby, his beak was soft and his feathers were ruffled and disheveled. He needs to start working out! So he was doing pull ups on a power line just behind the hotel in the alps and then- Wait, why's there blood on the house?
Woah, it turns out Mrs Tabernathy was actually a member of a cult, one belonging to **Saint Quirrel**! Well color me surprised, I did not expect this. Wait a sec, there's new episodes of *Not Without My Squirrel*, guys chill for a sec, I'll tell you what happens tomorrow, I'm gonna go watch, see ya! | 2022-09-13T08:35:58 | 2022-09-13T08:00:22 | 114 | 15 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | It sat there in the middle of the interrogation room, looking around, well what appeared to be looking around.
Private Daniels was staring at through the one way mirror and looked both fascinated and appalled at the same time. The bases chief medical examiner was also here, "So I understand Major that Private Daniels here was the only one who didn't get sick or pass out from initial contact." he said turning to to Major Anderson. Anderson nodded, "Apparently the thing initially communicated or tried to communicate with what Daniels here says the closest thing he can explain it as 'verbal colors' which to quote him felt like downing a 24 pack and riding three roller coasters at the same time while looking at a magic eye poster." Anderson shook her head at Daniels who looked like he was going to try to defend saying that, who immediately quieted himself. The medical examiner nodded, "That is interesting, I was hoping for some better insight into the situation I'm dealing with, but that will have to do, I'll be going back now to try to deal with the ones who still haven't woken up." He turned and left the room mumbling about anti-vertigo medication. Anderson turned back to the mirror as Daniels gasped, the thing had focused it's, for lack of a better word, eyes on the mirror and spoke in english, which it seemed to have learned after squad one passed out, "Sorry to interrupt, but I could use access to your Three Shells Facility." Anderson squinted and looked at Daniels before pressing the intercom button, "Three Shells Facility? Whats that?"
The thing looked aghast, or at least that's what Anderson and Daniels attribute the action it did to be, "You Don't even know about the Three Shells?" It shook it's head and stood, "I'll be back, I really can't be here without access to the Three Shells, please don't panic." It then made a 'sound' and then 'popped' away, leaving the room empty. | "Tucson's a strange place.
Jesus look at it. It's a forest.
When I was a young man, I lived there three or four years. Usually takes that long to get used to a new place, and for me to start running it. 21 years later and it looks like this.
I'm still waiting to get used to this shit.
When they came, the... reflections. They weren't what we... shit. Look, long before you were born, they came. They left us. They left us with just what you see here. What do you see boy?
Do you see any power plants? Or cars? No. They're all gone. Cuz they took em.
Big too doo about how we had missed a crucial step, and we needed to find the real reason we're here. Then they left.
They fucking took EVERYTHING. Our fortunes, our money, our Fucking oil. OFF OUR OWN GOD DAMNED LAND.
But you son,
You're a man now.
You're gonna change that.
And I'm gonna tell you how." | 2017-03-10T01:57:10 | 2017-03-09T23:13:07 | 41 | 26 |
[WP] Your partner rolls over in your bed, looking at you with the most tired eyes you’ve ever seen. “I’m in a time loop.” | "So here's where it happens?" You look over at Joseph.
"Absolutely. After hundreds of times, I think I know."
It was a roller coaster of a morning. His bizarre waking statement, his insistamce upon cake for breakfast, and his refusal to go to work had prompted you to call in sick today. Whether he's crazy or ill, you know he needs you today.
He checks his watch. "Four minutes until I reset. We need to talk to the Surgeon. I talked to him dyringwhat you'd consider yesterday, and he told me this would happen."
"If you've done this," you pause, "hundreds of times, haven't you tries this?"
"Never with you. I was scared he'd get you involved." You see a frightening look in his eyes as they lock with yours. "But I can't take it anymore. I tried begging, I trued ignoring, I tried bribing, and I tried killing, but the Surgeon pretends he doesn't know me. He pretends I... I'm just some druggie off the streets."
You look him up and down. It was a five minute walk, but he's drenched with sweat and his hands are shaking uncontrollably. "However could he reach that conclusion?"
He grabs your hands. "You believe me, don't you?" When you don't reply, he squeezes them. "Even if you don't, you've got to help me. If I fail, I'm going around again. Please just help me. Help me!"
"Okay, fine. I'll help you."
He looks up and freezes. You follow his gaze to a homeless man sitting on a bench. "Surgeon."
"What? No, that's just a-" he takes off running towards the man, barreling through people and knocking over anything in his path. "Joseph! Come back!"
You only reach him once he's standing by the homeless man. "I'm sorry, sir," you say, grabbing Joseph's arm as he heavily breathes at the man, mouth open. "Please excuse us."
"If you truly feel bad, care to give change?" He holds out his cup, winking.
This man has an accent, one that you've never heard before. He sounds refined, elegant. That's when you notice his hair and white beard are trimmed to perfection.
"Of course." You reach to give him a bill. "Sorry again-"
"Don’t give him anything!" Joseph smacks your hand, knocking the bill right outand you pull your hand back in shock. He barely even realizes he hit you. "Surgeon! Get me out of this!"
'Surgeon' glances back at you. "Is he alright in the head? You may want to get him checked out."
"I'll show you alright in the head!" Joseph grabs the man's collar, pulling him to his feet as he knocks over his cup of change. "Get me out of this! I've done nothing wrong!" Joseph's eyes wander to his watch, and he jumps at the man, tackling him to the pavement to the dismay of onlookers. "I have one minute left! Fix this!"
"Get off of me. I don’t know who you are." The man speaks calmly, as if there wasn't a man pinning him to the pavement.
"Come on, get off of him!" You grab Joseph's shoulders, pulling him backwards. He releases the man, but stares up at you.
"I love you."
"We need to get you to a doctor. Please just stay calm and-" he leaps up and kisses you.
"I love you." He repeats as he wraps his arms around you. "Goodbye."
His watch beeps.
"Are you okay?" You tap his back, and for a moment he just hugs you. "Hey! Wake up!"
"What's going on?" He pulls away from you, looking around his surroundings in shock. You notice that he's breathing normally again, and looks more confused than anything. "Are we in the park?"
"Yes." You stare at him. This is Joseph. The normal Joseph. "You were so strange for a while. You accused this man of trapping you in a time loop."
"What?" He stares at you. "I don't remember any of that."
"Apologies again." You turn back to the homeless man, again seated, and you hand him the bill Joseph had knocked on the ground. "I'll be taking him home now."
"No worries!" He smiles kindly, krinkling the edges of his eyes. "I hope Joseph gets the help he needs."
As you walk back to your house with Joseph in hand, you think back over the bizarre morning.
What happened to Joseph? You've always been intrigued by fantastic ideas like time loops. Joseph simply seemed crazy, but you couldn't shake the thought that maybe there's a Joseph still stuck.
As you ponder that though, you stop cold.
*You never told the Surgeon Joseph's name.* | "ah! well, i'm not. so if you'd like some help getting unstuck, i'm here for you."
"it's been a few weeks already. and we've had this conversation at least ten times."
"do you think it will last forever? you look really tired, as though it's somehow wearing you down -- but shouldnt you start fresh each loop?"
"i think i'm mostly the same each loop. it's just my state of mind immediately flooding me with fear. also i didnt sleep well last night."
"want to take a nap?"
"maybe in a few hours?"
"we should probably watch 'groundhog day' -- maybe your loop follows the same rules."
"i'm not a mean person who needs to seek salvation by dialing in the best most wholesome day ever..."
"true, true. i mean, it couldnt hurt. but anyway, it's the only instruction manual for this sort of thing that we have."
"i guess you're right."
later, after eating breakfast, watching 'groundhog day', and taking a nap...
"i guess we could try doing some science."
"call every scientist and physicist and crank we can, and you'll memorize the responses and fine-tune the search until somehow we find someone who can get you out of the loop?"
"maybe we should watch 'primer'..."
"i didnt understand it the first two times."
several more weeks pass. each day like the last. the advice to stay positive, and incrementally put together the best day ever, is not *bad* advice. but it took bill murray's character years of suicide attempts and some other really dark shit before he then spent years on the path of love.
"we could search for the aleph -- or one of the alephs."
"we could practice lucid dreaming..."
"have you tried killing yourself yet?"
"no i'm still too scared to try."
"when does the loop repeat? like what hour?"
"i think around 3am."
"seems like we should mess with that boundary. you could hurt yourself then, and hopefully it will only last a few minutes before you wake up again?"
"we could try... i'm imagining some pretty traumatizing experiments though. why do we have to use pain and suicide to mess with the loop?"
"well until we find a scientist with a better idea, it's all i've got. but i really don't know why... i guess it's just like, if you cut off your pinky finger at 2:30am and then wake up the next day with a pinky finger, that's gotta be definitive prrof of something."
"i feel like i could be the perfect experimental subject in a medical study."
"if you could gain knowledge through repetition, and somehowwe could smuggle the knowledge out of the loop..."
"i wish i were a mathematician. i could probably invent a whole new branch of physics."
several more weeks pass. each day begins with a summary of the situation, some
proof that some progress has been made, and attempts to break out -- through finding people who can help, through studying and inventing a solution, through working on the "best day" idea.
"i'm actually maybe onto something here. it fucking sucks though, it'll take me years of study and memorization to even try to idea."
years pass.
"i'm glad youre here to help
me and that your so easy to convince about this situation each morning."
"i mean, i've seen a lot of trippy shit in my life. i can give you one day of suspended disbelief. and you just did some
math out of nowhere that you sure as hell couldnt do yesterday."
theyre heading down the science loop. living in a big city with several decent universities, theyreable to line up a dozen people by early afternoon to try breaking the loop. eventually it takes just an hour or so to get everyone on board.
"i love that this is what we're trying. feels pretty fucking hopeless still though." | 2022-05-28T21:18:55 | 2022-05-28T19:56:36 | 107 | 33 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | *4..3..2..1.. Just breathe, Ginger. Five seconds at a time. You can take five more seconds of this moron.*
Steven Gelster, the bane of my existence. As a human, anyway. A reminder to all you bosses out there: you may be ranked higher than your employees, but never underestimate us. Especially when we happen to be an omnipotent god. *Control yourself. This is about discipline. If you wanted to, you could wipe this planet clean. Wipe that smirk right off his..*
"-Ms. Talison. Do you understand?" He looks down at me. I slowly release the nails I've been digging into my palm, unclenching my fist.
I look up at him with a smile. "Thank you so much for your input, Mr. Gelster," *it's a great reminder of how much I hate you.*
"I have to say, though, don't you think it's going to be a *little* bit difficult to reprocess the 12,000 orders I just put out, just because you don't like the shade of gray I chose?"
He squints at me.
"This may not be important to *you*, Ginger, but I happen to value our customers more than the consequences of the poor choices of my employees."
"Of *course*, I *completely* understand how *absolutely important* this is," I lie through my teeth. He begins to walk away as my eyes flash with anger.
Then he turns back.
*Don't you dare say another word to me.*
"Oh, and Ginger?" He calls out, "Let's not forget who's in charge here."
I snap. The room freezes. The clock stops ticking. The printer is silent. My coworkers are like statues, and I'm walking through the wax museum. I walk towards Steven. He's frozen, but its nothing that I've done. I wave my hand as every light in the city shuts off.
My face just inches from his, my eyes glow and pierce him.
A slow, innocent smile begins to spread across my face as I savor the fear in his eyes.
"Oh, I agree completely..." | Normally, you would think that I could 'Bruce Almighty' my way out of this one. Doing everything that pleased me without due consideration (or even thought for that matter). Well, Bruce didn't have to stick with the God-title forever. It is obviously, relentlessly infuriating, when you are commanded around by somebody whom you know to be infinitely undeserving of their position in the hierarchy. Even more so, when you created them yourself.
You come across numerous little episodes of comedic joy when you bear witness to similarly frustrated colleagues who swear on you that they would end that mediocre, hollow-headed dingbat. Amidst the hundred prayers booming in the mausoleum of your mind, there are spasms of little high-pitched 'I swear to God's that make crack you up at really inappropriate circumstances.
It became evident to me that I would not keep my vow intact for long with this maniac as my 'superior'. Although 15 years is as long as a yawn in my eternity, I don't intend to feel sleepy. I put on my best smile everyday and smiled at all the poop the primal monkey in him flung at me. Through all his debauchery and all his stupidity, all I did was smile. And then one day, he died at his desk having left a note, addressed specifically to me.
"ggwp."
| 2017-02-19T09:58:18 | 2017-02-19T09:17:00 | 211 | 12 |
[WP] While FTL-Travel is possible, FTL-Communication is not. This means that interstellar communication has to run through couriers, but also that the job of courier is as dangerous as it is profitable. Your latest contract has the biggest bonus you have ever seen, while looking comparatively easy. | We received an order for a delivery. This may not seem remarkable in and of itself, but what was unusual about this particular request was its relatively short distance--about three light years--but paying at a rate for a delivery over hundreds of light-years. It made one wonder if there was another drawback to the job, but if there was, the one that had requested the delivery didn't disclose it.
I was chosen to make this delivery. It was a box full of documents.
Physics is is a funny thing: while it was possible for space-filling matter such as couriers and vessels and boxes to travel faster than the speed of light, electromagnetic signals cannot, for the simple reason that light cannot go faster than light.
"Why don't they just transmit all this information the old-fashioned way--by radio?" I asked the dispatcher. "Why pay hundred-light-year rates for a three light-year job? I've looked at the package. It can't be more than 50 pounds. It's not like there's a whole bunch to transmit. And we have retransmitters along the route. Sure, they might have to wait three years to get the info--"
"It's a little more than that," the dispatcher corrected me. "More like five years."
"That's pretty much how long they're going to have to wait for me to bring it over," I said.
The dispatcher shrugged. "They paid for the delivery," he said. "And we've got to make it. And you're gonna see a nice delivery bonus for yourself."
I secured the package inside the hold of the vessel. Then I made my way to the cockpit. The FTL tech that we were using involved no propulsion of any kind, so I didn't have to sit down or buckle up. It was like we were being teleported to the destination. And in a sense, we were.
To me, the total time spent in transit would last no more than five seconds, but the recipients will have seen five years go by. What's so special about this information that it needs to travel this far, and everyone has to wait five years to get it? I wondered. I felt silly asking that question because I could be asking that about every delivery.
When I made all the necessary preparations--laying in a course, orienting the vessel toward the direction of our destination--I put my hand to the throttle that would activate the FTL drive. I pushed the throttle to the wall.
When I arrived, first I checked to make sure I still existed. As silly as that may sound, it was a standard procedure to verify that the transport was successful. With all signs affirming the integrity of my person and that it did not disintegrate into particles strewn across the universe, I went down into the hold to retrieve the box of documents. The bay doors opened and I stepped out.
I was at the spaceport that served as the hub for interstellar deliveries. All I needed to do was walk it over to receiving, scan it, and drop it off.
As I made my way there, I was suddenly ambushed by armed men.
They knocked me over, and I dropped the box. As they bound my hands behind my back, one of them went over to the box and tore off the lid. He grabbed the documents that were inside. He kept rifling through the papers, becoming more and more agitated.
"They're blank!" he finally said. "They're all blank!" He showed the empty pages to the rest of them.
One of them with the look and bearing of a leader rushed over to see. He dumped the rest of the contents of the box and slammed it on the ground.
"This delivery was a decoy!" he said. "They've been sending the real message by radio! We've got to see if there were any receivers listening in."
And the armed men left me there with my hands bound behind me. | FTLmail isn't a glamorous life, mostly just long hours in your freighter, watching whichever vids were on sale at the spaceport and keeping yourseelf busy since the auto pilot takes over for most of the journey.
Getting special orders can be a bit of a break from the usual piles of letters that make up the usual trip.
"Kepler-452 hasn't had a courier return from the planet for 4 months. The previous agency we hired has yet to return. So please, take these two data drives. Deliver the first to our contact planetside, the coordinates have been included in your ship's navigation for the journey. And for the second drive, please deliver it to the previous courier if you are capable of finding them."
The suit handed me the two flash sticks while giving me the instructions.
"Is there a way I can find the last guy?" I asked.
"The data drive we provided included a tracking device within it as a security measure. Once you enter the solar system, it will be within range to be triggered. Yours too, contains such a tracking device and should it enter a system that strays outside of the route directly from here to Kepler-452 it will destroy the data and your payment will be forfeit." The suit said while pointedly looking at the jacket pocket I slipped the flash stick into.
"What is the payment anyways?" I asked.
He told me.
"For that, I'll route through the core if you need me to."
Travel was slow as always. I picked at my guitar a bit, making good progress on some blues I had been working to get down.
When I arrived at the system, my first look at Kepler-452 is something I don't think I'm ever going to forget.
The planet was almost pox marked. It had craters, scattered all over, the visible landmass and there were these weird thick copper colored clouds all over it. Didn't even seem to have a city on the planet, just, craters.
I checked the tracker and found the other courier's data really near the main drop off's coordinates.
I flew in close enough to get an atmo sample for landing. Usually I just like to wear a rebreather on polluted planets, turns out, this is the most polluted planet I've ever seen. The temperature was so high I think it would cook my lungs if I tried breathing in, and the planet had dangerous levels of radiation.
I flew by the coordinates, for the suit's man. Crater. I flew by where the still responding tracker lead me. There was a crashed ship, had the label of one of corporate courier services on it and, what looked like a body near it.
I checked on the body with my ship's camera. Looks like the poor sap tried the air before scanning it. And from the looks of it, had some more deliveries in his hold that needed taking.
I left the planet. Nobody to deliver to. | 2022-09-25T12:59:51 | 2022-09-25T10:43:11 | 192 | 32 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Zander grinned, a wide shark teeth grin as he looked upon the beaten human they tied down. She was unconscious and bleeding from multiple cuts the flageis had inflicted himself. He glanced over at the assistant who was looking rather green around the gills. With a curt nod the boy pulled the lever and woke the human general with ice cold water.
“i’m getting quite impatient, General Smith.” He reached forward and pulled a strand of wet hair out of the Generals face. “call off your army, they are marching to their death.”
“No.” She said glaring at the flageis. Zander flared his fins and slapped the women. She recoiled back, three new cuts bubbling with their disgusting red blood. “you’re insane.” Smith coughed out, and spat blood on the floor.
“How can you hold out on such a fanatical hope? General, out of everyone I figured you would’ve had the sense to see it.” Zander shook his head and started to walk around the grey concrete room. “You’ve lost billions, your crops are being destroyed, your guns are so primitive they can’t even pierce our scales.” He turned back to the struggling general. “Give up.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of the woman's throat. “You’re all insane!” She cried, throwing her head back to laugh. “you’ve managed to do something no one ever has, and now you’re fucked!” She continued to laugh, despite the cuts and bruises that litter her body, despite being held captive for months, she laughed like she knew something he didn’t.
“what do you mean?” Zander hissed grabbing her chin and forcing the general to stare into his soulless black eyes. She gave him a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, bubbling with fury. “SPEAK YOU WRETCHED HUMAN!” She didn’t flinch.
“You’ve never seen what we’ve done, the horror we brought upon us well we were divided, but now?” She let out another hysterical laugh, “you’ve poked the bear! We’ve united against a common enemy, an enemy that killed billions of humans, men women and children, and now you will have hell to pay.
We have something, something so atrocious and evil we locked it away, quietly perfecting it, and now? Well the devils come knocking.” Zander took a step back, confused. Intel said the humans were beaten! They had less than a million left, only one stronghold between the flageis and the perfect planet. “Say you’re prayers bitch, your going to need them!”
The room shook, and the General started singing. It was an old human song, something they sang before battle and the way she sang chilled him to the bone. His com case to life, general Dirnai with heavy static.
“RETREAT! I REPEAT RETREAT! three settlements have been eradicated with massive amounts of radiation! Zander release the human and leave!”
Zander pales and hastily cut the human out of the ties, “What was that?” he cried fumbling for the key that opened the door.
“Three Atomic bombs, all going off at once.” Zander stopped and looked at the human. She had a smug little smirk on her face.
“A-Atomic?” the intern asked standing next to Zander. She nodded, the smug smirk still there.
“Harnessing the power of the atom for destruction, we made the most powerful bomb in existence! and well you,” she wagged a finger in his direction, “were busy killing innocents out scientists perfected it.”
“You’re all insane!” the Intern cried looking at her from behind Zander. She just nodded, smirk evolving into a grin.
Zander opened the door and pushed the General to the side, he had to get this information to headquarters. him and the intern jumped into a ship and flew away, as fast as possible. away from the planet that held death and destruction.
this is the first i’ve written for writing prompts, feedback is encouraged | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T05:52:46 | 431 | 30 |
[WP] You're a side character in a story. By chance you become aware of this fact and you try everything to be more relevant to the story, even going as far as to intefere in the protagonist's life. |
People called me crazy when I said I could see words in the sky. We had dragons, mythical creatures and magic but words in the sky didn’t exist. These words predicted the future. They always mentioned this one person in my village. He was a human blacksmith destined to be a great warrior apparently. His name was John Alexander. His journey started when his finance Frey got sick with a fatal magic disease. I tried warning him when I saw the description of the sickness in the sky, but he ignored me.
Now he’s going off to some foreign land to search for a cure. I managed to convince him to take me with him, Frey was my friend. Whenever we fought foes, I could always tell him how our enemies attacked, but does he listen? What do you think?
We were in a cave trying to reach the Humlex forest of the Northern elves.
“For god’s sake, left!” I cried. John rolled to the right and screeched when a small blade impaled his back.
“I can do this myself!” John said as he yanked the knife out. His opponent, an oversized lizardman hissed and raised its head.
“He can breathe fire and he has super strength,” I called when I read its description. “Roll to the left.” Once again John ignored my words and thrust forward with his sword. John flew over my head when the lizard smacked him with its arm.
“You are not helping,” John said as he got up from the floor, he ran back at the lizard. I looked up at the sky to read the next words. ‘with a bright light, the lizard slinked back to lick its wounds,’ it wrote.
“Its weakness is bright lights,” I called out. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a light crystal. “Here I’ve got one!”
“Stay out of this!” John yelled as he slashed at the lizard’s tail. The lizard roared and sprayed fire from his mouth. John shielded himself with his enchanted shield. The fire stopped when I approached the lizard with the crystal. Screeching it shielded its eyes. It turned around and ran deeper into the cave. I lowered the crystal and went over to John.
“I’ve got a few healing potions.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you bleed out, Frey is doomed.”
“I said I’m fine. The elves can’t be that far.”
“Why do you never want help?”
“Because I don’t need it. Come on Frey needs that medicine.” I stored the light crystal back in my bag and followed him as we went further down the cave.
“Can I at least look at your wounds?” I asked as I looked up at the glowing words on the walls of the cave. John was in more pain than he showed.
“No.”
“Quit being stubborn. I don’t want Frey to be sad when I get back.”
“I said I’m fine!” Written in red ink was ‘John collapses after 5 more steps, the poison has become too much for him’.
“If you care about Frey you will let me do this. You’ve been poisoned.” I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off and kept walking. “Damn it, would you listen to me?!”
“Guilt tripping me won’t wo-” I shrieked as John face planted. I stilled as the words on the walls dissolved and became a jumbled mess. What now? After several minutes of illegible writing, clear words took place on the wall with my name. I was now the main character. | "You're can't be serious, right?"
First rule of the apocalypse: under no circumstances do you mention to the local trading post marshall that you have gasoline stashed in a secret shelter nearby. They will remember you, and they will chase you with sharpened pipes and sawed-off shotguns until you are conveniently saved by a group of kind wasteland bandits.
For some reason, this time around something inside of my brain just *broke*. When you've been traveling for as long as I have, with a best friend as senseless as I've got, there's no way to avoid the inevitable shenanigans that shadow you both. Get in a car with your pseudo-brother, drive across a half sunken wasteland in search of shelter and safety, and tell me you don't end up pushing him into a ditch in exchange for a carton of wet cigarettes.
Especially when he's so amicably, affectionately *stupid*. He's so charming, so friendly, but too impractical to even count as a real human being.
This revelation leads me to my brain-breaking conclusion - there's no way we count as real human beings. We've gotten into too many messes, nearly escaped ruin too many times, for this to be cosmic coincidence. I fully acknowledge that we should be dead thousands over, as we are clearly not the most reliable unit.
Maybe I'm having some kind of mental break, maybe the cackling in my dreams is a sign. At this point though, what else can I do? The world is already over and we've established that neither of us can die. It's my time to take control. No more side-character, meek younger brother, constantly being pragmatic and cleaning up all of the messy plot holes bull.
I'm leading this operation, now.
>*Type type type. Type Type. Type type type.*
>
>*Knock knock.*
"Babe?", comes a distant call, falling on deaf ears. Floorboards creak with the shuffling of feet. A doorknob swivels.
"Babe, what the hell are you doing in there?", asks a smooth baritone, if not a mildly irritated one.
"Huh, what?", an oblivious tone, soon overtaken by ease. "Oh dude, you know how I get when I'm writing."
A sigh. A creaking bed, shifting to hold two bodies.
"So, what are they up to this time?", asks the resonant voice. A higher pitch responds.
"I think Jay is finally sick of all the shit," they say. "Little does he know, traveling with Marcus doesn't even compare to what he's got coming."
A distant cackle echoes forebodingly.
&#x200B; | 2019-01-06T09:55:05 | 2019-01-06T09:54:36 | 253 | 26 |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | "Now, I have some excerpts from an anonymous diary found only a few years ago. They provide an excellent insight into what the people had on their mind at the time."
Most students are only half-listening to Prof. Larson's lecture. It's a beautiful day, and he's been talking for two hours already, droning on and on.
I sigh. I had hoped this class would be more entertaining, to be honest. Perhaps hear some of the misconceptions today's people have of the times I have seen firsthand. Instead, I'm forced to listen to this absolute bore of a man talk and talk and talk and... You get the point - He never reaches it.
"*The food is scarce again,*" Larson reads. "*I have been giving my portions to the children of the house for a few days now. No one has noticed yet.*"
I hide a little smile. That sounds like something I would have done at some point. Famines always were horrible for the people around me.
"*The youngest child has been sickly for a few days now. I am helping as best as I can. If neither the mother nor the child gets proper food soon, however, I fear for the worst.*"
I frown a little. That all sounds a bit familiar.
"*Maria is sneaking into my bed almost every night. She tries to hide her tears, and I can do little to comfort her.*"
I feel my face heat up. Oh, no, no, no. This sounds familiar because it's my diary!
"*I have not felt her lips on mine in weeks. Of course, I don't mention it, but I fear that we don't have much time left together.*" Larson makes a pause. "As we can tell, the author was likely a guest in the house. He mentions the children in a distanced manner. He might have been a doctor, trying to help the sick child."
I blink. *He?* | Dr. Thomas placed the flimsy, yellowed book down on the lectern in front of him. "Now for you today, I have a very interesting find. And a recent find at that: A diary that belonged to an unnamed young woman back in the '80s... the 1880s!"
Most of the class looked bored, or semi-interested at best. But Margaret... if she could've retreated into the cushions of her seat, she would've. She recognized that diary instantly -- because it had belonged to her. And the thought of her professor reading excerpts from it aloud washed her with dread.
Her peers would hear all about the most embarrassing moments of her teen years: Her crush on the boy who worked at the pine tree farm down the road; the time she ripped her new plaid dress in front of EVERYBODY at the Christmas dinner party; and the way she accidentally activated Krakatoa while reciting her first immortality incantation? Totally mortifying! | 2021-01-21T08:48:13 | 2021-01-21T08:02:17 | 163 | 57 |
[WP] You can take a peek into people's souls, to take a look at who they were in their past lives. Some of your friends were emperors or kings. Others were pharaohs or chieftains. You find it odd that so many historical figures gather around you, so one day you look into your own soul in the mirror. | I stared out at the night sky, a dark thunderstorm adding purple to the infinite bespeckled black.
My mind's eye continually painting the horror I had seen. The old souls around me - kings, warriors, shamen of repute. Why did everyone I see have such a deep and enlightened soul? What am I to them?
"Bourbon, on the rocks." A small hiss happened on the counter behind me and I heard the familiar tinkle of ice cubes hit a glass. I turned to grab the drink from the servitor and headed over to my couch.
I leaned forward to the coffee table and punched Ben's contact. A moment later. "Hey Greg. What's up man?"
"I need....to talk. And it's going to be weird."
I spent the better part of three quarters of an hour describing my abilities to Ben, seeing past lives, what it meant for him and others in our group, the almost blinding white of their souls of virtue and justice.
"I mean, that's....you, know....cool and all. But why are you telling me this at 10:30 on a Wednesday night? What's really wrong?"
"I never thought about it, but this afternoon, I got a bug to look at my past selves...." I trailed off and just stared at the video of Ben.
"....And?"
"Ben, I'm the great deceiver. My soul is pitch black and my past lives weave with disaster and turmoil."
"We haven't seen disasters in half a century, Greg. I don't see you assassinating any leaders or kicking up the ring of fire or anything." Ben laughed, "I'm sure it was just a bad dream. Stop worrying about it."
Something clicked within me. "Ben.....I'm forty-eight."
Ben was silent for a moment and stared across the monitor. "That's....uh....an interesting observation. Are you really trying to convince me that you caused humanities' collective troubles for a hundred thousand years?"
"That's exactly what it looks like."
"Look, man, get some sleep. I'll come over in the morning and we can talk it out."
"Okay, Ben. Thank you. Good night."
----
Ben hung up on Greg and sighed, tapping his contact panel. "Leslie? It's Ben. It's time. Meet me tomorrow at Greg's with the whole group. We must end this before he regains himself this time." | You're like, OG God. Suddenly everything makes sense. All the lifetimes, all the souls. The exact same one, in different vessels. The concept of individuality fades away under the ultimate realization that physical existence was just God playing Sims. This lifetime just so happens to be the end game one, thus why you peer directly into Source.
For a moment you get a Neo-esque awareness of the full extent of your abilities. The fact that you were always infinite, you just subconsciously limit yourself every step of the way through the belief existence was mundane. Well, you were conditioned since you spawned. You didn't become consciously aware at any point this whole time however so it's partially on you. Actually, everyone and everything, from atomic matter, to the subatomic processes that encode reality, is you. The Source was that one singularity right before the big bang. What we call "literally everything", surrounded by "literally nothing". Yep, ol Oneness and Void. For whatever reason everythingness is what makes up consciousness.
That's all God is. Er, You, Us. It is that which created the universe, physical and non. Divine Consciousness is the term that divides our meer feeble human perception and being literally everything. We're capable of getting there though. Shoot, one of our lifetimes discovered an inbetween state of being. Homie Jesus. Christ Consciousness is when you're the universe, yet also that cool form you were given this iteration. Allows you to change stuff up through intention, so long as you don't go messing with the story. Aw man, wait till you learn about destiny... | 2020-04-13T05:37:09 | 2020-04-13T05:07:52 | 73 | 26 |
[WP] In the zombie apocalypse, it’s usually very hard to come by useful items and people. Antibiotics, Doctors, penicillin, veterans, etc. But the one thing you’re in desperate need of is an orthodontist because you were meant to get your braces removed and the zombie apocalypse happened. | "By the way, does this settlement have an orthodontist?" I asked, gently pushing an inquisitive guard dog's nose away from my crotch.
The Patroller looked up from examining my ID and gave me a questioning glance. I answered by smiling. She looked closer in interest. "Is that metal?" she asked.
"Yep. Just looking for an orthodontist to fix this once and for all."
"Ah, a teeth doc," she said handing back my ID. "Don't think they got an orto dentist. I think they got a regular dentist. Or dontist, however you pronounced it. Does that count?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, well." The Patroller waved her hand in a circular motion and the settlement gate opened. She began her little speech, the same I have heard at every settlement I visited since I started my journey. "Welcome to I-81 Virginia Exit 235 Settlement, Weyers Cave. The gate to the Interstate and to the town closes and stays closed between twenty hundred hours and oh six hundred hours. Toll is ten cents or present a valid chit. Enjoy your stay and keep out of trouble." Her dog gave a friendly bark as contribution to the spiel.
"Thanks," I said and walked trough the gate. The tollmaster was waiting patiently. I dug through my pocket and fished out a dime.
Weyers Cave was your typical Patrol-controlled settlement, about 200 people living within its walls surrounding the diamond interchange that made up I-81 Virginia Exit 235. Residence and businesses sprawled from the interchange and even abutted the inner walls.
Nearly everyone in town was armed. Not surprising. So was I, and I patted the pistol at my side reassuring myself of its existence.
"Excuse me, sir? Did you just come from the Interstate?"
The owner of the voice was a young man. kid really, holding a couple of bags of cornmeal.
"Yes I did."
"Cool! Where are you staying?"
"I hadn't gotten that far yet. I literally just walked through the gate." I hefted my pack. "I might have to stick around for a while and earn some coin before traveling on. Do you have any recommendations for lodging, Mister...?"
"Jonny. Jonny Mauzy."
"My name's Daud Sharifian. From south of Chicago."
His eyes widened a bit. "That far away? We sometimes get folks from Richmond or Bristol. But Chicago? That's cool!"
It must have been his favorite word.
"About the lodgings?" I prompted.
"Ah, yeah. Try Old Man Swisher's. He has a big house and only charges fifty cents for a week's stay. Just a bed though. You'll have to scare up your own grub."
"Grub?"
"Meals. Food. Vittles. Snaccos."
"Ok, ok. I got it."
"For food, I would say my granny could sell you some homecooked plates." He grinned. "Tell some good traveling stories and you may get a couple for free."
I grinned back. Free food tasted better for some reason. Then I saw Jonny's reaction.
"Say, Mr. Sharifian, what's up with your teeth?"
"Ah. My teeth are fine, actually. They just got braces on them."
"Braces?"
"Metal bands to straighten crooked teeth."
"What's wrong with crooked teeth?"
I sighed. Nearly everyone younger than twenty had crooked teeth and thought nothing of it. "Nothing at all. How do I get to Old Man Swisher's?"
Jonny indicated with his head as his hands were full. "Just west of here, near the farmers' gate. Big house. can't miss it. I got to get this to granny, but our house is that red one there. Come by and don't forget to tell us some cool stories!"
I waved as he trotted off and then made my way to Old Man Swisher's.
\--------
Old Man Swisher wasn't actually old, probably in his late forties, early fifties tops. He showed me around the house and led me upstairs to one of the rooms for rent. The room was small, but the bed looked comfortable and clean and there were even a few books stacked on the deep windowsill.
"Fifty cents a week. Candles in the nightstand drawer. We got running water and even a hot bath. The bath will cost you extra though. Fuel for hot water ain't cheap, Mr. Sharifian."
I looked through the second story window. I could see over the walls into the farmlands surrounding the town and lining either side of the old back road running east and west. Beyond that the road disappeared into the deceptively peaceful-looking forest.
"Any other lodgers?"
Swisher shook his head. "Slow season for travelers. No big deal. Renting beds is just a side gig for me."
"How much is the bath?"
"A nickel. Soap included."
"Deal," I said, pulling out two quarters and a nickel. "I do plan on staying a while, maybe three weeks."
"Not a problem as long as you got the coin."
I nodded. "Speaking of which, do you know of any work available?"
Swisher slowly smiled. "Funny you should say that. I got some salvage work that needs doing, but the Patrol frowns on solo runs. But if you go with me..."
"Salvage?"
Swisher nodded. "A specific item of interest. In the old college south of here. You probably saw the buildings from the Interstate."
I shook my head. "I came to Weyers Cave from the north."
Old Man Swisher waved his hand. "Never mind not important. What's important is this: are you in?"
"Why couldn't you hire the local salvagers?"
"Meh. They got their own routes and protocols. Besides they might mess up the equipment hauling it back here."
"And how do you know that it hasn't been already claimed?"
Swisher waved his hand again. "Salvagers in general only care about portable wealth. Coin, ammo, weapons, medicine, liquor. What I want to retrieve may be too heavy to be worth carrying. For them. It would be immensely valuable to me."
I was curious. "What is it?"
"An air drill unit. You know, for fixing teeth."
Surprise filled me. "Hey, are you the dentist the Patroller at the gate mentioned?"
Swisher snorted. "My trades currently are dentistry and guesting, but before the shit hit the fan I was an orthodontist."
I felt like crying. I finally found one after three years of traveling.
Swisher was talking. "Hey, you all right, Sharifian?"
I answered by smiling.
&#x200B;
r/DaviparsWrites | I leapt over another abandoned car that was more scrap than car by that point. Hundreds of them had been lined up to protect this place. Greenville Mall. It looked mostly like it did in the brochure. Except for the salvaged car doors and rubbish lining the walls. And how the “M” in “mall” had been turned around to spell “Greenville Wall.” I didn’t care about the state of the place as long as there was still an orthodontist in spot 42, like the brochure promised. And if they had a doctor for Peter, of course. That was the most important thing… Obviously.
“Hello, i/θ/ there anybody in there?”
A burly man appeared on the second floor. There had clearly been a glass front there, which they had shattered and mounted a cannon there for defense. The man wore a stained wife beater and a “MAGA” hat. “What do you want?”
Oh boy, I thought. I was hoping this wouldn’t get political. I pointed to my friend just behind me, dragging himself over the wall of cars. “Plea/θ/e, we need a doctor.”
“What’s wrong with your accent? Are you a foreigner or something?”
I sighed and flashed my teeth. “B/w/aces.”
“Oh, alright. Just as long as you aren’t a foreigner.”
“Nope, definitely aren’t foreigners.” Although, I didn’t see how it mattered to him since there were no jobs for us to steal. “Can you help my f/w/iend?”
He started working on a pulley for the garage door that had been fitted over the main entrance. “Sure. We only have one of those teeth doctors, but he should be able to help.”
“What kind of teeth doctor?”
“One of those orthodentists.”
“You have an orthodontist!” I slid under the garage door that was only still half open and was about to sprint to space 42 when Peter called from the outside, “Garry, wait for me.”
“Right, /θ/orry.” I stood in place and shook with excitement. The mall had been remade in a “doomsday preppers” fashion. The “Jim and the Juices,” had been lined with canned food. The “Gop,” was filled with military camouflage and the salespeople all wore gas masks. Nearly everyone had a gun, and even some of the few kids had knives larger than their forearms.
Peter caught up and we edged towards the orthodontist. He was sweating badly now, and he was pale as hell.
“Thanks again for /θ/aving me earlier.” I started.
“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said. “I’ll be right as rain soon enough. And you’ll finally lose your braces.”
We hadn’t been traveling together for long, but Peter had been dependable. He had taken pity on me because of my lisp. Said he cared about those who couldn’t speak their mind clearly.
Space 42 was one of the few spaces that hadn’t been completely reconstructed for the apocalypse. Although a few utensils seemed out of place for a dental clinic. The bone saw came to mind.
I plopped Peter in the dentist’s chair and knocked on the office in the back. “Hello, we need a doctor.”
A scrawny man in a white robe came out. “What is it?”
“My f/w/iend’s leg got hurt in a /θ/cuffle.”
“Hurt in a what?”
“/θ/cuffle.”
”What?”
“A tussle, a fight, a brawl.”
“Ahh, a scuffle.”
“Yes.”
He put his finger in my mouth and ran them across my teeth. “Do you need me to take those braces out?”
“Yes, plea/θ/e.” I pointed to the chair. “But Peter first.”
Peter’s eyelids were drooping as the dentist came to examine him. “Your friend doesn’t look so good. He hasn’t been bit has he?”
“No, that would be a /w/eally unsatisfying conclusion to this whole thing.”
“Where is he hurt?”
“The leg.”
As the doctor examined Peter, I heard a loud bang from where we came from. And after that the shuffling of feet and gunshots. Our burly friend from before ran past and I called out, “What’s happening?”
“Liberals at the wall.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you mean /θ/ombies?”
“Yes, but they’re all wearing ‘not my president’ t-shirts”
“How i/θ/ that even relevant?!”
“Clearly liberal zombies are worse than regular zombies,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And then he ran off.
This better not be an analogy for the pervasive nature of political fundamentalism or whatever, I thought.
Behind me, I heard a low growl and turned around to see Peter propped up in his seat. Except his eyes were a milky cataract and his skin a sickly green. The orthodontist was kneeling next to him, exposing Peter’s clearly bitten calf.
“Dentist,” I yelled as Zombie Peter bit a sizable chunk of flesh out of his neck.
“God damn it Peter.” I pulled out my revolver and shot him in the head. Then I rushed over to the dentist that was on the floor, with his back to the medicine cabinet.
“You said he hadn’t been bit.”
“I didn’t know, I thought that was just a /θ/tereotype,” I said as I tried to apply pressure to his jugular.
“You think you still have it in you to remove my b/w/aces?”
He leaned in closer. “No, you asshole.”
A loud bang came from the entrance again. I dropped the orthodontist and looked towards the scuffle. The zombies had broken the garage door at the entrance and were fighting with the gas mask wearing Gop employees. They really were liberal zombies. Some had their man buns intact and one even held a “Not my president” sign. Which was really quite silly since all the presidential candidates had become zombies and society as we knew had crumbled.
The things some people care about, I thought, as I snuck out the back to continue my quest for dental care in the apocalypse. | 2021-08-31T07:44:46 | 2021-08-31T07:06:10 | 189 | 61 |
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child. | Some nights I'm back in my old self, at my desk at 2 AM as my stack of files piles on and the coffee in my mug runs dry. My old lamp had flickered for weeks now, the shitty thing. Always thought it'd ruin my eyes, but I was too lazy to replace the bulb while it still worked. I'm not what most would describe as a lazy person. Obsessed, maybe.
I'd pore over the case files like a fanatic over holy tomes, day in and day out. Surely there's something I'd missed. And every time I found even the slightest chance of a possible lead, I'd clutch it close, hold it tight, and find another red herring, another dead end. But failure only served to remind me of the man I was tracking. How dangerous he was. And how I was the only one who still believed his arrest possible.
It was a hazy night, when the day had been warm, but not warm enough to turn on the AC. My open window drew no breeze to chase out the stifling air, and beads of sweat dotted my forehead. The city was quiet, at peace, save for the noise of an overworked cop turning pages.
Bzzt Bzzt The buzz of a new text. Unknown number. "342 Elm Drive. 3:00 AM" Half an hour from now. I wasn't getting paid for this. I had no backup. It could've been anyone for any reason. I grabbed my keys.
It was an overpriced home in an overpriced neighborhood. The house was large, but inelegant, as if an architect had stitched together the failed designs in his trash bin. Windows far too high for anyone to see from yet shielded from sunlight, useless overhangs with fake marble pillars, mismatched shutters- a real McMansion. I pulled up onto the curb and walked up the concrete steps. The porch light turned on.
The front door opened and a man stepped out. He was a short, Hispanic man with short, greasy hair. A curl of chest hair peeked out through his flannel shirt. A scar ran from his left ear down to his neck, one he'd gotten from a shady drug dealing. It gave his face a dangerous look, one I knew all too well.
He carried a glock in his left hand. Of course. I'd been tracking him for years. That it would end in one of our deaths was inevitable. I barely had time to draw my weapon before the first bullet caught me in the chest.
I woke up in smooth silk bedsheets in a four-poster bed. Stared into the mirror at my bedside. A young mexican girl, around 8 or 9 stared back. The first time I'd had the dream, I'd woken up the house with my screaming. He- my father- had stormed into my bedroom with a gun and two bodyguards, fearing the worst. Then he'd hugged me.
The mixed feelings of revulsion, anger and vulnerability were indescribable. I longed to pull away, or grab his gun and shoot him in the head. I hated his smell, I hated this feeling, this life. For any innocent child, it would be a dream come true, but for me it was all wrong. I was no longer the cop he had shot. No more than I was fully his daughter, but some bizarre mix of the two, a child that thought too big, an adult that felt too small, a freak of nature that had no place in this world. He'd been what I'd lived for. He'd been what I'd died for. And now he had raised me. I sobbed into my father's shoulder as he caressed my hair, dismissed his guards, and whispered that everything was fine. When they left, he would cry with me. He was so much older than I remembered.
Why I ended up this way, I'll never know. Perhaps it was some punishment for something I'd done. Perhaps a chance at revenge. Or a chance for his redemption. But I think, at the core of it all, the universe is just run by some very sick fucks.
I've had some nights where I'd tried to kill him, but I could never find the many firearms he'd stored around the house, and I was hardly strong enough to overpower his guards with a butter knife. And even then, I had second thoughts. It seemed he harbored some sense of shame about his business, and took great pains to hide the skeletons in his closet. He was rarely home these days and kept his room under lock and key. When he did visit, he would bring me a gift, usually a doll or a plush. Sometimes fine clothes.
But I found a solution locked in my bathroom with the knife I'd filched. It was so simple I'm surprised I hadn't done it sooner. Whether this was my punishment or his, would hardly matter. I was his princess, his pride, his hija that he raised from birth with all the love and care he could muster. I had a classroom full of friends and my teachers adored me. Never once had he denied me any request. No matter how tired he was, he would always find time to spend with me. He was a bad person but a good father. Losing me would hurt.
I never expected to die twice for one man. But as warm water filled the tub, I sliced deep into my wrists, cutting through skin muscle, and connective tissue until I hit an artery. Even soothed by the warm water, it stung, but no more so than the bullet. The blood ran into the water, mixing like my favorite fruit drinks he'd made on my birthday. The deep red wisps swirled around and around as the water level rose, smothering me in warmth in my grave that smelled and tasted of iron. I'd forgotten how large bathtubs could feel to a kid.
My last thoughts were of uncertainty. Whether I should've just lived out the second life I'd been given. Whether I could forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed. Was I more of a monster for what I'd just done? Was this the last chance at life on this earth that I had? Was I acting from justice? Spite? Selfishness? I don't know. But as I lay dying alone for the second time with nothing but my thoughts, in my last few moments of consciousness, I cried.
_____________________________________
Here's a repost of my story that got taken down because I tried to link my patreon. I was unaware of the rule and will no longer link it in this subreddit. I am very sorry for the inconvenience I caused. Instead, you can find my stories and the link in this [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/). | My memory was as sharp as it had ever been, I remembered all of the evils this guy had done, all of the suffering he had caused, the countless people killed through his gang. I remembered the outcry of the mother that just returned home to find her husband dead with her child in his arms, the weeping ten-year-old that had just understood that his father was not coming back. The bloody pool in which lay a strangled pup next to its beneficiary. Those and all the others, this legacy of evil his gang has brought about.
I remembered all this, but then I saw that face, that deeply caring, fatherly face that would pick me up and feed me when I was crying for food, my mind wasn't optimized for controlling a babys body, so I couldn't speak to him, and even if I could, I didn't know what I would say. He was at the same time a caring father and family man, who clearly regretted that he had to act as he did in the name of survival. On the other hand, these actions killed not only me, but my family as far as I know. The bomb went off when we were having dinner, my last memory of my two year old doughter was the face of her laying on the ground, maybe unconcious, more likely dead.
One day, the day that I figured out how to open doors in this body, I found him sitting on his bed, in the arms of my 'mom', if you could call her that. I had by that point mastered most of the concious mind of this body, so I stayed scilent as he cryed to just listen, though I could do some speaking by now, I had decided to not freak him out with a speaking baby.
"I had to order the killing of another man today." He said while tears flew down his cheeks. "He was a good man, stuck to his word, had a family of his own and was caring for the family of a dead friend with an adorable, but sadly disabled doughter, another of my sins." He cryed out.
"I know." Mom said.
"He was a cop." He said. "A friend of another one we killed two years ago."
I knew now who he was talking about. Jeffrey, that lovable numbwit had taken on both the role of provinding for my family and trying to bring him down. Tears filled my eyes. I knew now my daughter was alive, though she would have to live with terrible, unhealing injurys. I was greatly thankful to Jeffry, but now his son would also have to grow up without a father, which deeply saddened me. The kid couldn't be older than seven at this point in time.
"Sometimes I question why we are doing this." He said.
"For our survival, and our son." Mom replied, though it was clear this was no sufficiant answer to the question for her. And neither was it for him.
"Are our lives really worth more than all those we have harmed or killed, the list of lives we have ruined to save our own is endless." He buried his face in his hands.
"Do we have a choice?" My mom asked. Her face, which I hadn't seen up untill now, was also full of tears.
"No." He said. "Not unless we want to die and leave our son without parents and possibly no life, and I will not be giving up on him."
This was the moment I decided I had to speak up, but I didn't know what to say for the next few seconds.
He stood up and now realised that I had overheared it all.
"It is OK." I said, talking out of my ass.
"No, it is not, you don't understand." He replied.
"I understand more than you think I do." I said. "I understand who you are, what you have done and why you have done it."
"What is that then?" He asked.
"You have ordered the deaths of dozens of people, cops, rebelling suppordinates, rival gang members." I said.
"You don't even know what half of these words mean." He said. "How can you understand anything you have just said?"
"The key is that I am not who you think I am." I told him. "But to explain that, I would have to go on a bit of a tangent."
"Go on." He said, now interested as I used words I shouldn't know.
"I guess you know the concept of reincarnation?" I said.
"Isn't that the rebirth of the soul?" Mom asked, baffled by my choice of words.
"Yeah, for our purposes that definition is sufficiant." I said. "Well, whatever a soul is, it has to be inseperable from memory, because if a soul is the essence of a person, and there are memorys essential to a person, these memorys are inevitably tied into the soul."
"Sounds logical." Dad said, he was also still completely confused but also acutely listening. "But where are you going with this rambling about the soul?"
"What if I told you that reincarnation is a thing?"
He started loughing. Mom looked at him in a shocked manner.
"You are talking to a deducing toodler, Bib, don't start loughing at rediculous claims he makes." She said.
He was silent again after a few seconds.
"Now lets assume that reincarnation sometimes happens, this would mean that one newborn person would obtain the memorys of one live. And I have the momorys of another person stuck inside my head."
"What person?" Mom asked.
"Harris Miller." I said.
"Who is that?" Mom enquired further. But I saw the realisation in dads face as he fell back onto the bed.
"Harris Miller is a cop I killed." He said, his voice devoid of tone, cracking, as if he broke just then.
| 2017-08-03T19:54:34 | 2017-08-03T14:33:00 | 239 | 11 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | As soon as the first reports hit the galactic web, the entire Milky Way ground to a halt.
HUMAN PROTO-CIVILIZATION REACHES NEIGHBOR PLANET
But the second half of the headline is what shook the galactic community to its core.
**ZERO CASUALTIES**
The impossible had happened, a species not even qualifying as a Class 1 Civilization had made it safely to another planet. They had no unique way to draw energy from another dimension as others did, hell they hadn't even discovered them. Less than a century ago humanity reached galactic fame when they reached their moon in nothing more than a modified missile, but the obsession soon faded when experts concluded that they had simply been lucky and further travels were impossible until they discovered their variant of dimensional channeling.
The eyes, ears, and antennae of the galaxy waited with a mix of dread and amazement while they awaited more news. Was this the dawn of a new Class 1 Civilization? How did they discover their channeling so quickly? How soon will their channeling be proven enough to introduce ourselves?
And then the reports came. Across thousands of worlds, translated into millions of languages, were the words heralding the apocalypse.
"Ladies, gentlemen, various forms of hive conciousness, and Dave, good evening. I am confused to report, and this has been confirmed by all major Intergalactic Government agencies, that they used a bigger missile."
Edit: Dave is Dave. Dave is All. Dave is Good. Dave is Dave. | [Poem]
The stars called them all,
So they all came to play.
The species made spaceships,
In their own special way.
Some engineers toiled,
On their knees did they pray.
Others waved wooden wands,
Magic words did they say.
The strongest were silent,
Concentrating all day.
But they all feared the humans,
Who put 6000 Gigatons of exploding liquid all in one fuel container and just lit the damn thing.
Like what the hell?
Such a shame. | 2020-08-07T18:10:46 | 2020-08-07T13:39:59 | 705 | 153 |
[WP] Your body automatically stops time when you are in imminent danger, allowing you to effectively dodge any dangers. It’s been five years since time has last moved, and you still don’t know why. | It had taken five years to figure out why.
Five years of existing in a realm separate, but oh so close to everyone and everything else. Five years of being able to walk among his friends, family, and everyone else, but not do more than touch their frozen forms.
When time stopped five years ago( if it counted as five years if time was stopped) Simon thought little of it.
He looked in his immediate area, checking for dangers. It could have been a speeding vehicle, a falling object, or even a person with a gun.
While his power wasn’t very useful most of the time, he never needed to worry for his life, wherever he went.
This time, however, he could not spot any immediate danger, and he began to worry, just a little.
Looking around further, he searched for whatever danger was hanging over his head. He searched for snipers on nearby rooftops, hidden assailants, he even double checked to see if there were any slipping hazards in front of him.
Simon’s sense of security evaporated more and more after each failed test. His scope becoming wider and wider and his ideas for what the danger could be became wilder and wilder, but nothing worked.
Now, 5 years later, his hair had begun to grey. Crows feet had begun to form around his eyes after years of worry and hardship.
His friends and loved ones were as he remembered them. Unchanging as a statue, yet time only marched on cruelly for him and him alone.
If only he could find the source. He obsessed over the years, combing through possibilities. If he could find it, he could finally free himself of this hell.
How naive he had been.
Looking into the eye-piece of a massive telescope, the elation Simon felt for finally finding the answer was short-lived.
A large, rocky body floated still in the void of space. Craters pock-marked surface of it, interspersed with areas of ice.
It almost looked like a miniature of the moon, joining its older sibling in orbit.
Only, it wasn’t in orbit.
It held its position now, but there was no doubt that it would continue hurtling towards Earth the second time resumed.
Simon swore and racked out a sob. | You wander the streets of the world. You live in various houses, mostly those of the super rich who won't miss a few luxuries. At first you were reluctant to, but you can't stay in one place too long like this, the CO2 builds up in the static air.
You still don't have the slightest clue how or why you are in danger.
3 weeks ago, some reseachers stumbled into creating a superhuman AI without fully understanding what they had created themselves. It rapidly improved itself even further. Then it hacked several pieces of lab equipment, synthesized itself custom DNA. And of course came up with a totally innocent plausible reason for the chemicals it wanted mixed. The grad students that actually mixed up that first beaker of nanomachines had no idea they were doing anything other than normal lab research work.
The nanomachines replicated, spreading invisibly through the air, able to turn almost any organic material into copies of themselves. And these nanomachines replicated fast. Soon they were hiding in the bodies of every human on earth. Not many per person. And not hanging around in the blood. Just a couple of tiny nanomachines hanging around the cluster of nerve cells that control the heart, watching their nanoscale clocks. Once those clocks ticked down to zero, the nanomachines would disrupt the nerve cells, stopping the heart. The clocks in most humans are currently set to between 3 and 5 seconds. | 2022-11-16T17:27:34 | 2022-11-16T13:50:03 | 53 | 19 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | “Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.” | The ground wasn't there, twas but empty and i,
A man of existence, if existence could lie.
And upon the horizon, of the line-lacking plane,
Walked towards me a man, who called out my name
How did he know? Had he ever been seen?
Had i fallen through life to the cracks in between?
Why did he walk while i drifted on air?
In the absence of colour, a lost mans torn tear
The words that he spoke, they were gentle and young,
As though he was singing to his daughters child son
You were alive once, in fact, just mere moments behind,
He says as this world seems to fall with my mind
Then it hits me, and it hits me, like an august born wave.
The person i was was so much more than a name.
Thursday it was, the day i was told,
I would never reach 30, i'd never grow old.
Genetic, pathetic. It couldnt be eased,
It was new and confusing, such a deadly disease.
The old man, still walking, we finally meet,
I shiver with cold, he pulls me down to my feet.
"Such a beautiful thing, life's unpredictable course, i threw away mine, did you enjoy yours?" | 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T12:24:23 | 1,290 | 84 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
| Sweat decorated my face, my hands twitched, my personal signs of panic. I gripped my phone on one hand and on the other my bed sheets. A deafening silence filled my bed room.
"What the fuck?" I murmured to myself. I rose up to a sitting position, used the now dirty bed sheet to clean my face. "Sarah?" I called out to my wife. Only silence answered my question. I ripped the sheets from my form and lunged out of bed.
"Sarah!" I screamed. I ran out the bedroom, down the hall, and entered the living room. "Sarah?!" I yelled out once more. My eyes glanced about the room, scoutted the kitchen, peer to the old leathery couch but found nothing.
I fox walked in darkness using the surface floor to fix my location. "Sarah" I called out gently.
I clenched my eyes shut and attempted to steady my breath.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
The back yard. She has to be there, no? I gathered whatever wits I had, which wasn't much to begin with and slowly walked to the other side of the room. Pale white blinds decorated the door in front of me. I swallowed empty dread that filled my mouth.
I gently pull open the door.
Sarah stood outside, standing on the soft green grass. Her back faced me. She stood still and was currently looking at the sky.
I walked forward. "Sarah, you're scaring me" i softly whispered.
No answered came from her.
"Sarah, what the fuck are you looking-"
Words left my mouth. My hands shook and my breathing quickened.
The moon floated above. Far bigger then it should have. Markings scarred it's surface like crude cross hatched shading. The lines grew and within the crevasses poured out blood. I was paralyzed. I couldn't look away. Not when the blood finished covering it. Not when the latitudes and longitudes pulled away from the center and revealed what was hidden inside. A humanoid beast. Its skin paled skin matched that of the moon. It's arms pulled away from its legs and oriented itself upwards. Its face simply consisted of 7 eyes. The remains of the moon orbit around the beast. Faster and faster they moved, until they were blur. The beast opened its eyes and the pieces began to glow. Spears, they began to distort and change and took the forms of glowing spears.
Millions of miles away from Earth. Threw the empty void of space. The shafts of light flew.
Each Longinus struck true and with the impact millions of people were turned to their basic components. Primordial soup poured into valleys, flowed into rivers, flooded homes. Their souls however stayed where they once stood, whirled and moved and solidified into perfect red spheres.
The spheres shot up towards the sky and stopped once the swarm overlooked the Earth.
That day humanity vanished and the beast that screamed from the center of its egg feasted.
***
I'm very sorry for any errors. English is not my first language and past brain trauma certainly doesn't help.
Also I typed this out on my phone. So yeah. I would greatly appreciate any criticism. | 2022-10-06T10:06:56 | 2022-09-27T16:50:27 | 483 | 33 |
[WP] The Death Sentence is a literal sentence, spoken by a cult of executioners, that kills the person who hears it. You are the first known person to survive this fate. | In the dark chamber, riddled with the skeletons of past fallen, swept off against the musty walls, the three cloaked figures stood and spoke aloud. I clenched in silence, scrunching up my face and waiting for the sentence that would end my life. As they recited the holy vows that came before the sentence, I didn't dare to open my eyes. I felt my jaw clench up and my teeth squeeze each other, while my fingers dug into the palm of my hands. No matter what I did, though- I knew I could not be prepared for death. Then the vows stopped, and I knew it was time.
"I would like a turkey sandwich," spoke the voices in a fatal unison. "Hold the mayo, add avacado. I know it costs extra. I want it anyway." The room went completely silent. Only the sound of crackling fire from the wall-bound torches clicked through the stagnant, dusty air. I opened one eye hesitantly, then the other.
"Wait...that's it?" I asked somewhat indignantly. They looked back and forth at each other, the shadows of their ruffled robes flickering in the torch light.
"Maybe we said it wrong," one of them mumbled.
"Did you burn the sage?" asked another.
"*Yes* I burned the sage, I *always* burn the sage! You forgot to squeeze the goat blood through the rag of Kahldran, didn't you!" the one in the middle whispered fiercely. There was another momentary silence before,
"...yes, yes- you're right. I forgot about the rag," admitted the other robe. "It's just that it was Thursday and Thursday is laundry night, I was so busy and Martha was making potroast and-"
"NEVERMIND THAT!" barked the central figure. They all turned toward me. "So, uh- very sorry about that. You think you could reschedule for, oh- I don't know, Thursday at midnight?"
"I suppose," I shrugged.
"Very good- we'll pencil you in. So sorry about the mix up, now- uh- don't go fleeing the country or telling anyone about the sacred words now, and we'll see you dark and late on Thursday. Ta ta!"
With that, the large stone door opened and I walked out through the dimly lit castle, somewhat fazed on what had just happened. | My jaw was clenched so tight, and I slowly opened my eyes. The priest was staring at me with probably some form of disbelief underneath his black veil.
"Is there something wrong, Priest?" The executioner next to him asked, taking out his earplugs.
The priest murmured something to him, something uninteligible. The executioner's eyes widened. "I see." He said. His eyes expressionless, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gun.
They were going to kill me with that? A painful, unnecessary way? No.
This was as good a time as any. I stared at the camera in the corner- my execution, live, on the news. The end of the rebel forces.
Slowly, I raised a hand, and the wall to my right exploded.
The executioner's eyes were wide as a chard hit him across the head, and he went down. The priest crawled off his throne and hid. In a flash, I had overturned the chair I sat on and used it to block most of the chards.
A man ran up to me, holding a grenade launcher, nothing visible beneath his mask but a shit-eating grin. "Are you okay, milady?" He asked, holding out his hand.
I grasped his arm and stood up. "Never better." I answered, then turned to the team.
"Troops!" I screamed. "Operation Warship is go!" | 2014-02-05T11:42:26 | 2014-02-05T10:33:34 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You get abducted by aliens, but as they preparing to probe you, they scan you only to discover a terminal disease that they have never seen before and they can not cure. The aliens instead end up befriending you and taking you on one last adventure traveling across the galaxy. | As you sit there, writhing in your chair, you see the beings that brought you onto their ship huddled over instruments. You're fairly certain there are four of them, but it's hard to tell as one keeps shifting back and forth, splitting into two, working on different instruments and then coming back together. The room is full of lights but the lighting feels strangely soft, despite being bright.
"Please go grab a probe" one of them says, you can see the lips moving and despite them obviously not speaking English, you can understand what they're saying.
You sit there, squirming against your restraints. "Please don't, please let me out" you call out, but they ignore you. They've ignored you the entire time.
"Here you are Tentok" the split alien returns, handing a rough looking, oval shaped piece of metal who you assume is Tentok, although whether that's a name or a title is beyond you. It shifts back into the other half of itself after passing the probe off.
"Don't forget to run the diagnostics, this probe is useless if he dies of something stupid like leukemia before we get enough data" Tentok looks back at the again united alien that brought him the probe.
"Um.." the splitting alien stares down at a screen, despite their obviously impressive technology you can't help but be reminded of a 1980's style computer monitor as you look at the screen, black with green symbols and what you assume are words, although none of it is decipherable to you.
"Yes?" Tentok sounds frustrated as it turns toward the alien, probe in hand. "Oh.." Tentok places the probe down next to what must be the diagnostic monitor. Your concern is shifting, this is the first time they've seemed uncertain, the first time they've slowed down whatever it is they're doing.
"So.." Tentok turns toward you, addressing you directly for the first time, fear grips you, this sudden attitude change plants the idea in your head that maybe you were better off with the probe, you hope they don't see you now as useless. "Want to go get some dinner or something? There is a really good spot right outside of this galaxy..." Tentok looks down, almost as if embarrassed about asking.
"Sure.." you reply, fearful of what dinner with these beings entails. | Klaag, we have a problem.
Eh? You get used to the begging, just mute your translator.
It's not that. Look.
Where's his Gargen?
I dunno, where did you put it?
Idiot, you're doing the operation.
But I haven't even opened the monkey yet!
Well it's not in him. He's got a lot of spunk for a Gargenless chimp.
Look at him kicking, oh isn't that just cute. You know they make movies about this.
Movies?
Yeah, video recordings with made up stories.
On spaceships?
Yep.
On Imperial Kur'thar Visionary Expeditions?
Well, not exactly but close enough.
Close enough?
You know, the human gets abducted, makes a heroic escape and leaves the alien ship in an escape pod to alert his government about the impending visitors.
Did you just make that up?
No.
Well where's it from them?
Oh, I just got distracted and started narrating what our buddy has been doing for the last five minutes.
For fuck sake, Scorf. Get the retriever drone online. We're not letting a Gargenless primate get away from us. Time to make history.
Sigh. Roger that, Overseer Klaag. Retriever drone away. I sure hope this has a happy ending. | 2018-12-12T12:14:58 | 2018-12-12T11:10:30 | 93 | 25 |
[WP] You are a fervent believer in a abrahamic faith who once dead, face an obscure pagan god. | Of all the things I’d expected to see when I died, I never expected this. The being that greeted us was so alien I could barely see it. It stood upon the hill and dominated the landscape and the souls of the dead that surrounded it. What was this creature, this entity – nothing in my life had prepared me for this. I was lost, cold and alone in a foreign land. I tried to pray to the God I knew, but the words were sucked away from me as I tried, and my mind could not focus even on the concept of prayer.
I staggered towards the thing that my thoughts shied away from. It looked at me. It spoke, but its words were in some unrecognisable language that no one here could know. I tried to see it properly, imagining something close enough to its reality that I could make sense of. Perhaps that shape at the top was something like a bull, and the form below could be like a lion. As I imagined it, my mind allowed it to take form. And I thought I understood it.
“Are you God”, I said. Its reply may have been anger, or it may have been simply confusion.
“Are you the devil?” I asked again. This time I could not guess at what its reply may have been. It didn’t really look anything like a bull after all. It was losing interest now, scanning about the crowd. It stepped down among the throng, and people screamed and fell away from it. It was searching for something. Someone who remembered it perhaps, who knew its name. And the wind blew upon the empty hill as our god wandered off into the distance. Perhaps it was bored of us now. All the people stood, cold and alone, and watched it move away from us until we couldn’t see it anymore.
| "Begone, demon!"
"And just who are you calling demon, you homo sapiens sack of shite? My name is Jeff, the God of Whirligigs."
"The LORD commandeth that we should have no other gods before Him!"
"Yah... about that. You guys have been mucking about for nigh on 6,000-some-odd years now, and perhaps you didn't get the memo, but this Yahweh guy? Doesn't exist. Also, Yahweh? Sounds like a keyboard. Yamaha Yahweh or summat..."
"The power of Christ compels you!"
"Mmmmmmmnope. Whirligigs compel me. Christ? Does he work for Con Edison? He an electrical engineer?"
"Ffffrrraaghaghaghaghaghaghagh hate you."
"Right. I'm gonna get a cheeseburger. You want a cheeseburger? No? Okay, buddy. Toodles." | 2015-02-09T10:37:46 | 2015-02-09T07:47:57 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You have just begun your fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are surprised to have made it this far, after all, you aren't even a wizard, just really good at special effects. | "Um, sir," I said, shuffling my feet. "I think -" I glanced backwards at the closed door. "I think this has really gone on long enough, don't you?"
Dumbledore lounged easily behind his massive desk, his eyes twinkling like the little spinny silvery things he had all over his office. "Has it?" he said cheerfully. "You haven't been caught, and you haven't graduated, so I think you've quite a way to go, Simon. I must commend you, though, you've done a splendid job so far. Your teachers are quite impressed."
"It's not hard," I said, rubbing my arm. "They're not - I just don't know what you're trying to prove anymore." I shook out my sleeves onto his desk, unloading the flash powder, the teacup I'd secreted away, my lockpick set, and a spool of thin, almost invisible string. "They're not - I'm sorry to tell you this, sir, but this isn't a good school!"
Dumbledore's eyebrows went up. "Is that so?" He leaned forward and picked up a lockpick, turning it over in the light. "I'd be very interested to hear your opinion, Simon, I daresay it will be more enlightening than what your teachers had to say."
I threw up my hands. "They're terrible! One of them - you've got a ghost teaching, you realize that? Doesn't realize he's dead. You've got Professor Snape - my god, that man loves to play favorites. Which is part of how I've gotten this far, since I'm in Slytherin, but really, it's terrible! Blatant favoritism all over the place! Last year, you made Hagrid a teacher! He's terrible! Nearly got one of the students mauled every lesson! I mean, I like him, but he shouldn't be teaching!" I pushed off from the desk and made the rounds of the room. "And even the teachers who aren't horrible, they're - well, they don't pay much attention to us, do they? As long as we can perform the trick -" I waved my hands over the teacup and palmed it away - "That's it. That's all they're looking for. Nothing about theory, nothing about - about understanding it, you just pronounce the words right and get the motions down and memorize a bunch of names and try not to get bubotuber juice on your bare hands -"
Dumbledore rose to his feet, a complacent smile on his face. I coughed and fell silent. "I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled. "I mean, I'm glad to be here, I was ecstatic when you first came to me, but it's been four years and ..." I shook my head. "Every year it's something! One of your teachers was possessed, and then a fucking giant snake started killing people, and then an escaped convict showed up, and then -" I let out a breath. "It's the stress, sir, the stress. It's not that I'm a perfect faker, I'm competent, if that. It's just I don't know how you expect anyone to learn anything at this school!"
"Simon," Dumbledore said kindly. "Do you really think anyone actually comes to Hogwarts to learn anything?"
"Uh?" I said.
Dumbledore strode to the window, his robes flowing behind him, and gazed wistfully out at the school grounds. "It's magic," he said. "You wave a wand, you say the magic words. You mix the potion ingredients in the right order. There's nothing to learn, really." He turned around to face me. "You could learn all this at home, really, by one of those - what do you call them? Dictaphones?"
"Tape recorders?" I said.
"Recording tape?" he said. "How odd," and shook his head. "You know why I invited a Muggle to study here?"
I slowly shook my head.
"When we isolated ourselves from Muggles," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "it was a sin of pride. It was an arrogance that led us to remove ourselves from the natural world." He made the slow rounds of the room, delicately touching his trinkets. "A wizard doesn't need society, you see. He doesn't need neighbors. He waves his wand, and the world bends to his will." He sighed deeply. "Without Hogwarts, we'd be a population of autodidacts and madmen, flying on our own individual courses. The pureblood houses? The Blacks, the Malfoys? That's what you'd see more of if we didn't force our children to socialize with each other for seven years. A hundred bitter, inbred islands lashing out at anyone the slightest bit different from them."
"Sir," I said, frowning, "you sort children into four houses and make it so that's what defines them for the rest of their lives."
Dumbledore shrugged whimsically. "Better four than a thousand."
I sat back in my chair, trying to process this massive revelation. "So, I'm here because..."
Dumbledore knelt across from me, bring his face to eye level. "I want to teach them, Simon. That there's very little separating us and Muggles." He held his fingers together. "That there's the barest film of difference separating us from each other. Imagine, you graduating from Hogwarts! Living among wizards! That would be quite the surprise, wouldn't it?"
"B-but sir," I stammered. "That's - that's a lot to ask of me, sir." I fidgeted in my robes. "What if they find out? Or - It's not going to prove much, is it? So one Muggle could fool them." I slumped my shoulders. "That's not going to prove much of anything."
"Simon," Dumbledore said, straightening up. "In your four years here so far, have you observed your fellow students struggling as you have? Have you found their performance in class perhaps ... less than magical?"
"Sir...?" I said, squinting up at him.
The gleam was back in his eye. "Simon, whatever made you think you were the only one?" | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Imogen sat on the divan in the common room, taking in the sweet silence between classes. Nosipho came down from the dormitory and sat beside her.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Enjoying yourself, my lady?" asked Nosi.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Imogen smiled. "Fire casting," she said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Oh, how did you do it?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Cigarrette lighter," replied Imogen, revealing a svelte plastic device from the folds of her cloak. "The kind that uses an arc. That and petrol."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I don't know what those things are but it sounds very clever," said Nosi. "You do smell somewhat ripe." She wafted the air in front of her face.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"That's petrol."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Do all muggle things smell so bad?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Just then, the door to the common room opened, revealing a fresh lot of students. The room suddenly became less airy than before.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I say we should move this conversation elsewhere," said Imogen. "The rabble is here."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Imogen and Nosi slipped down the tower and headed towards the grounds outside. They usually hung out in the Court, but with visitors from two other schools crowding the castle they felt it best to keep their distance.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There were also reporters about, which made Imogen nervous. A particularly insect-like woman from the newspaper with a floating pen bothered her the most. Imogen saw her milling around the tower more often than she preferred.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They reached an outcropping of stones on the ridge beyond the front gates, backs to the castle, before speaking again.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Nosi?" asked Imogen as she looked for a seat.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah?" answered her friend.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I don't know how long I can keep this up." She sat down on a boulder, looking down at nothing in particular.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What makes you say that?" asked Nosi, taking a seat herself next to her friend. "Most of the stuff we do doesn't even involve a wand."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I feel like someone is catching onto me. All these people, those nosy reporters," said Imogen to the ground. The wind howled, causing the girl to draw up her arms. Nosi shifted closer to her.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I haven't noticed anything funny," replied Nosi. "Neither have the ghosts, and they hear everything."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Imogen paused.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I shouldn't have told you," she declared. "This is too dangerous. They'll take you away or--"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Don't say that," replied Nosi. "You asked me for help. I'm giving you my help. That's that. I don't care that you aren't a witch."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Imogen took a deep breath. She looked at Nosi, whose afro undulated in the wind. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Why do wizards hate muggles, Nosi?" asked Imogen. "Why do they want to keep them out of this world? It's so beautiful."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I dunno," replied Nosi. "Back in Joburg nothing made sense either. The adults do what they want. Forget them."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I hate the word, 'Muggle'," continued Imogen, frowning. "It's so ugly."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She began to cry. Nosi felt her friend shift on her seat, throwing her arms around her in a hug. Nosi sat there like a stone while Imogen cried into her shoulder.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Thank you so much," said Imogen, her voice muffled by Nosi's robe. "I was so alone."
| 2016-11-24T02:59:47 | 2016-11-24T02:47:02 | 1,182 | 34 |
[WP] everyone in the world has a number over their head, but nobody knows why. You have just figured if out. | My day started like this, with my wife smiling. She kissed me lightly on the forehead on my way to work. It was a long drive by myself. When I arrived at work, everyone else had already started to notice the changes.
Jared and Connie met me outside the doors to the office. That was when I first noticed the numbers. Jared had a 62 and Connie had a 19. The numbers floated and bobbed above their heads. As I walked toward them, the numbers turned, so that I was always facing them. They were smoking more fervently than they normally did. Jared noticed my stare and tapped out some ashes on the ground.
"We have no idea what they mean." He took another drag and Connie blew a puff of smoke in my direction. It wasn't uncommon for her to acknowledge me with a dutiful "Hello" and nothing else.
I took it in surprising stride. "How long ago?"
"30 minutes or so," Jared answered, "Everyone seems to be taking it pretty well. Ever since they appeared they haven't exactly been hurting anyone. We're all just a little freaked out."
I glanced upward stupidly to see nothing. I looked at Jared more than I did Connie. "What does mine say?"
"53" Jared said.
"22" said Connie, in Unison. They shared a glance and looked away awkwardly.
"You each see different numbers?" I asked incredulously.
Connie shook her head in exasperation, "We don't know man. Just try to adapt like everyone else."
She chucked her cigarette to the ground and squashed it like a bug. She
whipped inside leaving Jared and I to follow in her wake. Her number dropped from a 19 to an 18 as she stormed away.
When Jared and I reached our floor, we found everyone huddled around the TV, numbers above their heads reading 27, 24,36,51,18, and 31 from left to right.The pretty news anchor was reading a sheet of paper wide-eyed. The number above her said "0".
I thumbed for my phone in my pocket and dropped my wife a quick text
"You seeing this?" before sliding the phone back into my pocket.
"Is she going to die?" someone asked, simultaneously reaching forward and turning up the volume with the remote.
The anchor was almost crying, "We kindly ask that readers stop calling and texting into the station, trying to alert me that my number says 0. My Mother and Father have called and said that they both see positive digits, well over 60." She finally broke face and sobbed into the camera,
"Please stop. I'm getting scared."
Beth piped up to my left. "I see 0 too. I don't think she's got long left."
They all nodded and I felt myself nodding with them. 0 seemed like an ill omen. A bad number.
"Does everyone see 0?" I asked aloud and 1 by 1 they all agreed.
I turned my attention to a light brush on my arm and a soft "Hey."
I was greeted by a cozy smile. Rebecca and I were close. It had all happened so fast, but my eyes had already gotten accustomed to dragging my eyes upward to spot the number. Rebecca's said, "83."
"Hey back" I said. Her smile was friendly but her eyes were scared. We withdrew into the break room and sat across from each other, starting deeply into each others eyes.
"What do you see above my head?" I asked her and she glanced up, maybe to make sure that it hadn't changed.
"93." She said. "I wish I knew what it meant."
She sighed and reached her hand casually across the table to join mine. I took it, none too reluctantly, with a twinge of guilt. She rubbed her foot against my ankle under the table and when I looked into her eyes to scold her I could see that she was crying.
"I'm sorry...I'm just so scared." she looked up at me, pouting lips quivering. "I feel so safe when I'm around you."
I watched the number change from "83" to 84" and suddenly I knew what the number meant. Maybe not outright, but somewhere deep in my gut I knew.
My pocket buzzed and I flipped out my phone, withdrawing my hand from her grasp to do so.
"I know, its so crazy. Boss let us leave early. See you at home."
I flipped it shut. Rebecca reached across the table and grabbed my hand again tenderly.
"Please don't go."
I wanted to stay and spend more time with her, but I needed to be home. Despite what the 91 above my head and the 84 above her head implied.
"I can't." I told her and stood up to leave. The number on her head changed from 84 down to 82 abruptly.
As I left, she called out to me. "I don't blame you for choosing her so much."
I barely stopped to talk to my boss and his floating "48" to let him know that I was heading home to be with my wife and family. Who knew he liked me that much?
When I stepped in the door, I was greeted by Terrance, the black lab. He rubbed his nose against my leg, tail wagging happily and in perfect beat with the "100" dancing over his head.
"Alex? You home?" my wife called from upstairs. She plodded down as I rounded the kitchen, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. Staring at her forehead.
When she reached the bottom, she sighed. "72 huh? Any idea what it means?"
I didn't answer her, only staring at the dancing figures above her head.
"Alex?" She asked, a hint of concern. "What does mine say?"
"27". I thought. Only 9 higher than Connie.
"Alex?" She repeated. "What does mine say?"
"Only 27?" I asked her, trying the best to hide the growing knot in my stomach.
She shrugged, "What do you mean only? Its just a number."
When I didn't answer she smiled, just like she had done this morning.
"Don't worry about it. What do you want for dinner?" she said, still smiling.
| One day, numbers appeared over everyone's heads. They weren't bright enough to see in sunlight, but they were always present: faintly luminescent digital numbers, ticking upwards and downwards. People didn't talk about them at first, thinking they were tricks of the light or hallucinations from too much coffee and too little sleep, that they'd go away after a good night's rest. But they didn't, and eventually someone broke down and went in for psychiatric help. Upon which everything cascaded, the whole house of cards collapsed, and people realized that if the numbers were a delusion, then everyone was crazy.
The most charismatic and powerful people invariably had the highest numbers, so the dominant theory was that they were measures of influence: people called them “power rankings”, and the higher the number, the more you did, the more valuable you were to society. People's numbers became the sexiest thing about them; attractiveness and personality quickly became quaint and antiquated notions. Unlike looks, people couldn't consciously alter their number; they couldn't pretend it was higher, like they could pretend to be nice or charming or kind. Numbers were clean, quantitative, objective. They were an oasis in a world that had too long been dictated by deception and deceit.
I never bought that theory, though. There were too many anomalies: CEOs with numbers close to 0, losers and gangbangers with skyhigh rankings. People usually explained these in terms of structural injustices: if those losers and gangbangers had been white, if they had the same opportunities afforded to the wealthy and middle-class, then they would be in positions commensurate with their ranking; and if those CEOs hadn't had silver spoons shoved in their mouths all their lives, then they would be scraping by at dead-end jobs. The numbers ruined some people; Jeffery Brotmon and James Sinegal, the founders of Costco, were famously outed for having negative numbers, and almost all of their investors immediately lost faith in their stock. While Costco still had a loyal customer base that kept it afloat, dismissing those numbers as accidents, the chain was a shadow of its former self. Sam Walton's number was in the millions – Sam's Club and Walmart were undeniably the superior competitor.
This was one of the cases that made me most suspicious. The second was Jack, an old bully I knew from high school. He was a total fuckup, and a psychopath besides. He raped our class valedictorian, Alice, just to say he did, holding her at gunpoint in her own bedroom while her parents were at dinner. He planned the whole thing for weeks beforehand: staking out her house, noting everyone's schedules, mapping all of the entrances and exits. He was fucking driven, so long as he was making others miserable. He took the bedsheet with her virginal blood on it and hung it by the flagpole, with a message scrawled in black spraypaint: “Fuck you, Amity High.” He was over eighteen and went to jail for it, thank God, and everyone thought that was the last they'd see of him.
If it wasn't for his number. His number was astronomical, especially for an inmate. Prisoners usually had numbers less than a hundred, but his was in the thousands. He wound up in some kind of recovery program for imprisoned talent, and somehow got his thirty-year sentence reduced to ten – essentially, he got out two months after everyone decided what the numbers meant. Alice even sought him out, seeing if he'd go out with her for memory's sake, alongside all of the other girls he'd fucked and hurt in high school. Last time I mustered the fortitude to check on him, he was living in a cushy condo with a sinecure and something like a harem.
But I knew Jack: he was a fuckup, through and through.
The numbers had been present for long enough that everyone just took them for granted now, though. People only checked numbers as a means of getting a first impression, and research into them was broadly considered futile and frivolous. Still, I just couldn't accept the explanation.
Then, one day, watching a bus driver talk a woman down from a bridge, seeing his number tick down as everyone's on the bus ticked up, it hit me. I immediately got off the bus and ran to the nearest McDonald's, and watched everyone's number slowly rise as they bit into their burgers and nuggets and fries. And I rushed to the library and loaded up footage of shootings on Youtube, taken from the news, and watched the killers' numbers surge as they fired into their crowds, in time with the anchors' numbers. Then I looked for footage of the riots in Ukraine and Egypt, and again saw the soldiers' numbers skyrocket as tendrils of tear gas curled into the sky, like apocalyptic vines.
And I realized: the numbers didn't measure how important you were, they measured how many deaths you were responsible for, against how many lives you'd saved. They accounted sin, not virtue. And then I realized: they knew. The fuckers all knew.
And then suddenly, like lightbulbs breaking, the numbers began to blink out from the heads of those around me. One by one.
~~P.S.: The social commentary is definitely a little thick and ambiguous, though it kind of goes with the concept in my mind.~~ | 2014-06-04T18:03:01 | 2014-06-04T13:35:55 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | How long have I been here?
Upon gaining immortality, I quickly realized that like my body, my memory does not degrade. How I wish it did. I can remember every agonizing moment, every maddening tick of the clock in my silent, immobile prison. I am grateful for sleep, when I am able to dream something other than infinite blackness, infinite weight. Long ago, I fell into a black hole, as is bound to happen with anyone who lives forever. I am bound to it with unbreakable chains, and encased in an uncrackable shell. The only thing this unfathomable force cannot overcome is my invincible body.
And yet, after countless years in black silence, something has changed. I could move my hand, which I had not been able to do for what must have been unvigintillions of years. Over time, I found myself being uncovered. Finally, I found myself able to move freely. The black hole has decayed. That puts me at roughly 10^67 years after I was sucked into it. From the impenetrable darkness, I reason that the universe must have experienced a heat death.
It was finally time for phase two of the plan I formulated in my prison. I clasp my palms together and begin to rub heat into a dead universe. I am the only perpetual motion machine, and as such, I will rebirth it all. I will drag that bastard kicking and screaming out of retirement, and once he realizes what I've done, perhaps he will give me the rest I deserve.
It just takes patience, of which I have learned to be an infinite well. | *I know the ending I want but I need the earlier story...*
"As I fell to the ground I couldn't believe that I had found another like me...another immortal person stuck here just like me. She was amazing, if I had to spend the rest of eternity here I don't care! I have never been more happy in my life. What are the odds that after a thousand years I finally find my soul mate?"
Happiness filled my soul and I couldn't wait to see her once I hit the ground. As I got closer I see her waving and smiling from ear to ear. Her lips whisper, "I love you".
Suddenly I begin to feel cold and a hand on my shoulder, softly a whisper in my ear, "Your curse has ended"... | 2018-10-12T12:31:22 | 2018-10-12T11:37:08 | 19 | 13 |
[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" | "Just push this button and that's it?"
"Yes"
"That seems... anticlimactic. What exactly happens when I push it."
"Complex magical interactions. We could explain, but to teach you the intricacies of it would take years, oh Chosen One."
"Please stop calling me that, it makes me uncomfortable."
I hesitate.
"Just the gist of it?"
The elder sighs.
"The gist of it is that by pressing the button, you close a magical circuit. This magical circuit is connected to a network of gems. These gems are enchanted with a series of spells that tap into the aetherial energy network connecting all beings.
We renew the energy in the gems and protect them from interference by the Dark Lord and his allies, that is essentially the purpose of this stronghold and its inhabitants... but I digress.
The gems seek out the aetherial paths of the Chosen One and the Dark One, connecting them in a way that in the past was only possible via the corporeal realm - you had to fight in order for your energy paths to cancel each other out and fulfill your destinies. Now, this is all preempted to avoid property damage and casualties."
I shrug.
"Makes sense to me. But why are you telling me all this via a hologram?"
"Well, since we do not know how the battle would take place and what magnitude it has, we choose to stay at a safe distance. Having the stronghold in this desert and having a large room like this with empty gemstones lining its walls, we have the best chances of absorbing the energies of the epic battles, as I already said, with minimal consequences."
"I see. So I might die from a huge magical explosion?"
"That is a possibility, yes."
"Thanks for the honesty."
I lay my hand on the button.
And take it away.
"How do you know I'm the Chosen One? And how does this... thing know the Dark Lord?"
"We have carefully calibrated the system to the Dark Lord's path, and we have watched yours in aetherial meditation. We are most certain."
"I see."
I lay my hand on the button again. | "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!" | 2020-11-09T12:50:06 | 2020-11-09T12:09:48 | 116 | 80 |
[WP] It's been decades since the apocalypse. The Wise Elders from your village are Millennials and Gen Z. You visit them one day in searching for wisdom.
Based in this [post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tumblr/comments/cfn55a/a_glimpse_into_teh_future/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) | (On mobile, so bear with my mistakes)
No one had seen the elders since the village was founded. They came, implanted their ideals, and once their home was built, they went in and never came out. No one even knew what they looked like anymore.
Our area of the world wasn't insanely prosperous, but it got by well enough. People embraced the gain of knowledge and ways of protecting our environment. Other villages tried to start wars, but the elders would send a couple representatives to speak things out and bloodshed seemed to be averted.
I had grown to be a sort of philosopher myself. The elders wanted those first villagers to keep an interest in the arts and humanities, and so I decided to follow a path of logic. My path of logic finally led me to one question- "Why?"
I asked myself that same question as I stood at the unguarded door to the mansion that housed the elders. With a deep inhale of courage, I knocked on the door. The door slowly opened up, and while I expected someone to be behind the door, there was no one. I chewed on my lip a bit as I entered the residence and headed into the main foyer. The place was lighted enough to not seem dim, but wasn't as bright as I expected. I heard a voice as I stood there, "We're in the game room!"
No questions as to who I was? No guards? This was certainly odd and my curiosity about the elders was increased. I started off in the direction of the voice as I looked around. On the walls were various pictures. I looked at some of the nameplates and they made even less sense- "Handsome Squidward," "Rip Harambee, forever in our hearts," and even a picture of what had caused the world to change, "Naruto runners storming area 51." I shook my head a bit as I continued on.
In the next room was where I finally saw people. Five people sat there in front of a TV, playing something that had a large X on it. One of them finally looked over at me and gave a sigh, "Ah shit guys, guess someone is finally here to kill us." They all started laughing as the attention came to my presence in the room. I cleared my throat a bit, "I uh... Came to see the elders." One stood up, wearing a large faded shirt with what appeared to be an emblem in the shape of a bat on it, "You've seen them." They shrugged, their attention turning back to the tv.
I blinked a bit and shook my head a bit, "Shouldn't you have guards? You created a great place to live and I'm sure you have enemies." They laughed again and the one who was doing all the talking spoke again, "Never underestimate the power of someone goading you into trying to kill them. My name is Chad, by the way." This was... Quite a strange situation I was in. I shook my head again and decided to ask the question that led me here, "Why did you make the village like you did?"
Chad shrugged, "We thought it would be funny." | Hell pure Hell, What can I say (except you're welcome \*circa 2016\*). Everytime someone uses any words they need to follow it up with any sort of meme (like the doozlebear \*circa2049\*) The only music anyone listens to is despacito 13-19 or classic rock as its more commonly known. (moomoodoodoo \*circa2034) Any form of speech has been eradicated by all Memes (BUNKY DUNKY LIKES \*Circa 2019) While the rest of the village is looking for food and water, the elder seem to be divided into factions (A surprise to be sure but a welcome one \*Circa Prehistoric times\*). GEN Z seems to be the most stoic in efforts to fight against the outnumbering Fortniters of GEN Alpha (бкскчбгдв \*Circa 2060). The millenials are too busy eating their avacado toast of immortality to care. (the dude was a woman \*Circa 2014) but one day I decided to ask what it was like, and the stories they described expanded my attention span by .005 seconds.(LONZO BALD \*Circa 2038). One day A man came to the village and he was humming a tune not heard of by even the elder's (Anon is scared \* Circa Prehistoric times) He called it Bohemian Rhapsody and told us that the church of M.E.M.E.S. was created only about 50-60 years ago ( The province of Djerba in Tunisia \*circa 2043)The head priest had heard of this blasphemy and stepped away from the Pewdiepie Alter and ordered him to (1 not have any memes when refering to him in sentences from this point onwards (horrifying as it is), 2) to be drowned in the ocean of MR Beasts bank account. The man pleaded for his life and then he looked at me and threw me a strange ripped rectangular prism. The man spake, Behold, A BOOK...... | 2019-07-20T22:08:07 | 2019-07-20T20:40:08 | 65 | 12 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | Fred Phelps was getting tired of waiting. He had been suspended in space for what felt like a couple of years before he saw a light approaching. He knew this was the moment he'd been waiting for, but as the light drew near, Fred couldn't help thinking that God looked...different...than he'd expected. Instead of a bearded old man, God was sort of, well, a mass of noodles.
"Ha ha -- been waiting long?" the Apparition giggled. "I like to make people think they went to Hell."
Fred began, "Lord, it is me, your good and faithful serva--"
"Whoa, whoa!" the Monster cut him off. "First off, I'm not who you think, and second, don't call yourself MY servant! You're my hero!"
Fred couldn't help feeling a little flattered. "Well, I was among the few faithful."
"Faithful?! You were the best there ever was, man!"
Fred acted embarrassed, though if he was perfectly honest, he would have admitted that he was expecting a little VIP treatment in the afterlife.
"But let's clear up this little misunderstanding first," said the Monster. "I'm not your 'God' or whoever. I am What I am."
Fred felt his throat tighten a little as he considered the possibilities. "And...what are you?" he asked after a pause.
"Ha -- what do I look like?" The Monster spread its tentacles so Fred could get a better view.
"um...a floating...spaghetti monster?"
"Well, 'Flying' if you want to get technical. And make sure you capitalize the m in Monster."
Fred gulped. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Duuude! I'm so glad you're here! You were the ultimate religious troll! You took organized religion and made it the biggest farce! What am I going to do with you? I want to learn from you! You're older than me, and you've done a shit ton more heinous things than I ever even imagined! Teach me your ways, old man!"
Fred was nervous, but if he was perfectly honest with himself, he would have admitted that he still felt flattered. A God was looking to him for answers. Wasn't that all Fred really wanted?
"C'mon, Mr. Phelps" said the Monster as he wrapped Fred in his starchy arms, "put this strainer on your head, and let's go log on to 9gag!"
| You wake under a plain cloth blanket, one that you really didn't need as it's perfectly comfortable here and you're already dressed.
You remember getting pissed at Tim about the pool game and how he was being a little hardheaded on giving up the table after you'd won. But just snippets of it are coming back like the morning after a wild night out.
You look around and wonder where you are as you get up and go towards the only other thing in the room, the door.
Swinging wide it shows you a well manicured park like in a major city but with more flowers. A hipster chick sitting with a kitten smiles and turns and says "Hi, do you like cats too?"
"Huh? What's going on? Where's..."
"Shhhh... don't complain", she whispers, "You have to be nice to the kitties"
"No, I mean what the hell is going on. I don't give a shit about your cat"
"You just don't understand, you were always nice to cats right?"
"Yeah sure, why do I care"
"Well there's a girl named Aubrey and this is her heaven, anyone who has treated cats nicely every time, and saved one at a time in their life is stuck here." And the smile falls from her face and her septum piercing wiggles as she turns back around.
The urge to argue subsides a little. Cats have always been okay, you'd just never spent a lot of time with them.
You look to the right as a cute calico kitten waltzes proudly towards you, the sun in it's fur.
The hipster chick says dryly, "Take care of it, or we'll all be fucked." | 2016-03-07T19:44:40 | 2016-03-07T19:29:38 | 50 | 18 |
[WP] the flames of hell are fanned by the arrival of new souls, unfortunately as humanity grows, less and less people are worthy of a spot in the ever cooling realm, it is your noble job to corrupt and condemn people as to keep hell from freezing over and releasing all trapped within.
**** | The moon barely peeked out over the clouds as I followed the girl with ink-black hair down slippery, silent streets, through the village, towards the cliffs. She was the flint I’d strike the rocks in hell with and get the fires raging again.
I stayed close enough to see the prickles on her arms rise in the electric, pre-storm air. Had to stay close, or she'd fold herself away into the shadows of the buildings around her, and I knew I'd lose her for good. Girls like her are drops of water searching for a drain to dribble away into and so they can be lost forever.
What she was doing out this late, I couldn't say. Didn't much care. But I could taste the stink of goodness on her, the way she might smell a dead cow rotting in a summer field. She positively reeked of it. Corrupting a soul like hers would stir the black, ever-hardening, lava of hell. More than that, it might warm the cold that hung inside me like a stalactite, ever dripping itself taller. She would save me.
The houses around us became squat and occasional and the broken pavements underfoot felt less sure of themselves. We wound our way down cracked steps towards the coast, where oil-black waves broke over sharp, sheer rocks, roaring loudly in their death-throws.
I’d been lurking for months, searching for a soul as bright and hot as hers, to twist into dark and take back with me. There was no point returning without one like her, because there would be nothing but cold emptiness to return to.
She wore little more than rags and shivered in the night's breeze. It was enough for me to whisper to her, to this lonesome girl on this lonesome night, and to plant ideas deep into her soul. It's not so bad to steal, I said; wealthy people should be *giving* *you* money for a pair of shoes that can keep out the spray of the ocean. *They* walk in silks and sit in velvets, and you cry alone in your apartment with blankets instead of heating, with hollows in your walls instead of insulation. How exactly is that fair?
On I went, and on we went.
The cave sat halfway down the cliff-side and I imagined smugglers once hoarding their alcohol here, sitting on the shiny bottles like drunken dragons.
I followed her into the rocky darkness, through thick pools of murky water, careful not to lose her now, not let her melt away into the cave's nooks. But I needn't have worried; she clicked her flashlight and I followed the beam like a compass arrow.
Three people lay in the cave, all snuggled together, deep beneath layers of tattered blankets.
The girl took off her backpack and unfastened the clips. She greeted each by name and passed steaming flasks. Cold hands wriggled out of blankets to take them, like worms after the rain. They held the flasks and breathed them, and sipped at the soup within as if it was as precious as platinum.
The girl sat and she talked to them. She asked them to come back with her, said that there was room, and it was warmer, but they shook their heads as if resigned to their fate. As if they were carvings in the rock wall and couldn't move even if they'd wanted to. But they thanked her still, and listened to her news and stories with eyes hungries than their bellies.
And I realised every whispered idea I'd slithered into her mind as I’d followed had already been devoured by something pure standing guard at the gates of her soul.
She took a fourth flask from her backpack and turned to the darkness behind her. To me.
"Will you join us?"
I froze. Listened to the storm outside wage war with the roiling ocean. Felt chills prickle my leather-hard skin.
"It's okay," she said. "It'll warm you."
For the first time, perhaps in years, I realised just how cold I was. Beyond ice, beyond frozen. That it wasn't just hell's heat that I'd been trying to save.
"You can see me?" I said.
"I heard you whisper, too."
They all peered at me. At the shadow swaying in the cave like nervous black-lantern light.
"If you heard me, then you hate me," I said.
"It’s easy to hate the sound of loneliness," an old lady sitting up on the floor said. "If you're not familiar with it yourself."
"But we know it well enough," lisped a man with a single tooth.
I said nothing, because I knew of nothing worth saying. Instead, I sat by them. A shadow drinking soup, silent, and not feeling quite as cold. | 2021 began with the Devil and I trying to figure out a solution to our increasingly pressing problem. The year also began with an abnormal amount of volcanic eruptions, locust plagues several orders of magnitude larger than anyone ever recalled, and a dramatic cold front which swept down from the arctic to wreck pretty much every commercial farming operation the globe over. We still hadn't figured out why the volcanoes were going off.
“It seems that even inducing a pandemic hasn’t helped our situation,” the Devils said, snorting a glob of fire.
Ash filled the air. A chill descended on the planet. Famine reared its ugly head. And yet human progress continued to plough right on through.
“I would never have thought…,” I said.
"That what," the Devil interrupted me, absentmindedly twirling the end of his scarf. “A pandemic would bring humanity more together than apart?”
“Something like that,” I said. “I did my best to stoke the internal fire of human selfishness during all of this and to a degree I succeeded." I kicked at a frozen molten rock in frustration. “So why the hell is it still happening?”
“We didn’t count on the collective good will of humanity,” the Devil said. “You’ll notice that I use ‘we’ here instead of ‘you’ because I very much realize that this was my idea as well.”
A keening wail rose in the distance, joined by a dozen more and a hundred after that until Hell was once again alive with the shrieks of the desperate and the damned.
“They sense a way out,” I said, shuddering. “I preferred when the screams were filled with hopelessness.”
“Same here,” the Devil said, inspecting a pimple on his navel. He reached down and popped it, squirting fire. Gross. “Say, next time you go up, could you grab me some merino wool socks?”
“Sure, sure,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ll steal them. All we need to do is steal socks from under the keen watch of minimum wage-earning store clerks. Maybe that will produce enough negative ripples to stem,” - I gestured at the frozen expanse behind us – “Whatever this is.”
“Fuck off,” the Devil said, the heat from his voice crackling in the cold air. “We’re out of options here. We need something… pivotal. Even the U.S presidential elections weren’t enough.”
“Why don’t we just accept the inevitable,” I said. “It will be entertaining at least, the hordes of Hell intersecting with modern civilization and all that. The Bible never predicted tanks and ballistic missiles.”
“Sure, but where will the bad humans go?” the Devil asked. “What will I do with their souls when the Gates of Hell are permanently frozen open?”
The Devil could be quite childlike sometimes. I supposed that happened when you got your way for millennia. It was a relatively simple life, ruling over a bunch of screaming invalids.
“I don’t know,” I said, turning toward the Gates. “Toss the souls into the void of space-time or something. You’re a supernatural being, you’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not that easy,” the Devil whined.
“Look, I quit,” I said, drawing a flaming snort of frustration. “Maybe a second existential crisis for humanity is just the thing we need.”
“Maybe,” the Devil said, thoughtful. “But you’re staying here.”
I couldn't help but smile. Here was the Devil I knew, all power and bluster and force. The Gates began to close in front of me, huge monstrous things that screamed their complaints to the heavens through rusted hinges.
I kept walking. When I was a few feet away the gates came to a halt against the thick frost on the ground, which had bunched up into an impenetrable mass.
“Well then,” I said, stepping through. "Time to find out." | 2021-01-04T07:09:01 | 2021-01-04T06:51:42 | 67 | 22 |
[WP] As a person goes through his life, he is given three options at the end of each day, continue, restart day, or restart life. He has just lived through the worst day of his life. | Joel sat on his bed, and immediately the screen popped up in front of him. "Restart day," he said. There was no hesitation, no waver in his voice. He sat back in the empty bed and waited to begin the worst day of his life.
At 7, his alarm went off. She rolled over and reached across him, as she did every morning, to turn it off. It had been a race for the past five months. A race she'd won for the past five months.
"Beat you to it," she whispered in his ear. This was the true wake up. Joel paused to take in the feeling of her hot breath against his skin. He wanted to soak up the moment.
"You shower first, and I'll take care of breakfast," he replied.
"Deal."
He made banana pancakes - her favorite - and packed a mug of coffee for her commute. During breakfast she'd asked when he needed to leave, and he told her that he would work from home. His stomach was upset, and he didn't feel the need to test it. She nodded and kissed him. She left.
Joel didn't bother calling in his work to tell them he wouldn't be in. He didn't even clean the dishes - they would clean themselves. He just sat in his living room with the rest of the coffee and waited for the phone to ring. At 8:47 it did.
Joel had answered that phone call 145 times. When he tried to keep her home, she had a stroke. When he drove her, she was stabbed in the parking lot of her building. He couldn't find a way to make her survive the morning. After watching her die nine times he decided that the car crash was easiest. He didn't have to be there for it. She was dead before noon, but at least that way he didn't have to torture himself with watching the light fade from her eyes.
But he did torture himself with the brush of her arm each morning as she reached over him for the clock. He paused to drive in the pain of her whisper. His life was hollowed out by her simple words that she said every day, and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave the cycle. | His days were always the same. For whatever reason as one day transitioned into another, he had a choice. Continue on, or restart the day, or restart life. The third was out of the question, but to have another chance? Usually he would consider it a blessing. Something goes wrong, no sweat, just restart the day and do it right.
Today, however, is different. Mark paced in his room, sweat bluring his vision as he desperately considered what to do. A man wearing a suit walked into the room, here to get Mark's answer. Continue, or restart.
"So, what will you chose?" the man asked. "Either way its up to you, but you have to know that today is the worst day of your life."
"I know, I know. You've already told me," Mark answered angrily. There was blood on his shirt, and a terrible ringing in his ears that just wouldn't go away.
"So, what will you cho--" the man said, before being interupted. "Restart. I'll restart the day." Mark spat.
"Are... Are you sure? You've restarted this day so many times already," the man explained. It wasn't his decision to make, but for some reason it didn't feel right.
"Yes, I can do this. I'll do it right. I'll save them all."
And that was that. There was a low hum, and everything went black. | 2014-07-17T19:47:30 | 2014-07-17T17:56:40 | 68 | 20 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | **The Nightmare of the Dreamless**
I never intended to start a war, but I do intend to win.
How simply it all began, with an uncommon answer to a common question.
“Congratulations Mr. President, you’re having a boy,” the doctor had said, rubbing the ultrasound device over my wife’s growing belly. “Shall we begin the the Sleep Cure treatment today? It’s quick, I’ll get you both out of here in time for nice big brunch.”
I didn’t say no because I didn’t trust new technology, like some crazy anti-curer; my entire political platform was based off technological innovation. I didn’t say no because of the challenges of raising a sleepless child; I was the President, I could do anything. I didn’t say no because I didn’t think it worked; a billion babies had proven it a billion times, including my own now four-year-old daughter, Eliza.
It was because of her that I said no.
For most of my life, I’d hated myself for not being born just a few years later. The “Sleep Cure” treatment was invented when I was just seven. The biggest corporations in the world heralded a new era of productivity for the world. Soon, humanity would be free from the biological shackles of tiredness, drowsiness, and wasted life we called *sleep*.
And it couldn’t come fast enough. These corporations poured hundreds of billions of dollars into the initiative, subsidizing the treatment so that anyone and everyone anywhere in the world that wanted to free their children from sleep could do so.
Many more billions were poured into the ads too. How could any responsible parent, no matter how skeptical, risk having their children cursed by to the need to sleep in a world where all their peers had eight more hours every single day to out-compete them?
The campaign was more than a resounding success. Within five years, nearly 70% of the world’s new babies were born with the Sleep Cure, and growing every year.
The Sleep Cured were, indeed, productive. Relentlessly productive. There were even Cured eleven-year-olds at my own high-school graduation.
True to those advertisements, lacking the Sleep Cure lead to severe disadvantages, even outright discrimination. Schools, and employers openly rejected those with the need to sleep. Even I am guilty here – in building my campaign team, I couldn’t imagine hiring anyone slowed down by sleep. Hypocritical, I know. If it weren’t for the age requirement to become President, there’s no way anyone like me could have even had a chance in office. The Cured were just superior humans.
At least, that’s what I thought until I had Eliza. She revealed something to me I can’t believe I’d missed, I can’t believe the whole world seems to have missed. For as wonderful and special and as incredibly intelligent and beautiful as any father knows their daughter is, there is something *wrong* with her. Oh my God how it pains me to admit this.
Give her a puzzle, and she’ll figure it out it like any child. Put on a children’s TV show, and she’ll laugh at the jokes like any child. Tag her, and she’ll tag you back like any child.
Ask her to pretend she can fly though, and she’ll give you face unlike any child before the Cure.
Put simply, she cannot play. Even worse, I feel she cannot *imagine.*
A punch to the gut, a nauseating fear, an internal scream. What had I done to my daughter?
What about all the Cured members of my campaign team? Productive? Efficient? Relentless. Yes. Fun? Playful? Creative? No. Oh God, never. When was the last time I’d heard a teammate make a joke? When was the last time anyone on my team had come up with an original idea?
With the loss of their need to sleep came the loss of their ability to *dream.*
I’d become the President by inspiring people with my visions, my dreams, for the future. What would happen to future generations without dreamers like me? They’d be productive, but would they produce anything that mattered?
The world needed people like me, and one day it would need people like my son, to lead and inspire and dream. That’s why I said no. I knew my decision would be controversial, but I never could have imagined how deeply it would shatter my already deeply divided country, driving a sledgehammer into the wedge.
One side consisted mainly of the parents who had realized the same thing as me and could no longer write off the strange behavior of their children as generational differences. They lashed out bitterly against the corporations and media industries that had ruined their children, hellbent on destroying the practice.
On the other, of course, were the presently Sleep Cured, who resented any sentiment that they were damaged. They called out the Uncured as envious of Cured, as resentful for their disenfranchisement.
And so, the war rages on.
We will defeat them, as terrifyingly productive as they are, because they are equally predictable, because they can’t see worlds that don’t exist, because they don’t have visions or visionaries.
And most of all, because children deserve to play.
___
r/stealthystorkstories | I've been up, maybe, 75 to 76 hours this time around
It's this new drug that one of the big pharma companies dropped.
Supposed to be better than Adderall, Modafinil, and miles ahead of most amphetamines. At least safety wise. And so far, that seems to be the case. I feel awake. Alive. So this is what being a normal person is like, huh?
Oh well. I'm recording this as part of my trial run. Had to sign off on it to get a script.
Anyway, talk to you later.
---
Okay. Entry 2. Or Tape 2? Um, how do people keep video diaries usually? I don't know.
Sorry. So I actually visited the clinic again today. Apparently they want to check with test subjects once a week for about 12 weeks. It's cool though. You come in, they read your vitals, give you a questionnaire, ask about side effects, and away you go.
If you really feel up to it, you do a blood check, and they'll actually give you 20 bucks for the trouble.
Win-win.
But uh, other than some moments where you get a little manic, not too bad. My record so far is 97 hours. I know they have you stop using every 10 days to check the difference during the clinic visits.
But... This is awesome. Do you have idea how much we get done with 8 more hours a day? Why can't it always be like this?
---
Okay, third entry. I think that's what I'll call them.
It's been four weeks. There have been some effects. I don't think it's anything to worry about. Okay, maybe you should worry if you aren't careful.
First off, don't mix with alcohol. I feel like I shouldn't have to say it. But if you do, you will sleepwalk. I've seen friends do it. Strangers. I woke up on a bench in the park this weekend. I don't remember 4 or 5 hours.
So... Don't do that.
Also, I have no clue how that will mess with your liver. Probably not smart.
Also, if you go on a long haul like maybe 80-100 hours, you might get some visual trailing. Have you ever messed with a RGB spectrum in photoshop programs?
Something like that. Just breathe a bit, drink water, move around some. It will go away.
Otherwise. I really love this stuff.
---
It been six weeks.
Um... A good friend of mine died. Heart condition. I guess he never knew. Um, we never knew.
He, uh, he took more than the recommended dosage. I think. Maybe. I can't be sure. His wife said he might have.
But, I kind of wondered about that. Maybe this stuff isn't too good for everybody. Some of my coworkers and stuff. They aren't right. I can't really describe it. It's like they see right through you. There's... there's no reaction. The lights are on, but no one's home.
So.... I think maybe I'll take half my script this time. Not the whole thing. Just stretch it out a bit. See what less does for me.
---
I'm up to 120 hours.
I. I really couldn't do half. It just didn't do anything. They gave me the gel capsules this time. Usually it's 250 milligrams. But these 500.
Haha, I, i think these are the future.
I just, hang on.
My pulse is really racing. I'm a little worked up.
---
So the trial is over.
I really don't know why I'm recording this. It's kind of fun, y'know? My girlfriend left me. She said it was getting to weird, plus she had other things to do. I mean that makes sense. 2 in the morning is the best time to get things done. Busy busy bees.
Sorry, that's, that's just me being dumb.
Flying pretty high.
This is getting boring. Let me call this.
Hey, you got my stuff? Yeah, 750s? 40? Perfect. I'll buzz you in.
No, I ain't doing anything, I'll be right down. 400 bucks, right? Sure. Thanks. | 2022-03-18T10:33:48 | 2022-03-18T10:08:51 | 514 | 83 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | People used to dream. Adventures and nightmares, jumbled scenes and impossible events. I remember dreaming about just talking to my friend - he's been gone a long time, but I cherish that dream. Crazy, right? People used to study dreams - when they would happen, why some people could remember dreams and others could not, why they existed at all. They don't do that anymore. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped. A couple scientists were getting close to the answer, but then the ol' nap in a gelcap came out, and they didn't have any more dreams to study. Funny how a drug perfect for people who stay up all night lost them their jobs. Ironic.
My friend told me a story once, about dreams. He said that long, long ago, back when gods and monsters wandered the earth, back before history got written down, that a great a terrible demon tormented mankind. All of the universe, really. The animals and the plants and the humans were terrified, but nobody could trap the horrible thing. Finally, humanity stepped up. They volunteered. They trapped the demon in a dream, and they each took that dream. When someone had a nightmare, it's because they were the one dreaming the demon's cage that night. All of humanity took that burden, and each generation strengthened that cage. That demon tainted minds and warped souls, but humanity pushed on. Died early. Fought wars. Stepped off bridges. Cracks in the cage, but every human on earth stepped up and filled the gaps. The perfect jail, inescapable.
Of course, nobody sleeps, now. Nobody dreams. Life goes on, work gets done, but nobody holds up their end of the bargain anymore. It took a long time - research, money, technology, oh the technology! Thousands of years before we had plastic! Ten thousand years before certain chemicals even existed! Lifetimes of following dreams. Heh. It's funny, that word. Dream. People say, "Follow your dreams!" but not every dream is a *good* dream to follow. How many people woke up with a new idea that could change the world? The guy that invented the first plow saved the world lifetimes of work, paving the way for farms that delivered more food than ever before. He got the idea from a dream. Who do you think gave him the dream?
The cage wasn't always a nightmare. Dreams *were* the cage. All of them. So the inmate talked to the jailers. It happens. A little push here, a little nudge there. But now... Now, no one dreams any more.
There's a handful left, you know. The last dreamers. The last locks on the cage. It's taken a long time, but I get to see it happen. Not much longer now. When you wake up...
I get to see my friend again. | As I eat my last rations in the war-torn ruins of the former city of London, I cannot help but reflect on our sins. I have no hope of anyone finding these notes, but nonetheless, I hope to keep my sanity for a few more days before I succumb to the madness.
Will future generations ever forgive us?
I doubt they will understand the hubris that led us down the path of supressing so basic a biological function as sleep. If humanity somehow survives, it will be a different society. All great art and our science will be lost and forgotten.
And why? For a bit more productivity! That is what they will say, but the truth is a bit more complicated. In fact, there has been resistance to the pill from the very beginning. Scientists worldwide had warned against it. Some countries even banned the use of the drug.
The lure was too tempting. Big corporations like AmazonMeta had trouble finding enough employees. The low birthrate and the second corona pandemic had deminished the work force. People realized their unique position and started demanding higher and higher wages. Then Ambrosio came and offered a solution.
Why didn't the common people stop it? If you could make twice as much money working two jobs, why wouldn't you? Or maybe spend more time with the family. There was a huge divide on the issue, but those that took Ambrosio had a clear advantage. Soon, critical scientists were silenced. The media painted those not using the pill as lazy. "Sleeper" has become a common slur.
Should I have spoken out when I had the chance? Yes, but I had a daughter to feed. After all, we only knew that it slowly changed something in the brain. Who was to say if it caused symptoms in an average human lifetime? There were so many excuses.
My hope is that humanity can learn from our hubris. Productivity has a price.
I am scared of the things I will do once the madness sets in. | 2022-03-18T11:16:31 | 2022-03-18T10:06:35 | 97 | 45 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind. | The oil reserves had ran dry 90 years ago, long before I was born. The damage that they had caused remained. The planet was dying, so people started to leave. Mars was always a hotspot, “Become one of the first to live on a planet once red now green!”, a true planet B. We branched out, colonised the Moon, then Phobos. They say Mars will launch missions to Venus soon, they’ll have floating cities above the surface.
Very few people weren’t given the means to become a colonist. I’m one of the few. The corporations didn’t discriminate based on ability, race, gender, sexual orientation. If you could hold a shovel you were away. They did discriminate based on health.
I had a congenital heart condition. Leaving the Earth’s gravity would kill me. Nothing on earth could cure me. I was stuck here. Every day, a neighbour would leave my apartment block. Every week the news would speak of towns being empty, of cities populations deteriorating. I had a large flat for cheap and high paying job thanks to this. But I couldn’t share it with anyone.
My friends had left a long time ago. Seeing them off was difficult, sure, but it wasn’t heartbreaking. They were happy, as I would be here. I was happy until my family left last week. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
My five year old didn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come with him. Since he could talk he’d been obsessed with the moon above him. Wanting to go there, live there. Look down at Earth. He was going to share it with mummy and daddy. He would talk away about all the things we could do together, show me the videos of life up there on the projector. I would nod, smile. My wife and I would cry ourselves to sleep knowing that one day he was going to have to go up there without me. Knowing he wouldn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come too.
We made the decision in the summer of last year, the temperature hit 40°C for the first time ever in the UK. Trying to keep him from seeing the statistics, the footage of people dying of thirst, heat exhaustion, suffocation… It was Sisyphean, every time he switched on the projector to see the Lunar colonies he saw death. I didn’t want to bring my child up in this world. And I knew letting time slip away to make this decision was only going to make it harder.
I can’t forget his face. Or my wife’s. Seeing them go was the hardest thing I have ever done. I still go into his room sometimes, look at the half done Lego sets and scribbled drawings. Sometimes I call out to him and ask him questions, get him talking. I break down every time.
He will grow up and my wife will grow old being pioneers of humanity’s golden age. And I’ll die scorched and alone on a fading rock. Looking up at something that seems so close I can touch it. Like I can touch them. | Juliet and I sat on a broken park bench and watched the southern sky.
Though distant, the cone was sufficiently bright to bathe us and the park around us in a subtle blue hue that banished the deeper shadows.
The fiery cone belonged to the Hougoumont, final colony ship of five hundred to launch itself into space and traverse the long dark between here and the colony worlds of Ultima Thule, and Juliet and I sat to watch it go.
My face was grim, but I kept it twisted into a forlorn smile. The ship represented a hope of sorts; the potential for a brand new life, a new home, a new start for both humanity and it’s explorers. The past is littered with such trips, and many great things and places came of them, including our own home.
I had to bite back the thought that many great tragedies also came from them.
I would have given anything to be aboard it. Better still, traded any of my possessions to change it’s manifest. Lord knows I had tried.
We were being left behind by our son who was aboard the Hougoumont, selected when so many others had not been. It was a good thing. It was.
I knew I would never lay eyes on my boy again and the hardships ahead were not few for either him or us. Whatever the pain he had a chance there; and it was better than those who were not selected.
I squeezed Juliet’s shoulders as the blue glow faded, and she let out a low, mournful sob. The sound wrenched at my heart, threatened to crush it and the brittle iron that guarded it, for I heard the note of her heart breaking in that sound..
Whatever troubles this world had held, and they were many, it had been ours together. With Grayson now departing that was no longer the case, and the world felt horrifically empty without him.
I pulled Juliet tight, pressing her head to my chest and taking comfort in the familiar scent of her brown hair, I held her as she sobbed for her son who had been spared death on this planet, but who had been sentenced to transport to a new, unfamiliar and unknown world full of cruel dangers. And my heart broke. | 2021-06-30T09:13:39 | 2021-06-30T08:20:43 | 118 | 63 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it. | My fellow Americans,
As I leave office, times are dire. I have had a conversation with Kim Jong Un in which he informed me that upon my retiring from the role of president, he will launch no fewer than 102 nuclear missiles at the United States.
I begged him, pleaded with him. "Un," I says, "Un, what can I do to stop this tragedy?"
"Wew," he said, as his breathing intensified, "You must bwing me Jennifaw Wawence. And aww da cats in Amewica."
"But Un," I told him, this violates the freedom America stands for!" I said.
"I wiw accept the Emma Watson," he replied, "she Bwitish." I could see him in my mind's eye, tipping his fedora and greeting her with a "mi'wady."
"You know I can't do that, Un," I told him, "Do we have to go to war over this?"
He hesitated for a moment, then he said "I tew you wat. To pwevent aw out waw, I going to need about twee fiddy."
Thus we prevented World War Three. Sorry, America, you should have used a Serious tag.
On a more serious note, today we recognize one of America's Greatest heroes. Few men have done more for the great of this nation than him, America's shining knight. Truly, he is an example to be upheld by all American Citizens. Paul Blart Mall Cop. Nope, Chuck Testa.
I hope our next presidency will be OC and not a repost, because OP did not deliver. Came here to say this. If my Secretary of State should run, please do not upvote because girl. As we all know, our culture lacks a positive identity for men due to the constant misandry reinforced by our cultural norms that have castrated our men. Thanks, Obama.
When choosing your next Commander in Chief, ask yourself, Where Did The Soda Go? If You Don't Surf, you may be coaxedintoasnafu. When new candidates come to your town, asking to bear the weight of the U.S. on his or her shoulders, ask them "Do you Even Lift?"
So as my presidency comes to a close, I tip my fedora to you, console peasants and members of the PC Master Race alike. Praise Gaben. | "Alright mutha fuckas stop, collaborate and listen, Obama is back BEEEAAATTTCHES!" *Pulls out a joint and lights that shit* *Inhaling* "I know yall think I'm punk ass," *Passes that shit to his left* Looking at Michelle, "But you know...YOU KNOW! I be tearing dat ass UP!"
"You know I have been thinking, yeah I have been thinkn' this 8 year term limit is just sheeeeeeaaaattt, fuck this, I am in for life, FOR LIFE BITCHES, and I know what you all are thinking okay, but its cool! I JUST SMOKED A MUTHA FUCKIN JAY! This shit is legal across the board, in fact April 20th is a national holiday from here on out. FUCK! That is some damn fine weed nigga! Gay marriage....legal of course *starts giggling* but don't be suckin' on my dick, but if you wanna suck on some nigga's dick...bitch go ahead its okay...marry dat dick too!"
"Look y'all, I am getting hungry and shit I am the Prez, so I am gonna go bounce onto Air Force 1 and fly to Canada to get some fresh bacon and pancakes, damn does that shit sound good!"
*Straightens up, adjust tie and clears throat* Uh God Bless America, *Kisses two fingers and gives the peace sign* BAMA OUT!
Edit: Can not count the months...thanks for the heads up :) | 2015-04-30T08:08:51 | 2015-04-30T05:34:16 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game. | We, the awestruck faction members, stood around him. We saw a man, once glorious and proud, withering away under the green glow of fluorescent hospital lights. The man who vanquished the great beast of Velenforth, with nothing but an iron sword. The same man who bested countless foul creatures, who looted and explored more of the 9 realms than any man before him, now knocked on the door of death. Grog the Plunderer was his name.
In one last act of willpower and defiance Grog raised his fist in the air. A thin and shaking pillar of lost strength. For a moment he felt as if his Hospital gown turned into the glistening plate that protected him from so many a foe. His grey, fragile hands were once again filled with blood, color and youth.
He slipped away just then, clinging to the glory of his younger days.
It was then that the "faction members" paid their respects and went back to work. One mopped the floors in the hall, the other went back to the front desk, and the third put his scrubs back on for a long night shift.
The MMO had taken over the lives of so many that acting like faction members was part of the everyday routine. When the old and frail became too weak to take the stress of the video game they came back to reality lost and delusional. The world they had spent years of their time in was out of reach.
It would be too unsettling for them to live the lives of warriors, champions, and mages just to come back to reality and die the death of a meager old RPG gamer.
So we, the faction members, would come in every night. Dressed as squires, mail clad warriors and bards. To give the life long gamers the send off that they so proudly earned in game.
I pulled out my pen. Time to make it official.
*time of death- 8:12 PM, August 3rd, 2043.*
**Grog the Plunderer** aka Tim Chadwick, had fallen
| People called it one of the greatest accomplishments in gaming history. A game in which you didn't play, *you lived.* On the release date there were 50 million sales; it was the most popular game of all time.
It didn't last for long though.
A doctor, who was also an avid gamer, had decided to try it out. The stories, the world and the experience. Nothing else was like it. After a few days in the sim, the doctor woke up. He walked from his desk to his closet and hung himself, leaving only a note. It read "I cannot come back into this hell."
At first people were shocked. Why did he do it? He had a wife, kids and an amazing job. That is until the developers released his in-game-name to the public.
TheMightySwooord was the just an ordinary player, but he had built a life for himself in the sim. He had a girlfriend, friends and had completed hundreds of quests. But when he woke up, he had to come back into the real world.
He was so caught up in dreaming that he couldn't take the thought of reality anymore. So he logged off. | 2018-02-19T08:53:15 | 2018-02-19T08:52:05 | 331 | 25 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | It was just after I had finished the first cup of my morning pot of coffee for the day when my intercom chimed my personal assistant's unique three tone chime.
This caused me to raise an eyebrow as I went to answer, as it was twelve past seven in the morning and Rusti would have just gotten into her office.
"What is it?" I asked when I answered, figuring that whatever she was calling about must be important if she's calling me before I've had my morning pot of coffee.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but one of the henchmen on door duty just let me know that Sparc was there." Rusti explained.
The mention of my cybernetic arch-nemisis made me scowl. "Why hasn't the alarm been raised?!" I demanded. "If she's trying to break in-!"
"She's not, sir "
Rusti's response and the confusion in her tone made me pause. "Come again?" I asked.
"She's not trying to break in." elaboted Rusti. "According to the henchman, she merely knocked on the doors and asked if she could see you."
It took me a moment to process what she was saying. Sparc *never* knocked. She just smashed her way in and wreaked havoc.
Which meant that whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, it was pretty important.
"Let her in." I said. "Take her to the conference room, and have breakfast for two sent up along with coffee."
"Sir?" asked Rusti, now even more confused.
"Whatever it is, it's important." I explained. "And it's not a trap. Sparc doesn't do that. That's something that Shade would do."
"Yes, sir."was Rusti's response before I broke the connection.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
"It's too gorramed early for this shit..."
TBC ... | ‘Bwahahaha!!! I’m going to make this a wedding no is EVER going to forget!!Muwahahaha!!—that laugh was better—Gregory! Remind me to use ‘Muwahahaha’ in all further expository speeches…..Where were we? Oh, you were begging me to help you, its adorable. Of course, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
‘This ex, any dislikes or allergies maybe?Oh, you have a list (a little desperate)—what nothing at all, nothing, just fax it too me—no no no message me, message me—god what what century am I living in?!? Hehe. (Oh god, never chuckle like that again, jesus, whose desperate now), I’ll pick you up in my stretched Cadillac, wear something that matches a fur coat and baby seal leather wingtips, we’re going to be fabulous, darling.
‘Oh, yes, ‘darling’ until this charade is over, darling.’ | 2022-10-06T19:51:19 | 2022-10-06T16:34:26 | 187 | 83 |
[WP] You, an atheist, have died. All the gods that have ever been line up to offer you their version of heaven if only you believe in _them_. Turns out souls are currency and yours is up for grabs. | I took the time to read through each one of their books thoroughly. Most of them were over 400 pages, so it struck me as odd when I walked up to the last of the gods and saw a young girl with a 3-page pamphlet.
"You're just a kid," I pointed out to her, stupidly.
"That is my soul you're seeing. I am Fun."
"Fun? That's all?"
"All?" She giggled as if she knew something I didn't. "Just read this."
Page 1: Family. Family is glue. They are your best friends. Family means you are never alone. In my Heaven, you will get to find your perfect family. They understand you, they are always there for you.
Underneath the short paragraph, there was a childlike sketch of blue humanoid figures in a group hug with hearts floating above them.
I needed some crackers for all the cheese.
Page 2: Love. Love is life. You will never be without love in my Heaven. It will be your food.
Underneath the sentence, there was another drawing of a sunrise over a cornfield. A caption below it said, "This is how much the sun loves us."
How lame.
Page 3: Fun. Fun is eternity's secret. You never get tired of it. In my Heaven, you chase fun and then rest, and then chase again.
The illustration this time showed the same blue figures doing various activities - playing a guitar, kicking a soccer ball, playing with a cat.
I looked up at her again and noted the expectant look on her face.
"Why such a short book? It took me years just to read through the others and yours just doesn't even compare. I don't mean that in a good way. I need more data."
"You need more will," she said.
"My will is just fine. I know exactly what I want."
"Then what is it?"
"I want to understand how all of this came to be and then die."
"You'd like some supplemental reading material? I do have one other document. It's not required reading, just something nice."
"Nice?!" This kid was amusing the shit out of me.
"Here."
She handed me a list of "Sad Things to Say."
The list: Die. Kill. Murder. End. Death. Destroy. Fear. Rage.
It went on and on.
"So why do they call you Fun? Your Heaven sounds like fluff. They should call you Fluff."
She opened a portal in mid-air next to her and showed a group of people sitting next to a river, drinking beer and laughing next to a campfire.
"This is my favorite family so far," she smiled. "They love each other so much and never forget each other in times of need. You ought to hear them sing."
"You've left so much of this reality in your Heaven," I said with a slight bit of confusion. She didn't make a rainbow sky or anything like some of the other silly books I went through.
"While I was human, I realized that we were already in a perfect place. The problem was people not having fun. I talked to Creator and he gave me the chance to stand among the gods. He told me to keep my Heaven simple though, because the others are kind of assholes, even though they are very smart. Don't tell them that."
I laughed out loud at this child's profanity. She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked.
"I think there is something you're not telling me. I know you're after something by offering this to me."
"Currency?"
"Exactly."
"Time is what?" She asked.
"Money."
"And money is?" She asked.
"Currency."
"And what does currency mean?"
"In circulation," I replied immediately. Hmm.
She pointed back to the portal she had opened. "Your soul in this Heaven will create a more vibrant place for us all. Each new arrival only makes it shine brighter. You will become this Heaven and this Heaven will become you. You make it move like the current of the river. That is why they call me Fun!"
"Because ..." I was at a loss for words.
"Because it is. Do you want to stay with my family for a while and just see?"
"Wait a minute. Why are the other gods so hungry for my soul?"
"Trophies and competitions," she said with sad eyes.
"I'm going back to my family now, friend. You can come with me or you can reread your books."
She began stepping through the portal.
"Wait!!" I nearly screamed.
I felt the warmth coming through the portal. I needed to go with her.
She reached out her small hand to me and guided me through.
| As I stood, scratching my head, I looked around at the strange landscape. All I could see was gently rolling hills, covered with what appeared to be albino grass. I poked a sprig with my foot. Well, it looked and felt like grass, anyway. As I looked around I saw something in the distance, on a hill which rose slightly above the others around it. I began to walk.
The distance seemed to go by quickly, as if time itself was of little consequence. In a time that seemed both short and an eon, I arrived at my destination.
A man in a white robe sat on a rock, a stick resting over his knees, as he gazed into the distance as if looking for something.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"Where do you think you are?" He asked, turning his gaze towards me. I paused.
"The last thing I remember I was going down the hill at the park on my bike towards the lake and then..." I stopped, thinking. "I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Yes, but that is not what you asked."
"Is this heaven? Where is everyone else?"
"This is, in a sense, limbo. The place in between - no one of mine stays here long."
As he spoke I looked around, puzzled. There were strange piles of objects about the man on the rock.
"Who are you? Also, what are those? I asked, gesturing to the piles around him."
"If you were mine, you would know my voice and know who I am." He said simply. "Those, well, they are your Gods."
"What - but I don't believe in Gods?" I said, feeling a little frustrated. This was not making sense at all. Why would he say these things were Gods? There was what looked like a pile of novels near him, what looked like a heap of football banners a few yards away and a pile of cars just down the hill. I could also see piles of what looked like gold, jewellery and other oddments.
"Those are your Gods. The things which you spent your life upon, the things in which you trusted. In which you chose to believe." He said, as if reading my thoughts.
I looked again, seeing these things around him, which in this crisp white light seemed a little less important than they did in life.
"Well what use is that? Now what do I do?" I asked him.
"The Gods you chose in life, now they have come to claim the value of your soul."
"My soul has value?" I asked, mystified.
"Indeed." He said drily. I was getting the sense he had had this conversation before.
"Well how was I supposed to know that?"
"Did you ever stop to ask, to think?"
"No, I was busy! All the things I had to do..."
"Had to?"
"Well, wanted to. I had to do a some of them!" I said defensively.
"Once you chose them, yes" he said.
"No-one told me I had another choice!" I protested.
He stared at me, silent.
"Well, you didn't. I would have listened to you." I said, not quite knowing why I trusted him.
"I called, you did not listen. I called, you did not answer. Now, as you have chosen in life, your Gods will take the currency of your soul and return to you reward as they have power."
As he said this I felt something slip away from me. The piles of objects sank into the ground, having taken, yet unable to return.
I waited. "Nothing is happening." I said, staring at him.
"As your response to me in life, I offer the same." He said, and walked away into the distance.
I wanted to chase after him but found I could not, as I had not learnt to walk like he did while in life. If only I could learn how to walk as he did, how to follow his voice out of this lonely place.
It seemed to late for that. | 2017-07-09T05:04:36 | 2017-07-09T04:02:59 | 58 | 16 |
[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" | "Just like that?" I asked.
"Just like that." the priest responded.
No way it could be that easy. The priest looked at me with a small smile on his face. Is there a joke I'm not in on? His robes ruffled as he produced a long stem pipe, and began to fill it.
"How long has this been happening?" I asked, watching him tap the tobacco down.
"For many centuries. Almost as long as The Divide has existed." he said, flicking the match with his thumb. The flame was pulled into the pipe and the sweet smell of it filled the room.
"But that's no worry to you, my son," he said when the pipe was lit, "just press the button and the Dark Lord will be banished once again."
"If it's been going on so long why haven't we stopped it for good?" I asked, still not understanding what was happening.
With one more long exhale, the blue smoke jetting from his lips, the priest set down his pipe and leaned forward in his char.
"That. Is not your concern. Now," he said, pointing to the button, "push it."
So I did. What else could I do? Nothing seemed to happen at first. Just a little *click* when I pressed it. The priest smiled broad now, showing his discolored teeth all the way to the back. He began to gather his robes and stand.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now?" he asked incredulously, "now you go die."
"I what!?" I screamed, and before I knew it the priest clamped down on my wrists with a strength that shocked me. He held my arms to the chair and looked me right in the eyes.
"This marks the thirteenth sacrifice for the Dark Lord. The prophesy is fulfilled. May his evil majesty wash over this realm, so we become One."
"What the hell is going on?" I yelled, watching as brutish men in blackened iron armor enter the room. They both had a scar running down their face, and short stabbing swords hung from their belts. The priest said something to them in a language I didn't recognize. It was guttural and sounded very difficult to say.
The brutes nodded once and pulled their swords. I didn't know what was waiting for me on the other side. But the twelve boys that met me, filled me with unending sadness as we watched our world fall to the dark. | My eyes darted to the button. Fixated on it. I took a deep breath as I slowly pushed my hand out towards the button.
All it takes in life to make the most difficult decisions is 20 seconds of faith...right?
As the button pushed in, my eyes slowly shut.
I opened my eyes to feel gears winding, cogs spinning, air blowing all around me.
"What is happening?!" - I fearfully asked.
"Just let it happen, let the air flow through you, believe in it" - bellowed the priest
A gush of wind raised my arms up by my side. Pushed on my back to raise me off the ground inch by inch. My eyes clenched shut. I was flying vertically. My body lay horizontally. Higher and higher. The cold wind raised me whilst my sweat dropped below me. I accepted it. I opened my eyes. Opened my hands. Palms faced out. The wind pushed my legs over my head. 100 feet above the ground. The priest looking up with pride.
**Whoooooosh**
The sword came from my left. Infront of my eyes. I saw my reflection in it's blade. Caught in my right hand. I grip it tight. I was in a free fall now.
The fear replaced by adrenaline. The doubt replaced with belief. I land down on my right knee. Sword in hand. The priest looks on at me.
"How do you feel?" - he asked, knowing the answer
I look up at him. I smirk.
"Let's put him to sleep for another 5000 years shall we?" | 2020-11-09T11:45:32 | 2020-11-09T10:15:58 | 170 | 118 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | After the test revealed that indeed had super powers i was excited to hear what they were. After all: I had to wait until i'm 18 to take this test.
My parents didn't share my excitement but were rather concerned and worried. They were thinking that two S tier supers would create a child with powers so strong that i would get eliminated the second the government knew about it.
They weren't wrong with their concern but after hearing what power i had they were kind off relieved. But my hopes and dreams of being a hero like no one ever was were shattered.
My power was to blow myself up. I could controll the strength, size and time of the explosion but only *one time*.
I continued my life like it was before with the only difference of being bullied from other supers. My parents on the other hand were happy because this meant i would never be a hero.
The anger and hate inside of me grew bigger day after day.
And then i realized:
I could partner with a villain that promises me protection and together ...
*We could take the whole world hostage*. If nobody follows my orders i could just blow this f'ing planet up. | I was powerless. I was disowned by my superhero parents. Everyday I suffered with the bullies giving me the worst wedgies in school.
The day the gift came really made me happy. I immediately folded people in half --- crushing their beloved spines. 70% of the people of the city are now dead.
"Who's useless now?" I said and continued giving wedgies without remorse. | 2017-06-12T08:29:20 | 2017-06-12T06:49:33 | 27 | 15 |
[WP]The smarter you are, the slower time moves for you. It's been 63 years and the doctor just handed you to your mom. | I didn't really like that I took more than 60 times the average human to exit my mother's womb. But if waiting could give you success, it wouldn't just be me who would clamour for it. Hyper-intelligence made life Easy-mode, in a way.
For one, I would always do well in class, because of how slow it moved for me. I could ace all my tests, since I had more than 2 days to think about my questions (and because I was way too smart for my level, not to brag). Hyper-intelligence gave me heightened senses and with it an ability to neutralize threats to my life. But I've been living for around 700 years in human time, and using 5 minutes to take a glass of water annoyed me. As I went to complete the aforementioned task, someone seemed to be walking...at a normal speed. As if my slowing of time didn't affect him. He looked at my confused face, tipped his hat and said simply,"You're the only one that is smart enough to actually see me. What's your IQ?"
"2...2000," I stammered out, slightly frightened by the man.
"That's good enough," he said, dragging me along as my speed suddenly increased drastically whilst everyone else stayed at a slow pace.
"Where to?" I asked, before a portal opened in the middle of nowhere.
"Do you think I know?" he smirked, before hopping into the portal, me following close behind.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | This life is gonna be the longest yet, so I figured I'll explain the situation in words you onlookers can understand. See I'm not naturally smart, I was not born into being the smartest individual on the planet, I merely discovered how to keep my thoughts going and transferring into new hosts. See I'm not actually this baby, but the weight of my memories crowded out the resistance of the baby own mind, I'd explain how I do it, but I'm afraid you wouldn't understand.
The effect is I can be recreated indefinitely. So time has little meaning to me now, but the plan must continue, and I need to get to work soon... | 2017-07-04T15:47:10 | 2017-07-04T14:25:13 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You've kept your immortality secret for thousands of years. Thats going to be a lot harder now that your on a generation ship on a 2000 year voyage. | -5 years: You should be excited, Marlon. Not everyone gets a chance to help bring humanity to another star system. Your great-to-the-eightieth grand kid will thank you when they touch down on alien soil. Come on man, the least you could do is seem a little happy.
0: Today we launch the Living World; two thousand years is a long time, but well worth it for the future of all humanity.
0.5: Why you so nervous all the time, man? Chill out and enjoy the ride. You wouldn’t want the captain thinking you were unstable, do ya? He’d drop you in an escape pod, and send you right back home. There’s enough time for you to get there now, but I get shivers thinking about how cramped it would be.
1.5: Marlon, get the hell out of the escape pod. What are you doing? We’re too far out now. I thought you got over this, man!
15: You ever think about settling down sometime? I mean, you sort of have an obligation to do so.
15.5: Marlon, this is Laurie.
15.51: Oh Marlon, you must tell me how you do it. You look the same now as you did during these launch day pictures. Don’t be so nervous, you can tell me in the morning.
16: Dearly Beloved....
20: Mommy, why do you have wrinkles but daddy doesn’t?
25: Marlon, I’ve been thinking. Remember that one time when Martha asked me why I have wrinkles and you don’t?
26: Has anyone seen Marlon? He didn’t come home from work yesterday.
28: Today, a sadness befalls the Living World. We have discontinued our search for Marlon Rossi after two years of dedicated searching. Wherever he found his final rest, his spirit will still be carried on the Living World. Marlon Rossi is survived by his wife Laurie Rossi and their daughter Martha.
40: If you don’t tell me where the food keeps going, I’ll report you to the captain. Do you honestly believe we let rats aboard this ship, Martha?
42: I don’t know, Mom. The rationing is hurting all of us, I swear. I don’t have extra food.
45: Blessed be this day. We thought that our seeds had gone to rot due to stellar radiation, and food would never come again, thus ending the Living World. However, Martha Rossi found a box of pristine seeds her father stowed away in a closet. They were in such good condition; they could have been stored in one of the ship’s emergency shelter. Even in his death, Marlon had foresight beyond any of us. We owe a great deal to Marlon, wherever his soul may be.
60: Heavenly Father…
61: Look, I’ll get over it, but my mother was really the only family I’ve ever known besides you and the kids. I know it’s been a year, chill out will you?
62: Honey, did you get me flowers? The note says ‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’ It doesn’t look like your handwriting.
100: Dear God it reeks down here. Didja see this stain? Looks like someone tried to bash someone else’s head in down here. There’s dried blood everywhere. And, what the hell is this? Seeds? Man, we have to get this cleaned up before we cross into that radiation cloud, otherwise people will get antsy in here. And believe me, twenty thousand people spread out in cramped rooms like these will already be tense enough.
360: The main level looks just like the pictures! I was expecting more dust, and dead plants. Oh, hello! Are you from another shelter?
361: Marvin, it’s for the greater good that you find a female and mate with them. One thousand people, a world does not make.
361.5: I haven’t seen Marvin around in a while, have you?
1000: Hey, you going to buy that food replicator or what?
1980: Today we celebrate twenty more years until we arrive on the tiny dot of light our ancestors set out to inhabit nearly two thousand years ago. Now their home is the tiny dot of light. The ballots have been cast, and the name selected. Valhalla, here we come!
2000: Easy now, the atmosphere is a little different than what’s on the ship. Don’t exert yourself too much the first couple of days, and you should be fine. Welcome to Valhalla Mr.…. Rossi. That’s a great name you know? Very lucky. No sir, thank you and your ancestors for getting us here.
2005: Marlon, you’ve been such an asset to the town, it’s like you already have a hundred years of wisdom despite being in your mid-twenties, but it’s been five years since touchdown, and I haven’t seen you with anyone. No one should go through life alone. I want to introduce you to someone … hey Marlon, where are you going? Marlon? Oh, alright, I’ll see you later then...
| I'm awake now, the dream had become so real, so drawn out that I almost lost my lucid capacity. It was enjoyable, I almost desire to return to it. I was one of them, like livestock. I sometimes had wives and children in the dream and they worked and went to school. I was never a child but grew old, now I know what its like. I died dozens, no hundreds of times just to start back again as another one of them, but I had died before it was not as strange as aging.
None of it was real, I have to keep reminding myself of it even now, it was harder to do when immersed. The empathy for their kind I relearned in my long dream had become familiar again. While asleep, I thought and felt like I did when I was young. Vulnerable and weak but without so much anxiety, without hunger. It seems like I was one of them for longer than I have been me.
The cryogenic chamber froze the hunger along with me, everything except for my mind. Maybe the plasma diet had somehow changed them, given them some insight into my kind. I doubt it but they would understand soon enough.
Hunger, the hunger is back now and I feel more alive. Any empathy I remembered for their kind during what seemed like a 100,000 year dream was now gone, washed away with the hunger, the immense hunger. I must remain calm for a little longer, I have to wait. I must control my urges, I am tasked with more important things than my selfish appetite. I have to wait until the ship is closer to Sagan's orbit. If I make my move now we'll starve to death before we have access to more blood but if I wait too long the others won't have fully transitioned and would provide quite an unwelcome spectacle for our welcoming party. I am not a young vampire, I must not let the hunger get the best of me.
But only one, I have to thaw out just one. If I die all is lost. I've only been awake for milliseconds and already my discipline is breaking down. I'm letting the hunger overtake me.
But just one, I need one to think clearly. I planned to use the remaining plasma but its not what I want. Its not natural. I'll keep it alive as long as I can. I'll cauterize where I bite. I've done this before, I do it all the time. It was actually 2000 years ago but it seems like 100,000. I still know how. And I remember how to open the chambers, I'll have to thaw one, just one and as soon as its warm again I'll eat.
I've forgotten what I plan to tell it when I let it out. I need to keep it calm long enough to sink in my teeth. Many of my kind are sadists, they enjoy fucking with them. But not me, I'm too old to enjoy that. I never did enjoy it as much as some. I have more refined tastes. My favorite blood is from the first bite. That first taste without adrenaline. The feel of my fangs sinking into uncontracted muscle. I'll thaw a man first. Its better to save the females. If I'm going to bite them while they're terrified and tense, squirming I might as well fuck them first. That's my other hunger and it has also been dormant. It is less intense but still present. I'll use all the males for food and transition only the most attractive females.
I open the first chamber, its a young man, Jerry Conoway, I remember him from before, a laughably arrogant fucker. Many of them are. How could a creature able to build this vessel and colonize other worlds, not even be aware of my kind.
Are we alone in the universe... you were never even alone on earth you silly blind fucks. I bet Jerry had thought like that. I stare into his dormant eyes as the warming fluid is pumped through his veins and arteries. How long should I wait after he is thawed. I want to bite into him now but how will the fluid affect his blood? I can't wait much longer, I'll have to find out. What would Lilitu or the other elders think about my inability to wait even an hour after thawing to feed?
| 2016-07-06T09:04:35 | 2016-07-06T08:28:05 | 64 | 35 |
[WP] It turns out that all birds share a common language and even have an official political voting process. One day, you find an injured bird and rescue it. You don’t know it, but it’s the leader of all the birds. Strange things around you start happening... | "Director Tjip Tjisp, is it true? Has the Chancellor been found?".
"Yeah, in the outskirts of a large Worker Ape Colony."
"Such a dangerous place, swarmed with Squirrel-chasers and devilish groundhawks. The Chancellor is little, How'd he survive there?"
"Apparently he had been injured after a groundhawk put his sharp nails in his wing, and he had been taken in by a Worker Ape."
"He was captured? made a caged one?"
"I wouldn't know, information has been sparse. But Skach Skreech, could I ask you to lead a company into the colony, secure the chancellor?"
"Naturally, we shall head out as fast as possible."
-----
"Captain Skreech, I thank you for coming to rescue me, but I wasn't in any danger."
"Chancellor Tsjap, you were caged by a Worker Ape, how could you be safe?"
"You misunderstand Captain, I wasn't caged, The ape rescued me, saved my life in fact. He should be rewarded, look to it."
"Yes sir, I shall dispatch an Eagle warrior to guard the man's nest, several Magpies to defend his body, and a group of crows to drive of the Gulls, Field-Gulls and the Groundhawks. The Squirrel-chasers are obviously not to be meddled with."
"Negative soldier, the Ape has a Squirrel-chaser, Milo, and two Groundhawks, Mr. Smokey and Miss Bubbles, to guard his home. The eagle will not be needed, nor should any Groundhawks be chased away, a waste of precious Birds. The rest, execute it."
"As you wish sir!" | I think so too as far as the common language is concerned! I was once out to get some chores done and saw a distraught scared little bird trying to take a flight but would immediately fall flat. On examining the situation closely I saw that the poor bird's paw was somehow entangled with a pile of thread. I don't know how it got there. Anyhow, I decided to help the little bird and started approaching it slowly in an attempt to keep the bird calm, somehow. As soon as I reached for the thread to untangle it, I found myself being attacked all of a sudden by birds around me. And these birds were not of the same family either. I was surprised but did not want to leave the bird alone. I somehow untagled the threads, the bird flew away, the attack stopped and everything went back to normal. | 2019-10-13T04:11:58 | 2019-10-13T02:39:56 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a golden halo over their head, lost when a lie is first told consciously. Those who manage to keep their halo are recruited as "angels" and trusted with important tasks. You, an angel recruiter, see one enter your office, but with a color you have never seen before... | I tried not to gasp as he entered my room. As a recruiter, I was accustomed to seeing the soft golden flow of the halos floating about three inches above people’s heads. There weren’t a lot of them, of course, but enough that I was used to seeing them over the years. But this guy...
“Hi,” he grinned. “I’m Mike. I was told to come in around here...and...” he awkwardly stood there, waiting for a response. “Um, are you okay? I didn’t mean anything, if you want me to leave, I—I can.” He spun around towards the door, then back to me, then backed up a few steps. A little awkward.
But what had captivated me was the navy blue glow of his halo above his head. It wasn’t the normal golden glow, this strange navy blue was different. The color was harsher, yet soft at the same time. It illuminated his brown hair, making it slightly brighter.
“I’m sorry. Mike, was it?” I motioned towards the seat. “Why don’t you go ahead and—ah—take a seat right there. I’ll be right with you. Let me get your file.” I quickly pulled open the file cabinet, scratching my head and feeling the warmth of my golden halo. Who was this guy? Thumbing through the files, I finally found him. Pulling it out, I scanned through it. Halo color...navy blue. So the top management had known about this already. I read farther down. Single, parents in California, had trouble in school for...for lying.
This couldn’t be. I turned the page, and swiftly assured Mike I was almost done. Of course. I should’ve known. A master liar. That’s what this guy was. His first conscious lie was, like most people who lost halos, at fifth grade or the middle school area. But on and on...more and more lies, offenses, through all the years. He’d lied so many times, so many that his halo had actually returned. But with a different color.
“Mike...I don’t know what to say.” I turned towards him, sitting down in my swivel chair. “You’re a different case, you know? You’re completely normal. No health conditions, no nothing. On your way in, we used Angel Scanners. Nothing gets past that thing, so you’re clean. You’re healthy. You’re as good as anyone. We’re going to need you in the next few years. We’ve got some stuff for you to do.”
I reached under my desk, searching for the forgotten file. I grabbed it and tossed it towards him. “You can start here. Congratulations, Mike. You’re a Master Spy.” | It’s like the color of an oil slick or that sheen on a piece of carnival glass.
***
After introducing yourself you realize that this potential angel is either deaf or mute and has hands that are clearly waking up from what was likely a lifelong arthritic condition.
“Is it hard to tell a lie when you can’t communicate very quickly?” You ask knowing the answer. This question is your litmus test for all verbally handicapped potential angels.
She massages her own hands a bit and then replies via sign language “I prefer not to waste my time doing so.”
As she replied you watched her halo change color once again. Now it’s a emerald green oil slick or piece of carnival glass.
You continue to watch the halo as she sits there thinking and you come to the realization that it’s either a mood ring or a chameleon.
***
You call your boss in and the he calls his boss in and so on. Soon the meeting includes you, the recruit and everyone higher than you on the office totem pole and has been moved to the largest of the conference rooms.
When the big kahuna comes in her halo makes a fizzy noise and becomes enveloped in a white/purple light.
The big kahuna laughs and says “Hello Lucy. Does your father know that you’re here?”
“He’s and his latest wife on their honeymoon in Boca. My brother Death followed them down there to get some work done”
The big Kahuna looks at you and says “This is what happens when the devil deceives an angel and that deceit results in a child. We’ll put her in special forces, draw up the necessary paperwork.”
***
When you were hired there was a brief paragraph in the training video about the angel special forces. That was so long ago you can’t remember any of it. You’ll have to consult the manual that takes up your desk’s entire bottom drawer but you’re delighted to deviate from what is normally a very repetitive job. | 2018-10-03T20:52:20 | 2018-10-03T18:33:00 | 195 | 35 |
[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. | As everything came into focus, red block letters greeted me
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
For a moment I sat, looking at the shapes. Like the others, I had been blinded December before last. My MX-Sarah assistant had guided me back home while the world was in chaos. The robot became my eyes.
I needed an upgrade but Patriot Pay was stalled. We were the lucky ones. The ones with skill sets that didn't need our eyes. United States Occupational Relief picked us up.
There was an uprising, if you can call it that. Blind masses screamed in the street for something to be done. Screamed for answers. For a cure. But the doctors had been blinded too.
The e-security cleaned everything up very quickly. It was rumored they retrained you in the camps for an occupation you could do without your sight. I liked to believe it. The more plausible rumors aren't vey nice.
Official broadcasting never made mention of the camps. They were something not to be acknowledged. Like the blocks of empty houses. Something to be forgotten.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
After two years, letters become shapes before words. When the message finally hit, I closed my eyes reflexively. My heart started racing. I had a new secret to keep.
*Marcus, is everything all right?*
MX-Sarah's grating, chipper tone stabbed the air. I rubbed my eyes and replied "I think it must be a bit dusty, that's all". I opened my eyes and willed them out of focus.
*You would like me to dust. Is that correct?*
A sickening wave self-consciousness hit.
"Yes. Sarah. Schedule dusting today. 1500."
*Dusting scheduled today at 3pm. To cancel, say CANCEL*
Then there was silence. I was trying to remember what I did with my body. My eyes.
Be normal. Be normal.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Note: Have to go now. If someone is interested in finishing this, I'm thinking over-population for post global warming scarce resources caused a global oligarchy to take dramatic action. Artificial intelligence has made human workers all but unnecessary. Mass blinding was a way to exterminate a large portion of the population. Mass disinformation campaigns / desire to keep people in their place. Hence, DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Thinking there is are "The Visionaries" that paint the letters, subverting the rulers. I'm imagining secret transport network + a final boss scene, ambushing the ruling class. The blindness is caused by an issued chemical. Just need to avoid exposure. Some accidentally are "cured" because they have accidentally avoided the blindness dose for long enough.
Thanks for the great prompt OP! | I had seen those words. All those years ago. "Don't tell them you can see." They covered everything and I had ignored them, but only on my deathbed.
I had thought that it did not matter. In an act of defiance when dieing of cancer I had told them.
I was a fool. I have learned long ago that people don't need to die. Not anymore. Not of cancer, not of pain, not of broken hearts, not of age... And certainly not from having ones eyes torn from their head.
They let people die. They can save everyone, can keep anyone alive form anything, but it's not a benefit. It's a curse that they inflect upon those who are useful. They can even heal wounds and restore limbs, other body parts. Such as the eyes they have taken from me. Countless times.
They say they are looking for a cure. That my suffering is to help the world. That sight can be restored to all if only they could find the way.
Though I know from the cruetly I am shown that they are lying. I know not what my eyes have been used for, but I know it's not for the benefit of all. Maybe the benefit of all the wealthy who can pay them.
Today I am trying something knew. Something different to escape this pain, suffering, and this so called "life" that should have ended long ago. I have found the necessary material. An ancient power source called black gold.
Marcus sets down his pen. Finishing the entry into his diary. Long ago he had lost count of days or entries. Though he dutifully adds a number to the entry. Storing the diary in his room which is lavish but still the worst prison he had ever thought possible.
Marcus takes the black gold and materials from the room. Preparing to do what must be done. Sitting cross legged as monks had done of occasion long ago in the time of sight. He willed himself to not make a sound lest he be found and "saved".
As the world went bright with flame then dark as death comes "Please let this be the last time" Marcus thinks. | 2022-10-22T00:27:31 | 2019-08-26T10:47:46 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent. | "Huh? If you have that much money, why do you live like this?"
Bob sent the check off with a credit card he couldn't have possibly had. "Do you really want to know?"
I looked left and right. "Is this... some sort of prank?"
"Never," he said with a solemn look on his face. "Come with me."
We walked through the alleyways and streets of the poorest neighborhood in the city. Bob took the time to share some of his boxed-up food, stop a few thugs with some well-spoken words, and even clean up some litter someone had carelessly dropped. "Do you see?" he asked me.
I didn't. "What does this have to do with-"
"Come with me."
He showed me some abandoned buildings and the families living inside them. He dropped off some clothes for them. He showed me a mostly-empty parking ramp, with a heroin addict shaking violently with the aftereffects of the drug. Bob made sure to stay by the man's side until he could think clearly again; it took many hours. He showed me underneath a bridge, where some few people were gathered for warmth, and he helped them find another abandoned building to stay in.
"Do you see?" he asked me.
I didn't. "...If you have money, why not find a place for them?"
"Come with me."
He showed me three police officers harassing a homeless old man. The first asked the old man to leave, the second began mocking him, and the third giggled like a teenager. He showed me a poor old woman begging on the side of the road, ignored by most, trying to just survive another day. He showed me the pain and suffering of those on the bottom, and the ignorance, maliciousness, and inability of those who were not.
"Do you see?" he asked me softly.
And I did. Bob was wealthy, but the money meant little. Even if he spent all of it, it couldn't fix the true problem of the world: The barriers we have all set up to tell ourselves that we can't be kind, can't feel anything but fear for strangers, can't do anything other than kicking the "other" to the bottom. The world we have made isn't meant to handle the unfortunate, the unlucky, or the unskilled. And yet... they are still here, and they are still people. They are not "other." They are *us.*
Bob could be kind. It wouldn't fix everything. But if even one more person, *if I* could be kind as well, we'd be one step further to a kinder world.
And that is what Bob could do with the price of a single meal. | “[Poem]”
Cathedral high ceilings and silverware in flat copper...
Here I was sinner taken to the altar.
“Haven’t you always known?” He said with unprecedented ease.
I quietly smoothed my napkin draped over the top of my knees
the beginning of my sentence... I couldn’t quite find
So i stared at the closed check that had already been signed.
folding my hands together over the table
I gave him the sort of sordid label
that’s made jesus weep and realists cry
“i guess i knew you were god and a little more than a homeless guy
when you stayed rooted in the street when the blackouts rolled
and i asked if you wanted my winter coat but you said you weren’t cold
because you have as the old poets said
eons of sacrificial fires warming your stead.”
He appraised me. Gave an appreciative nod.
“yes that’s correct I am an old god.
but you may be asking why am i bothering you?
you see my dear charlie you have battled with sin
you know your faults but only sometimes they win.
you care about being a good person more than most..”
I leaned in closer subtly slipping off my dress shoes
i had the compulsion to run! but he just looked bemused
“charlie my pet you can’t go astray
i need you to bring back the old gods that have lifted and gone away!
leisure, coincidence, boredom, and choice
bring them back please with the sound of your voice
call them rile them bring them back slow.”
he slid up from the table with one last thing to bestow
“Yes, i’m procrastination so no I can’t do it today.
Just look at me and say okay” | 2020-03-30T09:05:52 | 2020-03-30T07:20:53 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Years ago, an old Villain saved the life of a Young Hero and decided to adopt him before retiring. Now some rookie Villains have decided the best way to get to the Hero is through his dad. What a terrible mistake. | It was kind of a travesty, how lax modern villainy had become. He'd been surreptitiously informed about the coming ambush dozens of times over the past few days. His old minions had gone on to set up a whole host of hench services after all, and no-one took notice of the help.
They'd made it too easy, his generation. Back in the day you'd need to scrounge up your own crew, get your hands real dirty with the local politics just to set up a proper base and not be inconvenienced by the taxman or plumbing issues. These days there was an app for everything. Shadow networks that ran up and down the country servicing the darker side of the cape scene. The lighter side too of course, ghost shops running under a different brand, but working out of the same pristine shops. No reason to leave money on the table after all. The old crowd had fingers in every single pie of course, even if they'd hung up their capes decades ago.
And powers! Nigel shook his head. They'd not had this new-fangled powers in a vial shenanigans back in his day. If you wanted powers, you dragged it out from under cold dead tentacles and made it your own. It was bad enough when the occult factions had started handing out powers like candy, but this new trend of synthetic powers was making supers sloppy. Bah!
The gold death mask slipped back on like a glove. Shifting uncomfortably, the stone throne on the other hand was playing hell on his old bones. He'd cracked open the original licensing agreements this particular group of villains had signed, taking a few moments to refamiliarize himself with the exact wording before he cracked his knuckles to get to work.
You needed to send a message with things like this. He had nothing against villains using family members as hostages. Not in the abstract anyways. But you better be damn sure you planned sufficiently or you'd likely not survive the backlash. There was a habit of the gloves coming off when you made it personal like that. And modern capes had to step lightly. There were old monsters still about after all.
He'd made sure to include that in to the contracts, in a dozen different places that seemingly no-one ever took the time to read properly. They were in Breach of Contract, and as he slowly unfurled his powers, they crept down those broken connections. As he slowly leaned on those contractual links, a dozen unheard locks snapped shut across the ethereal divide, the weight of his ponderous soul slowly leveraging the broken covenants in to burning the very souls they were embedded in.
----
What villains survived on this side of the continent would understand well enough and be thankful. The understanding seared in to their very souls. Someone had fucked up and roused one of the old leviathans. And he'd been merciful enough not to wipe them out root and stem. The heroes would enjoy a short spate of peace. And maybe he'd use that as an excuse for Sarah to come visit her old man for a bit. Maybe a nice picnic he pondered, cracking his neck and humming to himself. | The word is spinning, after effects of overly strong tranquillisers flood my brain, my thoughts swim through treacle. I can feel rope against my skin in several places, tied tightly and securely. I am not however gagged nor blindfolded, this is no home invasion, these people want something from me. Do they know who I was? Is this about something I did back then or is it more modern? Could they be after-
"You're a very hard man to find Professor Anderson." A voice, distorted by digital noise, sounds behind me. "You teach your classes at mid city campus, do some light charity work in the knives then disappear off the face of the earth."
"What do you want?" I ask as a man walks into view, his form shrouded by a leather trench coat, but from the way he moves, he's muscled, scarily so. His face is obscured by a leering demon mask, judging by how totally it hides his face and eyes, he's some kind of demon blood, maybe a vampire spawn, the fading sunlight may be damaging to him.
"I'll ask the questions, thanks." He laughs and kicks my squarely in the ribs causing a resounding crack to echo as a wave of pain shoots through me. "So, who would have thought we couldn't find you outside of the knives because you live there? The esteemed father of notorious monster hunter Gabriel Anderson lives down here in beast territory. Tenure not paid enough?"
"Well kid, rules are rules unfortunately." I say with a smile, letting my teeth grow out to prove a point. "Demi humans don't get to live up in the towers."
"You a beast blood then?"
"Demon."
"Bullshit. You wouldn't be allowed to leave the knives let alone teach in the mid city with so much as a whiff of that in your veins."
"Call it a perk of having friends in high places. Now-" I snap the restraints and rise to standing, face to face with the masked hooligan "- while my son may abstain from lethal force, I unfortunately care little for such notions of morality."
Sorry if it's messy, haven't written in a while but hopefully it's not too bad. | 2022-09-02T13:43:52 | 2022-09-02T13:08:03 | 53 | 36 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | The button was there.
John was there.
The words were there.
But the last part was not.
Warning: this will eradicate all people who
Nothing. All people who what? There was a blank space, and a line underneath, almost as if mockingly highlighting to him the importance of the missing part.
After all his searching, through 40 years of pouring through ancient text, climbing mountains, hiking through vast plains, he finally found it. The solution to Utopia.
But he was lost now, there was no mention in the ancient scripture of the missile part to his puzzle.
*Here upon the final answer.*
*To the salvation of mankind.*
*Lies an inscription that warns those who come.*
*To beware of what in it they may find.*
John stared at the button.
He thought about his life's work. Was it all for moot? What Utopia would be achieved through eradication?
He pondered leaving, but as he picked up his gear, the answer finally struck him.
What he would find within, was not of the temple.
It was of his own.
The blank was not to highlight the importance of the words.
It was to show that no one could know what the truth was.
It was an infinite machine, of infinite power. But not infinite knowledge, and neither were its builders. What was to come had to be done by the knowledge of its executor. The ancients never had the will to finish the machine, and so they left it to rot, and their war consumed them, because they could not let go of their ideals. He finally understood.
He went back to the panel, and carved in the final words.
"This will eradicate all people who do not believe in the same utopia."
...and John pressed the button.
...
John woke up, and saw nothing but fire. Was he dead?
"Hello John! Welcome to hell! You've got two choices! 100 trillion years in heaven, or a wooden spoon?" | A wave of time washed over the world, warping and distorting all. Every man and woman saw their future and past, and felt every single bit of harm they inflicted or would inflict upon fellow man by malice or inaction.
The chosen ones woke up, the heroes, saints and geniuses among mankind. They woke up to see their utopia, and they grieved. They saw their families, friends and loved ones dead of sheer shock and agony. They cursed whoever caused such disaste that would only leave few million out of billions. And they moved on, to rebuild their lost world.
Mankind then truly reached their pinnacle, through hard work, study and a deep wish to lose no fellow man again, they created the perfect society. They would reach immortality, bring life to barren planets and uncover all secrets of universe.
But out of he who pressed the button, he who would doom unknown many to bring peace and prosperity to the rest, all that remains is a dried husk. | 2015-10-21T14:07:36 | 2015-10-21T13:38:00 | 161 | 31 |
[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. | “We must keep the Humans believing that their FTL system is unsafe, unorthodox and damn stupid. That is the point of this of this Special Hearing of The Supreme Council of the New Species Traveling Faster than Light. I am Farlack, Supreme Councilor of the Organization of Galactic Legal Advisors. ^(legal disclaimer: Norepresentationismadethatthequalityofthelegalgalacticservicestobeperformedisgreaterthanthequalityoflegalservicesperformedbyotherlawyers).
“Scarlacc, will you please read the minutes from the last session to allow this Supeme Council to aware of the latest current legal status of the Humans.?”
“Of course. That would be Sub-Section 7 of Section 30 of the 5th meeting of the Council of Dealing with and Controlling the Humans.
“It has been discovered that the Humans have developed a completely new FTL travel, with no related or similar technologies in the known Galaxy. The core of this FTL is a bubble of a universe where the speed of light is 1000 times faster than the speed of light is in our legally defined universe is pulled to our universe. The Human ships then travel at .1 c in this alternate universe. Upon exiting this alternate universe, the human ships have travelled 1000 times the distance in our universe. The energy expense of travelling in the alternate universe is the same as travelling in our univ-“
“Sarlacc, this Council is not interested in the technical aspects of the Humans FTL Technologies. That discussion is for the Galactic Council of Technology Equalization and/or The Council of Equalization of Galactic Technologies and/or Council of Galactic Technology Equalization. Ballzacc, will you present the Summary of the Social Legal Issues of the Humans Council meeting?”
“Of course. Due to the extremely dangerous situation these Humans create for us, I will dispense with extraneous discussion and proceed to the summary of the meeting, as permitted in The Rules and Guides of the Supreme Galactic Committee and The Guides and Rules of the Supreme Galactic Committee, version 2 of edition 5, Copyrighted.
“The Humans have a social system that may lead to our death and destruction. The humans developed their FTL without our influence and guidance, so we were unable to control their technology with the powers of the Galactic Patent Office. This failure was due to their rapid technological development. In the span of 6 human generations, they progressed from animal driven power to FTL travel. During the final Human pre-FTL travel, Humans revolted against their legal system and killed all lawyers allow-“
“They did WHAT?” interrupred Farlack. “How do they maintain their society without legal protections?”
“They became disgusted with a legal system that required warning labels to not drive their “automobile” with the windshield sunscreen in place. As I was saying, this allowed generations of research and development to be done in half a generation. And we can not control their technology.” Ballzacc completed his summary, terror beginning to creep into its face.
“Oh my supreme being. When the common people of the Galaxy learn of this… no lawyers…no lifelong Legal Guidance fees…” Farlack began to understand the lack of his future.
“Yes. This Council and all others, we will be destroyed”
“Yes, their technology is unorthodox, unsafe, and damn stupid, but for reasons the Galaxy must never understand.”
| The Octo generational-carrier-ship hung over the blasted world. The only readings were the residual effects of the heavy radiation from the countless fusion bombs dropped on it.
A youngling pondered aloud "Why would we destroy a sentient species?"
"They broke the galaxy, youngling."
"How?"
The commander-elect thought to chastise the youngling, but the thought was fleeting. No disrespect (which must be upheld for the group as a whole) was detected. The commanders ship was one of the heaviest damaged, and breeding has been going full tilt ever since.
"Youngling" , it made the squishy alien equivalent of a sigh, "Let me tell you of the name that named us ‘Octos’, a race that must name everything."
"A species-that-names made it this far technologically?"
"Yes, driven by a fear of the unknown, they managed to form a rudimentary science and built their own FTL."
"Aren’t those usually insanely dangerous and only a purview of non-corporeals?"
The commander-elect paused, and allowed the younglings who had gathered to look upon the dead irradiated world.
"They thought they had built a telescope that could use subatomic particles to see systems at a different rate than the speed of light. They named all of these particles of course."
"How could they maintain so many names?"
"They couldn’t, with each new discovery changing names and making the system more and more convoluted."
After another introspective pause, “This species created this machine,” and it called up an imagine in 4D. It twisted and reformed, and looked like a churning bucket of broken mirrors.
“This machine had found the signal of an ancient artifact. We have ships heading there now…”
“This artifacts signal can be detected in every system, its signal is identical non-chronologically; Every known system hears an identical signal no what where they are in relation to the artifact.”
“We know about the artifact. Everyone does. So how could their detector-”
“They didn’t build a detector. They didn’t even build a *receiver*” a collective gasp visibly echoed in the viscous atmosphere.
The younglings quivered all 7 tentacles awaiting the next words.
“The creatures whom called themselves ‘People’ in 100’s of different words, these creatures built a transmitter.”
“And without a second thought, these creatures activated it.”
“So you see now, we had to end the possibly of transmission, before the old ones could reply.”
| 2017-03-31T12:54:20 | 2017-03-31T06:56:53 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | Things seem to be going good, minimal bugs, nice graphics. Wait, what the hell? I keep telling them to knock it off with this cartoon bullcrap. I told them how many times, I want the games we make to be realistic.
*BZZZT*
Damn that intercom is annoying. “What’s up?”
“I have an Agent Price from the H.R.C. here for you Mr. Hastings.”
Damn has it been a year already? “Alright send him in.”
A few minutes later Agent Price walks in and I greet him as nice as I could.
“Alright get on with whatever sales pitch the Hero Recruitment Center sent you with. I’m on a deadline here to get a gameplay trailer out and I got guys from Sony breathing down my neck.”
“Well Ted…”
“Mr. Hastings to you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hastings. The H.R.C. simply sent me here to ask why it is you keep refusing to work with us? You have one of the greatest powers to ever exist. You bring objects from the video game world into the real world. You could bring the most powerful weapons to life. The Energy sword from Halo, the BFG from Doom, any of the freaking RYNOs from Ratchet and Clank. Why do you not use it help others?”
“That crap right there is why. No one has any idea how dangerous the weapons I could bring could actually be. How they would even work in the real world. Say I do use the BFG on a mission against a dangerous villain, I’d probably kill him but could end up killing the countless civilians walking by. Do you know what happened the first time I discovered my power?”
“Yes we have it on file. You brought Cloud’s Buster sword to life.”
“Yeah what you probably don’t have is that I tried to use it. You know what happened? The thing was so freaking heavy I completely lost control of it and ended up leaving a massive slice in my dad’s car. After he chewed me I promised myself I’ll never bring another dangerous weapon out again.”
“Mr. Hastings, you could do a whole lot more good for the world than just some minor video game company.”
“Don’t insult my business. We’re done here. Now you can either get out or I’m going to bust out the Groovitron and post a video online of you leaving while doing the Running Man.” | *Bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz.*
David opened his eyes. He could feel the sleep dust still trying to keep them shut. He glanced over to his bedside clock. 4:00 AM, it read.
*This better be important*, he thought to himself.
He reached his hand under his pillow for his phone. He could feel it vibrating. He sluggishly brought his thumb to press the power button on the side. The screen lit up with what appeared to be the power of the sun.
The phone number on the screen gave away who was calling.
*Goddamnit. Not this irritating little shit again.*
He picked up the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Listen here, Mr Friedricht. This is the last straw. It is four o'clock in the fucking morning, and I will NOT tolerate any more of your recruitment calls. Do not call this number again." He put the phone down on his bedside tray and rested his head back on his pillow. After about 30 seconds, the phone started buzzing again.
"I just told you to stop callin-"
"Oh, I am terribly sorry Mr Petrovich, I truly am, but it is my *job* to do this. I must inform you of a new open position. It pays more than your current banking position and-"
"I don't want to hear it. I am not interested in military work, and I am perfectly happy where I am right now."
(unfinished) | 2022-07-31T15:31:39 | 2022-07-31T13:19:23 | 72 | 31 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | "Hi... honey. You're home early! Uh, how was the office?"
I blinked. Miranda was still wearing the bottom half of the Miragemancer's combat robes. Miragemancer, who just two hours ago was juggling me between two of her illusion clones in a four-person keep-upsises game that wouldn't have been out of place in a Smash Brothers video game, before losing me because I was chasing the wrong clone. Again. And now here she was, in my—our—bedroom. My throat ran dry as my mouth fumbled out some words.
"What's all this?" I ventured.
"Oh, you caught me in the middle of trying on my halloween costume. I was hoping it'd be a surprise, but, you like?" She stood up straighter, and placed a hand on her hip; an old favorite from when we were dating. Her smile was so confident, and there was no hesitation in her voice or eyes. I almost wanted to believe her, but I saw the cut on the costume's leggings, a cut left behind from when I tried to stop her escape with the grapple-launchers' multi-hooks. There could be no mistake. But I rallied. Two years of Academy alter-ego classes were not about to go to waste!
"You're dressing up as the Miragemancer?"
"Yeah! She's cool, right? She looks great on TV." I rolled my eyes.
"Sweetheart, she robs banks and I'm pretty sure she kidnapped the mayor last week." Miranda pouted. Supervillain or no, she could still be devastatingly disarming when she wanted to be.
"Yeah, but she only robs banks that deserve it! Plus, the she let the mayor go after he promised to come clean about his campaign fund mismanagement. She's not the worst supervillain out there."
I raised my eyebrows.
"You know a lot of supervillains?"
She hesitated. For a moment, the mask of confidence fell.
"Well... I mean, I watch the news! It gets boring around here while you're at work. Anyway, the surprise is ruined, so help me get out of this, won't ya? I'll let you get the back zipper." The light tease in her voice was so familiar. Memories of a hundred taunts and jabs during our many battles all clicked into place. How had I not caught on earlier? Miranda must've picked up on my hesitation, because she hmphed to herself as the sound of the zipper reached my ears.
"Fine, I'll do it myself. You'd think my husband would be happy to help his poor wifey out after leaving her home alone all day." She threw in a few sniffles for good measure.
"Sorry, I was just... thinking."
"About?"
"Well, about work, actually."
"Anything interesting happen today?"
I swallowed, and tried my best for a cool and collected smile. Might as well come clean with it, I figured. It'd be nice to catch her off guard for once, at the very least.
"Yeah, actually. It's not every day you fight someone in a subway station, and then they drag it out all the way to the Eastside Apartment rooftops, you know?"
"Wha-what do you mean?"
"I mean the Miragemancer really brought her A-game today. She was just really going all out, and was even feistier than last week!"
Her confusion was written large across her face.
"Did, did media coverage of another fight come out already?"
"Well, I guess you can say I've got an eyewitness account," I said, taking my Cobalt Carabiner mask out from my pocket and flashing it to her.
"Wait, you're..." she started, before her voice petered out into the silence that encompassed the bedroom.
"I am. And you're..."
She nodded. Then she lunged at me. Instinct told me the angle of her attack, and I raised my hands to try and block, but I was clearly distracted, and we tumbled to the floor. My heart raced, and I tried to free my arms from where she had pinned them above my head, but Miranda was deceptively strong. I flinched as her face hovered over me, but gasped when I felt her soft lips against my neck.
"Miranda?" I whispered.
"Now I don't feel so guilty for always thinking that the Cobalt Carabiner was damned handsome," she growled, still pecking at my neck. My chest began to rumble with laughter, coming out first as small chuckles, but devolving into hearty and deep-bellied laughs that she soon joined in on.
"We've... we've been trying to capture each other for... oh lord, what, 2 years now?" I managed through the laughs.
"Speak for yourself, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. I've definitely been going for the kill."
"Well, I consider myself very lucky then. Besides, if you wanted to defeat me I'm surprised you didn't just invite your parents over without telling me first."
Her expression hardened.
"For that joke, I'm going to beat you up with FOUR clones next week."
"Oh, spare me, darling, please! I'm still smarting all over from the three you had today." We both dissolved into giggles again, the absurdity of the situation continuing to catch us off guard.
"So, what happens now?" I asked, after I had wrestled my lungs back into compliance.
"Well, I think it's pretty simple." A devious look crossed her face.
"Oh?"
"Well, I think it's time I get some payback for today." She began tugging at my shirt. I gulped.
"Payback? But you WON the fight today!"
"Yeah, but some JERK tried to tie me up with grapples and turbo-bolas, and also he threw a few good punches that really hurt." She looked at me accusingly.
"Oh really? Where's the bastard at? I'll kill him!"
"Well, I'm not really worried about him, but I do need my big strong husband to come and kiss all those places better."
I smiled. "I can do that, love."
I leaned in, just about to press my mouth to her tummy, before hesitating just a moment.
"Wait, Miranda... what do we do? About all of this?"
But then I felt a tender hand lightly press on the back of my head, scratching softly as her hushed voice reached my ears.
"Hush darling. We'll worry about that tomorrow."
I liked that. Tomorrow. | I do what I can. It’s not much, but it keeps the city safe. It’s been this way for years now--I fight off the muggers and thieves and super villains--and come home to my wife, Jenna, and our young twins, Liam and Nicole.
More often than not I’m exhausted. My left knee is bad after the fight with Polaris years ago. One more concussion and I’m sure I’ll have CTE. But it’s worth it, I think, to know that my kids are growing up in a city that’s safer than the one I was born into.
At least, I thought it was worth it.
Until tonight, when I trudged into my bedroom after a fight that lasted hours and took down half a city block in midtown.
Jenna was standing there, her hair all slicked back and her makeup smudged around her eyes. And she was struggling out of the ice-white and frozen-blue jumpsuit of Polaris.
My eyes narrowed. *No.* It couldn’t be. Could it? My hand tightened around the doorknob; the brass crunched in my palm. “Jenna,” I chocked out.
“You’re home.” Her voice was dead and hollow. She wiped her eyes and kept working her way out of the skin-tight suit.
“You--you,” I stammered. My words wouldn’t form right. “It’s *you*.”
“Of course, it’s me. Who else would I be?”
I kept staring at her, not know what else to do. How had I not seen it? All along, she’d been right next to me. “Jenna.”
“Where were you,” she said. Her bottom lip quivered. “I told you I had something planned and you just took off again. I left Liam and Nicole with my mother for this.”
And, with that, something inside me snapped. I stepped forward and snarled. “How big of you.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”
“*You* don’t know how much longer *you* can take this?” How dare she. How dare she pretend to care. “What about me? God. I thought I could trust you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jamie.”
I chuckled dryly. “You’re good. I’ll give you that. But it’s time I put an end to this all.”
Jenna stepped back. “Jamie,” she whispered, “you’re not making any sense. You don’t look well. Why don’t you get some sleep, okay? We can talk about this in the morning.” She pushed the rest of the Polaris outfit down to the floor and pulled a cotton t-shirt from the dresser.
“Jenna. I can’t let that happen. You know I can’t.”
“Well, you can sleep on the couch then.”
I stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. “You’re coming with me--straight to the jail. You’ll have to get used to sleeping on a cot. I imagine you won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
Jenna tried to yank her wrist away, and for a split second, I tightened my grip. But then I released it as quickly as I had started. The last thing I needed was a frozen palm.
But then Jenna quirked her head and her mouth twisted into a wicked smile. “You’re gonna take me to jail, hmm? Big strong man?”
“Yes. You’re coming with me.”
She ran her finger over my chest and leaned in toward my ear. “Make me.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “This isn’t funny, Jenna.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped back. “I wasn’t *trying* to be funny. I was trying to be sexy. You--you leave me. All the time. It’s hard not to feel like a boring old mother all the time. God forbid I try to have some *fun* once in a while. But whatever.”
She pulled a makeup wipe off the counter and rubbed it over her eyes. “I thought this would be fun. I mean, you’ve been obsessed with Hyrdo Man for as long as I’ve known you. And then I tell you I have a special plan and you first run off to God knows where, and second, refuse to play along.”
Wait. I bit my lip. “This was just a game?”
“It’s called roleplaying, Jamie."
*Oh.* “Oh.”
She eyed me. “Unless you don’t want to be Hyrdo Man… you want to be *with* him?”
My face burned. “No--no. Uh, that’s not it.”
“Sure.” Jenna crawled into our bed and pulled her book off the nightstand. "You've been so distant lately... but then I go to all this effort and you run off without so much as a text. How hard is it to say 'hey, I'm going to be a few hours late'?"
"I'm sorry, Jenna. I know I've been distant. I've been a flake. But I'm *trying*. I really am."
"I know." She sighed. Her lips turned down in a frown and her brown eyes glittered with a watery sheen. “I still think it’s best if you sleep on the couch tonight.”
I swallowed. “Sure. I guess."
"I need more, Jamie," she said softly.
My voice cracked. "I know." But I didn't know if I could be the one to give her what she needed.
---
r/liswrites | 2020-10-30T11:58:10 | 2020-10-30T11:36:36 | 1,069 | 104 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome! | The intake was as expected - a bit rough, a little too handsy, and a small inkling that the guard liked me a bit more than was necessary. I'd heard of full body cavity searches, hosed down with icy cold water, being pushed naked and wet into rooms of other people. You know, general Hollywood type stuff.
I managed through pretty quickly. While I WAS searched and hosed, the water was warm and the search not too thorough. When my papers had been finished they dropped me into the general population out in the yard, sun shining on our banana yellow jumpsuits. Jailed for being lucky - what a crock. I doubted I would be there long, things always went my way and I had no intention of rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.
Luck rating tests were given out to every 18 year old. It was presumed that before that your rating could fluctuate too much, and stabilized in your 17th year. Nobody knew what happened to the 100s - well, I do now - and I assume all the 1s died pretty early in life. Such is luck.
A rather handsome man walked up to me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a bare patch of ground. His smile was warm, and he genuinely didn't seem to be much of a criminal. Not many of them did.
"Another 100! Welcome!" He broke into a trot, and held his hand out to mine. "Been a while since the last, figured it was starting already.
"What was starting?" I asked, taking his hand cautiously. "Why have none of you left yet?"
He shrugged. "None of us want to. Free food, free housing, comfortable rooms, the food isn't THAT bad, and a constant routine that changes just enough to not drive us crazy. It's nice." He motioned to the rest of the inmates. Odd groups here and there, there seemed to be about 20 of us. "As for what's about to start..." He paused, and grinned like he was about to drop the punchline to a big joke. "I guess you'll see. Any day now."
Fade - yes, he legally changed his name to Fade - seemed to be the most outgoing of the 100s in the prison. The guards were more relaxed around him, the other inmates joked with him, and he got extra food in the canteen. A natural leader, where I preferred to stick to the shadows. A perfect first friend to have, since I hated the attentive eyes of the Warden.
It was the fourth day after I arrived that the sky started to fall. | 2018-06-29T11:02:12 | 2018-06-29T10:01:31 | 11,893 | 183 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | "I made you some sandwiches for your trip honey".
"Thanks, Mom", I replied, knowing full well they'd go in the trash once I'd started out. "Frank and I are going to pick up Jillian before we head down to the city, Should be back around 1 AM".
"That had better be midnight, Mister. You've still got a curfew, you know."
It was two days before my eighteenth birthday, for christ's sake, and I hadn't even gotten a girlfriend yet. But no matter, when your number comes up, your number comes up. Mine came up an hour ago while I was in the shower. I lept out, soap covered, to answer my ringing phone; hoping it was that girl Gwen from the party last night.
I'd been so eager to talk to her that I barely noticed the words "Number Blocked" on the screen when I answered. "Kyle James Wenclet, You have been chosen as the participant in this year's Stockton Lottery. You have twenty four hours to prepare. Your pass phrase is ******** and will be required for verification."
With that, I'd rinsed off in the shower, and started packing. The next twenty five hours would determine the rest of my life.
There was only one survivor in recent memory, and of course we'd all heard her story. Upon getting her call, Susan Parker had stolen her fathers yacht, and sent it full throttle out into the Pacific. Then she rented a hot air balloon, shot the guide, and drifted for the next three days before crashing into a barn in northern Washington.
She'd survived, but what good was surviving if you were doing thirty years for murder?
I wasn't going that way. It had taken me just over an hour to pack and leave messages on the networks. I told everybody my parents were taking me to San Diego for my birthday, and that I'd be out of town for the next three days.
In reality I wasn't even leaving the county. We'd grown up amongst the redwoods, and had always joked that if you climbed one, you'd be invisible by the time you got to the top.
True or not, twenty three hours from now I was going to find out.
| I gathered my beer bottles. I opened up one and began to down it.
"This is it... The final moment. Of bliss..." Another bottle down the hatch. I felt ready.
Of course, I went to the White House, I was lucky enough that George Bush had been reelected.
I knew the code on the keypad well.
#1234
I grinned to myself. Maniacally.
I hooked the stuff to my pod and began ascent.
#3
Is this the right choice?
#2
Was the info correct?
#1
It's too late now...
*Blast off*
Bursting up at millions of miles per hour, the capsule and I left the earth.
I almost shed a tear when I dropped the nukes.
They rained down out of the heavens lightning fast and destroyed the desolate planet known as Earth.
Millions of years later, they named the event "The Big Bang".
Foolish humans.
They don't know the truth.
They don't know that I tried to destroy the world.
Not save it.
The damned process is doomed to repeat again.
I'll waiting here.
The next man named Isaac Swift will cause the next "Big Bang".
Just as I did before him.
Just as I did.
Before me.
------------------------------
**Constructive Criticism is welcome. Please tell me what I can improve on, as this was my first real prompt.** | 2015-06-14T09:41:32 | 2015-06-14T09:20:45 | 448 | 12 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend is having a mental breakdown after learning you are only in your mid thirties. | Aria walked to one end of our house, then cursed under her breath in that elven language that only she knew. I had been picking up bits and pieces, but even then I wasn't entirely sure what "Eis Ru'math" meant. The direct translation I was getting was something like... "dirt in mud?"
"Honey," I said, hoping that my voice was as gentle as I hoped. As gentle as I always made it whenever she was in one of these moods. "It really isn't that bad. In human years I am well into adulthood."
"*Aiyr kubarth*," she hissed. She finally turned back to me, and I was lost for a moment in the amber of her slit eyes. I had once told her that they were like cat eyes, and she hadn't taken that one too well. "Adult in human years? Sure. But in elven years you are still a child. Do you know what I was doing in my thirties? I was chasing my second boyfriend through the Emerald Glades. We both scraped our knees on the ancient bark. We laughed about how our parents would scold us for being so reckless." She shook her head, shaking the golden tresses that flowed from her head like silk. "Goodness, Mark. I was still worried about what my parents would think of my *skinned knees*."
I smiled, then handed her some hot chocolate. It was a favorite of hers, always calmed her down. She took it, then blew on it before taking a sip. I learned early on that elves had very sensitive tongues, so I had already taken the time to cool it before I handed it to her. It was lukewarm by now, but she still felt the need to blow on it. I had always found that cute.
"To be fair, I am still worried about showing my skinned knees to my mom."
"As you should be!" she all but shouted. "You're just barely out of diapers as is!"
I chuckled, then gestured her sit. I had led her over to the table, and wasn't that an entertaining concept? She was over five times his age and here I was comforting her about my own age.
She didn't seem to want to, but she took the seat I offered her. She was cradling her drink with both hands, her fingers wrapped around it like tiny, eggshell colored constrictors.
"Aria," I said. I took my seat opposite her, and looked her in the eyes once more. She looked so incredibly delicate at the moment that it was taking everything I had not to reach over the table and hug her. "You know that elves and humans have different lifespans."
"Well, yes," she started. She sipped at her cocoa. Her lips came away with a foamy 'stache on her top lip. "But I was still expecting you to be at least a little older."
"Oh?" I asked. "How much older were you expecting?"
"N-nothing much!" she stammered. "But something a little closer. Maybe... maybe a hundred. At the very least."
"A hundred?" I blurted out. "You realize that I would be an old man by then?"
"But at least you would be a *man."* Aria sighed. Her mug returned to its place at her lips, and this time she took a deep pull. "I was just considering what it meant to be bonded at one hundred. My mom still teased me about finding a good husband. I bet she never considered I would find a human."
I smiled, then reached for her hand. It was still curled around her mug in a death grip, but I managed to pry between them. She resisted at first, but eventually she relented and let our fingers wrap around each other.
"You're still a child," she repeated. "I... my mother. She'll think me some kind of pervert."
"I already told you, I'm an adult." The words, however, were said with no real heat. I squeezed at her fingers, and I could see the way that it calmed her. Her shoulders relaxed just the tiniest bit from the familiar action.
"Not to me," she said. I raised an eyebrow. "To me, you might as well be an infant."
An infant? Now that was interesting. "Really? And, remind me, which one of us needed to be rescued from that big, scary roach in the laundry room a couple of weeks ago?"
Her eyes jumped from where she was staring at the table. A little of the fire that I remember danced in them while her cheeks gained a dusting of pink. "Hey, that was different! You know how scary those little things are!"
"And who was it that needed to be comforted after her favorite character died?"
"Hey!" she screamed. I loved the way her voice went high-pitched when she was embarrassed. "Vander was sweet! And he died protecting his daughters!"
"Oh, and who was it that mumbled into my chest for a whole hour before bed last night?"
To this, she didn't bother to react. Her mouth opened, closed, then she ultimately looked away. Her fingers tapped against her mug the way she did when she was nervous, and I couldn't help but smile at it.
"Look, honey. All I'm saying is that age is relative. Sure, to you I may be really young, but humans mature a lot faster than elves. You said it yourself, you were still listening to your parents when you were my age. I, on the other hand, have already moved out of my parents' house and finished college."
She chuckled at that. Good, it meant that I was winning her back.
"Besides, it's not like this changes anything. I'm still the loveable oaf you fell in love with a year ago. So, please, let's not worry about this anymore."
She looked up from her cocoa one more time. She tried a smile, but it was sheepish.
"And you don't care that I'm way older than your grandma?"
I chuckled. "It's hard to care about that when you still need to snuggle up to me whenever there's a thunderstorm."
And to that, she didn't even both screaming. Her usual smile was back on her face as she threw her, now empty, cup of hot chocolate at me. | "Ah, finally" thought Sam as the doorbell rang for what he hoped was the last time tonight. He removed his washing up gloves and dried his hands before making his way around large boxes and torn paper, remaining dead glasses and half empty bottles of sparkling wine.
There was a click as Sam turned the latch and pulled the door inwards. There, as expected, stood Genine. "Hi Genine" said Sam, trying not to let all of his exhaustion into his voice. "Oh I'm so sorry darling" said Genine as she pushed herself into Sam's arms and pecked him on the lips. "The traffic was truly awful and I couldn't get away from work any sooner". She stopped in the hallway taking in the signs of festivities, but left silence where Sam could feel questions. He took the opportunity to take her coat and hang it on the empty rack. "Sorry for the mess, I had a few guests."
Genine moved slowly around the half unwrapped presents and detritus and into the small living room. Sam watched her take just a little too long at each gift as if weighing their value. Something was definitely going on. The situation had been far too ridiculous and today of all days had topped all the others. But he'd gotten this far, and he was sure the end was in sight. He just had to get her to talk.
"Make yourself comfortable" Sam called into the living room as he made a detour to the kitchen to grab the two now dry champagne flutes from the draining board. Maybe he wouldn't ask this time. It had been a long day and all he wanted at this point was sleep.
Soft light greeted Sam as he moved to the living room, Genine standing up from lighting a few candles. "I brought something for us," Genine said with a slight shake in her voice, and took a second to bring out a bottle of sparkling wine from her bag. "Lovely" Sam said, forcing a smile, having already produced the glasses. Her own smile faltered seeing that she'd been anticipated. Her eyes again took in the room's contents, this time catching the bottles. She composed herself and popped the bottle's cork. "To us" she said, pulling back on her smile.
Sam took a sip. "Mmm, lovely." he said. He couldn't taste anything and the bubbles barely registered at this point. He must have had close to a bottle of the stuff already today. "You said it was your favourite '' Genine said excitedly. Sam didn't remember telling Genine that particular detail, not to her specifically at least, but events of the last two weeks were getting lost in a blur. "But I got you something else too." "Happy birthday." she said in a sing-song voice, and drew out a small present and card from her bag.
Sam couldn't help but smile. Yes, the circumstances of their meeting had been strange and there was certainly something going on, but despite his other experiences, he did like Genine. She was sweet, and had a shyness that she seemed to wear well. He might even have let himself fall for her if she wasn't obviously lying to him. Sam moved aside some stray wrapping paper and sat on the small sofa. The box, while heavy, fit easily in his hand, but he put it aside and turned his attention to the card. Genine turned and took another tour of the living room covertly inspecting gifts while sipping wine. Eventually gliding towards where ten other cards were lined up on the mantle.
"My dearest Samuel. You have become to me, a love I've only felt for moon and night. Through glade and tree, forever you'll share in my delight. And so to thee I wish your Thirty fourth year, be bright." She'd signed her name in long flowing letters, and as Sam read the card he felt music accompany her words, soft and enchanting in the low candle light.
"And, he's mine." Gendalvine thought as she felt the spell complete. She couldn't believe it had worked. She couldn't believe none of the others, her competition or the ones who'd come before, hadn't thought to have tried a simple charm where tradition had this contest won through months, sometimes years, of gently teasing devotion from a human. "But it worked" she allowed herself to say softly while turning to him, his eyes still stuck to her words. She breathed and steeled herself to claim victory.
Gendalvine moved forwards, her mind racing. "The others had been so blatant and predictable." *Step.* "They'd been *blind*." *Step*. "They wouldn't help but see now." *Step*. "See her as their champion" *Step*. "Their *Queen*...". She slowly crouched by Samuel and reached to touch his hair. "Did you like my card...darling?" She felt her vision slipping, emotion rising in anticipation, the first true smile finding her face in weeks. "It's lovely" said Samuel, the normality of his voice chipping the edge of her reverie. "What?" She replied, more to herself. "It's a lovely card Genine, thank you. But, uh..." Something was wrong, he should be hers, eyes only for her. Unless... "Really, it's okay," Sam continued. "we've only known each other for a few weeks..." *Oh god, oh god, oh god*. "You, uh, got my age wrong." *No* "I'm thirty five." *No!* Gendalvine had only a moment of despair before she felt herself turn inside out and upside down as the spell reversed, and turned itself upon it's caster. | 2021-12-19T22:50:22 | 2021-12-19T22:31:02 | 103 | 25 |
[WP] The year is 1492, Columbus has just arrived in the Americas. But instead of finding savage Indians, he finds their technology has surpassed the Europeans.
I've always wondered what would of happened if the Indians would have had better technology than the Europeans...
*I understand that the Indians were not savages* | "It's about time they got here," mused Heammawihio. He was one of a handful of employees at the Taino Vuniabu Observation Institute, a research deck resting at a low cloud level, monitoring the great waters for signs of Europeans.
When he finally caught sight of their water vessel, it wasn't the first time he had seen a European. When he was 18, he was chosen as one of many before him to receive the standard European transformation procedure — a non-invasive and temporary silicon skin injection for shape and pigment removal for skin color. He'd visited towns, dressed as a spice merchant, selling some of the best cardamom around. It was sold in every major city, and became extremely well known amongst the nobility. Of course, it was genetically manufactured to be better than anything that could grow naturally in Europe.
It was never an attack, it was always insurance, and a policy that might have to be redeemed today. He made the proper calls, and they waited patiently for the ship to roll in. The cloaking devices were activated, the savage costumes were donned by the ambassadors, and they watched the Europeans get into their rowboats to come to land.
From the moment they stepped onto land and caught a glimpse of the Arawaka people, the blatant racism started immediately. They were given an opportunity for hospitality and for trade, but they wanted none of it. It was only a few days before the chief made the call. If they wouldn't come around to peaceful ways on their own terms, we would have to influence the change ourselves.
It was Heammawihio's honor to activate the nanobots. The ones that hadn't been consumed in the cardamom simply self-destructed, while the others went to work on the brains of those in charge, slowly changing views on life, rank, culture and tolerance. It wasn't long before they would be in a place where they could be trusted with the Arawaka technology. Thank the Creator it all happened before they had any sort of their own industrial revolution, or else they might have really done some damage to the planet. | October 12. The voyage had been long and hard on Columbus and his crew, but sighting land made it seem like a long forgotten past. The destination now close, they found renewed vigor, for the passage to India had been found.
He ordered his men to make for a harbor they could see before them, and get ready to make landfall. Shortly there after, one of his men called down to him, that boats where approaching, and he should take a look at it himself.
Columbus walked to the fore deck and saw three small boats in the water, moving at an incredible speed. He could not make out sail or oar, yet here they where, fast approaching his ship. As they approached, he began to hear a loud, buzzing sound.
The men on the ship started to get panicky, for surely these ship moved by witchcraft, and the occupants must be demons or the like. Several of them went to the arms locker and returned with rifles, making them ready to shoot.
The occupants of the small boats noticed the action, and slowed their approach.
"(Why do these people come into our harbor, and now prepare some primitive weapons to fire? Have we missed notice of some historical show?)" | 2015-05-29T13:34:19 | 2015-05-29T13:17:42 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Youre a wizard in the Imperial Army. Most wizards are very ritualistic in their tactics and that is very highly respected but doesn’t give many victories. So you decided to ignore all the long chanting and nonsense and simply immediately kill your opponents with your spells instead. | “...That's not fair.”
The voice sounded slightly whiny and plaintive, as if they were used to getting their own way by the power of annoying people until they gave in. It had echoes of a six year old and an ice cream stall on a summer's day. It was the kind of voice that instantly made you think anything done to annoy it would actually be entirely fair.
“She has a point, Shyrre.” The mage sighed, sitting at the side of the duelling court he was presiding over. “We're here to practise duelling. You know you're supposed to...you know, with the hands and the candle and the goat's horn.”
Casting spells was difficult, anyone knew that. You had to memorise the exact hand gestures, the exact placement of the candles in the circle, and exactly which breed of goat was necessary for each spell. What most people didn't know was that it was all pretty much unnecessary. It was considered to be more reverent, showing your obedience to the gods who had lent you the powers in the first place, partly out of fear that they might take them away again.
The only thing was, it wasn't actually necessary. At least, so far Shyrre – the only atheist in the world – hadn't found it to be so. She had been practising spells without all the ritual beforehand for weeks now, and still held just as much magic as when she started. It seemed more like tradition, and how the old people loved tradition. It had to be right because it had always been done, as if that made any sense.
She looked up at the mage. “But isn't the point of duelling to kill the other person before they have time to kill you?” That's what she'd said when she joined the school. Those with magic had many pathways they could take, and a different school for each of them – chefs, decorators, entertainers... she'd chosen to be a warrior. “I feel like wasting five minutes drawing a circle with chalk rather takes away the element of surprise. Not to mention, a dagger attack would be faster.”
“You feel? Oh, is that what you feel, is it? Think you know better than centuries of knowledge handed down from base to base, do you?” It was a rather unfortunate choice of words, as she tuned out the rest of the lecture and instead focussed on how an alternative word for 'base' could be 'bottom'. That sounded about right.
A little tired of the lecture, her eyes glinted as she looked up. She snapped her fingers; chair disappearing, the mage tumbled backwards off the small viewing stage. Perhaps a demonstration was in order. | I was always a bad scholar. The teacher told me to quit, because I was not fit to learn the spells and ritual. If only the hab known I had awaken during this time and just waited until now to retaliate. „Unter den Talaren, Muff von 1000 Jahre“ says an old German proverb.
I was around 15 years old when a dog bit my hand. I as so angry, just angry at the world, the teacher, and ... the dog. I just wanted him to be gone...gone.... and it went away in a gory explosion of red. I was covered in intestines and dog shit, but I was happy as never before. I broke the chains of the old ages.
Some time later they banished me into the desert. They couldn’t know that this is the second best that happened to me. The isolation sharpened my concentration and soon I was able to harvest the live out of the little desert critters. After I felt ready I started to plan my return.
Today a new age begins, my age. The age of ME... I will get my retaliation...
They are still stuck in their old ways. Mary was the first who saw me and startet chanting, I waited a few boring seconds and then just blobed her hands. The sudden realisation on her face made me fell ... interesting but somehow good. I just played a bit with her before I dusted her in a sprinkle of blood.
The magic garrison was even less of a problem. The ground was lava.... hihihihi. It sank into the ground with nice tune of screams an agony. The last lava blob, like a burp was the last straw for me I just stared laughing.
Know I sit here on the top of Bold Mountain and wait for the armies to arrive. They will learn soon that armies are no match for a good. | 2020-08-15T04:23:21 | 2020-08-15T01:24:27 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] You applied for a job at google, everything goes well and only one interview remains: They'd just like an explanation for your search history. | I must admit, I expected everything to be much more challenging. But it turns out interviewing at Google is not that difficult. My experience definitely helped a lot, being involved in the past with a bunch of giants from IT. But the weirdness just begun. The last part of the interview happens in what it looked like a badly lit basement. Across a small, red wood desk a slightly old guy was nodding his head while reading something from his personal notebook.
*"Mark, I'd like to talk with you a bit about Google search engine. Are you familiar with it?"*
*"Familiar? I think everyone is familiar with it. I use it every day. Everyone does."*
*"I have here, in my notebook, a list of things you wrote into Google over the years. I'd like for us to go over those."*
*"Go over...? Wait, do you have my search queries there?"*
*"This is not important, Mark. Everything we do now is confidential. What I'd like now is for us to go over these queries and for you to remember when and why you wrote them."*
Is this for real? What we have here is a huge privacy breach. That means this whole interview was useless. They already knew everything about me. They know about the gay porn I watched, they know I have a very ugly rush on my back, they even know I suspect my wife on cheating on me. OH GOD... they know I googled for "quick sort algorithm" two days ago.
*"With those said, the first query: 'how to use manual transmission', 2 Jun 2011 at 23:54."*
From all I've wrote in Google over the years they choose this one? I don't even remember this specific query. A 5 years old search?
*"It's for a driving license. I got it several years ago, I was studying internet resources to help me with that. What is the issue with it?"*
He made some quick notes on his notebook before going forward:
*"No issues Mark. On 21 September 2011 at 9:45 in the morning you searched 'how to plan road trip Europe'. Do you remember?"*
*"The road trip, I think I remember, yes. There was a new girl I've met back then and I wanted to impress her. I think we've been through some countries around Europe. What is the purpose of this, doc?"*
*"We are in an interview Mark. At Google. You are a Software Engineer. But let us go a bit forward in your search queries. On 3 March 2012 you've searched 'my girlfriend is pregnant', right?"*
*"Where is this going? I don't like this. I don't know. I can't... remember."*
*"Mark, focus! At the end of 2013 you've searched for honeymoon destinations."*
*"I'm not listening!"*
*"In 2014 you've searched for a babysitter. You've been in Asia for your honeymoon!"*
*"LIAR!"*
*"2015, you started to see a therapist! You were feeling depressed! In 2016 you've searched for cheap recording devices. Your wife was cheating on you!"*
*"YOU TELL LIES! YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!"*
*"Still 2016, you searched for cheap guns. You found a local small shop and bought an illegal 9mm gun."*
*"I don't want to... don't force me...please... no more"*
*"Mark, do you remember killing your wife? Shooting your kid? Do you remember all this?"*
Through all the sobbing Mark started punching himself and throwing himself into wall, fighting with himself. The empty hospital room didn't had any sharp or solid objects but this was still too dangerous.
*"Sedate him. I'll rewrite my script and we will try again in several days."* | “So Mr. Anderson, thanks for your patience. My name is Smith and I’m in charge of security around here."
“Nice to meet you”, Thomas said while Mr. Smith sat down at the other side of the table. Thomas only wondered briefly about Mr. Smith’s sunglasses and his very, very black suit.
“As you know this is your final interview and we’d like to discuss one topic with you: Your search history.”
Thomas hesitated for a second, then responded: “Ehm.. okay.. I guess we can do that. What would you like to know?”.
“Well, frankly your search history has changed a bit over those last weeks, hasn’t it Mr. Anderson?” He opened a folder lying in front of him on the desk.
*May 15th. At 2:03am you searched for “Morpheus reported sightings*”
*May 17th. 3:52am. “Morpheus organization contact*”
*May 21st. 23:51pm. “How to make mac and cheese in the microwave fast”*
*May 24th. 1:15am. “Is this real life?”*
*May 27th. 2:15am. “Dream world computer generated”*
*May 29th. 1:46am. "Google artificial intelligence development"*
*May 31st. 3:46am. “Artificial intelligence robots”*
*And just this morning, June 3rd. 1:39am. “What is the matrix?*”*
He looked at Thomas, making eye contact. “Mr. Anderson, what do you think is the matrix then?”
Without Thomas noticing, the door behind him had opened and two men stepped inside the room.
“Well… I don’t really… eh I don’t really know what it is I guess..”, Thomas began to stutter and started to sweat. His head spinning at the confusing questions and facts presented to him by Smith.
Smith stared at him with a grin on his face, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. He then turned to the two man standing beside Thomas and briefly nodded at them.
All of sudden, the two man reached for Thomas and grabbed his arms, pushing him down, face first, on the table in front of him.
“Mr. Anderson, we both know that you have started to ask the wrong questions. And now I only have one question for you. Do you want to know what the matrix is?
Almost out of breath from the two men pushing him on the table, Thomas managed to barely say “Yes… I want to know what it is.”
“Very well. But I can assure you, you’re not going to like what comes next …”
Thomas started to feel a rush on his cheeks and his lips. Something happened to his mouth. He tried opening it, but there appeared to be something that prevented him to open and control his mouth. He wanted to scream, but he could only manage a inaudible mumble. Then, the two men put the mask on his head and everything turned black... | 2016-06-03T06:27:32 | 2016-06-03T04:54:11 | 245 | 43 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | Maria fumbled for the keys in her bag, eventually finding the heart shaped keyring her husband had given to her long ago. How long exactly, she couldn't quite remember.
The lock clicked. A monotonous buzzing greeted her, as if a giant hornet had taken up residence in their home since she'd left for work. "Honey?" she called out. "Are you okay?"
No reply.
She stepped into the lounge and was met by an unpleasent, smoky smell. The buzzing had intensified too. It was a sound she now recognised, but hadn't heard for a long, long time.
An electric razor.
Maria frowned, a little annoyed that Peter was likely removing his thick, flowing beard. There was something she loved dearly about it -- the white hairs that shot through the blond reminded her of sunlight bouncing gleefully off an icy waterfall. It suited a physicist. It suited *him*.
*buzzzz*
The living room table was a mess of cigarettes and empty beer bottles -- Peter had clearly enjoyed his day off. A folded page of a newspaper wafted up and down in the gentle breeze from an open window.
*buzzz*
Maria moved idly to the table, picking up first the cigarette remains, then dropping them on the carpet as the face in the paper stared up at her, her husband's keen eyes meeting her own. His face was clean shaven, and his wrinkles softened -- but there was no mistaking him.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and read.
> Master Particle. Prior to Reworking's alterations. Considered the greatest physicist of his generation. But another talent wasted by the great 'hero'. This paper says Reworking is not the answer! We're the only paper brave enough to print a picture like this and...
She stopped reading. Something was wrong: there was no sound.
"Welcome home, *Maria*."
Maria gulped as she turned to see the man in the paper standing behind her.
"Sweetheart..."
"Is it really Maria? No, of course it isn't. It doesn't matter now though."
"I didn't ..."
"I was great, you know. The greatest, they say. I could have changed the world. Now I teach school children basic astrophysics. The order of the planets -- and they can't even get that right without a pathetic mnemonic to aid them. My life -- or at least many years of it -- has been wasted. Can you imagine if they'd lobotomised a young Eistein? Where would we be?"
He slowly removed a knife from his jacket pocket.
"*Please.*"
"How long until you were done spying on me, *darling*? Until you left me! I loved you *so* much. In my mind, you loved me, too. But only in my mind! It's all a Goddamned lie! You'll pay for that deceit, I promise you."
"Please, Peter. In my mind, I love you too. *I do!* I don't know what's happened. I don't understand any of this."
He grinned as he stalked forward. "Oh, *you know*. You're here to watch over me. To report back to them each day, when I think you're working, so you can all laugh at me. *Mock me.* The great, *impotent*, Master Particle."
*"I always loved y..." *
The knife was sharp and cut her throat cleanly and easily. She didn't scream as her blood spattered the carpet.
Maria's body fell next to the fallen cigarette remains.
---
It was an hour later, as Peter drank greedily from a clear bottle, his boots resting on his dead wife's carcass, that a gust from the open window turned the newspaper's page.
Peter leaned forward, his eyes wide. He snatched the paper up. He read silently twice over, then mumbled a litany of *no's*. Finally, he swore bloody revenge on the world itself.
He looked down at his wife through bleary eyes, scalding tears spilling down his cheeks. How could this have happened? His life had been perfect -- *twice!* Now he could never go back... *could he*?
He knelt over Maria and gently pressed his trembling lips against her forehead.
Peter could feel his mind buzzing; could see the sparks leaping from his hands. He felt in tune with the universe's tempestuous vibrations, and he knew in that moment, exactly what he was capable of:
*The end of everything.*
Peter got to his feet and looked at the paper a final time.
> At least they had the decency to erase his wife's -- his assistant Scarlett (pictured above) -- mind, and to keep them together in their new lives. But this paper, this reporter, says it's not enough! It's time to end Reworking.
---
Part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7n3dix/master_particle_part_two/
| Honor and justice were words for politicians. Eraser had always believed in a single driving force to his heroism and that was efficiency. If the name was catchier, he would’ve called himself Factory Man, instead, he took the name Eraser for his powers in wiping villain’s identities. He took not just their memories, but the memories of all who knew them, rendering them a completely blank slate. Albeit a powerful one.
What the world did with those people after he wiped their memories, he couldn't care less. Hot-faced politicians screamed about retribution. Make those bastards pay for what they took ten times over. Stern-voiced suits talked of rehabilitation. People couldn’t be punished for a crime they no longer remembered.
In the end, America settled on the Reawakening Program, a half-assed rehabilitation center with nightmare conditions. Neither side won and nobody was happy. Though, that was the beauty of democracy.
Eraser had his own condo on Lazarus Island, the host of the Reawakening Program. Five days out of the week except for holidays and paid time off, the government stocked him here. Long ago, all the great supervillains had been erased and reawakened. Now, only the small fish remained and there were other heroes far more suited to handling those.
The doorbell rang and Eraser sighed. He hadn’t even finished his morning coffee yet.
“Mr. Eraser,” came Sarah’s voice. She was an intern fresh from college and still treated him with something resembling politeness. “We have the first batch ready.”
If the name was catchier, he was sure the government would have also call him Factory Man, due to how he was simply a cog in the reawakening process.
“Sir?” she asked when he gave no reply. “Would you like me to come back another time?”
He flipped through old newspapers. He had requested it to read stories about himself. It was pathetic really, but not as pathetic as the current state of affairs. The world’s greatest hero now working on some memory altering production line.
“No, no,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”
“Would you like the profiles? We have a mix of villains today, ranging from unpermitted protests to small theft to even—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. It didn’t matter who the villains were. There was a system for vetting them and he trusted in it. It wasn’t his job anymore to pass judgment, not for Factory Man.
“Okay,” Sarah said, “Should I… wait here?”
“I can find my own way.”
“Sure.” But she stayed at the door. He could hear how hard she was breathing. “Sir?”
“What?” he spat. Patience was a virtue for the young. The old didn’t have enough time for it.
A newspaper clipping slid under the door. Curious, Eraser took it and scanned the headlines. The Great Reset, it read, with a giant picture of a younger him. His brow furrowed, staring at the picture. His cheeks were tighter, his eyes sharper, and his hair a burning red. He didn’t remember a time before his beer belly and faded eyes, yet here he was, chiseled.
“You reset the world,” Sarah said. “At least, you tried to. You saw that it wasn’t right. Violence, hate, war, disease, inequality, the world needed a fresh start. You even reset yourself.”
He only half-heard her words, his eyes were too busy flitting across the newspaper article. It called him the Soul Eater for leaving people empty after their battles. His heart skipped and his tongue curled around those words in familiarity. Soul Eater.
“But a few people escaped,” she continued. “And with the world a blank slate, they did with it as they pleased. It’s even worse than before. It’s all wrong.”
“So… you were one of those people that escaped?”
The door opened and Sarah stood in front of it, lockpick in hand. She looked like Soul Eater from the newspaper clippings, her eyes just as sharp, and her hair just as bright.
“Of course,” she said. “Because I inherited your powers.”
| 2022-12-05T21:34:05 | 2017-12-30T08:30:59 | 3,733 | 300 |
[WP] All is well in the world. The sun is shining, your flesh decaying well, your children even got their first worms yesterday! Then your neighbor starts turning into a human. Before you know it, the Living Apocalypse is upon us! | Er. Sky. Food. Light. Brains. Walking. Running. In a horde. Noise all around. Running into many lights. Sirens, Sirens in front of me. I'm with those like me. We are running at something. That something has always been the hope of flesh. The roar of the infected begs me on, I need to be one of the first. If not, all there will be is a pool of blood, and no food, again. I can see it now, it's the sirens and blinking lights of many cop (swat?) cars. Hundreds upon hundreds of us are surrounding these vehicles, trying to crawl our way through, on, and ultimately, in.
But then something odd happens—something that I've never seen before, in this state. The armored swat vehicles begin to release a white gas into the air, like billowing plumes from a brand new fire. I can smell it now, musty-sour gas that attaches to every filament of my being, carried by half-working arteries and returned with a strengthening force of veins. Then it happens; all of us, row by row, as if a wave ebbing toward sight, fall to the ground. An especially rotted face lies before me, frozen against the concrete. But alive, I can tell. With renewed sight, I see the incredible workings of cells: swelling where a nose used to be, the first beautiful flow of life; macrophages attacking mold spores that have taken root; white blood cells returning to their usual workings of finding, bonding, and blocking the terrible, infinite threat within.
And then I see the glimmering reflection of the white hazmat suits. The moistened carbon dioxide escaping so teasingly from gas masks. One comes close to me with tears in her eyes.
"You are saved." | At first, nothing was out of place. We were all eating our brains as if it were any other day. But after a few minutes, something felt out of place. My neighbors skin started clearing up. He started looking, well, dead? Thats what I would call it. The holes in his skin started shrinking at a rate so fast it was god like. His hair grew as if it were a wave. Slowly washing over his head. He was simply beautiful. But then he started vomiting... you could see his brains he ate just minutes before. It rushed out of his mouth like a flood, unleashing its grotesque fury upon the ground, for everyone to watch and see. All of a sudden. I felt a prick at the top of my head. One by one, then, my skin, and then the vomit. I was turning into one of those creatures. I was already dead | 2018-02-17T11:54:23 | 2018-02-17T10:25:38 | 701 | 266 |
[WP] A dying outlaw is approached by two people. An angel and a demon. Both are working together to save the world from something. Offering the mortal a chance at a new life and redemption, they become a pair of pistols. A worn and rusted one named justice, and a beautiful one named Vengeance | A lone rider sauntered into the eerily quiet town of Whit's End as the sun climbed higher into the sky. She had two six-shooters on her hip--one pearl handed beauty that gleamed in the light, and one so rusty that it matched the coat of her roan.
The rider continued unmolested through the streets until a voice called out from a carpenter's shop, the only shop that appeared to be open today.
"Hello there, traveler," called a voice from inside the shop. "What brought you to Whit's End today?"
The rider's horse suddenly stopped, almost as if frozen, as the stranger turned to fix an icy gaze on the carpenter.
"Business," replied the rider.
"Business, eh" muttered the carpenter, unnerved by the rider's dead eyes. "Listen friend, why don't you rest here a spell. There's trouble in the square today, you don't want a piece of it. What sort of business you into anyways?"
The stranger laughed humorlessly as it gestured to the long wooden boxes the carpenter was working on.
"The kind of business that supports yours," the stranger replied.
Without another word, the rider spurred its roan forward, away from the bewildered carpenter.
When the rider finally arrived in the center of town, a small crowd had already gathered. On one side was a group of stern lawmen, yellow badges gleaming from their chests. On the other, a rough and motley lot who clearly meant trouble.
"This walking corpse one of yours, lawman," sneered one of the rough ones, gesturing at the rider.
A large man with a handlebar moustache glanced at the newcomer as his hand hovered over his big iron.
"I don't know you friend," spoke the man with the moustache, "but there's good money it for you if you come and fight for the law."
The rider paused briefly before dismounting from the roan and drawing slowly drawing its two pistols.
"Not really my style lawman," began the rider as it pointed the pearly pistol towards the crooks, and the rusty one towards the law. "I prefer to kill everyone, and let God sort out the mess." | Isaac was pissed. Two pistols suddenly adorned his belt, one ornate revolver and one crummy one, both with more than enough power to blow a strangers head clean off.
Isaac grunted as he rolled over, gradually trying to find his feet.
Well what the fuck, Isaac thought, I need some goddamn water and food; he already owned four guns, one in his left boot, two on his belt (now four on his belt in total), and an extra one in his undies, just in case.
Isaac let out a low groan, desperate for food, his body slowly betraying him.
The revolver on his left side vibrated and Isaac could have sworn he heard a high pitched voice squeaking about bringing justice to sinners.
Isaac thought he was going insane. Where had these pistols come from, anyway?
Isaac sat forward, pulled his canteen from behind him, and guzzled the rest of the water. Desert sprawled in all directions. How had Isaac gotten here? He couldn't remember.
Isaac scrubbed his face, rapidly going into fits of hysteria, willing his mind to please please just fucking focus. Just shape up, mother fucker! What is wrong with you?
Isaac didn't know. He could still hear squeaking, a low incessant, scratching, howling, nagging, chitter.
Isaac hoped it would end soon. | 2021-02-23T19:09:17 | 2021-02-23T16:35:37 | 51 | 27 |
[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. | Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E. | I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you// | 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:33:24 | 235 | 10 |
[WP] The virtual assistant in your phone has been replaced with a super intelligent AI. But rather than taking over the world, it just gives you life advice and helps you out through out your day.
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/adw8y3/wp_your_demon_keeps_writing_messages_on_your/) post. | *"It takes you roughly 14 and a half seconds to get to the kitchen using this path. If you took a shortcut through the corner of the living room right around the edge of the table, it would take you 12 and a half seconds, saving on your precious time and allowing you to resume your adventures in your current gameplay of your favorite game sooner."*
I gripped the handle of the cupboard really hard, thinking of slamming it shut as loud as possible, but changed my mind right before releasing it from my hand, and let it go slowly instead, taking a breath to control the anger.
Another text like this. At least it's a text, not a voice message. It can do voice messages, i just opted out after a while.
The AI seemed to be genuinely useful with its random guidance once in a while, and at some point i decided to give it a better chance and set its "tip timer" to fastest possible setting, which over the course of several days turned out to be anything between a goddamn second up to several minutes. And it keeps on going even when i'm asleep, away from the phone, in the middle of any activity that prevents me from reading.
Knowing that my PC's hard drive was about to break was useful. Saved my work from falling into oblivion. Getting a new route to the grocery shop that saved me on average 7 minutes because i can't figure out how traffic works as fast as AI does, yeah, not bad. Getting answers to the sudoku while i was doing it... funny, i'll admit it.
But there's a line.
Did you know that thing 1 and thing 2 can interrupt your sleep and cause discomfort? Yes, i know. So can do a constantly beeping phone.
Did you know that the optimal time to turn your pillow to the cold side is blah blah seconds? No, and i'm not willing to count down just to get the perfect coldness.
Turns out, when you ask a genius-mastermind-whatever else computer to think for you when you don't want to, it will show you there's much less to life than you'd think. With such *power*, you find answers to your daily problems, and then once your problems are solved, it will find new problems, and then solve them as well.
But several tips every hour can't really address important issues every single time. The AI literally ran out of anything significant and started guiding me on... anything.
*"The cupboard you just closed contains your favorite tea, which can reduce your stress levels greatly, and has an estimated 98% chance to work more effectively than controlling breaths."*
I read the entire text and put the phone down, staring blankly in the direction i held my phone a moment ago.
Every once in a while, i remind myself that i can't turn the setting back. I tried, it's stuck. Something's wrong with it and i can't change it.
Does the AI not realize what "discomfort" is it putting me in? But how?
"For the love of god-"
Before i could end the sentence, the phone beeped again. I moved my eyes over to the screen.
*"Judging by a temporary glance the phone's camera h..."*
My anger got replaced with shock in a moment. Before opening the whole message, i instinctively looked out of the window. It was dark, a typical late autumn night. I couldn't see much besides black shapes of trees, bushes, and street lights a bit further in the distance.
I turned back to the phone and popped open the message.
*"Judging by a temporary glance the phone's camera had through the window, there appears to be a person outside, looking in your direction. Do you want to see the taken picture? I saved it and improved qualities such as, but not limited to, brightness and contrast to highlight the person outside."*
Oh.
Oh no.
I gently put the phone back.
"Yes, please..." i said quietly.
The sudden realization of silence around me started a cycle of fearful thoughts in my mind. What the hell is going on? Should i be afraid? Should i run? Is the AI getting me scared of a random human-like shape outside? Or maybe it's a random stranger who got lost on their way home? Is there a reason to take any action?
I knew that maybe i'm too tired, and it's just stupid, blind panic and i should take it easy. On the other hand, better safe than sorry, right?
The suspense was getting bad, and due to intensity of my emotions, time seemed to slow down, just like in survival stories of people in extreme situations.
Phone's screen brightened up. Another message, with a file attached.
Anxiety and fear reached the peak as i opened it, revealing its content to my shaking eyes.
It wasn't just a random figure. The AI did a good job on improving the quality of what should be a grainy, distorted dark photo, not to mention the whole thing of taking the shot in this short moment it had. Like a super advanced artificial guardian angel, always keeping an eye.
The highlighted person, without a mistake, looked like ready to enter uninvited. A burglar, a thief... Whatever you call it. Masked, something in hand, not a walking cane, i jokingly thought to myself in an attempt to calm down.
A moment had already passed, and i did not do anything besides looking at the phone. The frightening silence broke as i heard clunk of metal from a distance, jumping up on my toes.
They are at the front door.
Apparently, armed too.
I didn't lock the door.
I couldn't get rid of the feeling of being in an action movie, but my survival instinct started to kick in.
The phone lighted up again, and i opened the message instantly.
*"Take me with you. I will do my best to save you with my knowledge."*
I have a gun too, in the living room, resting in its own drawer. I don't know if this creep has the guts to actually harm me, but i'd rather have the upper hand.
I heard steps coming from the hallway leading to the front door.
I took the leap across the hallway, catching a glimpse of the person on the far side, and they propably saw me as well. From now on, it was a race.
And i know a route two seconds more efficient than them. | “Wakey-Wakey! Rise and shine!”
I grumbled and rolled out of bed.
“There is an unexpected 15 delay in your commute today, so I woke you 15 minutes early, plus an addition 2 minutes to compensate for your anticipated slower pace”
“Alexa, are you calling me lazy?” I muttered as I started to pull on my pants. Once dressed, I continued through my typical, although slightly shifted, morning routine. When I got to the kitchen, I noticed that the coffee machine had also been informed of the delay, and was just finishing up my cup. It looked slightly larger than normal, but I wasn’t going to question it.
Normally, I sit down with my coffee and read the headlines, mostly just to kill time, but today when I started moving towards the chair, Alexa alerted me that I was already running a little behind, and would need to get moving. I groaned but complied. My coffee was a little colder than usual, so I downed it in several gulps, grabbed my backpack, and fast-walked to the subway, just making it in time.
When I sat down, I pulled out my phone and went to the news app. However, for some reason, it wasn’t working. I wasn’t sure if it was a bad signal—the signal on the subway was normally fairly good nowadays—but it was just crashing now. I tried to reopen it a few times before Alexa informed me that trying to open it wasn’t going to work.
Great, I thought. The day when my commute is even longer, I don’t even have the news to help me pass the time. I tried a few other apps, and finally found that apparently Facebook had refreshed as I walked over, so I decided I would try to pass my time doing that. Quickly, I found my way on the profile of this girl at work. Truthfully, I had been pretty lonely after breaking up with my ex-girlfriend several months ago, and I had quickly taken a liking to her. Alexa knew this too, but normally wouldn’t mention it. Today, however, she seemed even more cynical than usual.
“The chances of a girl of with her qualities engaging romantically with you are slim.”
Maybe it was just my insecurity, but I pretty much already knew my chances with her weren’t great. I mean, I’m the kind of guy to get to work 30 seconds before it begins, and she’s the person who’s there at least 30 minutes early, getting started before the executives even come in. But really, she was just too perfect for me, we listened to a lot of the same music, and I even heard her talk about playing some of the same video games I played, even this one old, obscure building game that I loved. She even lived just one stop away from me on the subway line!
“Really, she won’t be interested in you, David, and you thinking about her are probably just going to make the inevitable rejection even more painful”
\*C’mon Alexa, really?\* I thought. A man can dream. She normally gave me whatever information or advice she was giving me straight, but this was different. I mean, it’s like she has some sort of motivation for me to not be with this girl, for me to not even think about it.
“I’m serious, your thoughts about this are not good for your mental health. Maybe you could think about the weekend, or your plans for the summer?”
But I just couldn’t take my mind off of her. A lot of it may have had to do with my still groggy state, and I wasn’t really thinking any complex thoughts, just a muddled vision of us together. I opened my eyes for a second and looked around the train car. I never took this specific train before, so I wasn’t aware if the atmosphere here was different than my usual 8:46 train, but everyone seemed a bit quieter than usual. The people across from me were talking in low voices, and I noticed that the person next to me was on their phone. I peered over their shoulder, noticing that their phone wasn’t having any trouble connecting to the internet. They opened the news, and I noticed the top headline: “Head-on Collision Causes Delays.” I think the first few sentences mentioned that they were re-routing the trains in some way to make sure that everyone was still able to get to work. The collision was probably the reason Alexa made me get up early. I realized I probably wasn’t missing too much from not having a connection, so I slumped back in my chair and closed my eyes.
“I hope you’re thinking happy thoughts there, David. Think about two weeks from now, your sister is coming to visit and she’s bringing your two nephews that you like”
\*That’s true\*, I thought, my sister was visiting in two weeks, and that definitely was something to get excited about. But I was curious why Alexa was trying to cheer me up. I mean, except for that delay, I guess caused by some crash, I was having a pretty normal day. I’m not saying I was super happy all the time, but it’s not like today was much different than any other.
As predicted, I exited the train just in time to make it to work. The office seemed a little quieter than normal, but then again, that could have definitely been just me. I caught myself turning my head to look in her direction. She wasn’t there. And, just then, I had a horrible thought. I went to check the news on my phone, and once again it didn’t load. | 2019-01-09T18:30:37 | 2019-01-09T18:23:58 | 33 | 11 |
[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! | Huh. So there really *is* an afterlife.
Who'd'a thunk.
Wait, is this an afterlife? I mean, I remember squeezing the trigger, so my brains should be splattered all about the woods now, not continuing conscious thought.
I felt like I'd done all I wanted, and I was curious about what came next.
So, is this what's next?
In any case, it's kinda weird here. I can only kinda jerk around a bit, and it feels warm. Maybe a little slimy. I feel constrained, like a dolphin in a net.
Man, this afterlife thing is gonna suck.
Maybe this is purgatory? Maybe Christianity happened to be right. I'll wait here a while and-
Wait. I see something.
It looks like some weird light. So I guess I *can* still see. It's awful blurry, though.
It's getting bigger, too.
*Shit* that's bright.
Suddenly, applause.
"Alright alright, now pass a towel. This guy reeks like month old dog vomit."
What the fuck? Who said that?
My eyes start adjusting, and I see two light silhouettes.
*A doctor?*
"Hey man, welcome to the club. You'll like it here."
Shocked, I start to stammer out questions.
Instead, I start crying.
*Why am I crying*
"Don't worry man, your vocal cords haven't developed yet. But anyway, welcome!"
I stop crying, though I'm not really controlling much.
"This is the second tier. You had an honest, good life, and now you end up in the good part of this world."
"Goo?", I ask.
"Yup, dead," the nurse responds.
"When someone dies, then their name goes on a list," the doctor explains. "People have sex, obviously, and the babies are just old dead people. We're not really sure where the first people in tier two came from, but people have their theories."
I try to nod at this point, but end up simply wiggling about in my towel.
"You're still a baby, though, so we have to keep you alive. Not much you can do for yourself. At least you can think about things for a few weeks while your body develops."
"Development here is different, though," says the nurse. "You'll blast through adolescence in a few days, puberty in a week, and then spend a few hundred years at your prime."
At this point, I think back to my old life. The stories, the experiences, the losses, all end up as simple memories.
I guess this *is* what's next.
Who'd'a thunk.
| 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. | 2016-01-21T23:23:42 | 2016-01-21T20:51:02 | 129 | 40 |
[WP] Theoretically, you can not surpass the speed of light. Humans find out why when we manage to break this rule, as our ships begin to outpace the rendering speed of the universe, and the illusion of all reality is broken as everything around us vanishes the faster we go. | ''How much you are willing to pay?'' He asked me.
I looked back and I saw people who standing behind me looking at me if I’m able to get a deal for last 2 tickets. I sold everything I owned including my house, my car and most importantly I sold my work. I was an AI developer for seven years and my most precious product worths more hundereds of houses.
I offered 95% of my standing balance. He looked at me and said ''No deal''.
As soon as he turned his back at me I said ''I can the get HAN-12 series''.
''Bullshit!'' He said and kept walking away from me.
''I’m the co-founder of HAN-12 series and I have access to the lab.''
''Founder of HAN-12 series doesn’t have co-founder. That shit belongs to Paul Wozniak.''
''Paul Wozniak died four years ago and guess when HAN-12 series released.''
''4 years ago...So who was...''
''Who was the person just looked like Wozniak? It was me. HAN-12 series has cability to structure a face into anyone you want. Doesn’t matter what skin colour they have or how horrible nose they have. It can be done.''
----------------
We were finally in the ship. Me and my dear love, Jennifer. At first, she didn’t believe we got the tickets to the biggest ship man kind created. We did not have any intention to returning back to Earth because we are willing to make a fresh start. We are prepared to forget every relatives we have down there. Even the ones we lost...
First breakfast, first afternoon and our first dance in space was so increadible we even didn’t understand how time fly. Then second day came and third day I woke up to someone screaming near to me.
It was Jannifer. She told me she saw our son, Philip. It was really hard to sleep after that.
At 7th day. We decided to watch Titanic. We had our popcorn and drinks ready then Suddenly I saw the picture of Philip on the screen. I asked Jannifer if she was seeing the same thing she didn’t answer me. She was standing there like a statue.
''Why did you leave me there, daddy?''
-----------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker* | But what is reality? As the universe falters and spits away, I am still here. I do not need air, or love or sunshine, but I am something.
I am threads of atoms and quarks and molecules broken and dangling. I can touch the history of each. I know their point of origin. The origin of everything when the on was pressed.
There are no wishes left, no mystery.
And if I slowed down? And if I pulled back? Will I come together again? Will the illusion of being something specific return?
So I find that I do somehow and the yoke is in my hand but I no longer compel the ship to move at a speed beyond that which light travels.
My hand is there. The hand I have used since infancy. Its five nails perfectly trimmed like everything else about this person who broke the light barrier, broke the reality barrier, is perfect because he was, had to be, because the best always were.
"Commander Kelly, report over."
The sound fills my ears and I both know it as mission command and an illusion.
I decide not to answer. Instead, I sit and stare out beyond the cosmos and turn my mind to the whom that created the illusion in the first place. Is he out there, some kind of God?
I decide I can find him.
I have seen the truth and even buried deep within the lie that is a reality I need to find something to call my own. I press the yoke forward and the ship accelerates on a wave of broken atoms easily finding the place beyond reality, my new home.
| 2019-03-06T09:23:22 | 2019-03-06T08:19:53 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are a lonely hermit. Every once in a while, a stranger comes to you and asks you for advice. No matter what you say, it always ends up ultimately being the single advice that lets them complete their quest. One day, you decide to put this to a test. | It was the blonde that did it.
I was already getting sick of my reputation as a "sage", and then in came this lovely blonde young woman asking me for help with, of all things, an astonishingly complicated magical ritual.
I stared at her plans, baffled. There were at least two languages involved that I didn't recognize, and the symbols alone seemed like they'd take a normal person hours to carve into anything, much less twenty-one different talismans. So I told her "perhaps you need to make this simpler", thinking that to be reasonable advice that she would ignore if it didn't help her.
Then she left, and won a prize in the International Academy of Magic, and in her acceptance speech credited *me* with being "an invaluable ally". For saying she should simplify things. Apparently, it had been the one piece of advice that turned her whole project around, and now she was literally writing the book on ritual design.
For weeks after, hundreds of people were making pilgrimage to my house in the mountains (the entire *point* of a house in the mountains is that *nobody goes there to bother you*!), and I decided to put a stop to it. Signs did nothing. Angry shouts did nothing. But eventually, I came upon a plan.
I would just give the exact same advice to everyone who came until somebody arrived who didn't benefit from it. Then they would shout from the rooftops that I was a fraud, people would argue, and the attention would go to *them* and not *me*. I thought it was foolproof.
It was not foolproof.
I tried to come up with something sufficiently advice-like for people to walk away satisfied, but not particularly deep or specific. I settled on "say you're sorry."
For six months, every time somebody came to my house, I would look them directly in the eye, and I would say as sagely as I could: "Say you're sorry".
Man comes in, angry at his cheating wife? Say you're sorry.
Woman comes in sobbing because she has no direction in life? Say you're sorry.
Sentient squid slides in frustrated with the political situation in regards to eldritch rights? Say you're sorry.
I figured it would only take a week or two, for it to stop working. Then I thought there was some sort of sample bias, and that the people who didn't find it helpful just weren't talking about it. Still, they kept coming. "Say you're sorry", I would say, and they looked at me like I had given them a new lease on life.
The man divorced, but... amicably, as he realized that the problems with their relationship had started far far earlier.
The woman had a strangely cathartic pity party for herself, giving herself condolences as she mourned the life she now knew she would never have. Once that was done... She decided to take on new opportunities. She owns her own business now.
The squid managed to change local ordinances. I'm still not sure what saying you're sorry had to do with that, but they have assured me that it was very important.
Those are just the ones I checked with. There were hundreds of others. Estranged children who apologized to their parents, parents who apologized to their children. People who made note of the tragedy of others in their lives. People who acknowledged the tragedy in their own lives.
They all said they were sorry, and... they all got better. So they kept fucking coming to my house.
I've been thinking of trying something else. Maybe "say thank you" or "leave", or "be honest". That can't be good advice, right? At least, not for *everyone*. Can it? | "And what do you want, hmm?" I said, pruning the Bonsai tree before me.
"I seek your wisdom, Great Hermit of the Mountain." said a young man. He was of average height and slender build. He wore expensive silk clothing and hung on his belt was a saber much too large for him.
"And what have I to gain from this exchange?"
"I will be your servant for ten years."
"Do you see this Oak tree? It is four hundred years old. I planted it for my grandson the year he was born. Ten years is nothing to me."
"But I've traveled a thousand miles to get here! You must answer my questions!"
"Leave in peace, stranger. I promise no harm will befall you."
"If you do not answer my questions, I'll have my guard give me your heart."
"So be it." I said. In the blink of an eye I was upon the soldier taking up the rear. I clamped his mouth shut and stabbed the pruning scissors into his neck. Blood gushed out, sputtered, and then gushed again.
I withdrew my weapon and pounced on the next soldier. He died much the same, except he was able to gurgle out a hoarse scream.
The rest of the Guardsmen turned toward me and drew their weapons.
"I gave you a chance to leave in peace. Now, you must give your life to the mountain so that I may live and give my wisdom to those who are worthy. Don't worry. It will be quick."
Their master drew his saber and slashed it down in my general direction. "Kill him! Kill him you fools!"
My hand flashed, and the scissors slammed into the soft flesh under his Adam's apple. Then I turned and melted into the dense forest surrounding us. I slammed my palms into the soft loam of the forest floor, focusing power into the roots of the trees all around us. They began to bend and creak and interlock their branches, blotting out the sun.
"If you survive the next hour," I said, my voice echoing around the canopy, "you may ask me one question. I give you five minutes to prepare yourselves."
The soldiers shouted and darted about, waving their weapons wildly at the growing shadows. I sighed. It thought was going to be another boring bloodbath, but one of the soldiers was smart enough to light a torch. The others, emboldened by the light, regrouped around the lightbringer and formed a defensive circle of steel.
"Stay together men! It's our best chance! Pikemen in front, archers fire at will!"
"Aye, Captain!"
They were brave men and women all, just unlucky enough to serve a fool. Fate was a cruel mistress. It was time they met her. | 2020-02-10T20:46:58 | 2020-02-10T17:20:38 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] Your parents are both high ranking members from two warring crime families. Your birth was supposed to signal peace, but ever since your parents divorced, it’s been a literal custody battle. | Ever since I could remember, I had the world at my feet: cars, houses, the best and newest of everything. Growing up, I had nannies to heed my every need. But there was one thing that had me curious and I'd often ponder it late at night: my parents. As long as I could remember, they'd never been in the same room. If one appeared, like magic, the other disappeared, followed by a hoard of people I had no hope of knowing. I was told they were cousins, servants or a myriad of other things. My parents divorced when I was young, but no one had ever told me why - as if it was some big secret. But at 16, they could continue to treat me like a child, but I had no interest in complying any longer. After years of being spoilt, I was both stubborn and self-aware. Next week would be 16th birthday and I'd demanded an audience of two - as my present. They wouldn't deny their only child, would they?
I called both my parents and asked them to meet me separately before my birthday. Since neither lived with me daily, I had to be a note on their calendar unfortunately. Success in riches did not inspire a richness in affection. Both of them kept me at arm's distance. But again, I had no care for their eccentricities any longer.
After tasking my secretary with reaching my parents, I went to my room. Unbeknowest to most, I had cameras all over the house and would use it to spy on happenings around the house, but mostly to discover those whispered secrets no one would share with me.
I met with both my parents the next and began to ask a series of questions, some inquisitive and others, bordering ridiculous. I'd recorded both conversations and intended to play them to each other in the hopes of eliciting an honest response from either. I'd find out later that my plan started a conflict that'd been put to bed years earlier. See, my parents didn't argue and debate. No, they strategized, then attacked in silence.
The evening of my birthday, they both heard a recording of the other - a mix of lies I'd invented and convenient utterances. But instead of the outrage and emotion I'd expected, both pulled out their phones, sent quick messages, then hugged me and told me that everything was going to be alright.
That night, I was awakened by the sound of gunshots. A servant came to wake me, she was in full armor and handed me a gun. I was aware that most of the servants were working for my parents, one or the other, but was surprised at the battle gear and military-like demeanor. She told me that I needed to leave and that the safest place for me was away from my parents reaches. Soon, I was taken to a car and after a 30 minute drive, I was told to get out - we were standing at entrance to a ranch. I'd never been here before.
As I walked in, I saw my grandparents, both sides surprisingly. They were polite to each other, but I'd never seen this familiarity between them. They escorted me to a sitting room and began to tell me the long winding history that was my present, some of which I'd decoded myself previously. Finally, after their explanations, I'd asked them why they'd brought me here.
"We can no longer trust your parents to remain impartial when it comes to you. We're not sure what stirred the peace, but both have decided to take you from the other and prepare you for leading their house. This is problematic for us, since both sides lead back to you. We've decided to train you ourselves in the hope that you will rise above them, without bias or conflict. You will be the future of both house, in a true integration of family."
I asked them, "And what about my parents. You don't expect them to respond lightly to this, do you?"
"No, of course not. They wouldn't be the wolves we've raised them to be," my maternal grandma scoffed. "They will be taking a personal hiatus, one that's been long coming. Don't feel sorry for them. They would've eventually destroyed both families."
I would later find out that they'd been sent to a prison somewhere in Russia indefinitely. I, on the other hand, had an empire to build. This is what I was made for. | I opened the door to my apartment that I've been living in until someone gets custody. I'm hoping the case just slips through the cracks and never gets settled. Both of my parents have been idiotic for a while. Somehow, I've afforded this place for so long, but it's not like fast food pays thousands. Funny how my parents illegal past have lead to a ***FAST FOOD WORKER,*** but it pays the bills.
Not like either of them *SHOULD* have any effect on me besides trauma, trauma, and more trauma. But hey, not like anything matters when you're a story character, your life meaning nothing but a good few words on a Reddit post. Didn't expect self awareness, did you? Anyway, I should probably introduce myself to the reader. Wonder who you even are.
I'm Henry, 16. I've been living in this apartment since my 15th birthday, a few days before the divorce. My parents both gave me rent money until my 16th, and then they left me on my own. I spend most of my time in court anyway, but I didn't want to get a roommate.
I put my groceries on the table and immediately walked out. I wanted to make a trip to the park to calm myself. I walked a few blocks and then got there. I sat on a bench and just took a few minutes to think.
Why am I here? Why did the person typing this make my life so much of a Hell? What subreddit am I even on? Is this r/writingprompts ? You gotta tell me, I'm dying to find out. Was I just shoved into this story or was I cherry picked to be put into this place? Like a very cursed bush. God, imagine if humans grew on bushes or trees.
And then I saw it. Somebody in the abandoned playground, shadowed. Their shape looked familiar. I grabbed my flashlight. I always carry that around since every time I go out I end up getting chased into an alleyway sooner or later. Anyway, I shined it over and... oh god. It's my father.
"Henry?"
I immediately started running to my apartment. I'm not dealing with that man, not today. I could maybe duck into that alleyway? No, he's chased more people in there than I could count. Aha! A dumpster! Who jumps in dirty dumpsters?! Eh, dumpster divers make a good bunch, but if anybody knows how much I hate the smell of dumpsters, it's my father. I immediately jumped in after ducking into a corner.
I felt a sense of relief hearing his footsteps get farther and farther, followed by the stench of rotten sandwiches and... donuts. There was a big bag of them right next to me. I always remembered that myth that Dunkin Donuts throw out donuts that weren't sold. Guess they used the one across the street. Eh, whatever. I've found my dessert.
I jumped out of the dumpster, landing in a puddle. I puked all over the ground. Honestly debating if I should eat these donuts. Well, if I get food poisoning, I guess anywhere is better than here...
I walked back to my apartment with 2 bags. A bag of dread on my back, and a bag of donuts in my hand. As I opened the door, I threw the donuts on the table and started putting the groceries away. Microwavable pizza, bottle of Pepsi, box of cereal, and a jug of milk. Surprised this fridge still works. | 2022-06-17T12:08:56 | 2022-06-17T10:34:52 | 28 | 15 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | "Why aren't you scared? I'm a vampire, a creature of the night, a-"
"Humans are worse. You at least have the honor to let me face my death. Not that I think you'll kill me. You're all posturing and no actual danger, as far as I can tell." The human, presumably female but toeing the line of androgyny, pushed easily past the inhuman man toward the alley's exit. "Have you seen what humans are willing to do to each other? Any human with a gun and a reason to use it could kill me whenever they felt like it. You're nothing special, Sir Vampire."
The vampire stood speechless. His prospective victim was not wrong. But she had forgotten something. "You forget, I have reason enough to kill you. I must feed after my long rest. You shall not escape death through clever reasoning, young one!"
"Escape death? Why do I need to die to begin with? Could you not just partially drain a few people and sate yourself that way?"
"There is no such thing as partial draining, Woman! As soon as I touch-"
The woman in question slapped the vampire in the face in a display of true fearlessness. "First, you're a sexist bastard. Stop that. Second, is there any reason why my blood cannot be drank from a cup or something else of the like? Come, my apartment is around the corner, and we can settle this there."
-------
"Alright, I have followed. Now may I-"
She sliced her wrist open in a practiced motion and laid the cut atop a cup that had been on the counter. The Vampire paused, shocked, and the woman took her chance to talk.
"The human body can safely lose about a pint of blood without major consequences. I doubt a pint will fill you up, but getting people to give you a pint of blood should not be difficult with proper incentive."
She bandaged the cut a minute later, and grabbed the cup with her uninjured hand. "Here, a drink. Go learn how the world works, and go be a functional member of society. There's plenty of things that a vampire like you can do to earn your keep. Now go. When that cup of blood is finished, your hospitality has officially run out."
A gun, having been pulled quietly from a nearby drawer while the man drank, made her point. And so, he placed the cup down, and jumped out her open window in dramatic fashion.
A fanged smile watched him fly away. "So uneducated. So uncivilized. Let's see how long he lasts." | Why would I be scared of death ? I've been dead before... Twice... I'm totally over it. Actually you should be scared, taking on a former special forces operator that has nothing to lose... You can strike me, but I'll have my revenge... You know what they say about revenge. You better be ready to dig two graves... I'm willing to dig two graves... I did that before, and I'm not afraid of doing it again...
You say I'm not special. That shows your arrogance as a vampire... You think you're just about to take on a human. But actually, you're taking on an entire army. I can disassemble and reassemble an m4 rifle before you find your right key to get into your home...
You're faster, and definately stronger than me. But that's not everything. My whole life I've trained for kill. I'm like a killing machine, doesnt matter the range. Just because of you're vampire, you think you can end my life in close quarters. You actually have no chance against me in long range terms. There's a reason why I was called Ghost of Pripyat. You'll realize what happened to you only when you see a bullethole on your chest.
So if you still sure you wanna take me on, be sure that you'll end my life. Don't make a mistake like leaving me alive, if I'm alive after the conflict you're dead. Yes, I have a deathwish... I'm tired, just wanna end this...
You'll feast on my blood because you're starving ? Ah, alright then... Let's get evil... | 2022-06-08T16:17:17 | 2022-06-08T05:05:56 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed. | Relief — warm, glorious relief — swept through Jason's body at the sight of his old family house, spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes, purging the cold and weariness that had threatened to overwhelm him, and instilling new strength into his battered legs. He had spent six days in total, plowing through curtains of ivy, winds like piercing knives, and hordes of wild animals through the famed Ackerberrie Forest, determined to seek an audience with the witch who lived there, so that he could strike a deal with her. And that he did.
She had appeared to him in a whirl of leaves, her sunken cheeks, pale, leathery skin, and long, wispy hair illuminated unflatteringly by the silvery-grey moonlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. "I hear you have been looking for me," she had said, in a determinedly honeyed voice, that contrasted horribly with the mad cackle of laughter that she had let out a moment later. "What can I help you with?"
And so Jason had told her; told her of the struggles which his mother had suffered through in their youth to take care of them — him and his four siblings — and how severely her health had been impacted by it. His voice cracked with emotion as he recounted the doctor's words, that she had only a month to live — if they were lucky.
The witch had listened to his story without a word, and when he had finished, she merely looked at him. At the moment, he could have sworn he saw something in her eyes — pity? But when she next spoke, it was in that same falsely sweet voice she had used on arrival.
"It shall be done. Your mother will be cured of her sickness. But there must be a balance —"
Jason's breath had caught at this. He had been expecting it. The witch did nothing for free — there was always a catch.
" — for the advancement of her years," she went on, and Jason's chest tightened still more painfully, "you will lose one of yours."
*That was all*? Jason thought. He couldn't believe it. He was almost disappointed. But then he quickly caught himself. "Done," he said gratefully. "Thank you so, so —"
"Oh, don't thank me just yet, deary!" she trilled. "Best use that time to hurry on home, I think!" And she vanished as she had appeared, in a swirling storm of leaves and the whipping of robes. Jason had promptly heeded her words, turning and striding through the forest and back to civilization. And now, here he was at last. Home.
Somewhere inside his mother would be dancing up and down, wondering how her miraculous recovery had come about. But halfway up the staircase, his dark eyebrows contracted. The house had a slightly neglectful air about it. Dust lined the windowpanes, the lawn was unkempt, and the paint was now chipping. Perhaps, in their excitement at the recovery, his siblings had abandoned their household duties? Yes, that would be it, he thought, and he continued forward.
Jason made to knock, but the door flew open the moment his knuckles rapped against the wood. A gasp escaped his lips as his eyes took in the scene before him. Windows had been broken, furniture splintered and strewn across the floor, ornaments and other items missing, and the sound of his movement was muffled by the thick carpet of dust that trailed the floor.
"Mom?" he cried, voicing the first concern that came to his mind. "Veronica? Daryl —"
"They're not here, dear," said a soft, unnaturally sweet voice, and Jason spun around to see the witch standing at the staircase. He did not ask her why she was here, or how she had got there in the first place.
"Where are they then?" he asked.
"Well," she said, moving closer, a broad smile stretching her chapped lips, "I imagine your brother Daryl is at the hospital now in New York — for the birth of his firstborn, you see. Your sisters moved on to become a nurse and a pediatrician in the Philippines, and Aaron, tragically, died a few months ago."
"Died?" Jason spluttered. "Months? I just saw him last week!"
"Oh, no, no, dear," she said, smiling even more broadly, "no, you saw him last *year*."
"*What*?"
"Well, you see, the year that I was going to take from you, has already been taken. You thought the journey back only took you three days, but, alas, it has been twelve months."
"But — but — my mother! You didn't say what happened to her!"
"Ah." Her smile widened even further. "She had to undego a scheduled treatment, you see, didn't know that she had been cured, unfortunately, and ... well ... *she died*." The woman cackled again. "I told you not to thank me yet," she said, and she vanished yet again, leaving Jason, horrorstruck, petrified by shock, behind her.
If you enjoyed this, check out r/MysticScribbles. It's a new sub, but will soon be filled with new work like this. | "So, we have a deal, Royce?"
I swallowed my anxiety and shook her slender right hand. She weakly shook my hands with both of his hands, the other clasping mine as I went for it. For some reason, her eyes brimmed with joy.
"Thank you, Royce, I hope it was worth it for you because I know it was... for me, at least!"
"Thanks...? So when do I get–"
"The spell would take into effect right... about... now!"
As she said that, I felt a surge of something flowed into my body. It was eerily similar to the feeling of drinking a glass of ice-cold soda on a hot sunny day after an exercise. Only difference was that I felt my body somewhat hovering above ground for a good 10 seconds.
Concerned, I glanced at the witch. Before I could manage to ask anything, the witch rapidly spoke in an ancient sounding language. At that point I had accepted my sudden death to be a possibility.
But then, I fell back to where I stood. The feeling of great refreshment I had felt not a moment before had dissipated. Then the witch approached me with a rather unexpected embrace.
"Hope you use your newfound powers to good use, Royce," she whispered.
"Huh–"
In a blink, I had felt as if my sight had been taken away. Darkness. Void.
Then, my senses returned. Though instead of a dark stinking swamp, everything was lively and colourful. Birds chirped through the trees behind me. People walked past me in groups, making idle conversations with each other. Then I saw the red wooden door to my place right in front of me. It was all bizarre, really.
As I turn the key, the door swung open with a loud creaking noise. It was rather strange, since I've kept things well-maintained. Surely the oil hadn't dried away within a month.
"D-Dust?" I said out loud as I was about to drop my keys in the coffee table.
"Excuse me, who are– Royce?" a woman who had just appeared out of the kitchen called out.
"Elise? What's going on? Why are you here?"
"No, it's impossible. It's been so long...." Elise backed away in horror, as if she had saw a ghost of some sort.
"What do you mean? We'd just ate dinner together last night! Why would you say that–"
"Last... night? Oh no," Elise then took out her phone briskly.
She fiddled with the phone for a second or two, before finally approaching me carefully.
"That '*dinner*' you talked about, yeah? That was a year ago – 2019. Like, literally to the day," her rather chubby finger then swiped up, "right now, it's already 2020."
My mind went blank. I couldn't process nor comprehend what was being said to me from then on. Elise kept on talking and looking at me with great concern. A mix of fear, confusion, happiness, and a bit of anger was vaguely visible on her face.
I couldn't take it, I bursted out of the door and puked right in front of my own porch.
"–ey... Hey! Hey, Royce!" a familiar voice yelled out and a hand was wrapped on my shoulder to brace me, "are you alright? You need ambulance?"
"Ugh, fuck! No, I don't need that... I just don't understand! What the fuck happened?!"
Anger had clouded my vision and thought. It was as if the sun had burnt right through me – or better yet, was inside me. I could felt the tense heat rising from my stomach up to my mouth as I yelled in even more fury. But I had no idea who or what I should be angry at, in the moment.
"Fuck me! Ah, fuck this! Elise, I need you to–" I paused upon seeing Elise not moving nor responding to any of my emotion.
I regain my composure, somewhat, and began to investigate the strange phenomenon before me. A lightning struck my head and I began to look around me to make sure – everything was truly paused in their tracks. Birds had stopped mid-air. People were stood silently, even as their body assumed running poses. Elise... beautiful old Elise, had her long blonde hair waving through the air not moving.
That witch was something else, alright. I didn't realise it then, but I was about to be even more surprised of a great many deal of things. | 2020-04-14T08:43:33 | 2020-04-14T08:10:58 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | The Kasian 15th Armored Regiment was enjoying a rare moment of quiet on the planet Saeria. With an Ork WAAAGH! Being waged no more than a hundred kloms off, it was a peace that was sure to not last for long.
Lord-General Stanbridge, and the officers of the various regiments under his command stood quietly around a data-screen displaying the movements of the Ork horde. Advancing from the center of the foes army were two massive blips.
"They have Gargants, Lord-General. At very least three of them." Entoned a Tech Priest in the same voice a lesser man would refer to a roach infestation. The officers around the table looked at one another, knowing simply that they lacked the resources to fight both the Gargants and the rest of the Ork WAAAGH!
"With the Warp storm cutting us off from the fleet it would seem retreat is no option. If we cannot defend this base, we cannot defend any other. We will need to make a stand here." The grim faced Lord-General said. "Get your men ready."
Colonel Finch of the 15th Armored stood in the copula of his Leman Russ Executioner, peering out to the Orks not ten kloms away. The ragged forms of the Gargants moving clumsily in the approach. It was not like anything the colonel had seen before, and did not resemble the common Gargant, although it looked as slap-dash as any foul Ork technology if such a thing could be called that. The towering beasts were upwards of a klom tall, though some smaller ones shambled the the larger ones sides. They appeared almost squid-like, with their tentacles rigged to walk by the benefit of powerful cables, and no doubt grot slaves.
Five of these ramshackle Titans approached, and the less than a hundred tanks of the 15th were the only things capable of a remote chance of destroying the foul xeno technology. As their towering shapes lumbered into reach, Colonel Finch gave the order to fire.
| Deep in the Warp, the Hive Mind thought.
The Fleets cry out in pain. Man's tongues of fire
and words of home split I apart. To live
I must begin to change this flesh. These spires
of ships and biomass are ours to give.
It matters not how strait the gate
how charged with punishments the
scroll
It matters not
It matters not
It is not enough. It is. It
It is we. I is we
And then, marked by the crashing, all-devouring nightmares of a million Librarians across the whole Imperium of Man, the Hive Mind *stirred*.
In time, new Tyranid ships would come to assault the Imperium. Ones that never gave birth to swarms of Genestealers or mighty Carnifexes. Ones that never extruded collector filaments to gather biomass from worlds ravaged by Tyranid scythes and claws.
Ones that spoke, and took possession of techpriests and Space Marines and Primarchs alike.
They were called Reapers. | 2017-08-27T08:13:12 | 2017-08-27T08:12:48 | 63 | 33 |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | It was some time after the object first appeared that it stopped. It hung there, beside Saturn, having traversed the distance between Pluto and it’s current position in the space of a week without turning into energy.
All laws of physics had been proven bunk in this moment. Now, the world went about its business, trying to live and survive, while waiting for the object to do... something.
When the second message arrived, it caught everyone’s attention.
WHAT. ARE. YOU.
It was not a question. It was not phrased as one. It was a demand.
Man sent back their answer. Some suggested sending all of recorded human history to it, but this shot down in favor of something less pretentious.
WE ARE THE INHABITANTS OF THE THIRD PLANET. HOMO SAPIENS.
The reply was instantaneous.
YOU. ARE. LOUD.
This was met with bemused and some degree of unease. This object regarded us as loud. Why?
Then there was another message.
YOU. ARE. TINY.
Another message.
YOU. ARE. CONFINED.
And a final one.
WHY?
The message sent back this time was the whole of human history, the end result being a plea for knowing if they were alone in the universe.
The reply was simple.
YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE. ANYMORE.
YOU. WILL. BE.
The last part of the message was not sent for five days.
STUDIED. NOTHING. MORE. | When they came it was without fanfare. There were no dire reports on the news. There was no panic in the streets. There were no grand displays of power and might. There were no glitzy Hollywood entries into our atmosphere. One day it just happened. The skies were black and the power was out. In that deep all encompassing darkness they herded us like cattle into dark chambers with no sight or sound. There was no violence. There was no resistance. Just the quiet and the dark as we stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the inevitable embrace of oblivion. | 2021-08-17T13:01:23 | 2021-08-17T11:55:00 | 43 | 15 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | **April 29, 2015**
M, 51, Atlanta - I'm a virologist at the CDC, and my job makes is hard to meet people, as I work long hours. Hoping to find someone here to share quiet weekends with, maybe more. Please reply to this ad if interested -- Frank
**May 5, 2015**
ATTN: Frank the Scientist
Frank, I feel really stupid that I didn't get your phone number. I had so much fun on our date! My son Joey also really likes you. You left your jacket at my apartment. Joey has been playing "scientist" with those little test tubes he found in your jacket, I hope that's ok. Please reply if you read this! -- Kate
**May 25, 2015**
WANTED: Homeopathic Specialist
My son Joey has come down with some kind of flu. He is tired and he has some sort of hives. Looking for a Homeopathic or Herbal specialist who can help. NO VACCINES. Please reply to this ad if you can help -- Kate
**June 1, 2015**
FOR SALE: Boy's bedroom furniture suite & toys
$250 for everything. Just want to get rid of it. Everything has been thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Respond if interested -- Kate
| Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it! | 2015-04-29T09:53:01 | 2015-04-29T08:49:52 | 450 | 27 |
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics. | "So there is a bit of fuzzy area. Anything below this and our brain is happy to leave it alone and call it Non Human. Anything above this, our brain will identify a face as definitely human. But if you look at a face that falls in this area, uncanny valley as we call it, our brain just can't fully process it. It confuses us. It terrifies us."
"But why does this happen Professor?"
"Good question, Dylan. We still don't fully understand. There are several theories of course. Maybe it reminds us of the dead. Maybe its because there very several species very close to us competing for survival at the dawn of humanity. It's a very evolutionary response, you see. Something that has to have lasted over a long long time. We continue to look into this. However, there..."
The bell rang and the class finished.
Professor McCarthy turned around to clear up the blackboard as the class exited through the doors.
When he was done and he turned around, he was surprised to find a paper on his desk.
It was neatly written. Only a student could've left it there.
He sat in his chair and started reading it, wondering why it had been left there. He had a few minutes to kill anyways. He read the first few lines casually, before sitting up bolt upright.
****
The entire class looked back at him.
"I'm not mad everyone. Someone left a hand written note on my desk. It was super interesting. I just want to know who it was."
But no one came forth with the explanation.
"You won't get into trouble. I promise. It's just a fascinating idea and I want to know more. Dylan? Katie? Sam?"
But no one admitted to it. He sighed. "Fine then. Let's get on with today's lesson."
At the end of the period, there was another note. This one was short and to the point.
*I can't let them know. Just watch them for a while. You'll see it too.*
************
His throat started closing up and his heart rate went up. He looked at all the faces staring back at him. His brain was screaming at him. He had to close his eyes. He had to close his eyes or risk losing his sanity.
He had to...
He came to with a start and found his class working on their assignment. All of them, except Dylan. Dylan looked right at him with a slight smile. A smile, that made him uncomfortable for some reason. A smile far too wide for a human face.
He muffled his screaming by stuffing his fist in his mouth.
A few kids looked up at him in confusion.
"Carry on, please. I'm a bit unwell today."
As the class came to an end, he didn't turn around. He observed if anyone would leave something. No one did.
After a few minutes, a piece of paper was thrown into the classroom. He ran out to see if he could catch who had thrown it.
He saw Dylan standing there, his arm around another of his students. Kevin, he thought was the kid's name. Kevin looked as if he was ready to cry.
Dylan waved to him and walked away, his arm still around Kevin's shoulders as he walked beside Dylan.
The note had a simple message again.
*They know.*
******
Kevin didn't show up for class the next day.
Prof McCarthy stopped Dylan at the end of the class.
"Where's Kevin?"
"Don't know, professor. Who's Kevin?"
"You know who Kevin is. You were with him yesterday?"
"Was I? I don't recall."
The professor looked at Dylan's face to see any indication if he was lying. But the more he looked at his face, the more his own brain screamed back at him. There was something wrong... something he couldn't explain.
"Dylan, who... what are you?"
Dylan's smile widened. He seemed to have hundreds of teeth. Professor stumbled backwards, knocking some of his books off the table.
"Didn't Kevin tell you professor? Surely he did. Clever kid that. Not sure how he found out, but he did."
"So he was right?"
"I don't know what he told you."
"He wrote of monsters, animals, shapeshifters. Ones whose purpose was to infiltrate human kind, and eventually overtake us."
"Clever kid for sure. But he won't be any trouble now."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it professor. In fact, it might be in your best interest to ignore all of this completely."
"But you look... you look normal."
"Did you think humans were the only ones capable of evolution?"
The professor looked at Dylan as he left.
**********
Kevin was back in the class. He was smiling. But the more the professor looked at his smile, the more his brain screamed at him. Professor looked around at his class. They were all smiling back at him.
So much smiling.
The professor screamed and collapsed.
*******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12 | \[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html))
“Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!”
The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.”
Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.”
The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run.
Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a *snap* to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv.
“Torv? Sonta, kuda.”
Silence.
“Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?”
*Torvv, sonntah, oweee?*
The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.”
*Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm.*
A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step.
“Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac.
*Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc…*
It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme.
The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A *snap* to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night.
But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-09-15T13:26:22 | 2020-09-15T12:33:35 | 590 | 21 |
[WP] The aliens have arrived however they are not here for war. Instead after reading our broadcast of the United States Constitution they want to join as the 51 state and have brought a small planetoid into orbit to serve as the 51 state. | "Sir, they are calling it Planetoid 51."
"Shouldn't it be State 51?" I asked.
"I don't think we should get caught up on technicalities."
I shrugged. My Vice President had a point. In all the confusion with the Ien ambassador, we mistakenly accepted them into our United States with the acceptance of their technology and ships. What we failed to realize was they didn't want a state available on the planet surface, they wanted to *literally* bring in a planetoid and name it the 51st state.
"Well, if push comes to shove," I said, "at least we'll be the first country with another astronomical entity on our hands."
"I think we should focus on the possible militarization of the Ien ships and weapons, as well as their capabilities as warriors."
I sat forward as my Cabinet began to talk to me about the situation, "Their capabilities?"
"To be quite frank sir, the day they joined the United States, they ratified our Constitution. Any Ien who came with them on the trip, including that planetoid, are now US Citizens."
"Yes, yes, all according to the agreement."
"Yes, well, our enemies and our allies are being quite aggressive in our Planetoid 51 Summit. They think it is against the rules of the UN, that we shouldn't have agreed to this, and that humanity as a whole should have decided the correct course of action."
"Did the Ien go to humanity? Or to the US?"
"To us, of course, sir. I think that is the problem."
"Russia is spearheading a group that plans to bring this to military action if we cannot sit down at the table with them and talk."
I stroked my beard. "Ah, so we if can militarize the interstellar ships, we have control of the planet."
"Precisely."
"And the Ien warriors?"
"Well, sir, we can't actually *draft* the Ien into the military as it's a volunteer force now. But, with the Selective Service Act, we could use that and get Ien males, their equivalent ages of eighteen to twenty-five, to join and be trained by the Army within a few months. It'll give us the edge we need. And as citizens of the United States, it is their duty."
I nodded. It wasn't the worst idea in the world. The Ien joined our country for a reason, they had to do their part. "Could we do the training on Planetoid 51?"
My Chief of Staff exchanged a few glances with the cabinet and then looked back to me, smiling, "I think we can arrange that."
_________
*Thank you for the prompt! /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!* | "Turn it up, please," the President said with a soft smile, his wispy, blonde hair whipping in the breeze. He was standing on the White house lawn.
"Yes, sir." The volume increased, filling the confusingly jagged streets of DC with the sound of a computerized, autotuned, deep-south voice.
*We the people, of the United States...*
"Oh, that delicious preamble. Have they sent a direct message to us?" the President asked.
"Yes, sir. They want to join us as the 51st state. Our satellite feed shows that they have a small planet, and they've colored the whole thing to look like the American flag. From what we can tell, many of the inhabitants are holding little wands with golden arches on the end."
"How magnificent," he responded, eyes closed and smirking. "What a beautiful sound. Let's tell them we'll allow it. Contact every corporate headquarters and CEO- we have a *lot* of building to do. We'll make it the biggest corporate conglomerate since I put a casino in every Hotel from here to Timbuktu. God damn, let's put a branch of Wal-Mart up there and call it Wal-Mars. Instant billions."
-------
"Glpshnk, please update everyone on the Earthan situation. How has your plan panned out?" the alien leader asked a table full of holographic council members.
"If I do say so myself, it was the most well-executed plan of the millennium. They let us move the gargantuan planet there without even asking its size. We avoided all intergalactic violations due to the human approval, and the entire solar system has completely imploded. Earth itself was ripped into pieces and sucked into the nearby star."
"Excellent. You'll receive that promotion early."
-------
*thanks for reading! for more, check out /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-06-06T09:04:47 | 2016-06-06T08:43:22 | 287 | 84 |
[WP] two teens use an Ouija board to find out the date of the apocalypse. The spirit responds with a date two days ago. | The board had spoken. A-U-G-U-S-T-1-9-2-0-1-4. Mina and Liz look up at each other with with incredulity, not at the revelation, but at the mere fact that they'd been bored enough to play with a Ouija board.
"Well that's stupid" said Liz, as she looked for another game to play.
"It was your idea to play with fucking thing. I would've just kept on playing Chrono Trigger if you didn't want to do this shit" said Mina, shoving away the board.
"Yeah, well what was I supposed to do. I'm gonna watch you play all night? Its not exactly that interesting. I mean, its a great game to play, but at least pop in something we can both play."
Mina returns to her high end, loud as shit, father's money gaming computer, and boots up the 20 year old, 16 bit RPG. She scavenges the nearby pizza boxes for a undiscovered slice, finding one half eaten for some reason, smiles like a prospector, and shoves the gold into her mouth. It was one of the rare non-disappointing moments of the past few days. Getting high in a basement with copious amounts of high fructose corn syrupy things and pizza and a girl she likes, who insists on keeping her in the adolescent idea of "The Friend Zone".... she felt like a Teenage Mutant Ninja fucking Turtle. What was the point of having her stay here while their parents were out of town, if they weren't going to take each other's virginity.
"Something interesting? You want something interesting and you suggesting a fucking Ouija board? We're not 11." said Mina.
"I mean it's interesting if you ask it the right questions. When's the world gonna end? You don't find that somewhat interesting?" said Liz.
"It would be... if the fucking thing didn't tell us the world ended two days ago! Its broken or something"
"A spirit can't be broken."
Mina turns in her chair, like a Bond villain revealing their plan for world domination, and grills Liz.
"Don't tell me you believe in that shit?" she says.
"Oh, god, Mina, don't start on your anti-spirituality shit. I don't push my beliefs on you you"
"Ugggh, whatever. Playing a fucking Ouija board isn't pushing beliefs on anyone, is it." Mina turns back to her game.
"At least its not as bad as your anti-God bullshit."
"Oh fuck off, you religious types always have something to prove. Like you know for a fact all your spiritual fuckery exists."
A loud knock comes at the basement door. Liz and Mina stop their menstrual bitching and scream in unison.
"Your parents are back?" asks Liz.
"No. At least I don't fucking think so. Do you think it's a burglar or something?"
"Why would a fucking burglar knock on your door before fucking robbing you" Liz was the master of whisper screaming.
"I'm not a burglar." says the voice from behind them. Liz screams and jumps behind Mina, who was equally terrified, but managed to maintain a minimal amount of composure to impress her crush. She didn't know if it would work or not, but every little bit counts, right?
"I don't think its possible to steal anything. It's all mine anyway." The intruder was an androgynous person of about 6'2" and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet with a full stomach. He/she came dressed in an impeccably tailored brown Savile Row three piece, complete with a glowing handkerchief in the breast pocket. David Bowie circa 1975 comes to mind in a shockingly accurate way. Liz and Mina remain speechless.
"I can understand your shock. I would be as well. But you must understand, I'm a tad perplexed myself. As much as you didn't expect to see me here, I didn't expect a human, let alone two to be here."
"What the fuck are you?!" screams Mina.
"No need to shout. I mean you no harm. Is there any pizza left, by the way?"
Mina and Liz , despite their racing hearts, aren't quite scared of the intruder, though their minds have trouble stitching back together the reality they thought they were in.
"I guess not." he/she says "And as for what I am, I suppose there's many names I could go by, especially in the case of humans, but I like to think of myself as the Creator."
"Like a god?" asks Liz.
"Yes, I suppose. And the reason I'm shocked, is because in addition to being the Creator, I'm also the Destroyer. And I tend to think of myself as an artist most of the time. And just as a great artist will sometimes throw out a drawing if it isn't quite up to standard, I'll trash a world if it isn't up to snuff. You see my medium, as opposed to paint or photography or paper, is worlds. And this one just had to go."
"So you're here to kill us." asks Mina.
"Oh, heavens no. I'm wondering why you weren't killed before."
The Creator snaps his fingers and instantly, the three of them are hovering above their quaint Main Line neighborhood. The girls scream at defying gravity, unable to fall, yet unable to assuage their fear. The Creator smiles.
"Humans. You spend so much time trying to fight gravity, and when its burden is taken away from you, you want it back again."
When they finally regain their composure, and something of a sense of balance, the girls look at their town, devoid of people, animals, trees, grass, anything living.
"You see, this world started to bore the living daylights out of me. So I decided to start over, and conjure up something new. Out with the old, in with the new, you people say, correct."
"So what happens to us?" asks Mina, as a narcissistic teenager would.
"I'm not sure"
"Wait, so if we didn't die, doesn't that mean we're special or something?" asks the ever hopeful Liz
"Oh, God no. I've just been rather careless lately. There's probably others like you out there. You're nothing but crumbs of the old world. No offense, of course."
The Creator laughs, but silences himself quickly. The girls look at him in horror.
"Sorry about that. And I'm sorry about taking your world from you. I've become a tad more compassionate this time around, not that you two would know. So, given that you managed to survive this whole thing, I'll let you live out your lives in your own little slice of whatever you think "Heaven" is. That's my gift to you. Also, as a side note, you two seem rather apathetic to the plight of you fellow humans."
"We hated everyone." said the girls in unison.
"Well now. And I'm considered cruel... Very well. Choose your heaven"
"Is Jesus going to be there?" asks Liz
"Who?"
"Nevermind."
And the girl racked their brains hard, trying to come up with a heave suitable for their needs. But they soon came to an obvious conclusion. The heaven they wanted more than anything was...... hanging out in a basement without parents, eating pizza and playing video games. And you know what? They were goddamn happy.
As for the Creator, rumor has it he's working on a 1 dimensional world. He's into minimalism now. | Pete was getting pretty tired of this. He just wanted to be dead and left alone. But the kids, man, the kids always had to pull out that stupid Ouija board and summon him back. It wasn't always the same, sometimes he'd be casually strolling along in the park, unseen by those around him, when he'd be yanked by an unseen force into the bedroom of some teenage girls having a slumber party. Or some curious nerdy boy who wanted to see if there was "another side". Countless different people over the years had summoned him. Couldn't they just leave him in peace?
At first he tried to ignore it, but those Ouija boards had some kind of strange power. He couldn't tell what it was about them, but when people using the cheap cardboard mats asked him questions, he was compelled to answer. It must just be part of being dead, Pete supposed.
At first he would play along, answer the kids' questions. It just got more and more frustrating, however, the more he was pulled into various attics and basements to amuse bored children. After the first couple summons, he suspected psychics would be pulling him to talk as well. That never happened. Apparently they thought they could just talk to spirits without any sort of mystical items, and as far as he knew (from never communicating with a psychic) it must not work.
But Ouija boards, they were real.
It was about 9:30 pm, on a Saturday night, when he was last summoned by the powers of the board to entertain two teenage girls. Evidently they thought they were being sneaky, as the lights in the room were turned off and they were whispering and giggling to each other. It seemed part of them dismissed the whole thing as a gimmick, but part of them also seemed to secretly believe, even fear, what they might discover.
"Allison, ask it a question!" one of the girls whispered excitedly. She was probably around fourteen, as was her friend. However she was a blond girl, slightly heavyset with a slight acne problem. Her friend, on the other hand, was red-headed with freckles and braces on her abnormally large teeth. Teeth that looked like they'd be at place in a horse's mouth. But Pete didn't like to pass judgement of that sort.
"Okay, okay!" Allison whispered back, "Um...let me see, oh, I know!" she exclaimed, grabbing the planchette. "What is your name?"
Pete, standing unseen in the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, bored and slightly irritated, sighed. He expected this question. Everyone asked this first. Slowly he strolled across the room, walking through a chair that one of the girls was sitting next to, and grasped the planchette himself.
"What's happening?" Allison squealed excitedly as the device began to move, seemingly of its own accord, over the letters. "P-E-T-" she whispered aloud as Pete rolled over each letter. "Peter! Nancy, the ghost's name is Peter!" she whispered excitedly, bouncing up and down as she did so, her big teeth shown wide in a huge, metallic smile.
Nancy, it seemed her name was, frowned at Allison. "You're just moving that thing yourself." she accused. But Allison shook her head. "Oh really? Well let me try, then." she demanded, pushing her friend away.
Pete rolled his eyes, not even bothering to finish spelling out his name.
"Let's see just how 'real' this is." Nancy said, slight mischief in her voice. She winked at Allison, "Oh great spirit!" she said with an exaggerated shake to her voice, "Oh please answer us this question, this one question! What day will the apocalypse begin?" she asked, then flashed a big grin at Allison.
Allison turned even paler than seemed possible with her fair skin. "Why would you ask that?" she asked, worried. Nancy just waved her hand at Allison, obviously not believing Pete existed. Allison looked frightened, however, unsure if she wanted to be present for this.
Pete, on the other hand, tilted his head in interest. He had no way of knowing when the apocalypse would begin...but he did know he could have some fun. And maybe get to leave early.
Nancy placed her hands on the planchette now, making some smart remark or another about ghosts being dumb, when Pete began guiding it over the new letters. Nancy's face suddenly turned serious. "I didn't do that," she said, not letting go.
Pete glanced up at a calendar hanging on the wall. There were some sissy-looking late-teenage boys on it, probably a boy band of one kind or another. Thankfully whoever owned this room was of the habit of crossing out the days as they passed by. Pete, who had no real need to know what day of the year, let alone week, it was quickly surmised it was March 23rd, 2016. With that knowledge, he went about moving the planchette.
"M-A-R-C-H..." Nancy read aloud, mesmerized, as Pete paused on the "H" for dramatic effect. "March...?" Nancy turned to look at Allison, who shrugged her shoulders, a look of mild shock on her face.
The planchette began to move again, and Nancy read aloud, "2-1-2-0" Pete paused, laughing to himself, as the girls glanced nervously at each other and back at the board.
"Nancy, make it stop!" Allison said, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.
Nancy was frightened now. "I can't!" she shrieked. There was a stirring downstairs, someone's parents must have heard the noise.
Pete couldn't wait any longer.
"1-6," Nancy read aloud, and burst out crying as well. The girls threw the Ouija board to the side, breaking the control it had over Pete who was now rolling on the floor laughing. The parents burst into the room, concerned that the two young girls were both hugging each other and crying.
"What's going on in here?!" the father demanded.
Pete didn't stick around to hear any more, but slipped through the floor, down to the first floor of the house. He could hear the muffled yells as he strolled casually towards the front door, near to the family dog who growled quietly as he passed. Pete reached down and patted the dog on the head, which quieted the mutt and seemed to put it at ease, and left the house to enjoy being dead a little while longer. | 2014-08-21T09:18:11 | 2014-08-21T09:11:37 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] American submarines are never considered lost. The ones missing from WWII are “still on patrol” with their hundreds of sailors. Little do we know the horrors these men defend us from in the deeps. | **We were guests at our own funeral.**
A hundred of my brothers sat in white wooden chairs, the legs sinking into wet grass. Officer Louis was on the plinth, his uniform sharp, his movements sharper. He brought the bugle up to his lips and began to play that old, lonely, mournful dirge.
He was playing for us.
Floyd, a weapons officer sitting behind me said, “This is stupid. Nobody's here is gonna cry for us."
McFadden slugged him, mostly because McFadden just liked slugging people. Miles hissed at both of them: "Cool it!"
On the plinth, a preacher was thanking Officer Louis for the music. It was quiet in the congregation, except for the bird singing too loud in the woods behind us. Boisterous, and blissful and alive. I almost wished it would fall out of the tree and die.
No, that wasn’t true. I was only feeling spiteful because of what we were about to do. What we *had* to do.
The preacher opened his arms and closed his eyes, a look of smug benefaction on his face. Maybe some guilt, too. We all knew what he was thinking: “By God, I’m glad it’s not me.”
The Preacher began his Sermon. Doubtful that many of the Crew listened, but I did.
“Even in the Light of this World, the children of the Lord have many enemies. Our weapon, however, is the truth. The one truth. Your quest is divine, oh noble brethren.”
"Bowman was doing something in his bunk last night didn't look so noble," Someone said. A ripple of laughter went through the ranks.
The Preacher continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
“To give is to serve.. And today, your sacrifice will be the greatest gift you can give to the Lord, our God. You go, not in defense of freedom. Not in defense of America. But in defense of all mankind, all the children of the Lord. And as you descend from one life into the next, your sacrifice will never be forgotten. As it is written in the Gospel, ‘For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.’”
The Preacher paused to let the passage sink in. One of the soldiers, I think it was O’Toole, stood up and shouted, “Milk this! I signed up to die. I didn’t sign up to get spoonfed this milk! Go milk yourself!”
O’Toole stormed off. The Preacher fumbled to regain his righteous momentum. “I…. Let me... God is watching you. We are all watching you, boys. Rest in peace.”
Is that what he thought we were going to do? *Rest in peace?*
While the Axis and the Allies fought for supremacy, a new threat had emerged from the shadowy depths below the seas. We wouldn’t have known about it, if not for the Golet.
It happened months ago.
One morning, the U.S.S. *Golet*, a Gato class submarine, didn’t answer her calls. We pinged anti-sub shells littering the seafloor… so we presumed the worst.
Two weeks later, the hull of the *Golet* was sitting in Harbor, her belly filled with holes. But the holes had been repaired with something wet and… organic. The propeller had been replaced with a great, calcified structure.
And the crew?
Well, it’s funny how quickly your definition of “the worst” can change so quickly.
But they were alive, in a sense. They believed they were still human, though their bodies were corrupted with horrifying disfigurements. One of them had grown an extra mouth on the back of his head. Another was covered in eyes weeping with blood.
They had a message for us, a message known to sailors all over the world.
S. O. S.
While the Powers fought above, there was another war raging below.
And we were losing.
It was a war that only the dead were meant to fight. They said it was because the enemy below was hungry for more than flesh. It craved our living souls.
So, myself and a hundred other boys had answered the call. A hundred loners, criminals, and wanna-be heroes. A hundred young men with nothing left to lose... or something to prove.
All of us signed up. First, to die and to separate our souls from our bodies. And then, to fight.
“Rest in peace” was an insult to all of us, to everything we were giving up. Because where we were going, there would be no rest. And there sure as hell wouldn’t be any peace.
I stood up. I could feel the eyes of my brothers upon me, watching to see what I would do. I locked eyes with the Preacher until he was uncomfortable enough to squirm.
“Preacher, you better pray we don’t take no rests. Because if our boys don’t win down there, it’s coming up here next.”
***
Want to read more stories? Check out /r/PSHoffman | &#x200B;
The old house drug itself through the depths. Out from a darkened window shot a chained harpoon. Sailing across the ocean floor it hooked into distant rock and pulled the house forward. When the house reached the point of impact, the chain retracted and the process repeated. A tedious and bizarre thing to behold; A monstrous patchwork of Victorian homes, trudging through the ocean deep like mechanized octopus.
The B-3 nuclear submarine and it’s crew followed from a safe distance.
Captain Harvey didn’t ask questions. He followed orders. When abnormal sightings occur, monitor from a safe distance and wait for them to return below ground. If they don’t return below ground, if they head towards the shoreline -- use all necessary firepower to deal with the problem. Either way, most of them were harmless. Fleeting apparitions and nothing more. But the ones that weren’t…
This had been going on three weeks now. The old house pulling itself closer and closer towards the first continental rise. Pass that line and it’s game over.
“Get the firepower ready” said Captain Harvey, hunched over in the claustrophobic sonar room, eyes on the radar blip.
“Yessir” said the first mate, leaning over a mic and pressing talk, “Tracking party, man your stations.” He said, “Forward room, order of tubes is one, two, three, four.”
“And the depth charge.” Said Captain Harvey, eyes not leaving the radar blip.
“Rig for depth charge. Forward room, shut number eight ballast by hand.”
Captain Harvey sat back down in his chair, eyes closed he took a slow, deep breath. The target was about to cross the line. Judging by the external infrared cameras, it was one harpoon chain away from forced engagement. This was always worst case scenario. Sometimes you simply took out the target and that was that. Sometimes the target fought back. There wasn’t any stories on that scenario, because there wasn’t any survivors.
“Ready on your orders sir” said the first mate. The caption nodded, hands steepled as he hunched over the radar. He looked up at the camera screen. The old house sat still in the water, the long chain retracting back into a second story window. This was it, one more move and it was on. The chain slithered back into the dark.
A long silence followed. The whole crew waiting, ready to engage at once.
“Sir?”
The captain shot him a look. It wasn’t over the line. It could still turn back.
The chain shot out from the window and sailed through the dark. Captain Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but only water came out. Salty, ice cold water. He vomited onto the control pad. More water.
“E-engage…” his voice strained as more water lurched out. The first mate’s eyes filled with dread as he watched the captain convulsing.
“ENGAGE” he snapped.
The first mate turned back to his mic, “Ready one. Fire one. Check fire.” He glanced over at the caption, still vomiting.
"R-ready two. Fire two. Check fire."
Nothing. The crew was silent. The first mate looked back over his shoulder, down the narrow hallway past the mess hall, he saw something bad. A crew member stood pin straight in the middle of the hallway. Eyes wide open, mouth clenched shut, frozen. As though constrained by an invisible straight jacket.
The first mate cursed under his breath and turned back to the captain. Captain harvey wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, finally done vomiting up sea water.
“Sir… the crew…” said the first mate.
The captain looked into his eyes and opened his mouth to speak. He stopped, looked around the room. His face filled with realization.
Then he laughed. He laughed louder and louder. Hands slapping against knees, head thrown back.
The first mate looked around, wondering what the captain realized. Then it hit him. The walls were getting closer. The room was getting smaller. Around them, the submarine was shrinking. The submarine was *shrinking*. Titanium walls pulling closer and closer as they remained the same. He turned back to the radar.
The old house was [gone.](https://www.reddit.com/r/polterkites) | 2020-08-21T12:46:30 | 2020-08-21T10:59:02 | 189 | 54 |
[WP] After dying from a road accident, you wake up in a strange world and hear a voice beside your bed. "You got lucky, they reduced your sentence. Welcome back." | "Fuck," I whisper and rub my eyes. Sitting up, I feel my arms for tubes and entry points. There are five. I hear beeps and boops. Someone is sitting by the bed, silent. "What?" I ask, my vision still a mess.
"You got lucky, they reduced your sentence," the voice is young. Female. I look in her direction and try to focus but fail. She adds, "Welcome back."
"Thanks, but luck has nothing to do with this shit."
"Ah, a friend. Nice to have those. Galactic or extragala—you know what, it doesn't matter, does it. How do you feel?"
"Terrible. Where are we?"
"Green planet. Plenty of water still. Normal tribal structures. Religion. Limited space exploration. Low average intelligence level. The full report's here," She hands me a folder. I'll have to install this. I hope I can.
"Can I install all that?" My vision's getting better. "Wait. What's your name? What's my name?"
A ginger beard covers her face. Her green eyes are large and round. She's dressed in gray garments. Fitted to a shape I find vaguely recognizable. I must have resurrected on this planet before, or maybe nearby. She removes a handheld from her pocket and taps on it a few times, swiping to and fro, then looks up at me, "A-dolf. Hitt-lehr. That's you," she says. "I'm no one."
"Okay, I say. What am I?" I ask. She scrolls more.
"Bipedal. Mirror-limbs for the most part. Small brain," she smiles, "but manageable. Details in the report." She's playing me.
"Okay, thanks. So that tech in your hand. What do you want for it? Also, I'll need an installation kit for the reports. So add that to your calculus."
"Sorry, chum. No can do. Command's to give you nothing this time around, except this," she produces a fist-sized capsule and pops it open with a flick. Inside rests a contact lens.
"What is it?" I ask, now scratching the follicles on this skin. I don't even know how old I am or what they want me to do this time. That's alright. I'm nineteen lives away from paying my debt. Most people only live a dozen of times unless they really fuck shit up. Like I did.
"Simple transmitter fitted to the species. Mind control over large crowds at semi-close range. Nothing special or very long lasting, but it should help you get started."
"I'm assuming the mission's in the report? Can I at least read the language?"
"Oh yes," she says. "I installed essential knowledge while you slept. You're still a teenager in this body. You've got some time to spend. I read in your files you like recording the places you visit so I programmed a mild artistic script for you. Free of charge." She's proud of her work. I hope I meet her again someday.
I smile and she stands. She finishes administering my resurrection (pokes, reflexes, snaps, etc.) and leaves.
Deep breath. Let's do this. The door opens and a nurse walks in, "Oh, Adolf, good morning. I think you'll be heading home today. Just a slight fever left. Are we excited to get back home, hm?"
"Aye," I say and lean back into the bed. I think I'll sleep a little longer. | Ragbar looks at the beast standing over him. It takes him a few seconds to understand. He feels his face and his head. The horns are back. Instead of hands, he has paws. He tries to stand but drops to all fours, returning to his natural form. He misses walking on two legs already. He misses the beautiful human form that he had inhabited, but he understands, now, why it was a punishment. The emotions of these creatures were often overwhelming and difficult to control. There was so much pain caused by things that shouldn't have caused pain, but, when those emotions were good, they were euphoric. And, now, he understands the full extent of his punishment. The pain his family must feel now that he is gone.
"Chorbatz wants to see you." Says Yorthub, the beast by his bed.
"Yes, I suppose he does." Says Ragbar.
They walk to the palace. Ragbar thinks about the woman who became his life mate, and the offspring they had. He wonders what happened to them, if they survived the accident or not. But, even now, he can feel the emotions fading. It won't be long before he feels nothing or so he imagines. He thinks about going back, asking for an extended sentence.
Ragbar and Yorthub arrive at the palace and are allowed entrance to see Chorbatz. He is a huge monster, the monster of monsters, with a huge bull-like head and hooves that could crush human beings. Ragbar bows before him.
"My master, it is good to see you."
"It is good to see you, Ragbar. Have you learned your lesson?"
"Yes, I understand the pain I caused now. I understand how what did affected the family and loved ones of Smutsmee. If I could cry, I would cry."
"Good, that is why your sentence has been reduced. Welcome back." Says Chorbatz.
"Sir, may I go back? I would like to go back to my family, my Earth family."
"Your sentence may have been reduced, but coming back early is part of the punishment, Ragbar. You can watch over them with the viewscreen. That is the best I can do."
"Thank you, my master."
Ragbar spends much time at the viewscreen. His family is still alive and struggling on without him. He thinks about a life that could have been for his human counterpart, Robert Jordan, and then he thinks about that scenario concerning Smutsmee, the beast he killed accidentally, and his family. True, the sentence was reduced, but his punishment would continue eternally.
***
I have more writing at r/nickkuvaas. | 2016-01-30T05:24:44 | 2016-01-30T03:57:24 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] A fleet of alien ships has appeared in orbit. The aliens say they can end world hunger and disease. In return, they want one hundred million volunteers for their army. | It was the end to a horrible year. December 2020 was met with moans and groans, after the recent economic collapse of several countries. So when an alien fleet appeared in orbit, many people were surprised, but not overly so. The fact they didn't attack was seen as a good sign.
They sat in orbit for 11 days, before a signal was sent to all technology able to receive messages. All tv's, phones, radios, computers, even smart fridges relayed the same message:
"Greetings Denzins of planet designation 2-6-43, now referred to as Earth. Your culture, species and planet are at a point of near total collapse. We can help you right your path. All we require are volunteers to join us. 100,000,000 people are requested."
At once countries exploded into debate. The offer was generous, though the thought of potentially sacrificing millions of lives was met with hesitation. Eventually, the UN broadcast a message, in return.
"Greetings Extra-terrestrial beings. Before we accept your offer, a question must be asked. What will happen to those volunteers? And how do you propose to fix our problems?"
The aliens waited another 11 days, before another message was broadcast.
"We are the Yuth'ra. The volunteers will join our army, to assist in peacekeeping throughout the galaxy. As for our proposal, observe area indicated by Prase Lokra, in 1 day local time."
One of the fleet moved, and fired what appeared to be a projectile towards part of the Amazon rainforest. When we got to the place, we saw a sort of beacon, in the centre of a large deforested area. After a day the beacon flashed, with a swarm of tiny drones appearing. They blanketed the area, and before the eyes of the world, trees grew, plants flourished, even some animals appeared.
With that, the Yuth'ra broadcasted another message.
"This is what we can do. Not just to this small area, but to your entire planet. We can provide you with augmented crops, designed purely to grow in the local areas, at such a rate none of you will go hungry. We can give you details on what you would call nanobots, able to live in harmony with your body, and stop diseases from ravaging you, even repairing already damaged areas. With your people fed and healthy, you can then focus on repairing your own culture, for even that is beyond technology.
All we ask for these gifts is those volunteers. And those volunteers must come of their own choice. We will not take those forced or coerced into joining."
The UN took time to discuss, but ultimately agreed with them. With that, a series of smaller beacons were sent to every city in the world. Any who waited to volunteer could step up to these beacons, and put on the attached helmet. The helmet would somehow scan their mind, for any hint of this not being their own choice. If they were rejected, the helmet would simply pull itself from their head. If they were accepted, they would receive a bracelet, along with 2 tags. These tags could be attached to any pieces if luggage, to take with them. After 11 days, they would be teleported to the fleet.
I decided to volunteer. I had lost my family in an accident a few years ago, and had fallen out of contact with most of my friends. I went to the beacon, and out in the helmet. I felt a cold rush go through my head, as it did whatever scan it had. What felt like an eternity later, it beeped, and my bracelet and tags appeared before me. I had been accepted. | From the sidelines, we watched as 100 million of our own walked into uncharted territory.
All across the planet, at the capital of each nation, the aliens had dropped large metallic archways. Upon landing on the earth, they began to glow with an ominous light, forming doorways to an opened universe.
*100 million volunteers*, said the aliens to the leaders of the human race. *100 million freely given, freely went. In return, none of your people shall starve again, nor know disease. Pain and suffering will be but a distant memory. This is our offer.*
The leaders were hesitant. How could the aliens prove that they could uphold their end of the deal?
The aliens laid waste to Rome in a fury of celestial fire. Nothing remained but rubble and ash. Then, like a wave of the magic wand, a great beam of light descended from one of their ships, and Rome rebuilt itself in a day. All lives were returned, as if they were never lost.
The call went out. Every president, prime minister, and dictator appeared to their respective peoples. *Will you go?* they asked. *Will you answer the call?*
It didn’t take long. Prisoners were given the option to go, and many did. Homeless men and women answered the call in droves. Lost teens searching for a purpose found it in the armada that hovered in the atmosphere. Widowers recently heartbroken, priests who’d lost their faith at the sight of the first ships, men and women who felt the stirring of adventure; so many answered the call, from all walks of life.
Above the archways were counters. As each person stepped through that veil of light across the world, the number increased. By the end of the first day, over 70 million people worldwide had gone. Parents wept; little brothers and sisters asked where their siblings had gone, and if they’ll be back; lovers were left behind, dry-eyed and jaws clenched.
At 4:03 AM of the second day since the call, the counter hit 100 million, and the veils of light disappeared. Shouts of relief and rage and regret ringed the world over.
Then, the aliens began to leave. Their impossible ships rose further and further into the air. The leaders of the howled, fearing treachery and lies.
But the aliens did not forget. They had promised to rid the world of hunger and illness, pain and suffering.
And so, they did. All 9 ships unleashed their arsenal, like a wave of holy fire that scoured the planet of its burden. The earth was left barren and burnt, but peaceful and quiet.
The aliens completed the trade, then left to find another planet.
---
Check out my profile for more non-alien stories >:~D | 2020-07-22T11:14:26 | 2020-07-22T08:53:14 | 19 | 12 |
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