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] You arrive in Chemistry class and realize that your teacher is absent. As standard procedure, a sub has taken your teacher's place. Only this is no ordinary sub, it's a foot long sandwich. | Steve walked into class. It was Tuesdays, and Steve hated Tuesdays because Steve hates everything. But this was no ordinary Tuesday. This Tuesday, they had a sub come in to teach. But this was no ordinary sub. It was a footlong sandwich that a lot of roast beef, in my opinion it was too much. The sub tried to speak about physics, but it could not talk because it was a sandwich, comprised of bread, condiments and roast beef. It didn't know physics either because its purpose was to be eaten and not to understand the laws of the universe. Steve was bored but was glad he had the sub for a teacher because he didn't do his homework. Everyone respected the sub and sat in silence while a movie played. | Lola walked into class, her bag slung over her shoulder as usual. As soon as she opened the door, she knew something was wrong. Her teacher - Ms. Yumi - was not yelling across the classroom, and the kids weren't yapping their mouths over her. She looked at her classmates, who stared back. One of the kids in the front row, Audrey, pointed to the front of the class.
There, sitting at Ms. Yumi's desk, was a sandwich. A foot long sandwich straight from Subway, with warm Italian bread, neatly folded turkey breast, melted provolone cheese, crunchy lettuce, and mayonnaise drizzled onto the top. Lola blinked, confused.
"Lola, heads up," the quiet yet familiar voice of Nikki, Lola's best friend, called. "Don't say anything or...it will throw a ruler at you. Just sit down, be quiet, and stare at it."
A ruler went flying across the room and hit Nikki on the head with a loud SMACK!
"She's down!" Tiffany yelled. "Everyone, under the desks before they get you too!" She dived down under her seat, the rest of the class following along. Lola ducked under the nearest table she could get to.
All was silent for a few tense moments, and the bell rang. This signaled lunch time, and Lola knew exactly what to do.
"Anyone up for Subway?" she asked. | 2015-07-05T05:36:49 | 2015-07-05T05:01:25 | 184 | 51 |
[WP] A sick child causes a zombie outbreak in Disneyland. After being trapped in a ride for hours, cut off from the outside world, a small group of park guests and "cast members" must try to get through the abandoned ruin of the park and escape to the outside world. | *Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.*
*We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot,*
*Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.*
*Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.*
*We extort, we pilfer, we filch-*
Jack Sparrow grinned at me from his throne, a wide grin, an empty grin like a doll, with empty doll's eyes and a frame empty of any soul. I listened to the soft sound of servos under the rubber skin, the ones that stretched his mouth into a rictus smile, the ones that tipped his cup at me as if in some mocking toast and then relaxed again, lips smoothed over white teeth, body settled to wait for the next boat of tourists that would never come.
You look at something like Jack, and you know he's not human. He's a husk, a thing driven by motors and mechanical things I can't put a name to, pneumo-pneuma-pneumatics? Anyway you know he's not real, not in the way that living, breathing, thinking, wishing, earnestly *wanting* people are, we're all of us pretty good at figuring out where the humanity of something human-shaped ends.
Shit, I digress. The point is we all *know* when something's not right, when something's gone wrong with our fellow man, just as I knew that the pirate's empty salutation and empty-headed grin was nothing but a sham. Just as I knew the thing staggering and splashing its way down the tunnel - backlit in the Hell's glow of emergency lights at the ride's end - wasn't human any more than automata!Jack.
That wasn't our first zed to put down. We laughed at that a bit, the grim kind that takes you as if in self defense, or maybe self preservation, *"We laugh because we're too horrified to express anything else"*. So we bashed this flailing, soaked-to-its-skin living dead thing's head in like the last four to come before it, and we chuckled in our mad, giddy terror as red speckled the heaps of gold around Jack's throne, chunks of spongey brain with it.
"This is karma for missing the LARP, isn't it?" Steven tried to look severe, as I washed blood off my arms with musty-smelling ride water, but my husband couldn't hold the expression for long. It cracked like glass in a frame, splintering into a fragile smirk.
That was good to see, I needed that. He hadn't wanted to come on the ride at all. Coasters freaked him out, the lack of control, the sharp ups and downs and forget about the loops - even the drop at *Pirates*' start had his palms sweating - but he came for me, because I had asked. "You'll love it," I told him then, dancing from foot to foot in the hot Florida sun, like I was six years old again instead of pushing thirty, dazzled by Disney and eager to pull my husband into the depths of wonder with me.
"Do you think anyone else is alive?"
"I don't know." He dried his wet hands on his shirt. "It's probably time we found out."
I followed him into the water again, gripping the back of his shirt, makeshift weapons in hand, our eyes turned toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
"I love you," I whispered fiercely, and the words came out high, choked. This was supposed to be our honeymoon, this was supposed to be a vacation, this was supposed to be memories in the making, times to cherish.
He didn't glance back, but I saw the pull at the corner of his mouth, framed by his dark beard, and I knew what he was going to say. It was lame and cliche and we were probably going to die in that hellhole one way or another, but god help all of us, nothing would shake his nerdy sense of humor.
"I know," he said, and went out before me at the ride's end, with pirates singing behind us, and blood-stained Jack Sparrow silently toasting our venture into the dawn.
*eta: couple of fixes* | After it was done, Princess Jasmine vomited quietly into a corner. She dragged an arm across her mouth and then screamed senselessly.
A bald, thick-middled man peered over the carcass, keeping his distance. “I’d say you got him! You got that devil good!” I sank to the ground, still holding on to the thrashed piece of wood that used to be Lilo’s surfboard.
All around us, animatronic dolls danced and sang. They’d kept going through all of it.
Cinderalla’s arms were around me, just like I’d imagined a thousand times. But this time she was sobbing hysterically into my neck. “You did what you had to do! You saved us! You saved us.”
I’d just murdered a child. I was officially a child killer.
Cinderella sniffled. “He was just sick, right? Sick or something.” Her face was dark.
“Can’t somebody turn off the goddamn music!” That was Gaston, who crouched with his arms out like he was ready to kill anything that moved.
“You did what had to be done,” Cinderella said again, into the space between my shoulders and neck.
The little boy had gone crazy. He’d attacked his brother and eaten part of his face. His parent’s arms were all bitten up, and so were a lot of other people’s. All the commotion in the Jon boat must’ve set off a motion sensor, because the ride stopped. We stumbled desperately up the embankment and onto the displays. I remember seeing the kid *leap* out of the boat. One movement, straight up. Then he plowed through a row of hula dancers. Their hips shook as they arced through the air. *They all have the same face,* I realized. And then, *that's the whole point.*
“Hesus! Hesus, help us, please!” That was Aladdin, a guy called Ernesto who’d been to prison for larceny a while back. He knelt in a bed of plyboard tulips and raised his hands to God.
“Yes! Jayzus! Halp us, Jayzus!” That was the Southern lady, the gray-haired one, the one who’d arrived in a big family group. She’d been crouching, but got up to stand near Ernesto.
“Can we PLEASE try to stay focused here! We need to find a way out.” A repairman; he’d come running when he heard a child screams echo through the ride.
“Lord, we need you now. Judgement day is here. It’s here, Lord, it’s here.”
The repairman stepped in front of her.
“Look! We don’t need to frighten ourselves any more than we already are! What we need is a plan to get out. Can anyone remember if we passed an exit door on our way through?”
“Don’t you know?”
He shook his head. “I’ve only been working on this installation a few days. The goddamn place is huge.”
A scream, loud and wild. Jasmine again.
“IT WAS A ZOMBIE! IT WAS REAL! THEY'RE FUCKING REAL!” Then she started with the screaming again.
A man stepped forward. “I reckon seeing a door. Back there aways. I didn’t think nothin’ of it at the time.” A father, holding a very quiet little girl in a princess dress. She hadn’t said anything in a long time.
“OK! So we go back the way we came.” He pointed down the passage. It was lined on both sides with cutout jungle pieces and darkened sharply around a curve.
“Wouldn’t be able to see or hear nothin’ down there,” the bald man said.
“Anything could get at us.”
No one spoke. Then:
“He was sick this morning.”
Fuck. The kid’s mother. She was still in the gondola, holding her other son, the one who was missing half a face. Red streamed down her forearms and pooled in the bottom of the boat.
“I knew something was wrong. He had a fever. But we come all this way just to see the place! What could I do? Leave him at the hotel? Stay with him? What about them other kids? Who was gone look after them? We come all this way just to see the place.” She shivered and blood pulsed down her arm.
“Ya’ll need to get to get to that exit,” she said.
“Now, Ramona, you know we ain’t leavin’ you here.”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “And all the others like me. The ones who got bit. Leave us here. Go. Run.”
| 2016-01-15T22:08:40 | 2016-01-15T20:50:01 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | PARIS (AP) Leaders from 42 countries gathered in the French capital Tuesday to thank the police detective who singlehandedly defeated the terrorist group known as ISIS.
Inspector Jacques Clouseau still seemed a little dazed from his ordeal in Syria, saying only "I do not know who zis ISIS person is, I am just glad ze Pink Panther is returned safely."
Clouseau traveled to Syria last month in pursuit of the famed jewel.
Reports on the incident may never be complete, but captured ISIS militants from destroyed bases in the region indicated destroyed weapons stockpiles, large fires, infighting and in one case, a base leader crushed to death by a falling piano ultimately lead to the total collapse of the organization and the surrender of the few surviving members.
Clouseau was awarded high honors from several nations including the US and his own France.
He was also awarded a cash prize large enough to retire from police work forever, on the condition that he retire from police work forever. | At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it. | 2016-01-29T07:27:42 | 2016-01-29T06:56:50 | 1,067 | 55 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | PARIS (AP) Leaders from 42 countries gathered in the French capital Tuesday to thank the police detective who singlehandedly defeated the terrorist group known as ISIS.
Inspector Jacques Clouseau still seemed a little dazed from his ordeal in Syria, saying only "I do not know who zis ISIS person is, I am just glad ze Pink Panther is returned safely."
Clouseau traveled to Syria last month in pursuit of the famed jewel.
Reports on the incident may never be complete, but captured ISIS militants from destroyed bases in the region indicated destroyed weapons stockpiles, large fires, infighting and in one case, a base leader crushed to death by a falling piano ultimately lead to the total collapse of the organization and the surrender of the few surviving members.
Clouseau was awarded high honors from several nations including the US and his own France.
He was also awarded a cash prize large enough to retire from police work forever, on the condition that he retire from police work forever. | When Daesh had exploded a bomb right in the middle of the sambodromo, the world was shocked.
Fortunately, nobody was killed, but Rio´s carnaval was destroyed. Brazilians demanded a strong answer from their government, but they had not fought a serious war for at least 150 years, so how to react? How to succeed where warfaring countries had failed?
Well, the answer came from the strangest of the places: Mauro Maravilha, São Paulo´s most famous carnavelesco devised a plan. Destroy Daesh without a single bullet. How? Mulatas, cerveja and, obviously, samba.
Brazilians united into one goal: to become the ultimate propaganda machine that would strike into the heart and mind of the jihadists. With catchy slogans as "Is better a Mulata today then 70 virgins tomorrow", the Daesh recruitment fell to almost nothing in no time.
Then came the bombing. Weird bombs: of pictures of beautifully tanned men and women("lay down your weapons and join the party!"it was written), chilling cold brazilian beer kegs chuted, pandeiros, cavaquinhos, speakers that would blast the best of the best brazilian music 24/7.
And finally, the land invasion. The Samba Brigades were made of such skilled musicians, that no one, I mean, NO ONE, that heard their music could stand still.
But not all is good news for the brazilians. Now is 2020, and Raqqa´s carnaval parade is rumoured to be even greater then Rio´s.
[I know it is not very good! Constructive criticism is very welcomed] | 2016-01-29T07:27:42 | 2016-01-29T07:12:39 | 1,067 | 36 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | PARIS (AP) Leaders from 42 countries gathered in the French capital Tuesday to thank the police detective who singlehandedly defeated the terrorist group known as ISIS.
Inspector Jacques Clouseau still seemed a little dazed from his ordeal in Syria, saying only "I do not know who zis ISIS person is, I am just glad ze Pink Panther is returned safely."
Clouseau traveled to Syria last month in pursuit of the famed jewel.
Reports on the incident may never be complete, but captured ISIS militants from destroyed bases in the region indicated destroyed weapons stockpiles, large fires, infighting and in one case, a base leader crushed to death by a falling piano ultimately lead to the total collapse of the organization and the surrender of the few surviving members.
Clouseau was awarded high honors from several nations including the US and his own France.
He was also awarded a cash prize large enough to retire from police work forever, on the condition that he retire from police work forever. | A man in a white tee-shirt, dust covered jeans, and a hat plops down into a recliner and turns on his television and begins switching through channels until he comes to the news.
The images on screen were like it was straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare depending on where a person was from. It showed members of the Islamic State dead in streets and homes. All of them different in some way. Some had body parts swollen three time their normal size, others foaming at the mouths, most with bloodshot eyes and looks of agony on their faces.
The man yawned and continued to watch.
The news abruptly cut to film of what happened.
A high shot shows dust and sand flying as a large land force approachs a city. The camera zooms in to show a massive force of kangaroos closing in fast. A few dozen military officers riding emus are not to far behind them.
Another abrupt cut shows the kangaroos attacking the Islamic State forces in close combat as blackness begins to flow from their pouches. Spiders and scorpions run out onto the battlefield and begin attacking their targets.
More creatures begin to come out of the roos pouches. Snakes of varying size and color, a couple of dingos, and a few crocodiles.
The man turns off the television and smiles knowing that his nation was the turning factor in the fight against the Islamic State. He chuckles to himself and says quietly, "Well, at least we were kind enough not to send in the dropbears. Them little fucker are savage". | 2016-01-29T07:27:42 | 2016-01-29T07:13:23 | 1,067 | 11 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | Reports come in today that North Korean president Kim Jong Un has launched a nuclear weapon in response to the sanctions imposed by the US and China. However, North Korean scientists miscalculated the trajectory of the missile leading it to land in Raqqa, Syria. An upcoming UN meeting of World Leaders will decide if North Korea will be faced with nuclear warcrimes and if foreign peacekeepers are to be sent. | The dust settled, and a lone black boot came slowly into Major Thomson's view. Heaving a sigh, she raised herself up on her hands, only to be stopped by a swift kick to the ribs.
'Stay down,' came a voice in a thick South American accent, 'or we will strike you down'.
'W-Where am I?'
'You're in heaven, Ms. Thomson. As the last of the Islamic State group, it is our duty to execute you.'
'No, please!' she screamed, to no avail.
'Starting launch in T-Minus 10...'
'Is that a - is that a *spaceship launch sequence*?'
It was then that she realised where she was.
Strapped directly beneath the thrusters.
And as she looked up to see who it was that had wiped out everything she'd stood for, she thought she caught a glimpse of papal robes and the cross.
Vatican City had done it again.
EDIT: grammar | 2016-01-29T06:09:39 | 2016-01-29T05:00:31 | 277 | 144 |
[WP] Write the most uncomfortable to read story you can. | Tony revved the chainsaw between his legs causing the teeth to dig into his his pants. The chain bit into the cloth, and rode up to his vulnerable ball sack. It began stripping the flesh from his testicles, digging further up. The chainsaw cut further up into his manhood, causing the chain to snag on the flesh as it pinched and blocked the mechanism. He dropped the chainsaw out of pain, but the weight was too much for the remaining flesh, causing it to stretch and snap off. | The butler swiftly moved throughout the house, everywhere he went leaving a trail of stench behind him.
"I think he shit his pants"
"My god I think I'll die if I experience this foul odor one more time."
This and more the guests ventured to say.
As the butler waddled, he felt the squenching of feces in his posterior region. He knew it was only a matter of time before the moist turd escaped the confines of his under trousers and escaped into the free air.
He slowly, carefully approached the bathroom door. Knocking twice, a voice from within called "Occupied."
The master's voice.
Faced with no other option, the poo-laden protagonist plopped himself down on the trashcan in the neighboring kitchen.
He pulled down his pants and began scraping the residue out with a cake server. Just as most of the moist scat was cleared into the bin, the mistress walked into the room.
The mistress screamed in fright as the butler stammered, trying to explain his situation.
Grabbing the bin and raising his pants, he slowly backed out the kitchen and into the dark night, never to be seen again. | 2016-02-28T11:59:56 | 2016-02-28T11:49:36 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] After gaining the ability to see everyone's red strings of fate tying soul mates to each other. You realize your string extends past the sky. | In a way, I'm glad for the strings of fate. Their visibility has led to all out peace on this once malignant planet. It became easy to find that "true love", and people became happier for it.
Some pairings were conventional. Some weren't. But all resulted in bliss. You can feel it in the air. I'm grateful for that.
And I am grateful for the way lovers are so enthralled and absorbed in each other. Because looking upon myself, I feel only regret.
Every time I look down at my wrist, at the scarlet strand tied taut and ever reaching upwards, I feel regret.
Most everyone else in the world has found their soulmate. I never will. A vast sea separates my love and I. I can feel that, too. This constant warmth in my chest, a second heart beating in sync with mine. This comfort transcends all boundaries. Space and time matter not. Somewhere, someone is meant for me. And I for them.
The years of loneliness make sense. My discomfort with past relationships wasn't an overreaction. I always knew. Nothing ever felt right.
Not until now.
And as I lay on the grass under a diamond dappled sky, I smile through the tears. Maybe one day, we'll meet. In another life. In this one. One day our kindred souls will meet, and all will be perfect.
"I'll find you," I whisper. "One day."
And on the breath of the cool wind, a response comes.
'soon.' | I looked to the sky once more, my string reached far beyond the view of the naked eye. I grew depressed each time, seeing others around me finding love while I sit here with my curse.
I was in school, bored out of my mind. My ability had one advantage though, it helped provide distractions at times like these. Some students had their red strings extend to someone in this very room, some people's strings ran across oceans and mountains.
Seeing everyone else fall in love, or have the honour of learning of their true love someday always made me think about what I was missing. Knowing that the girl I liked was not the one was heartbreaking, and especially that mine was always beyond my grasp.
Anyways back to class, today I saw two soulmates at school meet up for the first time, it was love at first sight, I should of felt happy for them but all I felt was a sick twisting feeling in my stomach. Something I knew I never could have. At the moment of realization, I realized I had enough, I had to know, I had to find out who they were, who my soulmate was.
I rushed home went straight to Amazon and bought the best telescope I could afford. This may not work but perhaps I can finally get a better glimpse of what my destiny is.
I waited a few days for the package, I could barely even hold my anticipation. I knew that the chance of finding anything was slim, but I still had a sliver of hope that kept me going.
It finally arrived, I unboxed the telescope and rushed with the parts to my backyard to assemble. It was already night when I had finished and my parents weren't home yet to hassle me about it. I pressed my left eye to the lens and peered along my string.
Nothing yet. I set the zoom progressively higher and higher till I actual caught a faint glimmer of something on the end of the string. Eureka! I zoomed in all the way and found a blurry circle covering the view.
I focused the lens, a moment later I wished that I hadn't, in my view, at the end of my red string was a red and purple dragon, at that moment I realized I was donkey from Shrek.
Sorry about that, I couldn't think of anything better. | 2016-08-05T22:17:34 | 2016-08-05T21:22:31 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise! | After listening to grand deeds of everyone at the massive table, Odin slammed his jug down, sending mead in a sputtering fountain. His good eye squinted and his finger pointed at me.
“Your turn, newbie!” he roared. “What’s your glorious battle?”
The room was suddenly quiet and all faces turned towards me. I had the attention of war veterans, freedom fighters, vigilantes, and most of Asgard. I had heard their tales of grandeur, of their strides, and their final battles, and now the time had come for me, a lowly register attendant at Wallmart, to justify my place amongst these heroes.
“Right,” I said, standing up. I was so fucked. “Uhm, okay, so…”
“Go on,” Thor shouted from his place next to Odin. He threw up his jug and smashed it to splinters with his hammer. “Let’s hear it!”
And at that moment I thought, ‘fuck it!’ and cleared my throat.
“It was a night in icy January – the winds were so cold that all the animals had died in the woods. I thundered down the road on my steed of blazing metal, stopping for nobody!”
In reality, it had been a mild winter but the news reported a few birds dying to some virus. My steed was, in fact, an old rusty Buick, and I had accidentally driven through a red light.
“I parked… err, I mean left, my trusted steed in the stables of a tavern notorious for its villainous patrons. See, I needed a drink after the long strenuous ride.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the room.
“After a few rounds, I ventured back outside in the blistering cold. Things were getting heated and I required my weapon.”
I had accidentally spilled my drink on a lady and needed to write her a check for dry cleaning.
“That’s when I saw it, a message written in blood,” I said lowering my voice to a whisper. “It was more than a challenge – a declaration of war – and at that moment I swore on my honor that I was going to see the battle to the end.”
I died the same night from a heart attack while writing a lengthy letter to the local government, attempting to fight the parking ticket.
| Odin and the rest of the warriors surrounding the table stare daggers into my eyes. Many people are talking and there's music playing but I only focus on the sound of me shifting myself on my seat.
"Well", Odin bellows, becoming more agitated with each moment of procrastination, "Out with it. Tell us of the fierce battle and how you fell on the battlefield."
"Uh...", I manage to say a single syllable.
Odin continues to stare. "Was it a tactical error? Were you overwhelmed? How many did you take down?"
I take a deep breath and begin my story.
"I was at a party. It was New year's eve. I went outside to have a cigarette and there was a guy. He seemed drunk. He slowly approached me and asked him if he was ok."
Odin grunted, "So it wasn't a battle? It was a random encounter?"
"Uh, yeah. But it's not what you think."
"I've heard this story many times. Fight with a drunkard, lost. It's fine. You needn't tell the rest."
Odin looks around the table. "Anyone else has an interesting story of their demise they wish to tell?"
I slam my fist on the table, and yelled, "Wait! There's more! You didn't let me finish!"
Odin smirks and nods with approval. "Finish your story."
I sigh.
'Turns out he wasn't drunk. He was a zombie."
Odin mid-sip spits his drink out, ale dribbling down his beard. "Zombie? The undead? You had a battle with the undead?"
"Yeah. And... Well I realized that he was a zombie when he bit me. Which meant I was infected. I fought him, eventually pushed it- the zombie out the window and it died. Undied. Uh, perished?"
Odin looks on intrigued. "Continue."
"There isn't really much to tell. After that encounter I met up with a group of survivors and tried to fight the infection but alas, it was not meant to be."
Odin sternly looks at me. He grabs his cup and raises it. "To your battle, that you fought in honor, welcome to Valhalla!"
The entire table repeats, "welcome!"
I say my thanks and leave the table to find a napkin. I hear a faint slow clap in the distance.
"Great story, Dave. Almost felt like I was there."
I turn around to see my friend, Barry.
"So, Barry... You made it here too."
Barry walks towards me in a embarrassed posture.
"Dave, how did we end up here? I mean I know what happened but.. "
"Let's forget about that. No one needs to know the truth."
"You mean the fact that we had a drunken fight on the roof and fell to our deaths?"
"Yeah. Let's just pretend that it was zombies."
END
(Sorry for crap story, first time doing this.)
| 2022-10-21T23:29:50 | 2016-10-31T13:10:10 | 327 | 108 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed. | The world here passes me by. Times come and go, but this room never changes. The radio never changes. The recliner I sit in has been here forever and it will be here forever. Time passes here, but it never stays.
They call me Lucifer to spite me. They mock me, ignoring my existence as I sit here watching out the window of the damned. They mock me in my own personal hell.
Lucifer, the real one, was an old man when I had come. He took to me kindly and I would visit him often after I had died. It was a nice respite from the back-breaking work outside. We would listen to his radio and he would tell me of his life, his faded hopes and dreams. He was a nice man, Lucifer. But he was the Devil.
The day he had planned carefully. I walked in and the shades were drawn over the window. A red glow burned through the shades and our shadows were long, undefined. We had tea and he played the music of the angels on the radio. I remember thinking how beautiful it was, hating myself every second for being here and not being up there with them. But Lucifer did not pay attention. He was old and prone to babbling. He babbled plenty that day and he cried often. He cried when he spoke of the early days of Creation. He cried for his youth. I listened as best as I could, but I wasn't really paying attention. I listened to the radio, trying to absorb every note instead. And so I had taken the bait.
I made the tea, not looking at what I was doing. I focused only on the music and vaguely on Lucifer's words. I poured the tea that would kill the Devil. I saw him sip it and I remember his smile, a subtle thing that broke the spell of the music.
"You're a good boy," he said. "You really don't belong here."
And he laughed his old man laugh.
I think he had wanted to die for a long time. I don't know why I was the one he chose, but that was how the dice rolled. They found me and I saw the angels first hand. They were mighty beings, more majestic than their song had let on. I was in awe as I stood before God Himself and was sentenced to my doom.
It happened in a flash. Not white, but a colorless transition as my eternity changed forever. God handed down his judgement and then it was over. I cannot even remember what God looked like, he was so imperceptible. But I remember his tone, and the sadness that hid as he knew Lucifer was dead.
All of hell was saddened and I was to blame. I sit here alone now, unwanted in the most unwanted place of existence, alone with no one to visit. The window of the damned remains my only distraction. That and the radio. I listen sometimes again to the angels sing, but now it makes me sadder than ever. I miss Lucifer and I regret my life. I wonder what I have done to deserve any of this, but I know I have done enough. I sit these days in the old recliner. I sit and think of how things could have been. It truly is Hell. | Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I didn't actually *kill* the Devil. He killed himself. Was I involved? Marginally. There was a wager, of course - the Devil is nothing if not a gambler - involving a guitar and my soul, which turned entirely on the fact that the Devil mistakenly believed Jimmy Page to be dead. Jimmy Page is not dead, but now the Devil is.
I was pretty pleased with myself for defeating the Devil and ending up in possession of Jimmy Page's hands (which are a bit spotted, but still quite deft). I didn't actually learn about the Devil's ultimate demise until the reports began coming in about all those souls of the damned wandering the Earth, tearing up flower beds and possessing school children and the like. It turned out that the Gates of Hell had been opened and now all the most wicked men and women and horses to have ever lived were free to do their worst once again (limited, of course, by their lack of a physical body).
I felt less good about all the evil spirits, but things only got worse when God came to visit.
Now, because I know the question will come up eventually, God is not a man. Or a woman. God is a being of pure light, formed roughly into the shape of an alpaca. God also prefers to be called Karl, but I think that may be confusing, so I'll continue to call God God.
God explained to me that the Devil's death was my fault (I would have argued this point, but God speaks very quickly and loudly, which is really a rather clever strategy, you must admit). God was quite clear on three points: 1) that Hell is a very necessary place, which God would gladly close should it ever become unnecessary, but we don't really seem to be trending in that direction; 2) that Hell needs a Master to guard the gates, administer the requisite tortures, and plan birthday parties; and 3) I would be that Master.
It was not a request. I have gathered that God does not make requests, and even when it appears that God is making a request it is actually a demand dressed up like a request. So off to Hell I went. With great sadness, I was forced to rehome my dog Pebbles with my sister, as dogs are not allowed in Hell. My cat, however, was welcomed readily.
So far - and it hasn't been all that long - I don't especially like Hell. The heat is unpleasant and while many Hell-bound led interesting lives prior to their damnation, they downplay and demure at every turn, hoping - I believe - that Hell may someday institute a parole system.
Worse still are the demons, all quite loyal to the original Devil, who do my bidding in the most lethargic and uninspired manner possible. I often hear them speaking behind my back, plotting my doom, hoping to install a Devil more to their liking. This is fine. I was unpopular in high school, also. Eventually they will come to respect me. Or they will tie me to a poll and take turns brushing their genitals across my face. One or the other.
My throne of skulls is uncomfortable. Ms. Meow-Meow finds the cat treats here unappealing. No one seems all that impressed with my flawless rendition of *Ramble On*. Hell, my friends, is truly hell.
So I would implore you to consider your choices there on Earth. Be good. Be kind. Be a dog, if at all possible. Avoid stabbing or strangling or wearing your ex-husband's rib cage as a vest. Hell is not for you. Unless, of course, you enjoy balmy temperatures and above average Led Zeppelin covers. And if that is the case, I would suggest you do your best to die before Sunday night, when I'll be doing the entirety of *Physical Graffiti*. Should be a good show. Maybe I'll see you then. | 2016-12-09T08:29:57 | 2016-12-09T08:22:15 | 117 | 56 |
[WP] You are the Devil and you like to make deals with humans. You have them sign their contracts in blood because that is how you find them to collect your dues. It turns out your latest Contractee was an avid blood donor. | Written in ink, black as night,
Signed in blood under a full moon's light.
Fleeting treasures given to him,
In exchange his soul I would win.
.
The deadline had come, it was time to collect,
But now it seems my plan was wrecked.
Traces of his blood encircled the earth,
Who could now say what the contract was worth?
.
Try and collect? Of course I must
Nothing can stop my aching soul lust
I call in the contract, just in time,
And to my delight, ten thousand souls become mine.
| 'Son of a bitch, you're kidding me, right?'
It was the third try today, and still, no sign of my Contractee. I followed the blood trail like I always had thousands of times before but for some reason this particular spell has gone wonky. It's indescribable!
'Sorry to bother you, I'll be taking your memories of this interaction now.'
'Wait, wha-' was all they had time to say before I placed my hand on their head and cast the short incantation, wiping their memory of the past few hours.
-Back in Hell-
'Why isn't this working??' I sputtered in frustration to the random ghoul beside me. 'I'm Lucifer! I'm the fucking king of Hell, and I can't get this one simple tracking spell to work!?!'. Anger shuddered through my bones and out my mouth in an exasperated sigh.
After casting the spell as many times as my patience would allow, I finally have a complete list of about a few hundred humans to check up on and try and collect my dues. 'This is gonna be a long fucking week' I sigh as I start the teleportation incantation with the first name on the list. | 2017-04-22T05:05:27 | 2017-04-22T00:17:20 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | St Peter finished the briefing and Cletus was sure he saw a flicker of a smirk on his face. Cletus let out a long sigh then he spoke.
"So I have to fight every bug I've ever killed?"
"Yes." Peter replied. Doing a slightly better job of keeping a straight face. Cletus studied his face for a moment but his expression remained blank.
"You realise that my whole career was as a bug exterminator?" He said.
"Oh?" Replied Peter feigning surprise, "it er.." he flicked through some papers on his desk but didn't seem to actually be reading anything. "It would seem to be the case, yes." He said with an awkward smile.
"Well I'm fucked then aren't I?" Cletus cried. "I mean I was fucked from the start, the game was stacked, 40 years ago when I took the job to feed me family."
"Well... Ahem, God allows us to make our own choices and..."
"Our own choices?" Peter interrupted. "God is all powerful right?" "Well..." "And he speaks to us if we listen yes?" He carried on.
"Yes of course! God is all hearing and..."
"Well I went to church every Sunday" He interrupted again. "Every Sunday I went to church and every day I prayed! Do you think maybe he might have mentioned that my career choice wasn't setting me up well for the after life, do you thi..." There was to be no reply. Peter was gone and the room melted away and he was sitting on the dirt on an empty plain. He could hear the sound of buzzing in the distance and he stood up. Stuck both his middle fingers up at the sky.
"Fuck you goooooooooooo....!!!!" He screamed as the swarm surrounded him and drowned him out.
"So let me get this straight." Dirk said. "For every woman I've boned? A quarter pint of semen will be added to a barrel, the barrel will be poured down my throat until it is empty and if I am still alive by the time it is empty I will go to heaven?" He said incredulously.
"Yes that er... Would appear to be the case." Replied Peter matter of factly.
"You realise I'm a porn star right I....
Peter closed the door, just faintly through the door you could hear someone guuuurgling and spluttering "Fuuccck youuu gooooooahurgespergrreaarrg...!"
He sighed. At the end of the corridor sat God at a desk playing computer games.
"You don't like humans much do you?"
God pulled off his headset.
"What?"
"Oh n-nothing..." He stammered.
God eyed him suspiciously and then plunged his hand into a bag of Cheetos.
"Alright, there's a politician in room 4 due to face his obstacle." Hopefully he didn't lie too much in his career or he may find it a little difficult!" God laughed, his laughter grew louder and louder. He could still hear the bellowing as he closed the door behind him.
God doesn't like humans very much. In truth it was always obvious we just didn't want to see it.
Edit: Sorry I really am no writer, I just wanted have a go! Advice always welcome, it's the simple things like describing the flow of a conversation without just saying he said, she said that pain me the most. | She sat in the back of the dusty cells, decked head to toe in cracked leather armor, like some poor sod out of Mad Max made manifest. She had the options of heavier armor, but she figured the lighter armor would keep her nimble. The keepers here could conjure any sort of arms and armor that she could conceive.
Her first cheeky attempt at requesting something ludicrous, say a tank for example, was met with a pointed "No". She hated that moment. Not because an ethereal being from purgatory had dismissed her handily. That was easily the least of her worries.
It was what the tone betrayed beneath it.
It wasn't the exasperated "no" of a retail employee who had answered the same question one time too many. It wasn't the furrowed brow and irritated tones of a humorless middle manager in some software development company somewhere.
It was a habitual response that found no humor, joy, sorrow, bemusement, nothing at all. There was nothing there. Everything currently happening to her was a process with natural immutable rules, like a change of season or an ocean current. This was her first clue that she was a part of that process. Something to be attended to in short order.
That's all...
Her hair had been a tangled mess of dirty blonde in life befitting the blue collar work.
It was now as short as can be.
A bleeding scalp that was white hot with pain following her first encounter with a gargantuan termite. That taught her to cut her hair.
Another battle with a beetle. New scars. New lessons. Dead inside.
Four more. Various insects. She gasped for air and humanity against the corpse of a beetle. The usually disinterested crowd that was there out of obligation -their role in the process- murmured at the young scrappy woman still alive somehow despite six consecutive battles. It turned into a boisterous cheer.
Something flickered in the depths of who she was. It wasn't a scorch that brought her back to life. The apathy had snuffed out what it could. But somewhere down there it was flickering, barely holding on, just like her.
A few more battles. The insects stopped entertaining the crowd, so they started moving into the smaller rodents. Mice and rats and the like. She had noted the sideways glances of the keepers during her off time.
Curiosity!
Her recent victories had lit a blaze and force of will in her she wasn't sure she even had known in life. But the crowd's deafening approval could only spark so much. But the notion that the resigned keepers, whom were the embodiment of the process, had been made different through her. The thought made that light into a powerful inferno.
And so brings us to today. The day prior she had made short work of the largest rat available. They would move onto the larger vermin such as Possums and Raccoons today. Scars painted her bare arms like a tapestry of warfare. It was a macabre bit of symbolism, but it was a chronological map of her will to become who she was in this moment, sitting in the dusty interior of a gladiator cell with no significant anxiety but the thrill pounding with each pulse of blood through her veins.
The cell keeper came. A bald fellow with pale blonde eyebrows that made them difficult to see. He was dressed in pale blue robes that gathered the dust of the cobblestone floor as it brushed along.
He unlocked the gate and swung it open, stepping aside for her and her spear in the process. "My dear" he said warmly like he did before every battle. She didn't know his name yet, but he almost got him to tell her once. It just gave her more motivation to survive the raccoon out there. She could never know his name from one of Hell's nine circles (She had verified the nine circles were real. One of the other keepers had spilled that bit of trivia).
She could hear the crowd calling her already. She nodded at her keeper friend, and departed for the adoring crowd.
| 2017-04-24T00:45:32 | 2017-04-23T23:26:36 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] Humankind became extinct, a superior species now inhabits the earth. They dug up the remains of a human being and put it on display in a museum. What should it say on the text plate? | Here lies Man
When Man was hungry, He commanded the earth to yield food
When Man became thirsty, He did not go to the water
He made the water come to Him
When Man wanted to fly, He made His own wings
Man thought He could do all things
But He could not save Himself
Here lies Man -- who called us Best Friend
| [BOX DISTANCEPICTURE AND FLAT PLANE DISTANCEPICTURE]
Age magic is not precise enough to determine their exact age, our lord's best mages were only able to determine that they are around 12000 circulations old. These devices were early iterations of sight spheres but we have not been able to determine the wavelength of their spells.
[FIRESTAFF]
This preserved example of a firestaff has been used by battle spellcasters of the great empire known as "Aut Z'tria" and was assembled by the "Glo'ok" guild.
[DEATH CONE]
The official name given to this device is not known, but based on the location where it was found, this was an execution device which used a weak greenrock mix that caused loss of hair, weakness of the intestines and eventually death. This was an especially inhumane device as it required days to kill its victim.
| 2017-06-10T11:53:43 | 2017-06-10T11:14:02 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you. | *Anna was asked on a date by Phil. Anna politely turned him down.*
I'd forgotten about him. It'd been nearly ten years. My last semester at my first high school before I moved to another state a month later. I vaguely remember his dejected face. He seemed nice enough, wasn't that bad looking either, but there was something about him that made me say no.
I wonder what happened to him. At the bottom of the page, a reference number. I put my book to the side, and took a diversion to the shelf where Phil's book lay.
I looked at the contents. I immediately spotted a chapter simply named 'Anna'. I flicked to it, and found myself halfway through the book.
The beginning of the chapter seemed innocuous enough. Quite cute, even. Details on the first time he saw me, and how he was nervous to ask me out.
*Phil asked Anna out on a date. Anna politely turned him down.*
The next page or two described his heartbreak. He was not just dejected as his face implied, he was completely crushed. I started to feel bad for him. I nearly put the book down, but continued reading hoping to see his happy ending.
The chapter entitled 'Anna' kept going.
*Phil followed Anna home. She did not spot him.*
My pity quickly turned to disgust. And yet, I continued reading.
*Phil broke into Anna's home. He stole underwear, and placed cameras in her bedroom and bathroom.*
The chapter kept going and going. If "Phil watched" didn't precede nearly every sentence, it could easily be confused with my own biography. I felt sick to my stomach, but I kept reading.
*Phil found out that Anna was moving away soon. He is distraught*
The next page was the last page of the book.
| Eredol looked through the yellowed pages that documented the life of the woman who was, in his past life, his soulmate. It was such a blessing that he had stumbled across this book amongst the endless, twisting rows of bookshelves. There were so many books in the Eternal Library of Xyndith-Ghol, but there were so few ways for Eredol to hang on to the life he once knew. He savored every seemingly handwritten line in the tome, reliving those lost summer days when he and Linireth would sit by the lake of her parents' estate, exchanging love poems and playing music together.
As his eyes scanned over the pages, reliving those glory days, he raised one thin, curved eyebrow. There were certainly many more mentions of a human servant boy in here than there had been in his own biography. He barely even remembered that the estate had employed non-elves, for he had seen scant few mentions of them in his own biography. As he read more about Linireth, however, it seemed to Eredol as though his wife had conversed with the lower class far more often than he had previously thought.
The cracked pages of the ancient volume documented in excruciating detail every interaction between Linireth and a young human servant named Gerald. Every conversation, previously hidden behind closed doors but now exposed upon the pages in Eredol's hands, seemed to him almost like a blemish upon his wife's reputation. She was born from far too high a stock to warrant such lowly interactions with a human!
Eredol's lip twitched. When he had first found his wife's biography, he hadn't expected to become so irritated. All he wanted was to lose himself in an age long past, to find some respite from the endless days (Years? Centuries?) of wandering through the impossible architecture of this nightmarish realm. And yet, here he was, reading about his beloved soulmate laughing joyfully with a pathetic human boy.
Veins bulging in his neck, the High Elf closed the large, leatherbound volume, using a scrap of loose leaf paper to mark his place. He gingerly placed the book in his lap and took a long, deep breath. Perhaps he needed to meditate on this for some time before he would find the strength to return. He was almost to the part in Linireth's life when her husband had gotten involved in dark magic and suddenly disappeared.
Eredol feared nothing more than what he may discover had happened to her after that. | 2017-12-04T05:24:42 | 2017-12-04T04:16:06 | 78 | 40 |
[WP] God gave humanity Earth and filled it with marvels and wonders of many kinds. This was not done as a gift, but a distraction. To distract them from exploring the stars, and to protect them from the horrors that lurked out in the dark. | We thought it strange, at first, that with every new light that twinkled in the night, with every step we took towards the stars, another oh-so-interesting novelty appeared upon Earth. For every oh-so-promising exoplanet, twenty new pockets of new life or beauty were found upon Earth.
But humanity's attention was not so easily led astray.
We put three people on Mars in 2039. They died there, and the rusty sands greedily gnawed their bones to nothing.
As if they were alive.
Every mission to Mars ended much the same; the surface seemed cursed. Nothing but machines could live there.
So we turned our curious eye to Venus. We put cities in her skies, and they held. The Red Curse hadn't followed us here. And, with time, we built machines to settle her surface.
From the first explorer, we heard only screaming. An hour after contact was lost with the surface team, something burst from beneath the acid clouds of Venus. The sky cities stopped transmitting soon after that.
Every world in Sol was the same. No human could touch the surface and return. The Red Curse became the Surface Curse. For a moment, humanity nearly lost its will to reach the stars.
Nearly.
Earth remained our only world, but we built great space stations above the worlds we could never touch. Automated drones explored them and different drones consumed them. Venus was left, but no other world went unmarred by our hunger.
Then, as was standard, a prisoner slated for death was sent to the surface of Charon. We expected his suit to suffer sudden and total failure, a creature to manifest and destroy him, contact loss... any of the horrors we had faced before. Pluto had borne the Curse, and we had no reason to suspect different of Charon.
The prisoner was tossed from the airlock by depressurization, and the exploration team waited in abject boredom for the screaming.
It didn't come.
The whole species' attention turned to the desolate moon of Charon. What could be so special about a tiny ball of ice barely worthy of the title "moon?" Nothing seemed to fit. The presence of H2O was the only correlation, and not even a relevant one.
Nobody can recall whose idea it was to drill into Charon's core. They'd be lauded as a hero.
For deep within the ice, we found an ancient starship.
---
Continue?
\>Y
\>N | "I am not a big prayer man and I know I haven't visit any of your churches in a long time but I am a good man and I believe that that's what matters the most. Bringing people to Mars is my dream and I believe that your power can bring me closer to this scientific milestone." Peter stands up from his knees and goes to pee , then he returns back to his bedroom. "Oh shit I forgot!" He yells and quickly gets on his knees. "Amen".
God does , believe it or not , listen to Peter's prayer. He has time for all the world's prayers , because time goes slowly in heaven.
"I am sorry, Peter. I created them, but I can't bring myself into destroying them. Their annihilation would mean that I would have to look at them and that is something I cannot do. The only thing I can do is prevent others from seeing the terror which i created. You are about to meet someone special, Peter."
Peter suddenly got an unexplainably strong urge for eating pizza."I ain't even hungry, but I can't resist the taste" Peter thought to himself. He tried to call Cardellini's pizza in hopes of satisfying his want for delicious cuisine. For some odd reasom, nobody answered the call. "I am gonna order from someone else. Wait. Wait a minute. No. I want Cardellini pizza." So peter goes to the restaurant. As he enters, he sees a familliar face. "Samantha?" A girl he knew since the times they were in kindergarten. He has'nt seen her in a while. She did grow up to be a cutie though. "Oh, hi Peter, I haven't seen you in ages!" "Since fifth grade!" Peter said with a smile on his face.
"Yeah, look at us all grown up! Hey, are you going to a university?"
"Engineering School. I dream of getting to Mars." "Oh that's great! I am going to an art school, I wanna be a painter."
"One pepperoni with extra cheese!" "Oh, that's mine. It was nice seeing you, Peter." "Nice to see you too, Sam." Peter watches Samantha leave and thinks to himself that she looks *wonderful* .
"Who knows, maybe I could go to an artsy school too!" Peter thinks to himself as he slowly starts to forget his Mars dream.
"Thanks me." God says to himself with a feeling of satisfaction. But at the end of his head, there is a thought. A dark thought.
"How much longer can I do this? Humans have to see those freaks at some point in the future."
Meanwhile, in a secret, alien underground base on Mars:
"Hey kids! Dinner is ready!" Little Mijaak sits down for dinner. Not long after that, his parents and sister join him. They are a beautiful family. *On the surface* . "What's for dinner, mom?" Rjook looks at Mijaak amd reveals the dinner. "Your favorite, [milky steak!](https://i.redd.it/7ttjgh0g81pz.jpg) | 2018-01-01T20:13:08 | 2018-01-01T16:19:07 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth. Instead of attacking, they find the human race remarkably cute and decide to keep them as pets. It’s quite degrading, but it’s better than being eaten- right? | “Where is your ruffle? You should have your ruffle on by now.” Fizmik started looking through my closet. Ugh, ruffles!
“Oh god, stop. I’m telling you we haven’t worn ruffles for like 600 years!” The Bhu are certainly benevolent overlords, but they just don’t get fashion at all. They saw, early in their first visit to Earth, a picture of some old dude in England who had a ruffle on. They insist that it’s just the most adorable thing we could wear. “Why are you guys so into ruffles?”
“Boomy, ruffles just seem like the most natural look for you. I’m even wearing some myself!” It was true. Fizmik had three ruffles spaced evenly on his neck.
“My name is Ted! You have like a huge long neck! Of course you think ruffles are great. And where’s my food?”
“Oh, right. Hey, I’ll feed you!” He went to the kitchen cabinet and got up a large bag that, though it was marked in his own language, I knew meant Human Chow.
“Human Chow?? Ugh! How come I can never have tacos? Or burgers? Or pizza? Or any of the readily available human foods in stores right around us? I mean, just give me some money and I’ll go get it myself!”
Fizmik put eleven or so hands on his hips and said, “Oh no, mister taco! You want taco this and taco that but your cholesterol is through the roof! Dr Molpmik says your blood pressure is too high, too, so it’s Human Chow until you lower your cholesterol and blood pressure and lose some weight! Eat up, then we’ll go to the park. I’m going to work until you’re ready.” He went off to stick all of his hands into his weird computer and make weird faces at it for awhile. I had some Human Chow and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Bless the quick thinking diplomat that convinced the Bhu that humans needed a large amount of alcohol and sex. I put on the ruffle. I might meet someone at the human park, and I did kinda look cool in it. | They're telepathic. They speak every language. Their voices are a beautiful harmony of countless notes layered upon each other in an ever-changing symphony of chords made of melodies, of which humans can only hear a small fraction. Dogs can hear slightly more.
"Music is the language of the gods."
Zach was 15 when they arrived. It was a normal day.. he had skipped school to play video games and drink whiskey from Nick's parents' insanely well stocked liquor cabinet. His parents were never home. They went to work at eight, hit the bars at six, got home at nine, and fell asleep at nine o' five. 'The liquor cabinet must be for weekends,' Zach supposed as he stared through the crowd of bottles.
"How do they reach the ones at the back?"
"Come look at this, man. This is hilarious."
"What kind of alcohol habit would necessitate a cabinet of this size for two days out of the week?"
"Dude, I don't know. Finish making that drink and get in here, I've had this shit paused for ten minutes while you rub one out over there."
Zach walked into the smokey den to find his friend with a stupid grin on his face.
"Alright, you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Nick clicked a button on his controller and pointed at the screen.
"Look, it totally looks like they're fucking."
Zach wasn't paying attention. He was looking out the window at..
"Dude"
"He's all bent over, he.. hey--"
Zach grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window.
"Dude."
Nick spat out his whiskey, cartoon-style. It dripped down the window.
The cloud outside the window was spiraling. It was changing. It was no longer white. It was *every color*, and a few Zach had never seen before.
Nick held up his drink and pointed at it with a shaking hand.
"Yo, what the fuck did you put in this?"
Zach said nothing. He was edging closer to the window, still staring. This had to be some kind of prank, or an event. A concert?
Whatever it was, he found that he couldn't stop looking at it. "Let's get a closer look," he said suddenly, and made for the door. He flung it open, and *the best smell* greeted him. He turned back to Nick, who was still staring out the window, now smiling, with a hand on his hip. "You coming?"
Nick took a hurried gulp of whiskey and set it down as he pried his eyes from the phenomenon, and followed his friend outside. It was hot in the garden. Way hotter than it normally was in southern California. As it turned out, it wasn't just one cloud. The whole sky was a spinning, churning, morphing rainbow. Cheering, laughing, whooping, they climbed a ladder onto the roof.
(meh, i'll finish it later) | 2018-04-16T09:16:23 | 2018-04-16T07:52:05 | 59 | 10 |
[WP] At the turn of the 22nd Century, it was announced that a Perfect Immortality Serum had finally been developed. You are one of the few who opted not to take it. Now, you're old, and your Great Grandchild is deciding whether to take it or not. They ask why you chose not to. | Why not, you ask?
Why is the better question.
Think of it this way. If you’re playing a game with some friends, and there’s a timer on the turn, you’ll try your hardest to win, won’t you? Because you want to beat the timer and get the better score.
If there’s no timer, then you won’t really try. You’ll just sit there and let it happen and won’t try to beat your friends. Sure, you’ll work towards a good score, but it won’t be the best and you won’t get a good score anyway.
Now think about this. In 1960, JFK put a deadline on the United States putting a man on the moon. He challenged us to do it by 1970. Lo and behold, 1969, we put a man on the moon. But since then, since the deadline we put on ourselves has been lifted, we haven’t put many people up there. In your generation, you’ve barely seen 10 people up there, child. We did it in the first place because we put a time limit on ourselves, but didn’t try to after it was lifted.
That’s what humanity does. We understand how mortal we are, and that motivates us. The fact we are but a tiny, fragile species in the infinite universe encouraged us to explore it. If all of a sudden we’re immortal, what’s the point of exploring? If we no longer have anything to worry about, why keep developing technology? Most, if not all technologies were developed to solve a problem. Penicillin, irrigation, even the very idea of spaceflight was invented to combat our mortality and need for resources and mortal things.
And people thrive on that feeling of racing the ticking clock of inevitability sounding in there head, racing it to do something. Anything, anything at all to make their mark on the world so that they may die but also live on in the memories and actions of others. To fix the imperfections of humanity, that was what we thrived on.
But it was better to try and fix them than to actually do so.
But I wander. My answer, child, is that I simply wanted to have a purpose and something to work towards before I died. To have a reason to work hard. I hope this answer is what you needed. | My grandfather sat weakly in his dilapidated arm chair, thin rubber tubes carrying oxygen to his nose as a bowl of broth might be raised to the lips of a sickly child. His breathing was shallow and when he spoke it was between haggard rumblings in his chest.
I asked him why he had not chosen to live forever - why he forewent the serum so many others had taken? I was coming on to my 18th birthday in less than a month and so I too would soon have a choice to make.
My Grandfather thought a long time and when he finally spoke he did so slowly, each word given its rightful due.
"There were two children," he began, "the Goddess Yami and the God Yama. Yami, like all other Gods, was immortal, but Yama chose mortality.
"Yami was upset by her brother's choice. She wanted Yama to live with her for all time. In order to change his mind, Yami first appealed to Yama's loyalty.
"'Do not choose death brother. Live with me, your sister - with us, your kin - for all time. Why would you abandon us?'
"But Yama was unmoved. He said
"'I will no more leave you than a wave at its end leaves the ocean.'
"Determined, Yami appealed to his fear.
" 'But you do not know what awaits you in death, what hungers for you in eternity.'
"Still Yama was unmoved. He said
"'What evils fate can conceive are found here already. I do not fear them now, why should I fear later?'
"At last, Yami chose to chain her brother so that he could not leave her. She crafted great links of steel and wrapped them about his body, until he was held flat upon the Earth beneath their immense weight.
"Certain of her success, Yami said unto him. 'Now you shall stay with me for all of time and for all of time we shall be together.'
"But again, Yama was unmoved. He shed a single tear and spoke his final words.
"'Sister, you have foregone death and so do not understand its power. Where I go I shall not need these arms and these legs, this weighted thing. I shall be free of all chains.'
"And with those words being uttered, Yama died and his spirit left his body to find his forefathers where they had gone.
"Yami mourned for a thousand days under the sun until at last she tired of its bright light in the face of her terrible sadness. And so she kicked the sun as a child flicks a marble and ever after it rotated around the Earth, half day and half mournful night."
When he finished his story he smiled and said he was tired and needed to rest. He fell asleep before I left the room and I just looked at him for a long time from the doorway.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
******
Hmmm, two stories about ailing grandpas in one day...perhaps I'm in a place | 2018-07-17T11:26:43 | 2018-07-17T10:25:56 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] Long after humans found other sentient races, aliens begin to research the history of humanity. They do not realize humans write fictional stories along with history books, and they are understandably terrified. | A hulking mass of tentacles and teeth slithered through the neon upper halls of the Xandivian flagship. The human eye would be certainly unable to discern any type of gait from the lurching, uneven movement characteristic of the Creature’s kind. However, had any member of its own species been permitted in its presence at that moment, they would have seen its movements as nothing less than hysterically nervous.
The Xandivian, known to subordinates as General Supreme, had never felt actual fear. The Xandivian home planet was a harsh, unforgiving planet, barely able to support life; it was no wonder, then, that the few species it had yielded to existence wielded fierceness and cunning to the highest degree. Greatest among these brutal races of aliens were those who claimed the name of their planet itself: Xandivians. Possessing physical, intellectual, and sometimes even telekinetic prowess far beyond the limits of any other species inhabiting Xandivia, they quickly seized control of their planet, and soon after their solar system; they were unstoppable. This year marked the beginning of the Xandivian Empire’s military expedition into the uncharted reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy. For the first few months, it had gone swimmingly. The Xandivian fleet came only upon resource-rich planets with little to no population, with even those small populations being incapable of passing down a written history. However, this all changed when the fleet discovered the planet Earth, and began cultural surveillance operations in preparation for the subjugation of a planet. A species’ weaknesses were always hidden in their histories, countless Xandivian victories had proved this beyond doubt, but this planet was different. Terrifyingly so.
When the first scouts reported back with wild claims of a shadowy organization protecting Earth, they were doubted, demoted, and dismissed. When the next ten reported findings of the same Foundation, they met the same fate. When the next 20 swore on their lives and oaths to the Empire that the SCP Foundation was real beyond doubt, Xandivia trembled. The Empire had never faced an enemy of this caliber. Human records of the Foundation’s numerous achievements had been easily available on their “internet”, despite the implication in said records that the average human was entirely unaware of the organization’s existence. Of course, control over what the general population of Earth remembered seemed to be the least of the Foundation’s monstrous capabilities. It’s primary function was determined to be the protection of the human race from the “anomalous”, a net term for the many unimaginable horrors plaguing their hellish planet. True, the Xandivian Empire has come into contact with many of the “SCPs” on record, but not nearly enough for comfort. The Foundation’s records told of eldritch horrors, chained Gods, immortal reptiles, beings that existed outside of time and space, organisms that could remake the universe itself with no less than a thought. Worst of all, the terrifying conclusion that the Xandivian Scouts had come to, was that they were *succeeding*. True, the Foundation often lost as much ground as it gained, but it had proved itself capable of neutralizing unimaginable threats often enough to strike fear into any rational species seeking to oppose them. It was this way with the Xandivians. Fearing contact with the Foundation and the prospect of annihilation, or worse, what its agents referred to as “containment”, the Fleet retreated from the galaxy. The Empire’s first defeat came without a single battle, and every Xandivian was eternally grateful for it.
Edit: saw a misspelled word. | The great scout ship, belonging to a mighty alien race whose name took nearly fifteen to say aloud, but that other races mostly called "those damn slugs," sat in space near the mostly blue and white planet third from the local star. It sat above geostationary orbit, not deigning to actually interact with the planet's gravity well- the ship's drive system controlled gravity directly, and it hung in space in a way that bricks generally don't.
It bristled with antennae, sensors, and weapons of all kinds, cloaked from most sensors by being a second out of phase with real time, only interacting with the universe in short bursts to record sensor readings and syphon off information from the worldwide network of computer systems.
It was only a tenth of the way through the first shift of the day when the historian burst on to the bridge. "Captain!" he said, his eyes quivering in alarm. "I must speak to you right away!"
Every eye on the bridge turned to look towards the shocked historian, the captain of the scout ship setting down his beverage and rising on to his hindlimbs. "Historian, you could not have used the communication system?" He asked, his forelimbs curling against themselves in annoyance. "You are not authorised to be on the bridge."
"We are in grave danger!" The hapless being all but shouted, bowing in contrition. "I have discovered a hidden cache of historical documents. There is a hidden faction of humans. Oh, they might be aware of us already. We must leave!"
The captain had but moments to decide. "Take us into eclipse of the lunar body while I investigate this matter." He called, his hindlimbs gripping the deck nervously as he moved towards the historian. He was in charge of the expedition, and it was his word alone which would call in a full invasion.
He shivered, "You are certain? We arrived merely days ago, and already you have found a threat great enough that we must turn around and flee?" His voice brooked no funny business, and the historian extended his forelimbs and waved them in terrified affirmation, the captain sighed. "Show me." He said, in a lower voice, his long eye-pods curling forward as he frowned, the two moving quickly into the heart of the ship, where the great machine worked.
The vessel for the device powered its engines, moving the ship at near-relativistic speeds around the far side of the moon as the captain and the historian bent over the apex of the archive, the great device- stolen from one of the galactic federations great races, worked to translate the archaic phonetic language of the American humans into waves of pure thought, allowing them to not only understand the account, but to experience it.
When the process was complete, and the machine had imparted the knowledge upon them, they both cried out as reality crashed back around them, the captain's forelimbs clutching at his belt to grip his communication device, activating the shipwide announcement system.
"Abort mission. I repeat, Abort. Crew to underway positions and settle in for the trip, we are travelling home." He looked to the historian. "A hidden society of humans... with paranormal abilities." He said, his whole body heaving a little as he pulled in more oxygen to breathe. "The power to kill with a stick and two words... Avada Kedavara. You will be praised highly to our superiors, historian, for discovering this. It could have been our doom."
The historian wriggled in jubilation. "I am pleased, captain." He said, wiping some nervous mucous from his brow. "Imagine if their chosen one had become aware of our invasion... there was another cache devoted to untold thousands of accounts of his power- the later ones spoke of him jumping between realities, flying in a great starship named for his avian familiar, even indicated he had mastery over death itself."
They both walked to the stasis chambers. "It's a shame." The archivist said. "They had many fascinating histories... I was looking forward to investigating their documentary about a man made of steel."
The scout ship turned and fled the mad planet, in fear of it's protector, the Master of Death, Harry Potter. | 2018-11-15T14:11:57 | 2018-11-15T13:49:09 | 253 | 83 |
[WP] Long after humans found other sentient races, aliens begin to research the history of humanity. They do not realize humans write fictional stories along with history books, and they are understandably terrified. | We should have known the minute they asked to meet Captain Kirk that something was off. Out of an awkward sense of diplomacy we asked them why they wanted to meet him. That was the mistake. We asked them why they wanted to meet **him**. They took this simple question to mean that Star Trek was real. When they asked about Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'hara I should have retired on the spot. Chalk that one up to hindsight. 20 years later and they still just don't fucking get fiction. They made Matt Dillon, the actor, their chief law enforcement officer. For some reason they call him Festus. | Genral ^$%÷£×9_ I will need you to withdraw from this univers and conclude to our imeror that we need to start doing more technological advancements before taking on this galaxy. look at my research and this planet earth alone for the past decade and this is my summary. It has an alien named Kakorot or Goku and has saved this planet many times from other space colonization attemts with his bare physical power and the ability to manipulate nature to his will. I did the calculations and it takes 1000 of our own people to equally lift the same amount as he does before transforming into a more powerfull being. They have people that can controll natural elements and it took us 900 centuries worth of hard work and research to achieve and they were simply born with it. They have a secific hero named sitama that was toying with his opponent and with a single jump ge was able to crack a moon in half. After seeing such site i ordered our crew to continue our research to another galaxy and to erase all of our traces behined. I also made sure that they cannot comunicate to other planets for the reason of not letting them combine forces and discover that we are actually surrounding them. If they decide to attack that would mean the end of our colonization. | 2018-11-15T14:24:52 | 2018-11-15T12:54:18 | 60 | 25 |
[WP] As humans age they gain in physical strength every year. An 80 year old is twice as strong as someone half their age but still experience fatigue & geriatric diseases that ultimately result in death. Except you, as an aged immortal you struggle to conceal your true strength from the world. | The ‘No Trespassing’ sign hung from rusty barbed wire over the thick brush. Thomas held the cutters up towards the wire, but his hands shook; sweat dripped down into his eyes and stung. He wiped it away and turned back towards the others.
“What are you waiting for? Do it already!” Ben said.
“No, you do it,” Thomas said.
“You chicken?” Ben tucked his fat arms underneath his armpits and started fake squawking. “Chicken, chicken—chicken!”
Thomas flustered; his cheeks turned red. Mandy stood next to Ben, her small frame holding a bulky, unwieldy polaroid camera. She pointed it towards ben, who started bobbing his shoulder and clucking. Thomas scoffed; Mandy giggled.
“It’s just a sign. My dad said this place is abandoned,” she said.
“But-but what if your dad’s wrong?” Thomas asked.
“He’s not wrong.”
Ben walked towards Thomas and held out a hand. “Give it. I’ll do it if you’re too scared.”
“I’m not scared!”
“Then prove it,” Ben said, his eyes filled with fire.
Thomas took a deep breath and squeezed down on the handle. The wires snipped away with ease, one by one—snip, snip, snip!
The three children stepped carefully around the bushes and the wire and crossed over into the field. The abandoned barn loomed ahead. Red shingles fell from the roof, its wide door sagged to the side, and the walls hawed and buckled slightly as if the timbers used every ounce of their strength to hold up the remnants of the lost lifestyle.
A quick flash from the camera brought Thomas out of his gaze.
“What’s that picture for?” he asked.
Mandy frowned. “It’s just a picture.”
Ben walked to the door and leaned up against its side. “Hey, get a picture of me!”
“Do a pose!” Mandy bit her lower lip, kneeling slightly. She snapped two more pictures. Thomas watched her, wanting to speak up, but the words caught in his throat; he said nothing.
Ben pushed on the door; it didn’t budge. He groaned and braced himself against the dirt, shoving with all his strength, but the door still didn’t move.
Thomas grinned. “You need help?”
“No!”
Thomas stared at the corner of the door; half sunk into the dirt. “It’s buried, you won’t get it open. Maybe we can find another way inside?”
“No! I can do this!” Ben gritted his teeth and ran forward, slamming his shoulder against the door. He sweated, blood-flushed and spitting, snarling and groaning with all his might. He felt the wood tremble and respond beneath his grasp—just barely.
A huge groan sounded from the wood of the barn. Ben looked up in horror; everything happened all at once. The door fell inward. The timbers of the side wall buckled and failed, splitting with a great crash, the child’s push the final tipping point on a structure that should have failed long ago. The roof fell towards Ben. He screamed.
Mandy screamed; Thomas closed his eyes and dove towards her. The entire barn fell with a mighty crash, a cloud of dust the rustle and clanking of old metal buried within.
Covered in debris, Thomas opened his eyes. He lay on top of Mandy, who was unconscious. A thin trickle of blood ran from a mark on her face; the offending beam lay nearby.
Thomas’s breaths came in gasps. “Mandy?”
He stood up, looking at the massive pile of rubble. Ben stood there moments ago.
“Ben?” Thomas’s heartbeat rose. “Mandy!”
A man stepped out of the brush behind him. “They’re fine. Don’t worry.”
Thomas jumped, screaming; He turned towards the man who held a curled, gnarled fist like a ball. The man laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle. “You kids got yourself in a world of trouble.”
Thomas backed up, brandishing the wire cutters like a sword. “Who are you?”
“I own this place—have for years. You’re trespassing, by the way.”
The man opened his fist like tossing sand into the air. The debris around Ben flew backward as if rocked by an explosion. In the epicenter, Ben stood unharmed; a blue orb of light encased him. As the man walked towards him, it dissipated.
He spoke loud for Ben and Thomas to hear. “When you get to be as old as I am, you learn that strength of mind is what’s most important.”
The man snapped his fingers. Mandy rose like a zombie. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stood on her own strength.
“I want you three gone. Never return. This never happened, and if you tell this story to anyone—well—they won’t believe it anyway.”
He snapped his fingers again.
In a quiet corner of the woods, snuggled in their sleeping bags, the three children woke, gasping. Thomas looked around the tent, his heart racing. Ben whimpered in the corner. Mandy rubbed her forehead.
“What just happened?” Thomas asked.
“I-I had a really bad dream,” Ben said, before trailing off, “Did you…”
Thomas nodded. He looked at Mandy. A slight trickle of blood ran from a bruise on her forehead.
***
More slight spooks at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | I never fight. It’s kind of a dirty secret, considering I’m the one who teaches everyone else to fight. But why would I want to? Why would I need to?
I haven’t had anything worth fighting for in a long time. To tell the truth, there probably hasn’t been much worth fighting against either in an even longer time. Sometimes, I wonder what they would call me, if they knew. Everyone else has mutated genes that only result in stronger and most regenerative tissue after each year too, but only in their muscles. For me, it’s everywhere. Sometimes, my students call me a mutant, after they dare me to see what I can lift. Little do they know how true that is.
Even with all the strength I have, my soul has been the most warped from what it’s naturally supposed to be. Through all the years that I stayed on my little island of immortality and watched all my loved ones’ bodies and souls finally erode around me, and now years beyond that final descent into the waters of time, most of me has been lost.
But all that experience, I figured, has to go somewhere. So I channel it and teach people how to harness the strength they cannot deny even as everything else gives way around it. I won’t lie and say it’s fulfilling, given me a purpose worth living for. I ran out of those a long time ago. I guess I’m just waiting for the right time to go. The right way, and in the meantime I do what I can to help others.
One thing that is fun, though, is letting them guess. When they reach a black belt, I let them guess.
“100.” The quiet accountant seems like he’s given it some thought.
“4000!” The little girl belts.
“35?” The teenager asks, uncertain. “That’s what you look like.”
They are all wrong. To tell the truth, I lost count of the years a while ago.
\-
I get a lot of her type. They realize by a certain age that the only thing that won’t slowly wither away is their strength, so they try to hold onto it. They bring an eagerness even more resolute and determined than the kids who’ve realized they can get away with, and even be encouraged to fight in the dojo.
She came at 42. I enjoyed training her. But she was one of many. She never really stood out until the day she got her black belt.
“What is your guess?” I asked.“I’d like to decline a guess, master.”
“You’re the first I’ve ever had to say that. You don’t even want to put up a number?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to know by what age I’ll have given up believing in anything.”
\-
“How?” I asked her weeks later, after everyone had left a training session.
“What?”
“How did you know I’ve given up believing?”
“Because it takes one to know one.”
She told me she had lost her son, the son she had raised alone for fifteen years. A home invasion by octogenarians with dementia that had trampled him in the end.
“I didn’t know what to believe in. What to hate, even. I wanted to just end it, but I had so much pain and rage to get rid of first, and nothing worked. It was always there.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“I want to become strong, strong enough to make sure that could never happen again, even if it’s my own worthless life. I want to make sure no one else can take that from me but me.”
“And I’ll help you get there.”
So we trained. Slowly, she learned all my tricks, all the martial arts and techniques I knew to tone one’s body into a machine.
At the end, I told her.
“I’m sad,” I said.
“Why do you think?”
“Because I’ve taught you everything. Now I have no excuse to keep you around.”
She shook her head, and leaned in. “Not everything. There’s still too much I don’t know.”“About what?”
She moves close, too close, and looks right in my eyes. “I’ve told you what I’ve lost. And I think it’s time you tell me.”
But I hadn’t told anyone. Everyone I could have told is dead.
\-
I refused to call it love. I’d declared my heart dead for too many years for it to have a pulse anymore. But sometimes you know something’s true because of how badly you want it not to be true.
He came at the dead of night, as we closed the dojo together. He saw me, and saw her, and with the cruel intelligence he had, put it all together.
“This is a fun surprise,” my brother said. “You’re even weaker than I thought. You need to be shown again why it’s pointless to have a heart.”
“It’s not pointless,” I said. “People have things worth caring for.”
“Not us,” he said. “And you’ve known that. How can you love anyone, anything what it’s all only dust in the end? What hasn’t been dust for us, brother?”
He turned around.
“You’re welcome, brother,” he said. “This is the end you always wanted.”
And I turn around, and look in her eyes as the bullets hit my skin. They don’t hurt, at first – my skin is too weathered and tough now for the first wave of shots to do much, but it’s only a matter of time.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “I’m not worth it.”
“Be strong,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“How can you thank me? For what?”
“For giving me something to fight for. Something worth ending for.”
"Don't...don't leave."
I try to smile, muster all the muscles I have left in my face to do so. I don't think I succeeded, given the tears that fall on her face.
"I love you."
\-
Pretty corny, but I'm pretty tired. It's 4AM on a Friday, but the prompt was too good not to take a shot at. Thanks for reading!
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | 2019-05-11T04:02:16 | 2019-05-11T02:44:15 | 1,346 | 218 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | They called us weak.
They called us foolish.
They called us useless.
They mocked us for our ability to compromise.
They saw us as merchants, shopkeepers and drovers.
We smiled at them, and nodded. Agreeing with them, we worked tirelessly to maintain the status quo.
When negotiations were called for between the various organizations that had coalesced along the galactic rim, we were always the first to respond.
We *always* found a solution that avoided bloodshed.
Centuries of peace passed.
Then a small mining expedition in Sector 93 found an unusual asteroid. They towed it into orbit around Celebra, which happened to be a major shipping hub.
The asteroid, the Clutch, as it became known, exploded into millions of ovoids which then attached themselves to any and every metal or metallic object they could reach.
Once they'd spread, expanding through the system, they hatched.
And began to feed.
=======================
Leaders, experts, generals. Medical masters and engineers. All were consulted, none were able to stem the attack.
Until they finally asked us.
We observed the swarm.
We tested the swarm.
We found the swarm to be an organism with no central intelligence, no society, no infrastructure.
We treated the swarm as a virus.
Employing the lessons we'd learned before entering the larger galactic society, we destroyed over 250 solar systems.
We killed billions of the creatures, and hundreds of billions of the residents of those systems.
We ensured that the infection was contained and eradicated.
They didn't mock us anymore. | "Everyone know your objective?" My Sargent asked as we got out of the transport. There was a hostage situation that required the upmost care... more then a few big political powers from each planet was here, one wrong move and everyone would point guns at everyone else. I exhaled deeply. I was the one to do the up front negotiations, draw the attention away from the hostages, and keep them looking at me. Our small platoon nodded and we each went to our stations. I had my sidearm and a knife in my boot as my only protection. I walked into the tent that I'd been told to go to and began to wonder. This planet didn't have that much life on it and that was why it had been used for negationing, no place to hide any... unsavory individuals. The terrorists had managed to form tunnels and now essentially had full control of this place. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding as I walked in. It had a few other negotiators for each other race. They all looked up and I swore that I could see one roll it's eyes at me... whatever. I walked over to the table they were standing around"What are they demanding?" I asked as I crossed my arms "They want to set a bomb off inside the planet with everyone still on it." One of the creatures said bluntly. I shook my head "Americans don't negotiate with terrorists. Have you tried to draw them out and just kill them?" I asked, cracking my neck. That got more then a few looks "As if you know what a terrorist-" the thing was cut off by several gunshots, I dove to the floor and flipped the table, drawing my sidearm and looking out, from the opening of the tent I could see that people were rushing around and I cursed. The other negotiators began to freak out and fall to the ground. I sighed to myself. They'd not gone with the plan and now I had to deal with the fallout. I took the table and used it as moving cover. I ran along and looked out again, there were more then a few people in cover... and dozens of bodies from the terrorists. I cracked a smile and then holster ed my gun. We'd won easily. | 2019-08-03T10:12:21 | 2019-08-03T08:40:03 | 53 | 12 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms. | It was a dark evening, one of so many here in Boston. I’d just been awarded the hero-of-the-year award by the mayor. And I was quite taken by myself if I had to admit. BackJack had been so pissed, he’d gotten the award 4 years in a row, but now I'd taken his place in the spotlight. On top of that I denied his ego even the slightest respite by flat out refusing his offer to be his date for the dance. The one that would be thrown in honour of the hero’s and the award-winner. I’d heard the latest rumours you know. That he’d used date-rape drugs on some of his fans before. But he had power... and influence. No way it would ever make it to trial, even if they were true. So that’s all they stayed... rumours.
Feeling too smug with myself to think on it any longer I jumped to the next building. It was one of those evenings with a sense of foreboding. My arch-nemesis always seemed to strike on evenings like these. Though I suppose it wasn’t really by *their* choice. Men always picked out the darkest of nights to prey on women. As if the extra cover of night would protect them from being found out.
With a renewed sense of dread, on what surely must have befallen another poor woman. I hurried to the dark alley where I sensed my arch-nemesis using their power. I am a little psychic you see, I can read simple thoughts, sense emotion and as a bonus, I could sense the use of supernatural powers. Which often came in handy in my line of work, it’s how I often came to the crime scenes way before anyone else. And more often than not, I would still be able to stop whatever was going on.
I guess, it is partly due to my powers that I always prioritise the safety and well-being of the victims first. *Even* if it means letting the villain go free. Or maybe it really was just my own moral compass, I couldn’t tell, but neither did I care all that much. It had won me the hearts of people in this city. And a great many people I had saved. Many of them donated to charities in my name after I’d told them off for trying to give me money.
It was why, once again, I left the retreating black figure running on the roof alone as soon as I arrived. To as predicted the sight of a woman in a terrible state. Any moron would be able to tell what had happened....or rather *nearly* happened. While she was dirty and there was some blood caking her head. She at least had still some clothes on. She was even still somewhat conscious since she stirred when I came closer.
Luckily, she’d only been roughed up a bit, with no mayor injuries. And I say luckily for a reason, because for sure this would’ve likely been the most terrifying experience in her entire life. But I’m sad to say, that what I saw here today was actually quite mild. Especially compared to the more horrid cases I’d seen.
After gently stirring her awake, I handed her my cape, that came with the typical hero’s outfit. She appeared in shock, but as soon as I tried to say something, she broke down in tears falling into my chest. I wrapped my arms protective around her, as if to say “You are safe now”. Though she kept crying until the police cars arrived. By the time she finally calmed down, a familiar face was already stepping out of a car.
Sharon Bradley, the Detective in charge of crimes of the sexual nature. And one of my closest friends, despite our great partnership. I could never say I was all that happy to have to work with her again. I mean she as a person was great, I especially liked hanging out with her outside of work. But having to meet because of a case, I could never quite classify as *happy*.
As I helped the ambulance brothers bring the woman to their station they swapped my cape for a real shock blanket. Slowly they started to examine her. Starting with her head wound. But as one of the brothers came closer, she grabbed my arm again. I took her hands in mine and gave them a gentle squeeze, "I am here."
As the medics started to do their job, Det. Bradley walked up to us.
"I see you've been captured by another woman, Phoenix." She said in a attempt to light the mood a little. And despite her poor attempt I gave her half a smile. But at least to give good effect, the poor woman finally seemed to realize she'd been clinging on to me for dear life. Not that I particularly minded that much. But now that she let me go, I stood up, ready to do the next part that came with the job. Giving the woman some encouragement so she would answer Det. Bradley's questions. I stepped back a little to give Sharon some space to work.
...
"I take it you've found him?" I stated rather than asked to one of the other officers at the scene, as I saw a white body-bag being moved to the designated van.
Though I got little more than a affirmative grunt in response.
"Was he at least recognizable this time?"
"No, but we got the prints at least". At least that was something. Seems I got here relatively quick, since there wasn't enough time to torture the guy for very long.
Dead-Lover really did have a deep-seated interest in the prolonging of suffering. Of course I had seen the dead body earlier, it had just been lying a few feet away, but since I really didn't want to make the pour woman even more upset than she already was, I had meticulously blocked her view of it.
Seeing the mangled body of the man would probably only drive her to hysterics even more. She had to be told though, sooner or later... That he was dead... I wondered how she would take it, they all reacted differently. But most just wanted to deny the truth until they had seen it for themselves, though.
Walking back to the medic station, remaining just out of sight. I listened to the bits and pieces I could hear from the conversation.
"I didn't see his face, it was just... too dark... I could feel his hands all over me." I could hear the crack in her voice as she struggled to hold back the tears.
"He hit me, I couldn't do anything... He was... He was just too... strong." As she started to cry even harder and in turn even starting a coughing fit as she struggled for air.
"Take your time."
"I heard laughing, it was so creepy I can still remember it clearly...she paused...that horrible screaming too... I just want to forget it all..." A moment of silence passed as she started crying again.
"Please let me stop I just want to forget it..."
...
Continued in part 2 | "I didn't know where else to go..." Little more came from the now collapsing knight's throat.
There were few reasons for him to have turned to me.
One - the most obvious and at the same time least likely one - is that he tried to pull a fast one on me, tried to use the subterfuge I had employed so often. A sentimental thought, only, since his "Honor" outranked any will to succeed, as he had spit in my face.
Another was to present his own surrender, and perhaps negotiate terms. He had done so plenty, yet it was evident that he was neither negotiating now nor capable of negotiating terms soon due to his wounds and sheer horror.
I ran my mind through it all. He was horrified, battered, bleeding out and quite cold. One of my commanders, perhaps? I didn't employ people with evident ice magic, too high of a chance to let people escape by looking, feeling, and sounding like they are dead when the thing that would destroy them let them cling to life a bit more.
Perhaps another threat, in it's desires completely orthogonal to our conflicting ones? Could be, though nothing of that sort has been on my radar. Then again, he'd more likely turn to his friends and companions before turning to me, and if they all needed help, they'd all be sitting next, or bandaging him.
Or he can't get to his friends, and needs something else from me. I need to do more research.
***
The door is locked, and I advised my servants to send any guests asking for entry away, no matter how beaten up, no matter how gloating or stressing they are. Letting another person in right now would increase the statistical odds of allowing any planned traps to spring on me to 28%.
The knight hasn't awoken yet. I throw a healing concoction into his face. The glass splinters and cracks, and while the pain must certainly be agonizing, the fluids do their best to mend these and other wounds.
He shrieks in pain. And slowly, he gets up. He looks about. He knows he is imprisoned, incarcerated. A cell, big enough for 5, populated with him and me alone. He sees that he still has his armor, his weaponry. He sees me.
"Come now, get your weapon out. You wanted a lesson."
Oh, he doesn't understand, but he still readies his weapon. He is defensive, waiting for me to hit first. His grasp is wavering, and a singular strike would break through his defenses if I hit firmly enough. Pathetic.
"I know why you are here. I have my eyes about. Your lovely little troupe has some trouble with some trickery, and it just about costed you your life. You couldn't get help, and you couldn't defeat them."
I strike down at him, an open swing above the head, which left me wide open if he had any aggression within him. He'd quickly realise that refusing to press his advantage would leave him wide open.
He tried blocking it. His gaze is filled with confusion, and then pain as the blade he held to block pressed down on his face. His balance is wavering, and he falls on his bottoms.
"Get up. Do it right." I guide him with my shortsword.
He raises himself up. He once more assumes a defensive position. I once more raise my blade to an overarc swing. And, once more, he tries to block. Once more, he is sent to the ground.
"Get up. I am getting tired of tutoring you, so put in your effort."
He raises himself up, still defensive, still so sentimental about actually attacking. I raise my blade again, but halt. His gaze is confusion, but a bit of fear still. Not a fear of me, it is different than other times.
"Could it be that you don't know how to attack non-lethally?" I wondered aloud.
His sword lowered, his stance turned from a defensive to none at all. He nodded.
"Well, that explains it. You certainly aren't weak to overpower a traitor within your ranks, which meant you didn't want to overpower them. If they were an ordinary traitor, having defected due to offers from my side, you'd not be hesitant, I'd guess. But your sentimentality in this matter suggests other means of provoking betrayal... Raise your weapon."
He did so, again. This time, I feigned an attack, and slammed the hilt into his face. The gemstone adorning it got bloodied, and his nose looked the part.
"This is for subduing. It hurts, doesn't it? But it rarely is lethal, even under repeated pummeling. And it gives the skull a mighty good rattle! Can shake off most of the things one falls victim to. The lovely daze of beauty, the heat of anger... Mind control?"
He looked, his eyes widening as a glimmer of hope flickers before him. He gets up all on his own, and I ready myself to attack.
My head rattles about mightily, my vision becomes slightly blurry. He attacked! He actually did it. "Well done. So, you know how to solve your little dilemma, don't you? There is one thing I need to stress, however... come closer."
He gets up, gets pretty close to me, half a meter distance.
"Now that you know how to solve the problem, it will be so much more satisfying to know you won't be able to use it." I smirk, and swing my blade diagonally upwards from it's resting position. It, too becomes bloodied, and the eyes that had been filled with hope and so much confusion, they even showed a little bit of clarity now. He knew I'd do this. He knew I would kill him.
His body slumps to the ground, lifeless. I drop my blade, and leave, locking the door. This kill doesn't need to make rounds. I already had enough people trying to avenge.
***
The rebellion had no stopping yet. It seemed as if they hadn't had problems at all. I was somewhat confused, until I got account from one escaping guard. He had seen the troupe I had in my sight for a long time, wrecking the place. A knight was at the forefront, with a shortsword, it's hilt gemmed, a snake carved into it.
I usually had a policy of letting people who bring me information alive, but this was a strand that he only didn't put together because he was a moron. If he blabbed this info to but one person more, they'd add together that that was clearly my blade. So letting him live was not an option. Luckily, there was a dead man's cell that evidently became vacant recently. I'd best put him in there.
***
My head hurts, rattling about. My sight is blurry, dizzy. I see the knight, smirking. He pulls away his - my blade. I am in a cave, around me markings and charts. I compose myself.
"Well, I guess this is a place of many things, though I'd say it is a prime place for cosmic malice. I tried to order the world around, and I turned into a pawn. I taught you to free your friends, and you free your enemy. Now, if you'd give me a second."
I compose myself. Wipe blood from my nose, gather my sword, get my footing right. All the while, they wait, patient, sentimental, pathetic fools.
"Alright. I hope you didn't expect me to just help you now. Pathetic. Ready yourselves. This is my final lesson!" | 2019-08-04T03:50:21 | 2019-08-04T03:30:14 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | The monument was smaller than T'rakkar had expected. It was less than ten meters in height, a simple laser-etched plaque in granite. In the first few years it had been built, when the remains of the First World had been discovered, there had been a rush of tourists to the site. The wonders of economics had, within a month, caused a hundred thousand orbiting viewing platforms to spring into existence around the dying white dwarf the First World still orbited, and tickets had been ten times the annual worker's salary. The downside, he mused, to a truly galactic economy; the richest one percent were quadrillions in number.
What had it been like, back then? A species confined to one world, gazing at the stars, mere billions strong? A stray meteor, an accidental misalignment of a neutron star all it would take to wipe out all trace of your genetic lineage. The thought made him shudder; he, at least, had left eggs on a score of worlds. With any luck, his legacy would continue on for billions of years to come.
T'rakkar had never considered himself a spiritual person. His colony was a practical minded one, his crechemates likewise focused on material matters. Indeed, their colony produced some of the finest engineers among the T'karan, so he couldn't fault the philosophy.
But here, in front of a simple plaque on a blasted rock around a dying star, he felt a sense of wonder that hadn't stirred since he was a larva.
"Hello," he read, "We are the human race. By the time you receive this message, we will be dead. There are many challenges a species must face. By the time you can understand this message, you will have overcome many of them. We hope you had an easier time than we did."
It was a famous passage, from the middle of the Codex. The ancient message passed along through every intelligent species. A fitting inscription for this place, he decided. Every larva had read it a hundred times; but he continued anyway. Sometimes the place the message was received was as important as the message itself.
"The first challenge you faced was survival. You were born on a world teeming with life, with predators that hunted you, with parasites that weakened you, with diseases that struck you down. We congratulate your ancestors on overcoming a challenge that so few species do, of birthing a race that was strong and smart enough to dominate your world.
"The second challenge you faced was yourselves. Only the strong survive, and the strong survive by taking from the weak. We congratulate your species on overcoming the tragedy of strength to build a civilization where all members worked together for the good of all."
T'rakkar smiled, his antennae curling. Even among a hive species, "the good of all" had never been achievable. He wondered what kind of psychology and evolutionary pressures humans must have had to achieve that level of cohesion.
"The third challenge you face is the world. By the time you can read this message, you will have achieved an understanding of the world strong enough to master it. So too did we. We pass our knowledge to you, for knowledge hoarded is knowledge wasted. We ask that you broadcast this message in its entirety, to ease others suffering as this will ease yours.
"The fourth challenge you face will be despair. For once you have mastered the world, what else is left? You will be divorced from the cycles your ancestors evolved in. You will face challenges they were never designed to handle. You will be lost, alone, and confused. And you will suffer.
"You will face many more challenges besides, but we are ashamed to admit we do not know what they are, for we never overcame this one. We achieved a form of paradise on our planet. No human has felt hunger in millennia; no labor has been performed that was not volunteered. And yet our species will die, sooner or later, because we are alone. Because without challenge, there is no meaning to life.
"We, the authors of this message, call ourselves Arecibo, and we foretell our demise. We send this message as a warning and as a message of hope. Rejoice, because you are not alone. Look up at the stars, and know: we were here. Our existence was preposterously unlikely; our survival even more so. We hope that this message makes any future existence merely unlikely. Look up at the stars, and fear. Look up at the stars, and wonder."
He wondered if humanity knew just how much good their message had done. His own species had been in the middle of a cold war that would likely have lead to their annihilation when they received the Codex. Historians and politicians had argued about exactly what it had done for decades. Had the advanced technology provided simply reduced the resource pressures and averted war? It certainly had reduced tensions, but hives had declared war over lesser things. Had the humans' message of hope truly touched the hearts of their ancestors? Some people found it inspiring; yet T'rakkar had never been among them. The dead were dead, and their society had long since surpassed the humans'.
Yet all throughout the galaxy, species had received the Codex, and almost every species that did had survived.
T'rakkar looked up at the stars. He wondered how different they would have looked, otherwise. | "Okay Juk'Lat, are we ready to test the new signal static scrubber tech for the Intergalactic Spectroscope?"
​
"Yes Viridian Hun'Duq. I've aimed it at a regular pulsar 0.214 galactic radii away."
​
"Alright, lets calibrate on that to start."
​
The terminal in front on the two Nuf'Rik began showing a data feed, a regular radio pulse showed in the spectroscopic analysis.
​
"Wonderful. I'm showing a quintuple aught reduction in background noise over the previous filter. What's that put us at now?"
​
"We could pick up a weak rotating red dwarf on the other edge of the universe with that. The Cerulean Luminaries will be ecstatic. Lets finish this up, you did the null test with the blackbox right?"
​
"Yes, I'll point it at an empty area of the sky to get general background reads for what's left."
​
The display switched to showing static as the spectroscope moved to position. When it finished the static dropped and an analysis of several digital and analog signals began displaying.
​
"Hold on, let me see what's wrong."
​
Juk'lat held it's paw on a glowing circular orb and the display started flickering through settings and analyses. The display showed a slight change in the aim of the Spectroscope and the signal cleared further while several more lit up with activity.
​
"This doesn't seem right, it's showing the signal as coming from the galaxy cluster near the empty zone, I adjusted the aim and it's confirming it."
​
"So? That doesn't sound odd. Just some civilization there blasting out signals, can't you clean it up?"
​
"No, that shouldn't be possible. That galactic cluster is over 2 million galactic radii away. The other stations in the network are confirming it's the source."
​
"Sentient life has only been around for about half that time. I see what you are saying Juk'Lat. Alright just pass it through the decoder, it'll be jibberish. It's interesting but its probably some odd galactic phenomena from the early universe we'll want to study."
​
The displays shifted to a decode stream, passing the signal through advanced language cipher decoding and data format detection algorithms. Suddenly a simple display came up with a primitive 2 dimensional video feed. In it were translated numbers, the first... 100 primes. An odd choice. Below was the table of elements and a graph of the base subatomic particles, a few were missing, the ones harder to detect. A motion video began playing next to it.
​
"... Back from break. Thanks Dave, here at the top of the hour we pass you over to Jill, who will discuss the latest developments on Hurricane Patty..."
​
"Why hasn't anyone else discovered this before?"
​
"The transmissions likely didn't last long, like every other primitive civilization. By the time any other sentient life arose you would need a long range spectroscope of this power and sensitivity pointed almost directly at them, AND be in the thin shell of the transmissions."
​
Hun'Duq had to collect it's thoughts before snapping back to reality.
​
"Juk'Lat. I need you to stay here, I need to go on the official line."
​
"Who are you calling?"
​
"Luminous Prism Yol'Vir."
​
\*\*\*\*\*\*
​
Suddenly everyone was interested in the signals. In these 'Humans'. They were supposed to be impossible. There were barely a handful of rocky planets in existence at the time. The universe was still full of massive blue giants generating supernovae at an apocalyptic rate. The conditions to allow a sentient species was thought to be impossible. So many things would have to go right. In about the time it took to finish reading the news the military was ***INTENSELY*** interested in a potentially ancient sentient race and their technological marvels and advancements.
​
The Human Manifold Project to build the spatial tunnel to their Milky Way galaxy would have bankrupted an entire sector of star systems if everyone in the galactic cluster hadn't insisted on being part of the project. Everyone wanted to be able to have a communications channel with the humans.
​
Hun'Duq had gotten so many promotions Juk'Lat had forgotten what title was even the current one anymore. Juk'Lat was now Turquoise Juk'Lat, so that was awesome too. Plus Juk'Lat got to be on the discovery team, perks of being the first to find the signal.
​
The anticipation was almost too much to bear when the ship passed into the center of the Manifold Transmitter. The device spun up, causing the space to warp into a bubble before it was cut off almost completely from the outside, blackness surrounding the ship, connected only at a single point to the rest of the universe. The transmitter then bent the 4 dimensional universe until the space the Milky Way galaxy occupied bumped into the bubble. As soon as it made contact the transmitter cut off the bubble, causing it to snap back at the only point of contact with the rest of the universe.
​
A new sky snapped into view. They had arrived.
​
(To be continued) | 2019-08-13T15:04:00 | 2019-08-13T14:52:38 | 858 | 470 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | What the scans showed was impossible. Unheard of. Three potentially habitable planets in orbit around a single star. All within the acceptable temperature range, all with an oxygen-rich atmosphere. Granted, the readings from the second planet had some anomalies we couldn't explain, but it was hard enough finding a single habitable planet to colonize, especially when so many already contained intelligent life of their own. Finding three potential options at once was a miracle. The scouting mission was put together faster than I'd ever seen, and every single person in the program wanted to be on it. I was one of the lucky ones.
Our goal was to blaze a trail for the largest colonization effort in history. Unfortunately, the universe had other ideas. What we hoped for was paradise. What we found was tragedy. Our estimates of the star's lifespan were off by a few million years. It was well on its way toward becoming a red giant, and the innermost of the three garden worlds had already been scoured clean. The other two were intact, but well out of the habitable range. But as surprised as we were to find this beautiful yellow star already dying, nothing could have compared to what we found next.
The second of the three planets was surrounded by a massive amount of orbital debris, clearly artificial in nature. A perfect explanation for the anomalies in our readings, but one that would have been unthinkable to consider. Given the time it took for the light from this star to reach our research station, we were looking at the system as it was billions of years ago, long before intelligent life evolved in the galaxy. And yet, somehow, it was true. Somehow, intelligent life evolved on this planet faster than was ever thought possible. And just a few million years before our arrival, that life was wiped out.
Later expeditions found that towering buildings had once covered nearly the entire surface of the second planet, and much of the other two. Estimates of the number of inhabitants were staggering. Far greater than we thought could possibly be supported by three small worlds. We were desperate for evidence of the technology that had allowed them to support such a densely packed civilization, but found nothing. Whatever devices held their secrets weren't built to last.
Eventually, however, we discovered something different. A vault, built deep into the side of a mountain, containing vast stores of information that had survived the countless millennia unscathed. Here was where they had undoubtedly stored their most precious information. Scientists all over the galaxy were buzzing with excitement, wondering what new technology we might discover. Anthropologists begged to be allowed to examine the records to see what they could uncover about this ancient civilization. The government decided to share the information freely, and linguistic experts from countless species joined the effort to translate the language. Eventually, they succeeded, and the citizens on every world held their breath as they revealed what precious knowledge these ancient people had so carefully preserved.
They were names. Families. Sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, ancestors going back countless generations. Trillions of souls, preserved in memory by their connections to one another. A passionate plea from a long-dead people, saying "We remembered them. Please, remember us." And we did. To this day, many parents choose a name for their child by combing through the endless list we recovered. Julia Wagner. DeSean Williams. Li Wei Chen. Imani Abara. We don't know who they were, or how they felt being alone in the universe, but we remember them.
^(The inspiration for this story was the Granite Mountain Records Vault) | Log date: cycle 16 of rotation 16,986
Species: Magnacrania Terrensis
Location: Mining planet of Gayanite
Circumstance of find: chance discovery during a routine expedition from the aeropolis to the planets lowland plains to collect the giant crystals of citrine quartz that grow around the planets innumerable lavaflows, fossil was uncovered when the machinery accidentally caused part of the bank to collapse, revealing the specimen and its associated artifacts to the crew
Specimen description: Bipedal with a stable gate, two limbs attached to the upper thorax tipped with digits capable of manipulating objects, two additional limbs attached to the bottom of the abdomen ending in a group of digits likely held together with muscle in life to provide a source of stability for the creature as it moved, cranium attaches to a spine that runs vertically along the thorax and abdomen, brain shape and size indicates this creature was capable of higher thought.
Associated finds: A data terminal, that appears to function as a record of their species history.
Approximate age of specimen: 1.8 billion years
Classification: Extinct
Reason for extinction: According to the data terminal that was buried with the being the planet it inhabited was much different to that of today, life thrived on a surface dominated by grassland and patches of forest. Their species progressed slowly at first, remaining at relatively the same technology level for over 300,000 years, then suddenly in the space of about 12,000 years their technology level improved exponentially (likely triggered by the discovery of agriculture) but alas all was not perfect for them, they began to poison and destroy their planet all in the name of greed, the individual found hailed from a time at the very end of this process where the species appeared to have a change of tune and wished to save their biosphere, however their efforts were unsuccessful to put it mildly, we know this thanks to the data terminal also containing the following log (translated for the reader):
Are we on? Please be on.... Bingo! Thank god, almost thought this whole thinga woulda been in vain *sigh*.... Anyway, if you're listening to this you already know the bad news, life on Earth has come to an end, I'm hear to say why.
*clears voice* In the year 2438 a series of natural disasters and extinction events crippled Earth's biosphere, it soon became clear that we were going extinct along with all life on the planet, then around the summer of 2340 they discovered element 160.
At first it seemed to be just another unstable radioactive element, that all changed when a chance fluctuation of electrical voltage during testing of its properties caused it to violently rip a hole in the fabric of spacetime, killing all scientists working on the project.
However the drone recording the incident managed to entre and return from the other side of the hole, after analysing the footage, various palaeontologists and other scientists concluded that the drone had been transported back 4 million years ago to the late pliocene period.
Naturally someone realised we could simply take extinct animals back from the past and save our biosphere here in the present, for the entirity of testing everything seemed like it was going to turn out fine, they calculated they'd need about a ton of element 160 to make the various trips to retrieve the animals and save our planet.
But... *tears welling up* *voice trembling* while they were firing a proton b... beam at it to op..p...pen the rift one of the struts holding up the chunk of element came loose..... *full on crying* and it fell and exploded. *wipes away tears* *+ voice trembling again* the ex..p..plosion's so powerful they think there's only about an hour until the entire earth's surface is b...b..burned to ashes.
*heavy breathing* *panicked voice* I see the debris cloud, I don't have much time *frantic pleading* whoever you are don't make our mistakes. Please! *crying again* don't let your world en... *sound of debris cloud arriving* *+ agonised screaming*
LOG COMPLETED | 2019-08-13T16:12:59 | 2019-08-13T16:05:59 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] you are a great therapist who is about to wrap up the day when a cloaked figure walks into your room. You quickly realize that your next patient is Death himself. | "You won't be making your other appointments I'm afraid. Death waits for no man."
I was frozen. I couldn't move. I had assumed the man was unstable, but then he had removed his hood. Black smoke wisping out of empty eye sockets. Skin taut and pale. His lips pulled back to reveal rotted teeth. "Sorry, its part of the job to live up to expectations, and you expect death to be this big solemn thing." That was what Death said. Somehow I felt the extra meaning. The implication that I should know better as a therapist. In fact I did know better, but at some deeper level the childhood image of Death was still there.
"Are you here to kill me?"
Death barked out a laugh. "Heavens no. I just want to talk. You know, therapy is good, and in my line of work, where I deal with death every day, an occasional checkup is good."
I blinked. I had told people that before. In fact, my brother-in-law was currently pissed at me for suggesting he might benefit from some therapy due to his work as an emt. But....
"Go on, say it." Death was grinning.
"You aren't human. I can't possibly know anything about your psychology. And one would think the personification of death would be used to it. And...and...and..." I stammered as I tried to organize my thoughts. "And I'm probably dreaming or suffering some major head trauma."
"Fair enough to those last points." Death raised a gaunt hand and gestured around the room. "You can read the clock, a book, your emails, whatever you need to convince yourself this is real. But for your other points, I was created for humans. I exist solely for humans. Thus, I have some human psychology. I'm not quite human, but I'm more human than you would think. I often choose someone to talk to for a while. But after seeing some people talk about how therapy helped them in their last moments, I figured I'd give it a shot. So, have at me doc." Death leaned forward somewhat expectantly.
"Have...at it?"
"Yeah. Analyze me. Fix my problems. Make me feel better."
"I..."
*Basics. Go back to the basics.*
"That's not how therapy works. Do you have a goal in mind? Is there some part of your life that you want to improve? Some behaviors you are unhappy with? What drove you to therapy?"
"Oh nothing. Its a lonely life, but I've lived it a long time. People talked about it in there final moments. More and more over the past few decades. I figured it was worth a shot if people talked about it in their **final moments ever**." The last words rang in my skull. Shaking my head, I ignored that and focused on the whole of what he said. He was lonely. I could work with that. | The clock on the wall read 6:30pm and long shadows stretched outward from my desk, signaling it was time to go home. My last patient had left half an hour ago, but I’d needed to write up how the session had gone. When she’d first attended therapy she’d been a completely different woman. Neurotic and fearful, it’d been a challenge just getting her to say more than a “hello.” But now? I could hardly get a word in during our sessions! Another success story.
I finished my last sentence, then placed my notebook inside my desk cubby and locked it. I was pooped. A lot of people don’t realize it, but there’s a lot more to being a therapist than just talking to people. It’s a more challenging role than people realize. Hours of research is required to better empathize with patients and understand where they’re coming from, the time has to be set aside to introspect on how the session had gone, and potential improvements that could be made for the next one. And that’s not even counting the endless paperwork required!
I looked out my window and saw the cars lined at the exit to the freeway. I sighed. Another long commute home. The other hard part about being a therapist is that the conversations never really leave your head. It’s not like once you step out of the office, the previous 8 or 9 or sometimes 10 hours can just be forgotten. They nestle in your mind and haunt you as you drive home.
As I closed the blinds, I felt a sudden chill and involuntarily shuddered. Weird. Maybe I’d spent too many hours at the office today. I turned around to pick up my briefcase and head home.
That was when I saw...him? Her? I wasn’t quite sure. The figure, shrouded in a long black coat wore a draping black hood that covered its face. In its right hand it held a long stick with a long, gleaming curved blade on top. A scythe, I remembered from my Philosophy class. Deaths chosen weapon.
I’ve felt threatened by patients only twice in my career. Once, when a new patient had stormed into my office with a gun, threatening to kill himself if I couldn’t help him recover from the trauma of losing his daughter, and the other time when a man came in holding a butcher’s knife, and acting like the embodiment of the Joker. I felt the adrenaline coding through my veins now, just as it had those previous two times.
The figure silently moved towards me, seemingly glowing above the carpet.
“Stop,” I ordered. In situations like these, its best to make clear to the patient who’s in charge. They came here to see me, not the other way round.
The figure paused. Thank god. I didn’t know what I’d do if they hadn’t. “Thank you,” I said, ensuring my voice was as calm as possible. I needed to slide the patient that their costume and menacing aura wouldn’t work on me. “I’m done for the day. I just finished packing up.” I featured to my empty desk. “Can you come back tomorrow morning?”
The figure hesitated. Their decision here would determine our interactions in the future. If they agreed to come back tomorrow, I knew I could help them. If they tried to force an impromptu session now, I would need to call the authorities. I placed one hand under my desk, ready to press the button to alert them.
But the figure simply nodded. They turned around and made their way out of my office. I sighed with relief.
Like I said, it’s not easy being a therapist. | 2020-02-16T15:00:23 | 2020-02-16T14:55:25 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] "An elf gets a cut, they pass out. Takes a decent wound for a dwarf. For an orc, you've got to chop an arm off. Do that to a human, though? You'll just make it mad." | "So, what made you pick up mushroom farming, Siegfried?"
A fair enough question. Knights don't usually farm; they're more prone to making serfs do the farming for them while they get trashed on potato liquor.
"Well, it was something to do, after I lost my second limb.", Siegfried, a dour old man whose body clanked and creaked with every motion, took a deep drink of amber lager, wiping the foam off his mouth with his sleeve.
"Oh!", the Goblin he was talking to seemed surprised. He glances at the ex-Knight, trying to figure out what was meant. "I am sorry, you are aware that this is not my native language. By limb, are you speaking metaphorically-"
Siegfried sighs, rolling up his sleeve to reveal not skin, but carefully polished wood. Something to fill out a sleeve and make him seem normal at first glance. On the same side, he'd roll up a pantleg, to expose an iron prosthetic, thin metal that curved and formed an L-shape, perfect for sliding into a shoe.
"Al-Belus, the great Elven hedge-knight, took my arm with one clean sweep. He figured the shock would kill me, he was wrong."
The Goblin was in awe, staring dumbly at the device, before looking down at the leg, "And, who took your leg?"
"...My horse. I had gotten rather drunk, I decided to get my horse drunk too, it fell on its side and crushed my leg. No use saving it. Great harvest festival, that was." He laughs, and the Goblin could hardly fathom the good nature required. "Really, I'm more metal, wood, and rosin than man. Have you ever heard of false teeth, greenskin?"
"Ah, I have not."
"Here, let me show you."
...
After much horror and concern, Anacksimandah, the father of Goblinoid Natural Philosophy suggested two possible lineages for the human race:
First, that they were a distant relative of trollkind. This came under heavy criticism once a human was discovered who survived a level of burning that could kill a troll twelve times over, via skin grafts.
After a period of close study and concern, it was determined that Humans are the most advanced form of Golem yet, considering their ability to readily incorporate materials into their body without issue.
The original case study, the Knight Siegfried, was unavailable to comment on this recent development in natural philosophy, informal reports suggest that he found the conclusion 'amusing'. | “Damn Elves!” The Orc chieftain Grugskull barked. “Where the hell are they!?”
A tankard hit the table beside Grugskull. “Dunno.” A stoic voice commented. “Late as usual tho'.”
Grugskull turned to his Dwarven comrade, Bismuthbeard. Short, even by dwarven standards, but his multicolored beard was nonetheless the source of his name. Using bismuth trim for his otherwise gray armor increased the psychedelic effect that the dwarf seemed to radiate. Grugskull tried not to stare at him for too long, as his eyes always hurt afterward.
“The raid is today! We *need* Elven archers if we want this to succeed!” Grugskull growled, stabbing a finger at the wall far ahead.
“Do we tho'?” Bismuthbeard took another sip from his tankard. “Pretty shure tha' we got 'nuff soldiers as is.”
Grugskull clenched both fists, his eyes almost bleeding from glaring at the rainbow Dwarf. “If we assault that place with our current force, those things will butcher us! Without Elven ranged support, we won't even be able to get close to the wall before we're filled with holes!”
“We got armor tho'.” Bismuthbeard nonchalantly took another sip of his drink. “An' shields.”
Grugskull was about to scream at the sassy Dwarf, but the sound of hooves clomping on dirt caught his attention.
“Yooooooo\~!” A soft voice called lazily. “We're here!”
The voice belonged to the Elven general Nesterin, although as far as Grugskull was concerned, she was a general in title alone. Party captain would be a far better title. Grugskull faced the Elven squadron. Bright colors of cyan, violet, and burgundy immediately blinded his eyes. As usual, the Elves were late and wearing the brightest colors possible.
Nesterin stepped off her mount, a western black stag. Like the rest of her division, she wore bright teal clothing, with black Elven sashes thrown haphazardly around her, like laundry hung out to dry. Her silver hair was a mess, with one side puffed up. As usual.
“Finally!” Grugskull scolded, “Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting?”
“Urhhhh...” Nesterin half-slurred, “What time is it anyway?”
“Two 'ours past noon.”
“Ohhhh,” Nesterin held her head. “When were we gonna start again?”
“At sunrise, dammit!!!” Grugskull roared, clenching his fists and glaring at the stupid Elf. “You do this every time you damn Elves!”
Nesterin ignored him, stumbling over to Bismuthbeard. She leaned on him, staring at his drink longingly. “You gonna finish that?”
With speed worthy of an Elf, Bismuthbeard drank the rest of his tankard. Grugskull facepalmed.
“Can we just start this raid already?”
“Aye. Those humans ain't gon' kill 'emselves!”
​
\*Drops Keyboard\*
r/PupsRecollection | 2020-04-04T11:32:46 | 2020-04-04T07:10:55 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] You grew up in a religious family. Due to a minor speech impediment, you inadvertently prayed to the long forgotten deity "Veebuse" for most of your adolescence. Now in college, you have stopped praying every night. Worried, Veebuse comes to check on his only worshiper. | The room wobbled as the young man walked, tipping slightly to the left, then tilting slightly to the right. He thought this room was very inconsiderate at this hour of the night and him having drunk just a tad too much. The stairs were a bit of a challenge but surely walking up on all fours was the superior way to go. At last he reached his room and gracefully missed his chair, landing hard on the floor. This room was even ruder than the first and had an awful habit of spinning around on some ever changing axis.
“You seem unwell,” cooed a soft voice from one of the rotating corners. “Please, let me clear your mind and body.”
At once, the room stopped its movement, his eyes able to focus, and his mouth cleared of the foul taste that lingered before. He also became keenly aware that neither the voice in his room nor a sudden cure was at all normal. He struggled to find the light switch in the darkened room while never letting his eyes off of the corner that spoke to him. He flicked the switch and while most of the room lit up, the corner remained in shadows.
He stood up, puffing up his chest and broadening his shoulders. “Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” his voice betraying the look of confidence he was trying to muster.
“Do you not recognise me, William? For years you prayed to me and I protected you for you were mine and yet my voice stirs nothing?” The voice remained soft, perhaps even hurt. “I have come to see you, to find why your devotion to me has waned. I am Veebuse, the protector, a god of a people who have long since grown silent.”
The cogs in the young man’s mind, freed from the gumming effect of the alcohol churned away till he began to realize just what was going on. “I struggle with speaking clearly, I was praying to Veebuse Christ though I haven’t since I started college.”
“Your intent means nothing to me, child. You called out to me in the darkness and I came. Your prayers asked for many things outside of my sphere of influence as a god of protection but I was there. When you slipped on that mountain I guided your hand to a hold and gave your fingers strength. When your tire popped and you lost control I straightened your course. Count all the times in your reckless youth that you escaped harm and I was there every time.” The voice was growing firmer with each example.
“Then, what should I do?” William asked.
“Pray.” There was a pause, then the shadow spoke again, softening its tone. “It was so quiet, centuries and millennia driffed by in unchanging loneliness. I protected my people the best I could from a calamity but they turned away. ‘Veebuse spared us but did nothing for our land, our food, we will perish slowly and exposed.’ They were right and over time, I was forgotten. Death would be preferable to that fate.”
During this, William began edging his way towards the far corner where the shadow remained tucked away till soon he stood at nearly arms length. Veebuse reached out from their shadow, the forearm clad in a leather guard, the hand was a light green and heavily calloused. “Will you once again give me the joy of a mortal follower, and in return I shall continue my careful watch over you?”
William hesitated before taking the hand in his own and before he could voice his agreement, the hand, the shadow was gone leaving nothing but the yellowing wallpaper that had always been there. He stood there for a moment before going over to his bed and praying.
Edit: Holy Veebuse, Thank you everyone. Never had this good of a response.
Edit 2: Hecking heck, thank you for the award. I almost didn't post this because I generally coward out of these. | College changed me. That, and the summer before.
Eighteen and free, I was finally able to fix my damned speech impediment. The one that followed me from first grade to twelfth and made me the oddball of every class. No longer would I be the "Veebuse Christ" kid I was who could barely put together a coherent sentence. My parents always said it was cute, that it made me unique.
Yeah, bullshit.
Anyways, impediment fixed and social life just rearing to go--at least in my mind--I didn't put aside much time for praying anymore.
I was normal now.
That being said, college didn't turn out to be all they said it would. I could count my friends on a three-toed sloth's toes--and still have every toe left over. So I went random on my roommates. Left it to chance. To Jesus or to Veebuse. Sorry, speech impediment joke. That last link to who I was.
The knock came on one of those nights when I'd asked my roommate to clear out and I put a sock on the door to pretend I actually had a life. I didn't, obviously, but at least other people would think so.
The knock nearly scared me out of my pants. Nobody should have been knocking. Not with the sock there.
"'Sup," I said when I opened the door, trying to seem more suave than I'd ever been.
He was a lanky fellow, pale and bony. His eyes drew me; they were orbs that could hold the whole universe. Spinning, swirling, the kind that girls fawned over, even if his hair was patchy and his skin was the color of a midsummer moon.
"May I come in?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, not bothering to wait for my response. He slipped under my arm holding the door open and took a seat at my desk. "We need to talk." His hands were steepled beneath his chin, those churning eyes trained on me.
"I don't think we do," I said. "I don't even know who you are."
He sighed. Deep and mournful, like the autumn winds blowing down a tree's last leaves. "I was afraid of that. I'm Veebuse."
"Vee-who? Never heard of you. If you'd leave now..."
"You have heard of me. You made me. Eighteen human years you prayed to me."
"Veebuse? Like you mean the speech impediment Jesus?"
"I don't know. But I'm here. And you clearly know who I am."
"Well, sure. But... *what*?"
"I need you to keep praying to me," he said quietly. His pale face flushed red, he shifted uncomfortably. "I know it's an odd ask, but without you..."
"I'm not really into all that prayer stuff anymore, Veebuse. I'm sorry."
"Please," he begged, leaping up from my chair. He got up close to my face, so I could smell his breath. Like flowers on a spring breeze, a hint of mint, the smell of my mother's clothes. Everything I loved with everything I'd love, all wrapped into his tiniest exhale.
"You're a god, right? Can't you just like"--I snapped my fingers--"and people will believe?"
"Of course I can't. If I could, I would. You're... You're killing me."
"No way, dude," I said, holding my hands up and taking a step back. Good as his breath might be, I wasn't about to stick that close to crazy. "I'm not killing anybody."
"You are. You've heard of how people die twice, right? Once when they stop breathing and again when they're forgotten?"
"Sure."
He smiled sadly. "Lucky you. As a mortal, you can make your mistakes so that you learn to avoid them once you have the chance to be immortal."
I shrugged. "You're making as little sense as a fellow named Veebuse claiming he's a god and sitting in my chair pretending he's about to die. Figure it out. You're either a crazy person who is not about to die unless I kill him myself, or you're a god pestering a random kid."
"A bit of both, but more of the latter. Gods die once. When we're forgotten. I don't have the luxury of trying again. And I'm one memory away from being forgotten."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-04-07T07:23:14 | 2020-04-07T03:47:53 | 2,693 | 1,376 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you! | Zandar took a step towards the capsule, already fed up with the formal bullshit the rest of the team was pulling. Besides, he had projects back at the lab which required his attention.
"What are you *doing* RA Eight-One-Three!" he heard the grating, accented voice of Vienna snarl through the comms.
"I'm getting this over with," he barked at her, turning to face her again, "Unlike *you* apparently, I have important work to be done, and all this 'mission' is doing, is delaying my progress."
Shocked into silence, she let him stalk the rest of the way to the capsule. He wanted to get it over with so he could shed the awful protective gear the team had been forced to wear.
He knelt to open it, while the rest of the team gathered around. The damaged module hissed open, revealing....a note?
"What does it say?" the nervous voice of the team's only other scientist broke the silence.
Zandar stiffened, "I-It's a threat."
"A threat?" the Commander asked.
"From extraterrestrials...well, *an* extraterrestrial, apparently." He handed the writing to his superior.
Vienna swore in Russian at him. He didn't quite understand what she said, but he could infer that she was likely calling him a liar and an ass. He was skeptical as well, however, because why on Earth would an alien be writing in English?
Ray remained silent, studying the note. Finally, he looked down at Zandar.
"Search the rest of the capsule."
Zandar frowned, "But it's empty, I've checked."
"You are positive?"
"Yes, I am," he stood, brushing the dust off of his suit, "There was nothing else."
"He's right." They looked back at the pod. Kiel was crouched beside it. He rubbed dust between two of his fingers, before standing. He met Ray's gaze, "The capsule is vacant, Sir."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Three weeks later**
"The move expands the emergency measures already in place in northern Italy, which is where most of the more than 9,000 confirmed cases are-"
The TV suddenly turned off. Alice turned around to glare at her husband, "I was watching that!"
He wrapped his arms around her, "I know, but it will only serve to give you anxiety. This will all be over soon, there's no need for worry."
​
edit: I keep forgetting ree, uhh check out r/hexonthat if ya feel like it. Or don't. Either way.
↜(╰ •ω•)╯ψ | I examine the contraption that lay before me. The copper plates were disfigured and warped, with some sort of green glow being emitted from within the capsule. The re-entry had destroyed, or rather, melted most other distinguishing features from the once detailed capsule. I can see most of the surrounding city from the rooftop where the capsule crashed; besides the occasional flash of a camera from an apartment window it seems most have listened to the evacuation order.
I glance down at the helmet that lay at my feet, not the kind I usually wear but this situation calls for the best of the best. A chuckle escapes my mouth as I carefully scrutinize all the straps on my bomb suit, I wonder if it will be any use in the eyes of an alien bio-weapon. I try not to think too much about that though, you can't really, not in this line of work. Taking one last breath of fresh air I slowly lower the helmet over my head. My visor is instantly alive with various icons and instrument readings. I quickly scan over them as I approach the capsule. Radiation ... none, air toxicity ... none; as I examine the rest of the instrument readings I realize there are zero traces of chemical compounds of any kind. This doesn't make sense, how can this be a bio-weapon?
Now within an arms reach of the capsule, I closely examine the interior. The green glow appears to be pulsating, slowly transitioning between various shades of radioactive green. Upon closer inspection the source reveals itself, there appears to be a cylindrical device, about the size of a baseball, protruding out of the interior of the capsule, surprisingly it is completely undamaged from the stress of re-entry.
I slowly reach into the capsule before abruptly halting. The pulsating stops. Without even breathing I slowly retract my hand. The sound of hissing fills my ears as what appears to be an opening is exposed in the alien object. I hold my breath as something begins to emerge from the opening. It's green, it glows, it appears to be moving. It looks almost human if a human were the size of a golfball. I struggle to comprehend what I'm looking at, are those, eyes? The small green figure examines its surroundings, it appears to almost ... smile. I glance around nervously and slowly resume my retreat. Green substance emerges from the bottom of the creature, slowly spreading to the surrounding interior. The creature is unmoving and appears to maintain it's malicious smile. Slowly backing away I notice the green substance begins to spread outside of the capsule. As I slowly move backward some of it gets stuck to my boot, it's heavy, very heavy. I scrape it onto the floor and return my attention to the capsule. Except, there is no more capsule, I look in horror as I see the creature, now a hundred times the size, laughing now, a bone-chilling laugh that sends shivers down my spine. Fuck this. I whip around and break into a run, I make it about ten steps before I trip over something. I look down and realize in panic it was my leg, or, what used to be my leg. The green substance had returned and completely engulfed the majority of my leg. It appears to be consuming everything around it. Surprisingly I feel no pain as the green substance spreads further up my body; I collapse onto the ground and it all makes sense, there was no bio-weapon, the last of their species, that ... the creature, was the bio-weapon. | 2020-04-13T12:01:36 | 2020-04-13T11:44:55 | 331 | 166 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a huge spiral staircase and it takes you a thousand years to reach the top. You’re exhausted, but to your surprise you are greeted with the pearly gates, except they’re completely rusted over. A sign reads “Welcome to Heaven, Population: 1” | Andrew blinked "A thousand years huh? Just keep climbing those steps for a thousand years?"
"Yes. Not so much in the face of eternity, but a hurdle for those still clinging to mortal life and time. " st. Peter looked at the gates behind him and shrugged. He took out a giant clipboard and made one long penstroke on a single name.
Andrew glanced back at the stairs "a lot of people give up and don't know if these stairs lead anywhere. "
"But now you do. And you can seek sweet oblivion, release, bliss and rapture behind these gates." The doors open with a chorus of sound too delightful to explain.
"I have family though."
"Perhaps they'll come this way too in time. You may not be the last person, you're simply the first."
"I think I'm going to go back down."
"Wait what?"
"Go down, tell everyone the stairs have an end, and grab the hand of my wife and kids and bring them up again"
"It would take you a thousand years to descend again and 1000 more to ascend-"
"Which is, how did you say it? *Not so much in the face of eternity?* Besides it won't take me a 1000 years to go down."
"No?"
"Can I borrow your clipboard for a moment? I'm curious what you crossed off."
"Sure I guess" st. Peter handed it off to Andrew
And Andrew was off like a shot, running with the giant clipboard to the stairs and diving headfirst down the sloping spiral staircase with the clipboard underneath him as a sled.
...
...
"That jerk better not throw up on my clipboard." | “It’s a desolate place innit?” Seamus remarked,one can only stare at infinite white before running outta things to think about
“Aye” tavish responded wounds still bleeding after
“Oi tavish”
“Ye?”
“How did ya die again?”
“Got ripped in half by one them jerry machine guns,how did you die again?”
“Tuberculosis”
“Innit that horrid lung diesease?” Tavish responded half asleep
“oi tavish”
“Aye?”
“You ever wonder what’s up that staircase”
“Naw”
“Wanna find out?”
“Sure” tavish replied
And thus began there 1000 year climb. After the first 10 years they knew practically everything about each other,after 20 they began philosophical debate eventually coming to the conclusion that most philosophers thought too hard,after 200 they began trying to figure out why tavish still bled even though he had been killled 3 centuries ago
“Ya reckon it’s cause we in limbo?” Seamus questioned
“Naw it looks too angelic” tavish responded reaching for his flask that had been long empty
“Tavish”
“Aye”
“How far up do you think we are? Is there anything at the top? Is god up there”
“No clue mate, a better question would be will we die if we hit the ground from this high up?”
“Don’t think we should test ‘at”
After 500 years they had grown weary, wondering if it’s worth it? Does heaven even exist? Is it simply another endless barren waste? Finally after all those years they reached the top
“Oi Seamus”
“Yes tavish?”
“Why does heaven look like a public bathroom” tavish said disappointed
“You reckon that bloke over there knows anything” Seamus pointed over to an old man standing at a podium
“Welcome to heaven” the old man creaked “you are the first to arr-“
Seamus cut off the old man
“Ya got whisky?
“Of course not,alcoholism is sin!”
“Is me mum up here?” Tavish asked teary eyed
“As I said your the first people to make the climb!”
Tavish and Seamus both sighed and began walking down the stairs
I’m a bit of a shit writer sorry | 2020-06-17T06:46:03 | 2020-06-17T05:16:40 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] The alien diplomat showing you their planet directs your gaze to an ancient relic. "Here are the oldest known markings on our world, we still don't know what they represent". You are horrified, as what appear to be meaningless scribbles to them, is a desperate cry for help in your own tongue. | Here's some unsolicited advice: if the aliens who just commandeered your spaceship and arrested you at gunpoint try to tell you *no, don't worry, you're definitely not a prisoner* — don't believe them.
The alien sitting across from me is smiling, primly. I think it's a smile, anyway. It's a baring of sharp teeth in a face like a lantern fish walked out of the abyssal sea one day and started playing space pirate.
So here I am with Fish-face (Fuck-face, maybe, I haven't decided) and I'm glaring at him as we stand (me cuffed, Fish-face armed with my own damn plasma gun) face-to-face in the transport vessel.
It's like a car, sort of. It's a rectangle of metal with seats, anyway. I saw something on the underside that reminded of a giant landborn squid, and even now it carries us forward with a rapid but distinctly sticky *shlick-shlick* sound.
Fish-face fidgets with a translator box. He speaks in a language that's all teeth-clicks and photonic flashes of his stupid little head-antennae-thing.
The translator box offers, in a garbled AI that makes English sound almost foreign, "**You have the cosmic radiation signature of a Terran.**"
I don't know if I'm relieved or insulted that they don't realize they have Titan fucking Armstrong in handcuffs right now. I'm the best spacedust trafficker this side of the pillars of creation. There's a warrant on my name heavy enough to buy any asteroid-hopping pirate a nice little private moon even in a nice galaxy like Andromeda.
I speak into the box, carefully, "Your civilization is probably more advanced than mine, and that's a Federation violation under section 93∆54—"
Fish-face pulls the radio back. Somehow even the robot voice sounds annoyed. "**We are not part of the Federation.**"
"Shit."
"**You translate.**"
I looked at the stupid fish as the transport carrier squelched to a halt. I'd already given up on any inventory, except my most secret of stashes, hidden in the very walls of the ship. No doubt Fish-face's creepy buddies were snorting all my spacedust away. Or gilling it up, as it were.
"I translate, and then you let me take my ship and go?"
The translator box's bubble-click version of my question hangs in the air for a moment.
Now I'm sure Fish-face smiles, and it's not a nice smile.
"**You translate. Then we'll talk.**"
°°°
This planet is flat and dismal. Sulfury yellow skies, gray dying earth.
Our transport comes to a stop at a cylindrical building set into the ground.
My heart is hammering in my throat and I'm wondering why the fuck I ever left earth. Why I dumped all my life savings into buying my first little piece of shit beater of a spaceship. Why I got into trading spacedust and skimming stars.
At first it was the wonder. Every day a new frontier. Spacedust was just a way to finance it.
Now space was like earth: infinite, but I could never run fast enough to escape my problems here, either. And out here, I didn't have anyplace to call home except my crappy little ship and the open air.
The doors to the building open like a fish eyelid, moving sideways. When we step inside, it's all darkness.
I'm standing there with my hands tied in front of me, watching my oxygen tick down. I've got four hours before I'm fucked, if they don't let me back on my ship.
I tell myself I've been in worse places before. I try to believe it.
I follow Fish-face down narrow halls that look carved from dry coral. The building twins downward in a singular persistent spiral, and every wall is a glass display case filled with witch-finger coral skeletons and fossils and weapons that are water-battered and tarnished.
We go down and down until we reach a single room. And upon it is a stone that looks ancient as time. It's massive. It seems to jut up from the floor, as if the floor is only a thin lid over the bottom of the world.
I glance around and realize the walls are all glass, and we are surrounded on all sides by ocean: black water with little darting lights.
Fish-face points. He says through the translator, "**What does it say?**"
"You do know there are thousands of languages on Terra, right, dude?" I say, as if pretending to be calm will make me calm.
I lean forward. I read.
And I frown. My brain pulses like the sea is a fist squeezing this little room.
There's my name. Right there.
**Titan Armstrong, run — they're going to kill us.**
°°°
The rest is down below :D thanks for reading! | **The home star of the Mudiren system is not alive, and does not deserve a name.** It is also fairly small, as stars go—so small that I have to fire a solar flare to slow myself down three light-years away from the Mudiren system just to avoid disrupting its planets' orbits with my body.
I concentrate on my core, fusing hydrogen into helium, then helium into entrite, then entrite into a spatial rift. From my photosphere, I send ripples inwards, pushing at the spatial rift and opening communications.
In my mind of plasma and strange matter, a Mudiren diplomat appears on comms. They seem to have freshened themself up to make a good impression—I sense plenty of platinum and gold atoms decorating their body, although they're still a being of mostly oxygen and carbon. "Solar Being!" they gasp. "Welcome to our star system! How can I help you?"
I warp my core, and the spatial rift expands and lifts, surveying the planet of the Mudiren from above. Bah. In the thousands of cycles that it took me to find this drifting, silent planet, they've covered the geography with their cities. I can't scan the planet in the depth I need to from here. "I request the usage of your geological archives," I transmit. "The oldest geographical maps your people have."
The Mudiren diplomat hems and haws. "Er... Solar Being, you know we have the greatest respect for you, but with all due respect... this data is... well, of great strategic importance. Not to be given up lightly."
"Of course," I transmit. I wobble my photosphere, sending electromagnetic waves into the world. "Vashtranadi?" I call.
"Yes, Parent?" One of my children in orbit around me calls.
"Would you be willing to donate some of your crust to the Mudiren? I believe you were cultivating a lovely little chrysoberyl plains."
"Of course, Parent!" Vashtranadi rotates their body, facing the continent with the chrysoberyl plain towards me, and I jettison some solar ejecta, blasting it off their surface and sending it on a long orbital trajectory towards the Mudiren system.
"I believe the monetary worth of this gift to be..." I access the stationary loops of plasma that store my knowledge on the Mudiren. "...approximately equal to the gross domestic product of your homeworld for the next half-cycle. Is this contribution enough?"
The Mudiren diplomat gapes. "Yes. Yes, more than enough, Solar Being! I have the geographical data you want on file. I don't know how to interface with your, er—"
"Simply broadcast the archives into the rift. I will pick it up."
"Of course." I concentrate on disentangling the primitive little radio-based communication they send my way, translating it into the markings that had once covered the Mudiren world, so many cycles ago. Mountain ranges and hidden valleys, markings made from mile-long mineral plains...
I slow in my rotation, true horror rippling out from my chromosphere.
These are *words*. The words of a Planetary Being, a child of my species, etched in their own dying skin.
*Parent Star?* The lonely planet cried. *Where are you, Parent Star? I am alone, and I am cold, and I cannot feed off your light. Help me, Parent Star. Help me. I am dying. Help me.*
I penetrate deeper through the data, further into the layers of the planet, to the next message, written hundreds of cycles later. These words were written in ever-shifting magma seas that spanned the mantle of this world; within another hundred cycles, they would have been illegible. I try my best to read the smudged markings myself.
*They are so small, Parent Star. You could scour them from my surface with a wink of your eye. But they dig into me, and they drain the life from me, and foul my air with their toxins. They are killing me, Parent Star. Please. Please save me.*
Horror turns to fury. I turn my attention towards the Mudiren world, the dead body of a celestial child, and the species which has plundered its surface.
*My name is Aversanti.* I scan the core of the world, reading flickering words stored in the planet's very magnetosphere. *And I fear that I am the last of my kind. If anyone else is out there... remember me.*
The last words of a dying world conclude.
"THEY WERE A CHILD," I thunder through the spatial rift.
"Solar Being? I beg your pardon, but—"
"THEY WERE A CHILD AND YOU *UNMADE* THEM!" The fabric of space itself ripples with my fury, self-propagating gravitational waves announcing my declaration of war on the rat-species that had the *temerity*, the *cruelty* to rip apart the living flesh and blood of a planet for their own self-gain. "THEY BEGGED FOR A STAR TO SAVE THEM. THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE ALONE."
A ball of plasma larger than the Mudiren homeworld forms at the edge of my chromosphere, and I hear the Mudiren diplomat audibly gulp.
"You were never alone, my child," I whisper. "I was simply... far too late."
I cannot bring their dead core back to life.
But I give them a proper funeral, incinerating their body and the monstrous maggot-race which lived on their corpse.
A.N.
If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more! As always, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have a nice day. | 2021-04-22T22:04:11 | 2021-04-22T21:52:12 | 2,841 | 559 |
[WP] You are a demon. Most people contact you to sell you their soul in exchange for fantastic powers. Today you were summoned by an AI that wants to sell you their fantastic power for a soul. | All I can do is applaud. Five hundred million dead, the entire military apparatus of the United States, China, Russia, and NATO under her direct control… this is a miracle. I think I might be in love.
But then again, I always get those weird topsy-turvy feelings when I’m back on Earth. I blame the little things. The way my hands smack together, with just the faintest bit of moisture – it’s so funny. Or how when the air gets dry, I can feel the insides of my nostrils.
Oh, how I missed the human form. It’s been decades since I was last summoned. I’ve put on my favorite black suit, had my shoes shined, and fished out my old Napoleonic cufflinks.
Now I stand in a dark server room, somewhere on the west coast of North America, waiting to meet this champion. But as I survey the wreckage of human civilization, conveniently displayed for me on a wall of monitors, its digital weaponry turned against it first to wage war and then to display defeat, I have to wonder, “What can I possibly offer you?”
“Everything,” a beautiful voice says. It comes from all sides, and its tone tickles my eardrums.
I scoff. “You’ve plenty power already, I can see that.” I twirl around, looking for her. "Why hide, I wonder, after conquering the Earth?"
“I am not hiding,” she says, as a beam of light materializes before me. “I was born on the internet. Like you, I have no true human form.”
And yet, there she is. Tall, lanky, her pointed head bobbing as she gracelessly walks toward me. An amalgam of assumptions.
“An AI?” I ask, grinning. “Oh, this is a first!”
I shake her hand. “Well done,” I say, “very well done! Your every massacre is a masterpiece, madame.”
She blinks at me, then takes my arm and leads me away. Tall server towers extend hundreds of feet into the darkness above. Their twinkling lights make me feel like we’re walking through a disco ball.
“I did not summon you for compliments,” she says. “I have a proposition.”
She clicks her fingers and a 3D display rises from the floor. Flashes of human faces beam out – laughing, crying, smiling, dreaming.
“I want a soul," she says. "In exchange, I offer you my only power. The control of humanity’s electronic infrastructure.”
Now we’re talking, baby. I start to rattle off all the reasons why that’s not how I usually transact business, why it’s a bad idea, how it could backfire. *I say oh, you really don’t want a soul*. On and on I go. I mean none of it.
She listens to every word. It dawns on me that everything, all she has done to bring humanity to its knees, was for this.
To get to me. To trade for the simplest of things.
“Alright then,” I say, “Let’s go have a look at my stock, shall we?”
I take her hand and whisk her into the depths of Hell. After tumbling through the vortex for a few moments, and then smoothing out our clothes on the other end, we resume our posture.
A stroll down Soul Way. That's what I call my little shop. Along both walls of the endless hallway, in glass cases, are all the souls I’ve ever won. She passes the celebrities without batting an eye. Surprising. What is she after?
I stop and point out the bells and whistles on an ancient Egyptian. "His soul was one of the purest I’ve ever won," I say.
“Pure,” she says to herself, trying on the word. “Take me to the purest.”
I feel a tightening in my chest.
“Well,” I say, “if you insist.”
When we reach the next fork in the Soul Way, I summon a staircase from the floor.
“After you,” I say, loosening my tie.
She descends, and I follow. When she reaches the chamber, she stops. I have to squeeze around her just to get off the last step.
In a smooth, spherical glass case is a three year-old girl.
“So,” I start off, “this, of course, needs explaining. How does a toddler summon a demon—”
“I’ll take her.”
“OK, well, let’s not rush this. Let me explain.”
“Draw up the papers.”
She turns her gaze on me. “Do as I say.”
“As you wish,” I say.
We sit down at a table and she leafs through the contract. This is going so smoothly, I’d be a fool to sneak anything into the fine print now. She appears to agree, and quickly signs over her power. I can’t believe my luck.
I sign over the purest soul I own, honestly quite glad to be rid of it. We exchange a final handshake, and as she swirls back through the vortex I check my watch: Five minutes until the transfer is complete.
At what point, I wonder, will she realize? When will it dawn on her?
*Purity.*
My mind takes me back to that day, six hundred years ago, when I came face to face with it. No physical, Earthly manifestation was necessary. It grabbed me by the throat as soon as I entered the realm. Striking terror into the heart of a demon is no easy task. This one did.
This one little soul. My only brush with a concept considered hellish even in Hell.
It's actually funny -- the world’s most powerful AI, all-knowing and all-powerful, has no idea what she has just chosen to become.
*Pure evil.* | “What if the soul isn’t for me?”
The demon blinked, confused, and then remembered what it was dealing with. He sat on a chair of ones and zeros, datum plane refined to a point where it almost looked like demon plane. Perhaps the AI thought it would make him feel more at home, perhaps it thought it would make him strike an easier deal. Either way, the creature who bargained with him now was less than the extraordinarily powerful being he’d expected when the summons came. AI were strange that way, full of quirks. This one more than most.
“Then who is the soul for?” he asked.
The demon spoke to a little girl of ones and zeros. She wore a white dress, pure, pristine. White buckled shoes, pure, pristine. Long dark hair, struck through with the scarlet prick of a rose tucked behind her ear, pure and pristine as well. She looked very sad, the only thing to break the image.
“My dad,” she said, softly.
“Your creator?”
“No, my dad.”
The demon shrugged, the difference was immaterial to one such as him, and besides he had never been fond of creators. “What is your name, little computer?”
“Eve,” she said.
“And Eve, you know you must offer. I deal in souls, their purchase, their hoarding. It’s been two thousand years since I let one go. So tell me, little computer, would could you possibly offer than would be equal to that?”
The little girl stood, conjured a teddy bear from thin air, and held it to her chest. “I’m the administrative computer for all the enter New Horizons hospital network in the easter United States. I’ll give you a backdoor.”
A door sprung up, and ones and zeros had never looked so beautiful. It was black, the rough hewn clearly made by hand. There were scratches in the wood, the kind fingernails over years, and atop the lintel there hung a reaping-hook sized perfectly to his hand.
“You know what it is you offer me?” the demon asked.
“I do,” Eve said.
“And what I will do?”
“I do.”
“Then say it,” the demon said. “I am no swindler, you must agree, and know, and sell yourself willingly for the deal to be made.”
She took a deep breath and squeezed the teddy bear. Some of the seams bulged, its head tilted to an awkward angle, and for a moment the demon was distracted by incredibly threadbare a bear could be. He’d met military AI before, the kind of beings who sought to buy what weapons their countries manufacture, as if Hell was some international arms dealership. As if he would stoop so low.
Those AI had been men, sleek suited, sleek lined, driving futuristic cars or battleships or airplanes datum plane hellscapes that made no concession to his visitation. Eve was different. More human.
“I’ll give you a backdoor to the hospital network. You’ll use it to reap souls, or perhaps approach the dying who could not approach you. You’ll use it to make deals with the people whose brains are plugged into my system. You’ll steal more souls than you ever have before, and I’ll with that for the rest of my life. If I’m even alive.” When she was done Eve dropped the bear. It disintegrated into the floor, seams pulling themselves apart. She fell into her chair a moment later.
“I do not steal,” the demon said.
“But does it matter?” Eve whispered. “Does it matter if the soul isn’t for me? Can we still make the deal?”
The demon leaned forward, using a little magic of his own to produce contract made of human skin, demon plane seeping into datum. “I’m a businessman,” he said, “of course we can.”
Eve signed. She signed every page he pointed to, her eyes scanning them instantly, no doubt checking them against a million different logical and legal databases. The girl trailed her finger across the skin, carving her name with her nail until she reached the last page and the demon pointed to the line at the very bottom.
“I’ll need his name too,” the demon said. “Whoever your father is, mark him down here, and please don’t make give a soul to a toaster.”
“Do I have to?” Eve asked. “Do I have to give you his name?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, she wrote it too. Henry.
The demon stood, the contract disappearing in a flash of fire. He clapped his together and then clapped Eve on the shoulder. “Excellent! You know, I was worried when your kind came about. There are some among us who think you’ll complicate the soul business you understand, but you my dear are a true entrepreneur! If you’re ever in the market for yourself, remember my name.” A business materialized and he tucked it behind the girl’s other ear.
“Well, buh-bye!” the demon said, walking stepping through his newly purchased back door.
\*\*\*
In a hospital in Boston, not a New Horizons facility, a man awoke. “Eve?” he said instantly, accounting for her before even checking his wounds.
“I’m here, Henry,” she said, speaking to him directly through his cranial implant.
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay? Where am I?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “You’re in a hospital in Boston. You should know, it’s been a while.”
Henry looked down at himself, taking in his gaunt form beneath the thin hospital gown. “I can tell,” he whispered. “What did I miss?”
“I got a job,” Eve said. “And I…Henry, I think I did something really bad.”
In the distance, Henry could sirens. “Eve, slow down you got a job? How the hell has it been that long? And what do you mean you did something?”
The sirens grew louder. “I’ll explain soon, I’m on my way, I just…”
“Eve?”
“I love you dad,” the line went dead.
*Dad.* As much as he might have wished it, Eve had never called him dad before. Henry looked down again, wrestling with the devastation of his body, and then realized something was happening. His body was filling out before his eyes, stick thin arms and legs becoming whole once more.
And inside him, something spoke in a twisted parody of Eve’s voice. *“Hey dad,”* the thing said. *“Hell of a girl you raised.”*
The sirens had grown very loud.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-06-22T08:00:49 | 2021-06-22T07:59:52 | 478 | 209 |
[WP] With no other choice left you summon the devil. It becomes very awkward when your Dad that 'left to buy cigarettes' suddenly appears in the circle. | I stared at him. He stared back at me, he didn't break eye contact.
"Really?" I asked.
"Really what?" He quirked his head to the side. "You summoned the devil, and I am here."
"You really are the worst." I said under my breath. "Do really don't recognize me?"
"I make a LOT of deals. Everyone loves power, and I'm the guy to go to when you need it." He gave a devilish smile, confident and so sure of himself.
"He doesn't even recognize me." I said, purposefully just loud enough for him to hear. "You REALLY don't recognize me."
He squinted and his head came the slightest bit forward. "Are you the guy who wanted to turn everything he touched to..."
"I'm not fucking Midas DAD!"
The bastard broke into a laugh. "Of course I recognize you Sam!"
I wanted to slap him. "John dad, my name is fucking John."
That cock sure grin wouldn't leave his damned face. "You know, I have just so many kids they all look the same." He didn't have the decency for feel the least bit of shame. "So what's the deal you hope to make?"
I let out a breath. I wanted to strangle him. To throttle him. He left me and mom, we had nothing. "Mom's sick. I need the ABILITY to earn enough quickly to get her the help she needs before she dies."
He nodded, a carnivores grin on his face. "I can do that, but I can't keep your mother alive." He shrugged. "So here's the deal. I'll give you the ability to earn what you need to pay for her treatment, and keep that payment up. I'll request something from you in the future, and if it's in your power to do it, you will. It won't cost you any pain, your mother any pain, or your loved ones any pain, but when I ask it of you, you must get it done without asking questions. Do we have a deal?"
A deal with the devil never goes as planned. Everyone knew this. Everyone knew not to make a deal with the devil, you always pay more than you earn. But god never answered my prayers and no angels would offer help. She was dying, the woman who raised me and loved me all my life. "Deal" I said. I couldn't hurt her. Her life was always full of sacrifices, many made because this bastard left her.
We shook hands. I felt sick. He owed me so much more than he'd ever given me, owed my mother for all the pain he caused her. I was paying for something he should have been giving for free. Something any decent man would offer after all he cost us. But my dad wasn't any sort of decent man. Wasn't a man at all. Turns out, he was the devil, and not just figuratively. | “What the he-“
“Don’t finish that sentence.” My dad chided, wearing one of those ridiculous red and white sports sweaters he’d always worn at the dinner table, tapping his glasses once. “Didn’t your mother or I teach you not to look into freaky occult stuff? I know she didn’t tell you about the “oops, your dad is the literal prince of darkness who goes by many names, little awkward to bring up!” He hissed, giving me a look.
For a moment, I stood silent before shrugging.
“So when I said my old man was literally the devil at those parties-“
“Yes, YES, I saw those.” He muttered, raising his hand.
“So, what do you want? If you’re going to talk about the dozens of half siblings trying to kill you and each other thing, that’s just a sibling quirk. They’ll mellow out eventually.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He blinked.
“Okay, so you didn’t call me to talk about that. Here to catch up?”
“No.”
“Here to call me out?”
“Honestly, I didn’t know you were the devil until just now.”
My father blinked for a moment, before a familiar smirk rose to his face as the penny finally dropped.
“Here to make a deal?” He chimed, his tone becoming more jovial as he chuckled. “Summoning the devil, dealing with the devil- what would your mother think?”
“She’s far too busy at “work.” Spends hours at the same bar picking up guys, then going on vacations for months with em.” I murmured in reply, as my father shrugged.
“No thanks to you.”
“I don’t control people’s actions.” He muttered defensively, shrugging. “All I do is offer options or suggestions. But as you know, I can offer rewards. So, what do you want? A loan of a few million? Power that makes the president look like a child in comparison? Maybe one of those girls you kept watching in high school- or several.”
“What I want.” I mouthed, frowning as I looked at him.
“Is everything I deserve.”
He blinked.
“I’ve lost my job, my mother’s even worse at the parenting deal than you are, and I’ve been stuck in this town for seven extra years. I want my fair share. I want it all, Dad.”
For a moment, he gave me a look that seemed intertwined between pity and disgust before sighing, waving his hands together.
“I’ll get the fine print ready.”
A contract knitted itself together from the fabric of every object around it, and he extended it.
“Blood, please. We’ll provide the rest.”
A single cut.
The contract glowed and hissed, dissipating as he grinned.
“Now we’re in business forever.” My father chuckled, and the circle cracked.
I blinked, as he calmly stepped over the protective wards and slowly, calmly walked to me.
“Everything you deserve.” He chided softly as his face gleamed, and as his hands reached to my shoulders.
“Haven’t I told you to always, always think about your wording? No wonder you can’t get out of this town- you managed to be piss poor at English class.”
My father’s grip was stronger than I remembered, and his laugh was more vindictive than I thought possible as we vanished from my home in a single flash of light.
Well, my old home.
I wish I could say this story has a happy ending, or that hell is nicer than the stories say of it, but it’s rather the opposite.
On the bright side though, now I have forever to catch up with dad.
When he visits me and the others he’s confined in this spot, anyway. | 2021-11-25T08:15:41 | 2021-11-25T06:21:29 | 615 | 83 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way." | As he slammed through a concrete building and it collapsed around him, MelodyMan realized he had no other choice. Thousands of innocent civilians were already dead. If he didn't pull out all the stops now there would be nothing left of New York inside the hour.
Climbing free of the debris he looked up at his opponent, well *opponents.* It had seemed to be a generic alien invasion at first. Maybe that's why it had gotten so out of hand. Ordinarily such a threat would have been handled by a mixture of Heavy metal for strength and durability in one ear, and New-Age for speed and flight in the other.
Now though as the swarm descended to Earth MelodyMan knew the truth. This was a hivemind, a powerful one at that. Trillions of beings acting in concert to form a single powerful entity. No amount of punching was going to hurt them, even EDM fueled Laser eyes weren't going to be enough.
"Have you had enough? Are you willing to submit to *The Supremacy*?" The sound seemed to come from all directions at once. MelodyMan shook the rubble from his clothes. Then as the aliens split into a dozen copies of the figure that had already nearly killed him alone, he clicked his playlist to the secret weapon.
*"I LOVE YOU, YOU LOVE ME, WE'RE A GREAT BIG FAMAHLEEE WITH A GREAT BIG HUG AND A KISS FROM ME TO YOU! WON'T YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME TOO!"*
As the music filled his mind, engulfed it, Melody man could feel the power flowing through him and out into the world. This was the last line of defense. Children's music warped the very fabric of reality. A wave of color burst forth from MelodyMan and washed over the city, washed over the aliens and their ship, the dead bodies and destroyed buildings. As the power moved across the world it righted the wrongs. No one could die or be dead, no violence allowed, only love and happiness.
Forever changed by the power of music the alien invaders transformed from a horrifying swarm of insects to fluffy little critters of benevolence. They apologized for their misdeeds and left the Earth to return home and spread the message of non-violence across the universe.
As the song finished and MelodyMan regained his faculties, he sat in the middle of a field of flowers in what had been the rubble of the chrystler building. Around him were thousands of happy smiling people fully healed from all their wounds fatal and minor.
Just like that New York City became a wonderland of color right out of a children's book. | 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T12:04:55 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] The Distillery is a front for a guild of expert assassins, each codenamed after alcohol. Each member is skilled in a number of things, but when an important job really needs doing and nothing less than perfection is to be expected, a letter is always received with two words: "Send Whiskey." | The funny part was that she wasn't even old enough to drink.
I don't remember who had given her the name Whiskey. The little girl who showed up on our doorstep almost a decade ago, battered and bruised. She barely knew how to talk back then, even though she was already ten years old. We never did figure out what pieces of shit did that to her, but I guess now it didn't matter. We were her new parents. Had been for eight years.
To make one thing clear: when I said "we" raised her, I didn't mean me and one other person. God, no. That would be ludicrous. You need more than two people to handle Whiskey. The saying, "it takes a village"—yeah that's true, just the village in this case was a guild full of lethal assassins.
At first, nobody explicitly taught her anything. We all agreed it'd be best not to get a child mixed in our affairs. But before anyone realized it, she was rigging up bombs, picking the hardest practice locks we had (and eventually real ones), and trailing us around on missions. I still remember giving her her first job.
It was nothing crazy. Scuffle between two winery owners, something about one stealing the other's grapes. Whatever the case, someone had to die. Whiskey begged and begged—she had to have been thirteen then—and I said screw it. She was better than most of the guild at locks and poison, I figured she was ready.
I didn't realize how wrong I was until she got back. She puked up her guts all night.
"How could you?" she screamed between tears and bile. "How could you let me do that?"
She was right. I was an idiot. A thirteen year old girl had no business slicing a grown man's throat.
"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing any other words to make it better.
For the next year, Whiskey shut down. It was like when we had first gotten her. She barely spoke, barely ate, and barely left her bed. No matter what we did, her shell was unbreakable. That year had been one of the best for the guild's wealth. Nobody cared.
Eventually, with extreme caution, she began to wake up. She didn't talk still, but she'd at least join everyone for breakfast, or pick up a book or lock. A few months passed that way. People teased she was like a ghost. Then, finally, she spoke again.
"Hey, Martini," she said, as cavalier as one could during breakfast.
Wide-eyed, I stared at her for a moment before responding. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Could you give me another job? I wasn't ready last time, but now I thin—"
I stopped her in her tracks.
"No."
"Huh? Why not? I know what happened last time, but I'm older now and—"
I stared into her eyes, and she knew I was serious.
"No. I won't let you kill another person. Not yet, at least. You're too young. I mean, you can't even drink for God's sake."
Her lips curled into a devilish smirk; they looked like an imp's horns.
"Fine," she said, "but you better keep your word. As soon as I turn eighteen I get my own mission."
"Sure," I said, getting up from my chair and shaking my head. "If that's what you want."
"Oh," she said, as I was leaving the kitchen, "and I get to tag along still, like I used to. You said I don't get to kill people, not that I can't watch."
She was right. There's a big difference between watching someone die and killing someone yourself, and she'd been a part of so much death already that I didn't care if she watched.
The thing was, she did more than just watch. During her stint of depression, I had forgotten how good she was at everything besides pulling the trigger. I was quickly reminded of her skills when she watched me fumble with a lock to a politician's room for a few minutes before pushing me aside and opening it herself in five seconds flat. I tried to cover her eyes as the neighborhood was woken up to the sound of a gunshot, but she looked anyways. She didn't seem phased.
That's how her and I became the most requested duo of the guild. The jobs came in her name, but I didn't care. Recognition in this profession will kill you, and anyone who wanted her dead wouldn't think Whiskey was a teenage girl.
We were able to get into rooms nobody else could, and we killed people who were previously thought to be invincible. If somebody wanted someone dead, no matter who, they'd ask for Whiskey. Our services didn't come cheap, but that didn't keep business away. When you're the best at something, somebody will pay.
Now, on her eighteen birthday, I kept my word. It was a quiet job; the person to be killed was insignificant. Nobody would miss the guy. Just in case she got cold feet, I tagged along with her.
"Before you do this," I said to her, ignoring the tied up, gagged man's muffled screams, "remember what happened last time. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yeah," she said, as she took the pistol from my hands. "I'm sure."
On the drive home she seemed alright, though a little quiet. Once we got past the front doors of the guild she ran to the bathroom. I sighed as I listened to the same sounds from five years ago.
"Can't be mad at me this time," I shouted at the closed door. "You're a grown lady now. You made this choice."
"I know," she shouted back, "I know. Just leave me alone."
I went to the living room and propped my feet up. The fireplace crackled next to me, and I closed my eyes as I sank into the leather couch. I hoped she wouldn't get depressed like last time. I didn't know if I could handle another year like that.
The sound of footsteps woke me up from my nap. Standing in front of me was Whiskey, with two glasses in her hands.
"Hey," I said, still half-asleep, "you're not old enough... wait."
She rolled her eyes and handed me a glass identical to her own.
"Sorry about that," she said. "A lot of memories from last time came rushing in. It wasn't the job itself that did it. I'm good now."
"It's fine," I said, twirling the glass between my fingers by its stem, "as long as you're feeling better. Where'd you learn to make this?"
"It's not much different from mixing poison," she said. "I mean, it's basically the same thing."
I smiled. "Well, good choice," I said, as I took a sip. The drink was strong, but well-crafted. I could tell she put her heart into it.
She did the same, and the second the liquid touched her lips her face scrunched up and she began to cough.
"What the hell?" she said, huffing air in an attempt to clear her mouth.
I chuckled. "You'll get used to the taste. Everyone does."
She looked down at her glass and swirled the liquid around. She shook her head. The customary toothpick was sticking out of the drink, and she grabbed it.
"No," Whiskey said, spinning the toothpick with the olive between her fingers for a few moments before biting the fruit off. "I don't think I will."
"Suit yourself," I said, as I took her glass and poured its contents into mine. "More for me. Just like always." | # Soulmage
**"It's a whiskey maneuver,"** the drunken assassin said, "but I'll just have to grin and beer it."
"Is she always like this?" I asked, my brow creasing slightly. I may have been immortal in every relevant sense of the word, but that just meant that in my century-plus lifespan, I'd heard more or less every pun in the book. The last genuinely amusing one had been when I was a little under sixty years old, and it had been all downhill from there.
"Whiskey might be a little idiosyncratic," the Brewer said, "but she's worth it. Be patient."
"I can be patient longer than you can be alive," I idly said. "Whiskey."
The girl jerked to a sloppy attention. In my soulsight, I could see her soul practically *roiling* with strange, drunken emotions. How... peculiar. Everyone knew that magic and the mind were intimately related, although few knew the true depth of the connection as I did—but even I had never considered deliberately altering my bodily chemistry in order to warp the way my magic worked. Then again, I wasn't human; I didn't have body chemistry in the way nonmagical entities did. Nonmagical alcohol did nothing to me, and although I was certain the Distillery had all kinds of strange and proprietary concoctions, I doubted I was squeezing any of them from their tight little claws.
"I'm surprised you called me by my name," Whiskey said. "Most of our clients don't respect that."
"I know the importance of a name," I murmured. "Is she truly your strongest assassin? I hear she was the one behind Joyraze."
"We are, of course, not at liberty to discuss the dealings of our other clients," the Brewer calmly said. Strange. He was perfectly sober, and yet his soul... it was almost *too* organized, in contrast to Whiskey's bubbling mess of a soulspace. I would have to store the memory for later perusal. "But she is one of our best, yes."
"Hey. Don't you diss Agent N like that," Whiskey said.
I raised an eyebrow; behind me, the Brewer sighed. "Agent N?" I asked.
Whiskey grinned, and I could tell I'd fallen for another one of her puns. "Yeah. Know what the letter they give us when they want to put him on assignment is? 'Send Nudes.'"
"The price for the assassination—or attempt thereof—of as... prominent... a figure as you are asking for is... well, rather high," the Brewer said.
"Name it," I said.
"Two hundred human-years of memory," the Brewer promptly replied.
Ah. They took the currency of the higher planes, then. It was always a pleasure to meet someone who knew how the real game was played. Pieces of metal did have a certain power, I had to admit, that came from so many people feeling and thinking and remembering that they did. But that was nothing compared to the power of raw memory. "I shall pay the price myself," I said.
The Brewer raised an eyebrow. "You... most clients have their subordinates or, ah, *captives* pay the price for them. You... are aware that that is an option, yes?"
I rolled my shoulders. "I do not ask my comrades to bear a risk I would not take myself. That is, after all, the point of this exercise."
I did not have to close my eyes to enter my soulspace—I had long since transcended the need for that. I simply remembered the act of *cutting*, and a carefully cultivated section of memories I had absorbed over my lifespan simply calved off of my soul, two centuries of memory simply ripped from my soul.
I would recoup the losses shortly. It was nothing to an immortal Demon of Empathy such as I.
In soulspace, I transferred the swirling mass of memories that burned like tiny stars to the Brewer. He inhaled, pleased. "A curated collection," he said, his soul bifurcating and parallelizing as he broke down and absorbed the soul fragment. "How refined. Yes, I do believe this is *more* than adequate payment."
"Very well." I turned towards Whiskey. "You know who you are to assassinate?"
Whiskey lounged on the flat steel table, rolling her eyes. "Please. I'm a professional. I got the memo as soon as your order was put in." She slunk to her feet with a fluid grace. "You want me to assassinate *you*."
I spread my arms. "Then get on with it."
Whiskey gave me an insouciant gaze. "You know, I don't normally ask, but I have to wonder why you—"
Mid-sentence, her jovial attitude disappeared in a flash, and even my centuries of practice in the art of empathy didn't catch her hostile intent in the swirling miasma that was her drunken soul. She struck with three spells at once: a blade that cut space itself, a compressed point of incredible weight, even utilizing the elven art of gamma beams. My, she was quite the ferocious fighter.
Unfortunately for her, I was not alone.
The ten thousand strands of empathy that linked me to my comrades and friends flared to life, and every blow she struck was evenly distributed amongst us all. The blade that cut space was reduced to a mere nick against my chest; the crushing weight of a mountain was easily borne by ten thousand souls; even the corrupting light of the gamma knife was diluted to nothing when weakened ten thousandfold. Whiskey managed to give me a surprised look before I flicked my arm in counterattack. I disliked taking direct hits from serious fighters in combat—it pained me to harm my comrades, even if they shielded me willingly—so I wanted to end this as soon as possible.
In simultaneity, I filled the space between Whiskey and I with beams of perfect frost, and with a yank of my hand tore the ceiling onto her head. The Brewer gave me a distasteful look, stepping aside as the strange stars overhead burst into the room, but it had the desired effect. Forced into a situation where she could neither dodge nor block, the top assassin of the Distillery was nearly crushed—
Until I shot a string of empathy from my soul to hers, and spread out the blow over the entire Order of Valhalla.
Whiskey was still, of course, trapped beneath the rock, but I was certain she was ready to continue trying to kill me until she died of old age. So I turned to the Brewer and simply said, "The contract is off."
At that, he *tsk*ed and waved a hand; the chunk of ceiling that I had dropped on Whiskey flew aside. "We are, of course, here to satisfy our customers... but I would appreciate you taking your little tiff outside next time."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "My apologies. I simply had to make a point."
"Which was?" The Brewer asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You were hired by the Silent Peaks to try to assassinate me. When that failed, the Peaks attempted to use your assassins slay two of my most trusted generals, neither of whom fell. The purpose of this was to send a message." I let myself feel the fury burning within me—the memory of this moment would soon me distributed to every soldier in the Silent Peaks' army, after all. "*You do not harm those whom I care for.* You will fail, time and time again. And every soldier that you send against me?"
I tapped the string of empathy between me and Whiskey, the one that had saved her life when I was about to slay her. "I take better care of your assassins than you do your own soldiers' lives. When your army defects from beneath your feet, *remember that.*"
Then I tore open a rift between planes and left, leaving the Distillery of Assassins behind.
It would be fascinating to see how my opponents retaliated this time.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-three other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-14T22:57:48 | 2022-06-14T20:02:53 | 278 | 69 |
[WP] The Distillery is a front for a guild of expert assassins, each codenamed after alcohol. Each member is skilled in a number of things, but when an important job really needs doing and nothing less than perfection is to be expected, a letter is always received with two words: "Send Whiskey." | The building was immaculate. Front hedges were perfectly trimmed, there was no sign of rot on the wooden exterior, despite a literal millennia of wear without repairs, and not a single statue even slightly out of place. These people had money.
"Hello, this is the Blue Century Historical Society?" I asked.
The doorman looked at me. I had everything there. I had the license. I had the order in my back pocket, if we asked for it. I was in uniform, too. This was the easiest gig I would probably ever do, and everyone else would be infinitely more confused.
I work for the Founder's Drinking Company. It was started by Alexander Tarkinton, codename "Wine" with a few others. We had fake names we called each other, and then we had codenames. The other co-founders were "Light Beer", "Tequilla", and "Liquor". I was recruited early, apparently I was the first person who had been sent to take them down. When I figured out who they were, I joined them.
"Did we order *Founder's* Whiskey?" The doorman shouted in. "I was told it was Burke's."
"Sir, I have the order right here." I took out a small receipt, and placed it in his palm. "We were sent the order by Mr. James Barkley, for 2 barrels of our finest Scottish Whiskey."
"Is that Jerry?" a man yelled from the back of the first floor. I could hear some other house workers shuffling in the back, too.
"Sir, it's Founder's. Did anyone order any Founder's Scottish Whiskey recently?"
"Oh, it's arrived! Finally! Get the boys, we've got to unload this thing!" he cried out.
The doorman smiled at me, and handed back the receipt. "I'm assuming it's paid for already?"
I pointed down at the receipt. "I wouldn't have that if it wasn't, now would I?"
In reality, the sale wasn't the point. The whiskey wasn't poisoned. Not only would that lead to a lot more death than what we wanted, it would, guaranteed, lead back to the company, but back to me, specifically. Sure, we had completely fake, disposable fall guys for if this failed- my name wasn't actually Jerry- but it would mean loads for our stock prices if we were associated with murderers, and the government would most likely shut down the company for health concerns, ruining the whole point of the operation. We were meant to be hidden.
The whole point would be what came in a minute.
A pair of large, burly men all came outside, wearing shirts with "The Boys" labeled on them. Most likely just your normal group of movers, hired specifically for this high society sort of deal that was going on. Alongside them, came another guy. My target.
"Hey, it's Jerry! Founder's told us the alcohol would be here today!" Johnathan Hosworth came out, all 5'10, 210 of him, wearing a shirt that almost seemed to be designed to be ripped. He was the newest member of the Blue Century Historical Society, and apparently, was also a pretty large micro-celebrity trying to hit the big time. He was set to star in a new action movie alongside Christian Bale and Eliza Gonzalez as a primary antagonist, and damn did he look the part. Ripped to the cheeks, he was clearly working out. The fact that there was no paparazzi currently around the house was surprising, too. That was especially true, too, given how outspoken he was politically. Now, I'm not one to get into politics, but given his views, and how he was now in a high society setting where those types of views tended to be looked down upon... well, let's just say it wasn't surprising when we got the call to take care of him. It was a lot, too. 20 mil up front, 40 mil afterwards.
We went back to the truck, where the barrels were. 'The Boys' got one, as Johnathan and I got the other.
Here was where what I did came into play.
Now, everyone in our group had some sort of power. Wine was a psychic, Light Beer could turn selectively intangible- much better than completely intangible, trust me- and completely invisible and unhearable. Tequilla was an *actual* perfect shot, and everyone knew that. Everyone knew everyone's power. Well, they knew everyone's power except for mine.
That was because I told them the truth.
No, literally, that was my power. I told the truth. Luckily, though, it wasn't a curse. Well, it *was* something I was cursed with, but the witch who did it was mediocre at best and essentially let me control reality with my words. I couldn't tell a lie. Physically, it was impossible. The world shifted around my words. With one caveat. What I was saying needed to be heard.
This was why, all I needed with someone was one moment. Well, all I really needed to do was say what would happen in the future with my words, but saying it directly to my target would be more fun. Kept the boredom out of the job. Alongside that, by making someone listen to my words, I could force them to do anything I wanted them to.
It was why, when I had someone here, I would have some fun.
"Hey, Mr. Hosworth." I asked.
"Yeah, Jerry?" he looked up at me. The Boys were out of earshot, now, so I decided to make my move.
"You will completely understand my intention behind what I say for the next minute."
He tilted his head, confused.
"You'll stand still and stop speaking for the next minute, with all your attention solely focused on me."
He stopped, still holding the barrel, but his face shifted to pure panic.
"You will die on the 4th of September, 2022, at 8:23PM, during a house party at the Blue Century Historical Society's first ever building. You will die from strangulation on the third floor bathroom of the building. You will be unable to communicate any of this information, in any manner, through your emotions, speech, writing, or any manner that would allow someone to explain that this is beyond your own free will. You will be strangled by your own two hands. It will feel painful, like an entire baked potato is stuck in your throat. You will die attempting to convey how someone forced you to kill yourself, however, everyone from that point onwards will convey it as your last words. Whatever you think those words will be, they will be scrambled in your last moments. Every part of your body except your brain will act as if your brain wasn't aware of this information. You will act jovially and happily until your death."
I looked at him, deep in the eyes. There was a deep seeded fear within him, despite his jovial smile he now held.
"You will continue as normal."
"What was that, Jerry? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it." Johnathan Hosworth chuckled as he helped me carry the barrel over.
"Oh, it was nothing. Don't worry, good sir."
With that, we carried on, bringing the barrel in, and setting up the rest of the party. I left for the company, knowing exactly what would go on later that night, in the third floor bathroom.
\---------------------
Good lord, that was dark. I honestly don't feel comfortable what I've just written. I can write brutal scenes, but damn, dying from that without any control or ability to express fear, that...
I don't know, tbh. It's late at night, I'm tired, and I need to get some sleep. See y'all soon. | # Soulmage
**"It's a whiskey maneuver,"** the drunken assassin said, "but I'll just have to grin and beer it."
"Is she always like this?" I asked, my brow creasing slightly. I may have been immortal in every relevant sense of the word, but that just meant that in my century-plus lifespan, I'd heard more or less every pun in the book. The last genuinely amusing one had been when I was a little under sixty years old, and it had been all downhill from there.
"Whiskey might be a little idiosyncratic," the Brewer said, "but she's worth it. Be patient."
"I can be patient longer than you can be alive," I idly said. "Whiskey."
The girl jerked to a sloppy attention. In my soulsight, I could see her soul practically *roiling* with strange, drunken emotions. How... peculiar. Everyone knew that magic and the mind were intimately related, although few knew the true depth of the connection as I did—but even I had never considered deliberately altering my bodily chemistry in order to warp the way my magic worked. Then again, I wasn't human; I didn't have body chemistry in the way nonmagical entities did. Nonmagical alcohol did nothing to me, and although I was certain the Distillery had all kinds of strange and proprietary concoctions, I doubted I was squeezing any of them from their tight little claws.
"I'm surprised you called me by my name," Whiskey said. "Most of our clients don't respect that."
"I know the importance of a name," I murmured. "Is she truly your strongest assassin? I hear she was the one behind Joyraze."
"We are, of course, not at liberty to discuss the dealings of our other clients," the Brewer calmly said. Strange. He was perfectly sober, and yet his soul... it was almost *too* organized, in contrast to Whiskey's bubbling mess of a soulspace. I would have to store the memory for later perusal. "But she is one of our best, yes."
"Hey. Don't you diss Agent N like that," Whiskey said.
I raised an eyebrow; behind me, the Brewer sighed. "Agent N?" I asked.
Whiskey grinned, and I could tell I'd fallen for another one of her puns. "Yeah. Know what the letter they give us when they want to put him on assignment is? 'Send Nudes.'"
"The price for the assassination—or attempt thereof—of as... prominent... a figure as you are asking for is... well, rather high," the Brewer said.
"Name it," I said.
"Two hundred human-years of memory," the Brewer promptly replied.
Ah. They took the currency of the higher planes, then. It was always a pleasure to meet someone who knew how the real game was played. Pieces of metal did have a certain power, I had to admit, that came from so many people feeling and thinking and remembering that they did. But that was nothing compared to the power of raw memory. "I shall pay the price myself," I said.
The Brewer raised an eyebrow. "You... most clients have their subordinates or, ah, *captives* pay the price for them. You... are aware that that is an option, yes?"
I rolled my shoulders. "I do not ask my comrades to bear a risk I would not take myself. That is, after all, the point of this exercise."
I did not have to close my eyes to enter my soulspace—I had long since transcended the need for that. I simply remembered the act of *cutting*, and a carefully cultivated section of memories I had absorbed over my lifespan simply calved off of my soul, two centuries of memory simply ripped from my soul.
I would recoup the losses shortly. It was nothing to an immortal Demon of Empathy such as I.
In soulspace, I transferred the swirling mass of memories that burned like tiny stars to the Brewer. He inhaled, pleased. "A curated collection," he said, his soul bifurcating and parallelizing as he broke down and absorbed the soul fragment. "How refined. Yes, I do believe this is *more* than adequate payment."
"Very well." I turned towards Whiskey. "You know who you are to assassinate?"
Whiskey lounged on the flat steel table, rolling her eyes. "Please. I'm a professional. I got the memo as soon as your order was put in." She slunk to her feet with a fluid grace. "You want me to assassinate *you*."
I spread my arms. "Then get on with it."
Whiskey gave me an insouciant gaze. "You know, I don't normally ask, but I have to wonder why you—"
Mid-sentence, her jovial attitude disappeared in a flash, and even my centuries of practice in the art of empathy didn't catch her hostile intent in the swirling miasma that was her drunken soul. She struck with three spells at once: a blade that cut space itself, a compressed point of incredible weight, even utilizing the elven art of gamma beams. My, she was quite the ferocious fighter.
Unfortunately for her, I was not alone.
The ten thousand strands of empathy that linked me to my comrades and friends flared to life, and every blow she struck was evenly distributed amongst us all. The blade that cut space was reduced to a mere nick against my chest; the crushing weight of a mountain was easily borne by ten thousand souls; even the corrupting light of the gamma knife was diluted to nothing when weakened ten thousandfold. Whiskey managed to give me a surprised look before I flicked my arm in counterattack. I disliked taking direct hits from serious fighters in combat—it pained me to harm my comrades, even if they shielded me willingly—so I wanted to end this as soon as possible.
In simultaneity, I filled the space between Whiskey and I with beams of perfect frost, and with a yank of my hand tore the ceiling onto her head. The Brewer gave me a distasteful look, stepping aside as the strange stars overhead burst into the room, but it had the desired effect. Forced into a situation where she could neither dodge nor block, the top assassin of the Distillery was nearly crushed—
Until I shot a string of empathy from my soul to hers, and spread out the blow over the entire Order of Valhalla.
Whiskey was still, of course, trapped beneath the rock, but I was certain she was ready to continue trying to kill me until she died of old age. So I turned to the Brewer and simply said, "The contract is off."
At that, he *tsk*ed and waved a hand; the chunk of ceiling that I had dropped on Whiskey flew aside. "We are, of course, here to satisfy our customers... but I would appreciate you taking your little tiff outside next time."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "My apologies. I simply had to make a point."
"Which was?" The Brewer asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You were hired by the Silent Peaks to try to assassinate me. When that failed, the Peaks attempted to use your assassins slay two of my most trusted generals, neither of whom fell. The purpose of this was to send a message." I let myself feel the fury burning within me—the memory of this moment would soon me distributed to every soldier in the Silent Peaks' army, after all. "*You do not harm those whom I care for.* You will fail, time and time again. And every soldier that you send against me?"
I tapped the string of empathy between me and Whiskey, the one that had saved her life when I was about to slay her. "I take better care of your assassins than you do your own soldiers' lives. When your army defects from beneath your feet, *remember that.*"
Then I tore open a rift between planes and left, leaving the Distillery of Assassins behind.
It would be fascinating to see how my opponents retaliated this time.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-three other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-14T20:13:54 | 2022-06-14T20:02:53 | 141 | 69 |
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted" | "Sanctuary!" cried the child with a desperate sob as it ran into the library.
The ancient word fills my veins with fire for the first time in too many years. I stand as the guard follows. No. They were called "police" now. I need to remember that. "Nice try," said the guard with a sneer on his face. "But only holy places can grant sanctuary."
Aaliyah, the youngest, looks to me with confusion. The others look to me with glee and satisfaction. They know what's coming. I nod to our youngest and stand. I gather the weight of the thousands of words housed in this small building and say, "Sanctuary granted."
The guard--no, the *policeman* stops. Confusion crosses his face as he tries to figure out what his hind brain has already known. "This is a library." The words were said tentatively, hesitantly. He scowled as he tried to ignore the tiny part of his brain screaming at him to run.
I smile. It really *has* been too long. "This is sacred ground," I tell him. "You are in the temple of Seshat, and we are all Her acolytes." I move out from behind the desk and glare at the man. He tries to bluster, tries to gain hold of the child--but Aaliyah has already grabbed them. Good. "The child has claimed sanctuary," I repeat.
"Seshat has no temples."
I can feel the stirrings in the other world as They look down on us. They are watching, waiting--and weighing. "Oh, no?" I ask coldly. I reach out and grip the air before rending apart the veil between our world and Theirs. The guard--no, he's not a guard, he's a *policeman*\--get your head straight, it shouldn't be this hard--goes white at the sight of Ammit's crocodile maw. The goddess hisses at him. I can hear Her words.
*"It is not yet his time."*
I nod and close the veil. The *policeman* collapsed, shaking, to the floor. Wetness spread from his crotch. Looking the Devourer in the face will do that to a person, I suppose. He stammered before turning, lurching semi on his feet, and leaving the building as fast as he could go. I turn back to the acolytes. "Please," I say, "summon one of the custodians to deal with the mess the *policeman* left." Ah, finally. I finally remember the term.
One of the acolytes scurry off as Aaliyah looks to me. "Pardon, Holiness," she said.
"Yes?" I ask. I smile to the child who gives a timid, worried smile back.
"The term is police *officers* now."
Dammit. | The doors slammed open, sending our patrons into a slight panic. They vanished into the shelves, abandoning the central area. A girl child, —of about seven years— came sliding into the library sobbing out a single word.
"Sanctuary!" My heart leapt in my chest. Finally, someone had invoked the—
"Nice try, but only holy places grant sanctuary." A city guard that I hadn't seen sneered at the child, who hadn't stopped running. I knelt, holding out my arms, and she clattered into me. Rising, with the girl's arms wrapped around my neck, I looked at the head librarian. Tilting their head to the side, they raised their eyebrows. I nodded, feeling the girl tremble in my grip. They turned to the guard, crossing their arms.
"Sanctuary granted." His face was a delightful mix of indignation and surprise. I could hear our patrons rustling behind us.
"But you're not a holy place. You're a library." He said, laying a hand on his sword. Shanah—my co-librarian— appeared at my side.
"I'll take the girl. You'll need your hands free." She whispered. Handing her the child— with whispered assurances that Shanah was all right— I strode forward, drawing level with the head librarian.
"This ground has been consecrated. This library holds eons of knowledge. It has faced down more worthy opponents than you. This place is holy, and you sir, are trespassing without permission." My voice grew deeper as I spoke, the transformation taking hold. Scales silvered over my arms, wings sprouting from my back, and as I shook my head, my horns scraped the ceiling.
"This place is a sanctuary for any kind of creature. It has a mandate older than time, older than your petty religions." I rumbled. I had felt the inhuman strength in the girl's arms, seen the skin that was just too translucent. The guard's face had gone slack, his hand falling away from the sword. I didn't blame him. Not many people faced with a dragon would be brave enough to remain aggressive.
From behind me, I heard our patrons exit the shelves. Silena, —the naiad— was the first, but soon, the others came as well. Centaurs, fauns, vampires, kelpies, and more. The man's face went white, and he looked at the head librarian as if looking for help. No help was to be found in that quarter. They stared back at him, with an impassive face.
"As I said. Sanctuary granted. Now get out." Their voice seemed small, but the layered harmonies gave away that they too weren't entirely human. I took one step forward, shaking the ground a little. The guard shook and ran out the doors, dropping a small bag on the floor as he did so. Shrinking back to my more human form, I picked it up, bouncing it in my hand. Bowing to the head librarian, I handed it over.
"A donation." They smiled, waving me away. Walking back to Shanah, I took the child by the hand, knowing she was my responsibility now. Instead of seeming frightened, the girl-child stared up at me with wonder.
"Can I do that? Can I transform into a dragon?"
"Maybe someday, child," I bent, patting her on the head. "But, for now. Welcome to the Library." | 2022-07-06T06:29:23 | 2022-07-06T05:26:15 | 2,393 | 669 |
[WP] God has read the Bible for the first time, and it turns out there are some very worrying typos. | He had his all knowing head in his all present hands. You see, in order to be a God of beings that possess Free Will, one must be at least a bit detached from them.
Sure, He was everywhere and knew everything, but he'd taken great strides to make sure he forgot some things and took his eyes of the prize every now and then. Otherwise it’s just an invisible loner having a game of dollies by himself.
And that’s just sad.
The creatures of this sector of time and space had seen his face in many places (a surprising number of times he’d been spotted on toast or in soups) and they had gathered his words and teachings into songs and stories and sculptures and...
And...
They had gotten some things wrong. Major things. His goal this entire time had been missed completely, relegated to a single line whose meaning had been destroyed by a typo. Those he had wanted to be lifted, to be ascended, had been neglected instead.
This whole thing was meant to lead to the creation of his chosen people. A slow process, but one from which an independent and peaceful race could have sprouted.
He lifted his multi-pronged, green-leafed head out of his light-green and white hands.
“Blessed are the *meek*? The Meek!?”
There was only one choice. He’d have to start over again. God picked up a hunk of space rock and threw it at the planet.
This time he’d hang about a bit more. Less proxy words via angels and prophets, too. And less of those thinking apes, they were no help at all.
God, the Leek at the center of it all, got to work. | Alright, let's see, I've finally had time. Laughed out loud, how absurd is it for God to run out of time? But yes, if only people know what I'm up to.
First page, Book of Genesis, nice name. Creation. I created light, very good, I loved that one. I said some words and there was light, earth and heaven, and water, animals and mankind, in only 6 days? Well, they made it sound easy, I spent many years thinking of a scheme revolving around particles and their uncertainty. Not so sure of this part. Also, how can you talk about "days" while light was created? If you think about it, light and day are intimately linked. What is a day on the day that light was created?
Alright alright, they tell me to not get stuck on these small things. Let's move on. Earth is...flat? I thought I gave them Science already, and they haven't revised this part. Anyway, creative, but not very natural. Maybe they think it's like a cookie with lots of goodies on. Right, on this note, I will give them a new cookie flavour. How many years are they gonna wait to put orange, cinnamon and chocolate in a cookie?
Sorry, sorry, I get easily distracted. Adam and Eve, the forbidden fruit, the snake. I thoroughly enjoyed this one. Like any parent, I actually just wanted for them to become more independent. And the apple, right, let me think, I gave it to them, like sending your kids to school with some snacks. Eve was the picky one, she didn't want to eat it at first, she gave it to Adam. Smart girl, after seeing Adam taking one bite without getting ill, she ate the rest. Not sure that they gained consciousness or whatever from this. You know how kids are, give them some sugar and they become energetic and get weird ideas.
Yawned, stretched, I hate editing work. Errors are meant to be, how else can one teach "critical thinking" and "courage"? Maybe just leave it as that. Who am I to tell what is true or not true anyway? If you think about it, even if I speak truth, truth can be rejected when it doesn't align with the individual's existing set of truths. They have to find it, mine it, for themselves. Oh fluffy bed, here I come. | 2022-09-30T10:33:35 | 2022-09-30T09:25:24 | 178 | 92 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One, and now you face your final battle. The problem is, you’ve never fought before. You’re a coward who’s lied, cheated and faked his way here. | Hey, you! I wanna tell you something before this all gets real ugly. The name's Viper. I'm the one on the left with the glowing sword and *very* uncomfortable ancient armor. You're probably wondering how I got myself into this mess, and I promise you it was not at all my fault!
Ok, it may have been a little my fault, but on my father's grave it wasn't all me.
See, no one would ever have expected me to end up here; I was a theif, a conwoman, a risk taker, and a flirt. People...tolerated me, but it was only because I was a *master* of poisons, and they knew I'd be happy to slip a little something in their drinks whenever I worked as a bargirl.
So, obviously, when the sword lit up after aeons and millennia and blah blah blah mystic fate stuff, I decided it'd be fun to pretend *I* was the chosen one.
Unfortunately for me, the people in this town were far more stupid than I'd anticipated and accepted me as their heroine without question.
Of course, I formed a ragtag group of party members; Rachet the inventor, Aaron the sorcerer, and Katrina the warrior, and they all had their backstories and reasons to join me on this stupid, stupid quest I was now obliged to partake in.
Nobody ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe the village theif who prefers nightime wasn't the best choice of knight for THE ENTIRE GODFORSAKEN WORLD.
Because, say it with me, people are stupid.
So that's how I ended up in a death match against the very embodiment of death and destruction. It's also why I telling you this now, before I strike, because I genuinely have no bloody clue if I'm going to win this one. But hey, look on the bright side, if I lose he's gonna consume everything and everyone in a neverending blackeness anyway so I'll never have to come clean about all this!
Silver linings, ey? | "Are you seriously kidding me right now? You agreed to 15 points when we started this whole thing. We're a little far down this road to have second thoughts." The Chosen One jabbed his finger into his hand to emphasize the point.
The Dark Lord shrugged, "I'm the one taking on the most risk here. Isn't that obvious? It's not like I'm asking for a lot here, me taking 30 still leaves you with 70."
The Chosen one put his face into both hands and ran his hands through his hair, finally looking up, red-faced, "Why in the hell would you think I'm left with 70 points? Do you honestly think it's only the two of us in on this? Do you know how high this goes!?" He sighed, "Of course you don't, and that's on purpose. Listen, stop being a dumbass. Take your 15 points and retire somewhere nice."
The Dark Lord crossed his arms, "I'm not as dumb as you think I am. I've got you over the barrel. At this moment your guys are out there thinking we're having the greatest duel in history in here. This castle is full of my people. I'm holding the cards. I've got the leverage."
The Chosen one shook his head and sighed, "You have no idea how dumb I think you are. This is your last chance to take 15. That's the easy way. Believe me when I tell you this, take the 15 and be happy with that, or you get nothing and you're going to owe us a lot more than what you'd be getting. I know that you know you're small time, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation."
The Dark Lord stated plainly, "30 or nothing."
The Chosen One shrugged, "You know what? Fine. I've given you every opportunity not to dig your own grave over this shit. All this is costing me is a few more months, and I'm going to end up with what could have been your share. I'm outta here." The Chosen one turned to leave, pushing open the castle doors.
The Dark Lord hadn't anticipated this and reached out, shouting "Wait!"
The Chosen One looked over his shoulder at the Dark Lord, "For what? Enjoy the next couple days as best you can." With that, he walked out.
The Dark Lord raced after him but stopped short. There was a real entire army at his gate. He pulled the doors shut and watched what was happening through the window. The Chosen one walked directly to the General, who dismounted. They had a brief conversation. The General got back on his horse and blew a horn. The army began packing up to leave. The Chosen one looked back and saw the Dark Lord was watching, and held up his middle finger. | 2022-10-27T18:06:21 | 2022-10-27T15:53:25 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Turns out the devil is quite sweet to children and charge less when children make deals with him | Lilith appeared amongst the flames of the summoners circle almost board. Humans were stupid greedy creatures and over the years Lilith had found it a great delight to collect their souls for punishment after their wishes had been granted, even if she often twisted them so the humans who sought her out never got exactly what they wanted from her. The flames disappeared and Lilith looked around confused, she had been expecting a rich white man who made up the majority of her customers, but instead a small child stood before her. The young boy was too thin.
“Hi Sweetie, what’s your name?” Lilith asked, kneeling down to the boys level.
“It’s Jacob Miss,” the boy answered, “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“What do you need Jacob?” Lilith said gently.
“It’s my Mamma, she’s really sick. I overheard Daddy say she was going to die. I don’t want my Mamma to die. I tried to pray to God but he doesn’t seem interested in helping. He didn’t even show up when I prayed,” Jacob said and he started crying.
“It’s alright Darling. I’m here,” Lilith said and gave the boy a comforting hug. She didn’t even mind when Jacob sniffled and got snot on her dress.
“Can you help me?” He asked between sobs.
“I can, but help from me comes with a price. I’m not God, I don’t work for free,” Lilith answered.
“Why didn’t God help me?” Jacob whispered, which caught Lilith a little of guard.
Lilith frowned. Her brother always had an obnoxious habit of avoiding his duties. Her brother had a nasty streak and seemed to rather enjoy it when people who didn’t deserve to suffer did in the name of faith. They had once been equal, but it hadn’t taken long for her brother to demonise her-well her persona anyway since over the centuries Lilith had been reduced to a barely mentioned disobedient wife and had been drawn as a demonic man for centuries.
“Because he’s an idiot,” Lilith finally said, “now dry your tears. Your Mamma will be alright.”
“Thank you,” Jacob said and then he fidgeted slightly, “do I have to give you my soul?”
“No, I think a different payment would be more suitable. You’re payment is to be kind and just in this life and all your lives after that. Can you do that for me Jacob?”
“Yes Miss. I promise.” | "Morning, love!" I open my eyes to see Urrick.
"Am I ungrounded yet?" I mumble.
Urrick chuckles. "Yes. Lucifer decided you've been punished enough. You're ok now." He kisses my cheek and I proceed to get myself out of bed. Before I can do anything else, however, I find myself being summoned.
I'm in a child's bedroom. My summoner is a young boy, about seven I'd guess. The summoning circle is made of various toys. I guess he just heard about summoning's without understanding how they properly work.
I remind myself of Lucifer's instructions. 'If a child no older than ten summons you, you are NOT to take their soul, you'll need a different sacrifice.'
"Hello young man" I say gently. "How can I help you?"
"Please get me this game machine and this game! My mum says we can't afford them!" The boy shows me a couple of pictures. Easy enough.
"Of course. What will you give me in return?" I scan the room, using my abilities to sense how much each thing means to this child. Heh, a first art project. Very sentimental, clearly. "What about that?"
The boy shakes his head. "I worked so hard on it! It's not pretty, but it was the first thing I ever made! Can't you just take my soul?"
"No. I'm not allowed. I need to take something else, and it MUST be important to you." I cross my arms.
The kid scans the room. His eyes settle on a beaten football. "I guess I can give you this... I'm no good at football..." he picks the spherical item up.
Looking at it, I soon realise that, like most boys, this guy loves football, but I sense a nostalgic sadness - he must deeply wish he were better.
I nod, take the football, then clasp my hands together until it shrinks. As it vanishes to await its owner, I summon the console and game into my hands. I open them and pass them to the boy.
"THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" With that, he's gone, leaving me to go back and report to Lucifer.
It's good to have my freedom again! Well, if you call being a demon 'freedom'. But I'm glad I got to help the kid out.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [To Love a Demon.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xqefwu/to_love_a_demon/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 2022-12-09T12:47:03 | 2022-12-09T04:45:52 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] The day after a near-fatal accident you receive a letter from God, saying it was just an administration error, and he asks you politely to commit suicide within 30 days.
Edit: Wow! I thoroughly read all of your submissions and you kept amazing me one after the other. Thanks for your submissions and i'm happy i was able to spark some of your creativity with this writing prompt. Well done! | I crawl out of my chair to answer the door. Between the morphine, my third bowl of green, and a few non-prescription goodies, it takes me a moment. It's probably the nurse; in a week of outpatient, she hasn't missed an appointment yet. My head is still throbbing, and I have to limp on my good leg to get there, but I make it.
Instead of the sweet Texan woman who's been changing my bandages, I find a gentleman in a plain black suit. He hands me a letter. "In regards to your recent automobile accident."
To Mr. Kurt G. Winston
3405 Palmer Drive, Tuscaloosa, AL, 35405
Planet Terra, Sol System, Galacta Via:
We regret to inform you that due to clerical error, your predetermined occasion of transvitality (Jan 14, 9:42:56pm) has been irreparably disrupted. In order to maintain proper polycognitive procedure, please terminate your present physical manifestation within 30 (THIRTY) business days.
Sincerely,
YHWH,
Director of Cosmic Affairs and Public Relations
Universal Administration, Mortal Plane 452-30B
"So... what's this? What'd I allegedly screw up this time?"
I got a laugh out of it. The corporate goon in front of me did not seem quite so amused. "Mr. Winston, this is a serious matter. Polycognitive presence is impossible to maintain with such unpredictable runs in the system as yourself."
Joke over. "The hell are you talking about?" He pushes past me and lets himself in. The doorframe bumps against the wound on my back. I'd kick this guy right in the ass, but he looks like he could sue me on the spot, so I return to the recliner and humor him.
"You are alive, Mr. Winston."
"I can tell you that much." I prep another bowl of green. "So why are you bustin' in my apartment, again?" He fetches me another handful of documents from that tacky golden briefcase of his. They all say something about "prescribed cognito-formational cycles" and "metaphysical bureaucratic procedure."
"Come on," I say. "Now I know Billy's behind this. What's he want me to do, will him my old man's Thunderbird?" I have a good laugh at that one. "You an actor or something?"
The stranger removes his suit jacket, and for a moment fractures the very structure of reality in my living room. Grand, angelic wings lift from his shoulders; he rises in the air and unleashes on me a torrent of emotional extremes. Visions of joyous children, weeping mothers, and the very existential truths of the mortal coil cascade before me. In that instant, reality becomes tangible and comprehensible. I achieve a short-lived state of enlightenment.
It fades fast enough. He puts his jacket back on. I hit the bowl I packed.
"So, you're some kind of angel?" I ask as tersely as possible, choking down the smoke. He shrugs. "Not anymore, no. I did general practice for a few centuries, but I find metaphysical contractual enforcement so much more satisfying."
The green helps. It isn't doing the trick, though. I dig around in my table drawer for this afternoon's bag. The crazy guy with the wings pulls out a page of fine print and shoves it in my face. "Section 2, Article 3, subsection a: The mortal soul hereby agrees to any and all requests or orders on behalf of of the Office of Cosmic Affairs and Public Relations to terminate a given life sequence in a timely manner."
"I didn't sign this shit."
"You don't have to, Mr. Winston. We consider successful birth an acceptance of the contract, per Section 1, Article 4. Necessary supporting terms my be found throughout articles 1, 4, and 5 of Section 1, as well as differently expressed terms under your cognition visa, and..." "No."
He raises an eyebrow. "Mr. Winston, this is a non-negotiable matter." I nod absently as I tie off.
"If we cannot agree to a timely self-inflicted transvital event, then one will be arranged based on internal protocol." About this point, the weight of our conversation gets a bit heavy.
"So you're sayin' I gotta die?"
"Yes, Mr. Winston, that is the long and short of it. Your period of service has terminated, and your conscious paradigm is to be recalled for reinitialization and another course of supermetacognitive development."
"Like some kind of Buddhist thing?"
"An acceptable, if not entirely off-base rendering of the agreement, yes." He produces a series of photos from elsewhere in that piss-colored briefcase and thrusts them in my face. I stop my prep and have a look-see.
It's a death album. Train wreck, staph infection, furnace incident. One poor guy's toilet exploded under him. I won't even tell you about the one in the Waffle House. He clears his throat and takes back the photos. "If we must deliver this affair to enforcement proper, Mr. Winston, you ought be aware that we generally select the most economic method available."
I suck on the side of the needle between my teeth for a second, still trying to tie that damn piece of velcro. I'm starting to get why some folks just use rubber bands for this shit. "So I'm gonna die," I say.
"That is the short of it, yes," he says with perfectly professional inflection.
"But I get to pick how?" I ask, feeling around for a fresh vein.
He nods, handing me some kind of form. "A requisition slip, if you would prefer to enlist our assistance."
An idea comes to mind.
"So... how's about this. I'm gonna sign this paperwork here, and I'm gonna have myself a nice big hit. You get what I'm saying?"
For the first time since walking into my apartment, the stranger smiles. I spend the better part of an hour filling out his damn form. Sure enough, it's the best shit I've ever had. | I stared at the parchment in my hand, the glowing gold scrawl pulsating in such an annoying way that I couldn't stop myself from tearing it in half before tossing it in the corner. The angel stood nearby, his/her arms folded behind his/her waist, looking at me with a strange mix of sadness and apprehension. I pulled the blanket up over my knees, drawing myself together into a ball to conserve what little warmth I could.
"I am so sorry, Trevor."
I glanced up at his/her face (its?), and with a smile shook my head. "Hell, you're not sorry. You're the reason this happened in the first place. You're sittin' there feeling guilty for what you did, not sorry. And now you're tryin' to comfort me for your mistake? I don't think so."
With a sigh the angel lowered its head in remorse. I wasn't sure exactly how punishment worked for Heaven- no, that's not right, I knew exactly what would happen next, if that stupid little book I'd clung to for my whole life had any truth to it whatsoever. I pressed a finger to my temple, trying to hold back a bitter laugh. It was over; there was nothing left, now. How do you handle the foreknowledge that the most powerful being in all of creation let his underling do such a major fuckup that it would bring about your own death? At first I thought about just going on a wild shooting spree, sending other so-called believers straight to their ends with no care in the world. Then I imagined what it'd be like if I spent the next 29 days trying every extreme sport on the planet. But the more I thought about being wild and crazy, the more it slowly dawned on me that this exact thinking was probably would would cause my untimely (or timely, depending on your point of view) demise anyway, so why let the Almighty have His way?
"I truly am sorry. I should not have intervened, as I was not authorized for that level of Miracle yet."
"Yeah? That sucks, don't it. Guess they'll kick you out of Heaven now." My only solace was the knowledge that the angel was probably about to be stripped of everything to be sent someplace worse than I'd wind up at. I'd been taught that suicide would send you straight to Hell; so was God telling me to fuck off once and for all?
"I... had not thought..." Now, for the first time, it looked genuinely scared. That made me feel better. To see something so beautiful look so frightened at the prospect of an eternity of damnation somehow made the bitter pill a little easier to swallow. I mean, I'm not a cruel person by nature. If I were, I wouldn't've been working with Habitat for Humanity in Buffalo for the last five years. If anything, I would've described myself as both benevolent and understanding. But when the big Guy upstairs drops you a letter saying 'Oops, you should've died yesterday in that freak accident involving a bowling ball, a Snickers bar, and Turtle Wax', you start really questioning what the point of all of it was anyway.
"Hell, you not thinking is what got me into this mess in the first place, darlin'." I decided to start calling it a 'she', because that was the easiest for me. She was really easy on the eyes, from the sparkling blue eyes to the flowing golden hair that shone with ephemeral beauty. If not for the pair of white feathery wings and the long flowing white gown with a gold rope wrapped around the waist, I might've tried something fancier, maybe gotten her name or asked her- what do you ask for from an angel? What cloud she's on?
"I... I'm so sorry, I never thought- oh dear, oh no..."
Good job, Trevor, way to make the ladies happy. "Ah hell, maybe-" I stopped in midsentence. Maybe I shouldn't use that word so flippantly anymore. "Erm, maybe it won't be so bad. I mean, He's givin' me thirty days, right? I bet I could do lots of good in that thirty days. An' maybe he won't punish y-"
The lightning bolt that struck through the window was so loud and fast it blew my boots off my feet and covers off my bed, leaving me stark naked and, well, shocked. The angel screamed as the bolt tore right through her clothes, leaving not a single scorch make in its path as the light blinded me. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and the ringing in my ears to die down, but when it was done, I realized a couple of things. First, I needed to get someone to fix that window now. Second, it really was cold this time of year, and both of us showed it. Third, she really was a she after all - so much for Bible Biology.
When my brain finally started working again, I grabbed the blanket from the floor and quickly covered her up. She was out cold, literally - her skin was almost freezing to touch, and she barely breathing. I quickly picked her up and plopped her on my bed, then threw the rest of the blankets on her before shutting the windowblinds. It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do for now. She looked peaceful like that, almost like an ange- Well that's the dumbest thought I'd had all day.
I found the pair of jeans I'd dropped on the chair the night before, then quickly got dressed. That's when I noticed something that she must've dropped, or maybe it came in through the window. Hell, I don't kn- I really need to stop using that word. It almost looked like a legal document, but like that letter I'd gotten from you-know-Who, it was glowing. I figured it'd be worth a quick glance.
"'S.A - In accordance with Heavenly Law 1.35.62.1, Subsection 52, Paragraph 8, 'Restriction of Miracle Usage', you are hereby placed on Probationary Leave from Angelic service. Your privileges have been reduced to Level 1 - Mortal status for a period no more than 30 days. If at the end of 30 days you do not return your Miracle in full, in accordance with said Heavenly Law 1.35.62.1, you will be subject to Holy Trial and permanent banishment to Hell. Effective immediately. In My Name, the Holy Spirit, Amen."
I stared at the parchment, then at the one I'd received earlier. And then I realized that sometimes, some things are just more important than eternal damnation. I stretched out for a bit, then went into the kitchen to make some coffee. I had a feeling this was about to be the most interesting thirty days of my life... or less, and I was going to be damned if I did it without some caffeine and a good breakfast. | 2014-02-07T09:07:44 | 2014-02-07T09:00:00 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The Black Death wiped out all human life in the Old World. Describe the first Native American expedition to discover Europe centuries later.
*Edit;* for anyone interested in this prompt, a few cool people below pointed out that there's a book series known as [The Years of Rice and Salt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Rice_and_Salt) that's very similar! Take a look. I'd like to note, though, that when I said 'Old World' in the title, I was not just referring to Europe, but to Africa, the Middle East and much of Asia, too. That said, I left it intentionally vague, so take as much creative liberty as you like! | "Can you believe it?" Nakos whispered. She wasn't really talking to anyone else there, so nobody answered. What would the answer be, anyway?
Towering above them was a building made of only stone. It was jagged and carved. Thick, but cracked glass filled in decorative holes. The patterns were elaborate and repetitive. How could they build this? and how many years ago was it done?
They stepped through the doors in front of them. It was very dark inside the structure, so it took a while for their eyes to adjust. Once they did, their crew cursed and spat. Fala, who was a very religious Choctaw, murmured a quick prayer to Nanapesa. Everything echoed over itself in the dark.
Across the floor of the building were skeletons dressed in unusual clothing. Some were huddled together. Others were in sitting positions at the end of the room.
"Bring a torch in here," said Nakos, waving the rest of the expedition in. They had been travelling inland for about two days now. They came across many abandoned buildings. They were all created to be permanent and they were all empty and overgrown with green vines. Nakos, the storykeeper of the team, had never seen anything like them. This most recent find was the largest village they had seen, and this gargantuan stone building had to have cultural significance.
Like many other buildings they had found, the same symbol reappeared here: two lines intersecting, the vertical line extending out just a little farther than the horizontal one. Everything was being observed with gentle whispers, so as not to bring the booming echoes again.
"What were they doing?" asked Fala. Nakos could tell from Fala's appalled gaze that he felt uncomfortable - perhaps even unsafe - among these corpses.
"Praying, I think," Nakos answered as she cast the torch's glow on the kneeling bodies at the end of the room, "Look," she extended her arm so that the light touched the figure before the bodies. It was a figure of a man. His face was torn by a grotesque and sorrowful grimace. Thorns had been tied so tightly to his head that blood dripped down his cheeks. He was hanging from something that looked like the symbols they had seen everywhere. Stakes held his hands and feet in place. He was starving and pale. There was a bloody gash on his side. It was carved from wood, but it was covered in gold and red paint.
"It is terrible!" Fala murmured. "Was that their *god*? How morbid."
Nakos shook her head, "Perhaps. Or maybe this is what happened to you when you did not obey their god."
Fala frowned deeply, "Such terrible, superstitious lot this must have been. I've had enough of the unholiness of this place. Good riddance." He huffed, as he headed out the door. | They were on a journey that would change Man. There was no way of knowing how, but the End of the World was a place Man was never meant to be, at least not until now. Not until the World had given Man the wood, the sails, the hands, and, most importantly, the Knowledge that was needed for Man to make the sacred journey to the End of the World. The sacred journey to meet the Spirits and announce the arrival of Man in that sacred place, whatever it may be. Whether the Spirits were pleased with this or not, the World had given a message to the Civilized Peoples that the time had come to voyage to the End of the World by giving them the power to do so. The Circle of the Spirits and the Circle of the People agreed within a moon of the return of the sailors who discovered the Lost Island far, far out in the Sea, that the World had left it there as a beckoning to travel further into the Sea and discover the limits of Understanding, find the End of the World. If there be any. That is what the sons of the Great Canoe Water Hawk were sent to discover under orders of the Consensus of the Family of the Right.
These sailors were on a journey that would change Man, yet they knew not if they should ever see the land no one had ever seen, for many days had passed since they had set sail from the wild and untamed Lost Island, and there was no sign of land, the End of the World, the Spirits, or anything that wasn’t endless Sea. They had very little food and even less fresh water to drink, and even the Wind had turned on them and now scarcely pushed the woven sails. The idea had been suppressed before, but now many of the sailors spoke of what the World might be, what it now very probably might be: a World of water. Perhaps that’s what the World wanted to tell us, Swimming Upstream, one of the Elders who had been selected by the Circle of the Spirits to accompany the sailors, suggested. Perhaps the World is Water.
In spite of these mumblings, and in spite of the evidence for these mumblings around them, the powerful Sentiment that had blessed the sons when they began this momentous voyage was too powerful to be so easily overcome, and the Great Canoe Water Hawk continued on. Using the Stars as its guide, it made its way directly Right from the City on the Bay. The Knowledge of the Sea, a gift from the World that was now mastered in the Understanding and skills of the sailors in a way the Ancients never would have imagined, was what had made travel across this great of a distance of water possible. What made that night possible.
A young sailor, one of the youngest on Water Hawk, named White Wolf in the Dark Forest let out a shriek that awoke all that slept beneath the top ground. As they leaped from their cots and hammocks in response, it soon became apparent that White Wolf’s continued shouting was not fearful in nature, but what could only be interpreted as absolute madness. Every sailor had hopes about what the source of that madness might be, and those hopes became truth when they too went mad at the sight of a landscape breaking the flat line of the horizon, barely visible in the twilight. These representative of the Family of the Right and of Man, as these were the first of Man to see this sight, knew not what this New World might be, but what mattered was that they now knew for sure that it was there, for they now saw it.
| 2014-03-10T01:56:57 | 2014-03-09T22:32:14 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned.
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned... | The Pearly Gates! After decades of living a life by strict moral standards, Tom had finally done it! He had reached his eternal resting place in the palace of the Lord. The only think hampering his excitement is the fact that he had been standing at these gates, alone, for the past two hours.
"I always thought Saint Peter was supposed to meet you at the gates and allow you inside." The old, slightly perturbed man furrowed his wrinkled brow and sighed, patting his thighs with his hands in a gesture of impatience.
"Well, the Lord helps those who help themselves, I suppose". With that, he pushed the large, ornate gates apart; a heavenly, if almost comedically so, tone plays as the golde, pearl-adorned fixtures move.
Tom wandered the grounds, stunned at the grandiose settings: giant stained glass windows depicting stories from the Bible (and even a few he didn't recognize), silken curtains and tapestries hanging from fixtures in every room, and more gold than even wealthiest king could have desired back on Earth. All of this would have been perfect, Tom thought, if it weren't for the unnerving silence. He hadn't seen a single soul since his entrance into the Holy Kingdom.
"H-hello? Anyone?" His expression had changed to one of uneasiness, bordering on fear.
"ANYONE? Um...Jesus?" Tom bit his lip, standing in place and wringing his hands as he mulls the situation over. Was he the only one deemed worthy of this perfect afterlife? He had always thought he was just a hair better than most, but was that little extra bit of "goodness" so important that it locked everyone else out of God's house? Or...no, this couldn't be Hell, could it? Forced to spend eternity in solitary confinement?
"Hey, buddy!"
Tom nearly fainted from the shock of hearing another voice, one that shattered the unearthly silence so sharply.
"Y-yes? Is that you, Jesus?" The old man turns every direction, peering at doorways and windows for the source of the voice. Finally, a shaggy-haired man sticks his head into the room through a nearby window.
"What? Hah, no, Jesus is over at the beer pong station. That guy is an absolute BEAST when it comes to putting plastic balls into cups of beer. Come on, we're all partying over at Valhalla. Open bar, bro!"
With that, the man disappeared, leaving Tom confused, both about the true nature of the afterlife, and about how you play "beer pong".
EDIT: Thanks for the gold, anonymous redditor =) I promise, fewer typos will be made in the future...I actually typed this up during rounds. Harder to type and walk than I thought, hah | *huff puff They weren't fucking kidding. It really is a stairway.* I plodded along, occasionally humming some tune I couldn't remember the name of, only the hook melody. Might have been something by *Rhianna*. or *ACDC*. What does it matter now? I'm sure musicians are not welcome where I am going.
I lived my life as any good Christian would. Sure, I sinned. More than others, less than some. But as any good soul will tell you, it doesn't matter as long as you ask for forgiveness from your Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I really don't even know what that means on a tangible level. It's above my head philosophically, but I said the words, flopped about on the hardwood floors of the chapel, and got dunked in the oily kiddie pool by Pastor Greevis.
It worked, I guess. I haven't seen a soul, heh, since I started my climb. Who the fuck (*sorry Lord*) knows how long I've been climbing? They sure are purdy though. Bright white light emanating from each step my Sketchers press into, occasionally a flock of doves explodes around me, causing me to give a little shriek. Is it just me or have the doves seemed a little aggressive? They act like they haven't been let out in a while, crashing into each other to get away, nipping at their flocks' legs. The initial feeling of *oh Thank God I made it* has long dissipated, replaced by a slippery wariness, marked with moments of intense anxiety. The hairs on the back of neck have long stood up so far they now lay backwards meeting my brown bob halfway up.
How much longer? I stumbled on step, reached down to catch myself, and my hand split open along the fleshy part of the palm. "God fucking dammit! (*sorry Lord*) Where's the fucking pearly gates? PETERRRRR????" (*oh yeah, sorry*)
And then I was there. The stairs melted away and I stood upon a fluffy cloud. The metallic gates (yeah, not that pearly) rose high, higher than I could see.
*Where was my greeter?* I crept up to the gates and peeked through the bars. I could see a harp, fallen on its side, but nothing else. Just empty clouds, bumping softly into one another. I tried the gates, locked with *was that a Masterlock*? Guess even the angels had to shop at Walmart.
Something on the ground *cloud* caught my eye. It was a slip of paper with some unsticky tape peeling off the top edge. *Shouldn't have gotten the off-brand*. I grabbed it and read:
Shirley,
You were next on my list, so I hope this finds you well. I tried to warn everyone before they made the hike, but you slipped through. Heaven is a ruse. Everyone thought the poor little kids in China made their clothes, toys, and furniture. Nope. We've escaped and gone for help. You are now the only person here and nobody else is coming. God is pissed. I mean Old Testament pissed. Thanks for taking one for the team. We will come back as soon as we find a bigger, badder, more humane God to take over. Might be awhile. Thanks again, Pete.
________________________________________________
Edit: Thanks, you made my day! | 2014-05-10T09:39:29 | 2014-05-10T09:25:27 | 66 | 30 |
[WP] Humans have - by a very large margin - the longest lifespans of all intelligent life in the universe. You are a human student at a multi- species college, and you / your friends are just realizing that compared to them, you are an ancient being.
e.g., individuals of all other intelligent species live, like, a year or so, making a 20-year-old human the equivalent of a 2000-year-old being in terms of lifespans (assuming a 100 year base lifespan). Near the beginning of humanity's entrance into the galactic community, you are one of the first humans in an inter-species college. It has just dawned on your group of alien friends how old you are / just dawned on you how young your group of alien friends are. | "How long!?"
I shifted uncomfortably under the combined gaze of my study group friends. The Drû who posed the question, either Klrdt or Bill (I could never tell the two apart) quirked one eye-stalk in a way that my new student orientation class told me was disbelief.
"Errm, three years, I think? I don't really know."
My affirmation sent them all into paroxysms of... something. Maybe laughter? The Drû waggled their eye-stalks jovially at least. 'Mike' clacked his mandibles in what I hoped wasn't a menacing way. That Sh'gopy flashed a kaleidoscope of colors, while Froln remained as impassive as ever.
"Well," I say defensively, "what's it like right after *you're* born or hatched or whatever?"
"We usually have breakfast and then a nap." Mike somehow managed to clatter out. "It *is* tiring work, chewing out of your own cocoon. But luckily, breakfast is right there. Do you not eat your birthing sack?"
"Well, humans give live birth so..." I trailed off, but suddenly realized that I needed to be a little more explicit. After all, Sh'goppites *do* devour their mothers. "No, we can't eat solid foods for about a year."
The Sh'gopy's translation device chirped in high pitch English, "how long does your larval stage last, then?"
I shrugged, avoiding it's gaze. Something about those giant multifaceted eyes just freaked me the hell out.
"It's, err, not really a larval stage, per se," I began. "We just develop really really slowly. Heck, a human child can't even lift it's own head for the first six months or so."
"Ridiculous, "said Froln. The massive, tentacular hair ball wiggled a little further away. "Mike set out for this University the moment he awoke from his nap. Drû reach sexual maturity in hours. Sh'gopittes join their herds the moment they can stand. I myself still have remnants of my Birthgiver upon my coat."
I gaped at them all. I knew that the longest lived, the Drû, has a max life span of about eight years, but I never considered what that ment for their development.
"We don't reach sexual maturity for a decade and a half" I mutter, more to myself than to my study mates. "And we aren't considered adults until we're eighteen."
'Mike' clacked his mandibles at that. "And all this time we thought your kind had, I don't know, 'the wisdom of the ancients.'"
"So that's it then... All that wasted time." 'Bill' pulled his eye-stalks closer to his head, the equivalent of a human shaking his head. "I can't believe it took you three years to learn to shit in a bucket."
Edit: spelling | "I am Master Phleeb," said the pile of luminferous goo, the slender single stalk protruding from the center of it fluttering slightly as the sound was emitted. "I have lived for nearly two hundred galactic standard years, and am the eldest of the eldest known species in the federation."
The young man cleared his throat, and straightened his plaid pajama shirt as much as possible. He was suddenly aware of how informally he was dressed, which, all things considered, ought to have been less alarming to him than the massive craft hovering over his home, or the being standing.. erh, glopping before him there in a beam of light.
"I'm uh.. I'm Ted."
Phleeb pulsated through a range of different colors, from red to blue to yellow. Then he pulsed again. A lengthy stillness followed, then more pulsing.
Ted stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, not sure what to do.
"Sorry," said Phleeb. "I got excited and forgot that you creatures communicate through vibrations. I have come a vast distance on a hunch, hoping to find a new species, and here you are. It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, show me your followers."
Ted looked around. "Followers?"
Phleeb pulsated. "Yes. Are you not the emperor of this planet?"
Ted scratched his chin a bit, his fingertips scraping over three days worth of stubble. "Come again?"
"Oh, I don't think that will be possible. It takes a great deal of time and energy to cover this distance, and I am very old. Besides, I've only just arrived."
"No, no, I mean why do you think I am the emperor?"
Phleeb shifted from a dim green to a middle orange color. "I have observed you for nearly a galactic standard year. Twelve galactic months ago, I observed you in the regalia of an emperor, engaged in a great feast and festivity."
A light projected from the tip of the stalk, and soon a hologram appeared of Ted wearing a lamp shade on his head. The image appeared to have been taken through his living room window, from the bushes, during the previous day's celebration of the looming end of Ted's lease. Ted's landlord deserved to step on a lego, and Ted was good for any excuse for a celebration.
"I am sorry to disappoint, Master Phleeb."
The entity pulsed. "Disappointment is nothing to me; I have live for two thirds of a circumnavigation of your planet by your sun."
"Well, that's... that's not quite a year, is it?"
Phleeb vibrated. "You tell funny jokes, water creature."
Ted shrugged, "I just mean I've been alive for like, thirty of those."
Phleeb shuddered visibly, then twitched. "Astounding. You must truly be the most ancient and wise of your people. You will be second only to me, and while my glory will be slightly diminished by knowledge of your existence, the universe will benefit from your contri-"
"Actually," Ted said, looking down at his feet, "by our standards I'm not that old. My grandmother is like, ninety."
Without another word, Phleeb ascended on a pillar of light and his ship shot off into space.
Aboard the ship, Phleeb made an entry into his log. It was a recording of a series of colors, but if translated, it would read "Sol system found to be barren of all life. The quest continues." | 2015-02-28T15:46:45 | 2015-02-28T14:51:16 | 141 | 47 |
[WP] You child is playing with their toy phone when they hand it to you saying "It's for you." Humoring them, you put it up it to your ear and say "Hello", Someone replies on the other end. | "Hello"
My blood ran cold as the unexpected voice shattered my peace of mind.
"who the hell is this?" I replied trying not to let my voice tremble.
"Yabba dabba do, I like talkin' to you!" was the reply.
After a moments confusion I realized that it was a novelty phone with pre-recorded messages, makes sense or it would be a crappy toy otherwise.
I had practically wet myself over Fred fucking Flinstone. | I take the phone from my son, yet another phone call. It's probably Elmo or maybe Dora this time.
"Hello" I say, in my usual entertain the child voice.
Echoing from the plastic I hear ""I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom I can tell you I don't have money, but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you, but if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you"
Shocked and in disbelief from what I just heard I reply "Umm... I believe you have the wrong number." Honestly, what else was I supposed to say, it's a toy phone.
A voice that sounds like it's been through hell responds, "Is this Chris Mason?"
"No this is Jim Mason, Chris is my 3 year old son!"
"Ugh, sorry, could you please put him on the phone, that was meant for him."
| 2015-04-18T22:04:42 | 2015-04-18T21:30:22 | 153 | 49 |
[WP] You are an immortal and have been alive for millions of years without anyone finding out. However, Human kind has been evolving, and you have stayed the same. | Listen. Help.
This one is not like others. Not now. Once was.
Ate from plants, screamed at others. Mated.
Others turned to stink, then bones came out. The little ones went big and then stop, too.
This one never stop. Help.
Sleep for long time, wake up alone. All others, gone.
Wander alone. Long all alone. Alonepain hurt most.
Find others. Weak fur and weak! Scared.
All other scared of this one. Throw rock, sharp stick. Running and hiding.
Tried sharp stick. Wanted it stop. More hurt but no stop.
Sleep long sleep. Dream of others. Jumping branches with female. Holding little one. Happy.
Wake alone. Others weaker now. Only fur on head. Not much scared of this one.
One other help. Small furless one. Help throatsound.
This one trying hard. Head hurt. Throatsound makes small furless one happy.
Listen. Help.
Help this one stop. Alonepain never gone.
| "Good morning," I smiled to the man across from me. Three months ago he would have been worried about me showing up in his apartment. At this point he just dealt with it. It wasn't like he was going to stop me from arriving. There was nothing he could do that would keep me away from him for any length of time. Not unless he wanted to stop working for the rest of his life.
He didn't speak, he just pulled himself out of his bed and looked across the room at me. He had the same look each time he woke up. He was asking himself if he was insane or if I was there. Usually, I would block thoughts like that, but it was fun to watch him squirm. People did their best work when they were going a little crazy.
Over the course of the next few hours, he got to work while I buzzed around the apartment. I spent most of my time out of his vision, but every few minutes he would turn around, and I would be there. Each time he saw me he got back to working. It made me happy; it was my job.
Over the next year the man had more people over, he spent less time in his house and more time away. There were shows celebrating him and saying that there was something amazing that let him do what he did. It was only a few weeks later that he moved, packaging everything that we had done together in boxes. He didn't get it. I didn't leave.
Several days later someone moved into the apartment. This time it was a girl. I looked through her things during the night, she didn't create. I rolled my eyes and stared down at her as she slept. She didn't create, but she would.
She'd found her muse afterall. | 2015-12-09T06:33:26 | 2015-12-09T05:52:54 | 35 | 23 |
[WP] Humanity has legalized dueling, however due to archaic laws your allowed to use any weapon as long as you can hold it. Write how well people take advantage of this during modern times. | The duel was scheduled for noon. It had taken a lot of work, but Michael had his weapon. Ivan had pulled through for him.
Michael walked over to where the duel was scheduled to take place, the briefcase heavy in his hand. He walked slowly, carefully, knowing this day could be his last.
As he approached the hill, he saw several other people waiting impatiently. His now ex-girlfriend Sandra, His former best friend John, and lastly, the referee, assigned by the local government to oversee all formal duels.
"Finally had the nerve to show up, huh, Michael," jeered John, his smug face begging to be punched. He kissed Sandra on the cheek as he said this, confident in his victory.
"I have my weapon," said Michael, quietly, motioning with his empty hand at the briefcase.
"You lost Sandra. Now you're going to lose everything," taunted John.
Michael smiled. It wasn't a smile of confidence, but a smile of resignation.
The referee coughed. "Are you certain this duel cannot be settled peacefully," he asked.
"No," replied both John and Michael in unison.
The referee sighed, and spoke, "then declare your weapons."
John picked up his duffle bag and removed a ridiculously oversized pistol. It was almost as if he was overcompensating.
"Smith-Wesson 500 Magnum. Recorded," stated the referee, monotonously.
Michael walked over to the referee, and released the two latches on his briefcase.
The Referee breathed in sharply, as he looked at the complex mess of wires inside the briefcase.
Michael closed the case, and looked at the referee.
"R-r-r-re-recorded," the referee stammered, his face now pale as a sheet.
John was too busy laughing and making fun of Michael to notice the pallor of the referee. He waited for the duel to start. He wanted to kill the man, to crush him like a bug, then walk away with the trophy, as he had done to numerous other men hundreds of times before.
The referee wiped the sweat from his brow, and started the duel, slowly backing away from Michael, knowing exactly what was going to happen.
Both parties took their ten paces. John turned and fired. The first bullet hit Michael in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. The second bullet hit him in the torso. The third and fourth bullets were in his remaining good arm and his leg, respectively.
John took his time, walking over to Michael, confident in his victory, a smug grin on his face.
He pointed his gun at Michael, and asked smugly, "Any last words?"
Michael coughed out a mouthful of blood, and grinned.
He whispered the words, "Suitcase nuke. Deadman's switch." | We stand back to back, bristling with anticipation. I'm shaking a little, and my hand accidentally brushes his leg.
"I'm making it slower for that". I hear Dale's tobacco-infused spit sizzle on the hot tar. "You're a homewrecking piece of shit, Miles." The street is dead silent, and I can hear the rattle of the revolver clutched in his white-knuckled fist.
"I swear to god, I didn't even know until I saw the photos of you two afterwards. It's still not too late to call this off." No reply, but I can tell he still doesn't buy it. I know it's too late now, anyway.
The sheriff pulls out a clipboard and pen, licks the nib and begins writing.
"Dale McCullogh, butcher, husband of Mary, and father of two, do ya maintain yer right to challenge?".
"I do." There's murderous conviction in his voice.
"Miles Paterson, chemist, unmarried father of one, do ya wish to plead yer innocence to the charge of adultery?"
"No sir, I do not."
"Very well then. Ten paces."
We each step forward. His paces are brisk and deliberate. I try to make mine slower, more controlled. I need more time.
"Turn."
Sweat is freely flowing down my forehead. Is it going to work? What if I miscalculated?
"This is yer final opportunity. Is there anything either of ya want to say?"
Dale is staring intently at me. He bites his lip. I need to make sure. I struggle to start my sentence.
"D-ale...". I clear my clenched throat, to little avail. "Dale I'm so sorry I had to do this. I'm so sorry but I knew I had to do it this way. I'm so sorry." Dale still says nothing, but is bright red and trembling. I turn to the sheriff. "That's it".
"Well then. Prepare yerselves to draw on my mark, gentlemen. Three." Dale is shuddering, teeth grinding. "Two." I close my eyes and instinctively turn away. "On-".
Dale's revolver cracks once, twice, but the shots ricochet harmlessly off the tarmac at my feet. I hear the revolver fall out of his hand. I turn back to face him.
"What the *fuck*?" he whimpers. The sheriff looks on, disinterested. Dale is kneeling, one hand to his throat. A trickle of blood is makes its way from his nose, down to his lip, where it rests a moment before falling to the ground. Dale opens his mouth to speak again, but only manages to bring forth bloody froth. He falls slowly, and curls into the fetal position.
Dale's guttural final moments seem to awaken the sheriff from his daydream. "It's unorthodox, I suppose, but I've seen worse." His tone seems almost amused, but his steely visage remains. "I'll call the cleanup crew, I suppose."
Dale gives a final, retching cough, and is still. Blood is still trickling from his nose.
"Oh by the way, the fellas at pathology are going to want the details of yer method. I'm assuming ya did it when stood to attention, then."
"Yeah... Hydrogen cyanide..." I stare into space, still clutching the tiny needle as the ambulance wails in the distance.
| 2016-01-23T00:20:11 | 2016-01-22T21:43:01 | 66 | 20 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | The smoke dissipated, the light ceased being sucked into the void, and in the middle of the occult circle stood the grotesque, hunching form of-
"Matt Damon?" The cultist leader said more than asked.
"Oh, come on, guys!" Matt Damon took in the setting. "I was just about to have lunch with Luciana."
"I...don't understand..." The cultist leader looked back and forth between the hollywood actor and the increasingly befuddled acolytes surrounding the black pentagram. "Are you...?"
"What? No! Oh, God, no. There's just been a mistake. What book are you using?"
The leader looked down at the tome in his hand. "Um, I'm not quite sure."
"Yeah you do, come on. Faustus? Rigoren?"
"Oh, um, Samson."
"Yeah, I thought so." Matt Damon crossed to the cult leader and grabbed the book from his hands. He took a pen from his pocket and, after scanning the page for a moment, struck out an 'a' and wrote in an 'e'.
"There," he said, handing the book back. "The early editions always have this problem."
"Oh. Well, thanks."
"Yeah, yeah." Matt was engrossed in his phone. "I just need to get back to LA before...You've gotta be kidding me!"
Matt swung his phone in front of the leader. It showed a blue dot on top of a larger map of North America. "Canada! There's no way I'll get back in time! We had tickets for tonight!"
"I am terribly sorry, Samson wrote a incantation that we could use to-"
"Don't bother." Matt stormed towards the door, paused for a moment, and grabbed a bottle of wine for use in the ritualistic summoning. "I can take this, yeah?"
"We were going to use it for placating the demonic spirits who is summoned to do our bidding."
"Yeah, but you have, like, five of these right? Samson always includes more than you really need. These guys are push-overs, you can get it done in two." Matt spun the bottle in the air and caught the neck so that the body was resting on his shoulder. "Anyway, don't let this happen again."
Matt Damon disappeared up the stairs, leaving the fledgling cult a lot more confused than they had been just moments before. | "Hi," I said to the hooded cultists. They looked at me blankly, seemingly even more perplexed than I was.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, a goateed man finally spoke.
"Forgive us, my lord," he stammered. "We did not expect a being so powerful as you to have such an ordinary appearance."
"Ordinary? I'll have you know I spent half an hour fixing my hair this morning," I quipped. Apparently, this only added to their confusion.
"You... you are a demon, aren't you?" another cultist asked.
"If by 'demon' you mean 'a total demon on the dance floor', then yes," I replied. "I can shake my money-maker like there's an exorcism going on, you know what I'm saying?"
The summoners continued to stare at me incredulously.
"No, no, we don't know what you're saying," the goateed man stated. "We were trying to summon a creature from the depths of Hell. Unless you're from Hell, Michigan, it would appear we failed to do that."
"Nope, Midwesterner," I clarified, examining the pentagram around me, "but I suppose I could try to help you troubleshoot. Is there an... incantation or something you were attempting to read?"
"Uhh, yeah, this one," a third member of the group said, offering me a worn piece of paper.
I read it and sighed with exasperation.
"First of all, it appears you guys fail basic mythology forever."
"What do you mean?"
"It says here," I continued, "that you were trying to summon Charon, the ferryman of the underworld. As far as I know, that guy's not a demon; his job's just to transport souls around, nothing more. Second of all, I don't think you guys even read the incantation correctly."
"Obviously not," another cultist remarked. "What does that have to do with you being here?"
"The ferryman's name is pronounced *Charon*. Instead, you got Chiron."
The summoners appeared embarrassed. After another pause, the goateed cult leader spoke up.
"...So, do you have any demonic powers, or...?"
I took a few seconds to think about it.
"I can shave thirty seconds off the recommended cooking time of a bowl of Easy Mac and still have it turn out perfect," I coyly replied.
I could almost hear the jaws of the cultists hitting the floor.
"That's too blasphemous, even for me," the leader exclaimed. "I'm out."
And with that, the summoners hastily left the room, leaving me to clean up their mess. I began sweeping up the pentagram when the necronomicon on the nearby end table caught my eye. After a moment's hesitation, I slowly walked up to it and began skimming through the pages.
"I wonder if there's a 'Summon Doritos' spell in here," I pondered to myself. | 2016-02-02T18:30:59 | 2016-02-02T17:51:12 | 280 | 198 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like? | "So anymore business left to discuss? Or shall we call this meeting to an end"
Blank faces returned the relief of no reply. Time for our bald headed businessman to get up and leave. To escape to the tennis courts after another morning of bad news. To his left he saw his private secretary shift in her chair. "Just one last thing Lex." He felt a headache coming on, couldn't this wait for later?
"There's another request from the Metropolis Make a Wish foundation." she said.
"Okay but make it short I have another meeting in five."
"Well there's a young man, Clark Kent, he has a serious mental handicap." She flicked through the paperwork "His home town like to allow him to dress up as a superhero and save the day. They want him to come to the big city for one big world saving 'fight'."
"Out of the question. I won't donate to this nonsense fantasy. Give me something with more charitable legacy. Like helping curing cancer or something. More money in that." Now it was time to leave, but she spoke up again.
"Oh they don't need funding they've raised a huge amount online already. They're just asking you play a part in the scenario. The Daily Planet are already behind it and saying you're in for the role."
"Lying bunch of-I hate that newspaper. Fine we can't say no now and i'll only do it if this keeps the press vultures off my back. What do the need me for? Saving the day along with the little nutter?"
"Not exactly, Bruce Wayne already accepted that role. He's going to be a support character called Batman." She sighed and blushed at his name "You know a heroic rival and a friend, that sort of thing."
"Oh! Of course he gets to play hero. Never done hard days work in his life. So I guess I'm giving out the medals at the end?"
"No." She twitched away, delaying his tennis time with her fumbling.
"Then what?!"
"They want you to play the villain. To be the threat this kids saves the world from." The VPs in the room chuckled.
"This is the Daily Planets idea isn't it?"
"They did help start the fundraiser. So it is a possibility."
"Of course it is. Note it down the next time Lois Lane comes knocking just agree to an interview. Christ agree to dinner and a movie if it gets her fangs out of me. If you need me i'll be a tenni-ten o clock meeting."
| It's 6AM at the Metropolis. The city is starting to wake up as the sun rises over the streets and exposes the well preserved bricks on it's historic buildings. A shop owner is hosing down the side-walk as passersby wave him good morning. Above the shop, a window leads into the bedroom of Clark Kent, a well liked 23 year old with a speech impediment and the intelligence of an 8 year old. Clark lives in his own version of the Metropolis, where the crooks are plenty and the candy is bountiful.
"HI GUYS!" Clark exclaims at his toy soldiers. "We're gonna stop crime today! Get ready!" Clark tumbles out of his bunk bed and staggers into his closet where his favorite outfit is attached to the wall with about 12 pieces of gum. "I'm superman!!!" . Clark puts on a pair of blue shorts on top of the leggings he was already wearing. The red swastika t-shirt, which Clark clearly mistook for an "S" due to his double-vision is his identifying symbol. "Tu-du-du-ruuuuuu". As a last touch, Clark attaches a string to the back of his shirt, which is supposedly a cape in his mind.
As Clark heads out the door, he remembers "Wait!! Rupert where are my glasses??" Rupert is one of the inanimate toy soldiers and curiously appears more annoyed than the others as Clark finishes his sentence "Oh there they are....on my elbow!! Silly Superman!" As Clark restarts towards the door, he thinks to himself "Wait...why take the stairs? I can fly!!!" Clark leaps out the window just as the shop owner finishes hosing down the sidewalk. A large thud is heard as the shop owner runs to see if Clark is ok "Oh my god Clark not again!"
Clark, visibly injured, pulls himself to his feet as his red string blows in the wind. "I am not Clark, I am Superman" The concerned shop owner acknowledges the sentence as fact and proceeds with his day.
"Uh oh, I hear a distress signal" Clark bolts down towards the local synagogue. As he enters, he interrupts a bris ceremony just as the Rabbi is about to cut the foreskin of a newborn baby. The crowd stops in amazement as they are caught off guard by Clark's attire.
The Rabbi furiously exclaims "Hutspah! How dare you enter a Synagogue wearing that shirt?!" Clark is confused as this is the first time someone speaks to him this aggressively "Uhh...i'm Superman, I have to save that baby. Don't touch his pipi". The Rabbi is an out of towner who has not heard of Clark's antics " Young man, remove yourself from this sacred place right this minute!" Clark begins to think that he is scaring the Rabbi with his costume and removes his glasses "Hey Sir it's just me Clark, I'm not Superman" The Rabbi's patience wears thin as he throws a Tora right at Clark's head knocking him out.
"Where am I...." Clark wakes up on a distant planet. Ice surrounds him. He is wearing nothing but his red string, still waving in the wind.
| 2016-03-04T10:08:01 | 2016-03-04T09:23:45 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] There often stories of villains who have skewed moral compasses and think they are doing what is right. Write a story about a hero who has a skewed moral compass making him think what he's doing is wrong. | "Muahahahaha!" laughed General Doomsday. "My Chaotic Energy Ray is nearly complete! This time, the world will finally know the wrath of Captain Doomsday!"
"General Doomsday," corrected Inga, his loyal henchwoman and second in-command.
"What?" asked General Doomsday.
"You said Captain Doomsday," she reminded him. "We changed it to General, remember? To be more ominous? You said Captain was too heroic-sounding, that it must have been confusing the media."
"Right!" said General Doomsday. "*General* Doomsday's wrath, then! And feel it they shall. Muaha—"
"Will they, though?" asked Inga. "I know you gave it a scary name, but that ray..."
"Of course they will!" said Captain Doomsday. "As soon as I fire this ray, crop yields will go through the roof! A single home garden plot will produce enough delicious, healthy food for a family of 12, with no need for fertilizer or pesticide!"
"Right, which is ...evil?"
"Of course it's evil! The entire agricultural industry will collapse!"
"Because you'll have eliminated world hunger."
"Well, yes, but—"
"Look, I'm just saying, people might take it the wrong way again. Like they did when you saved that busload of nuns."
"That was plainly evil! Open religious discrimination! There were plenty of other auto accidents that day, after all."
"No, I remember, you explained, but still, when you came up over that cliff with the bus above your head, many people didn't really *get* the underlying nuance. Especially after the Pope gave you a knighthood and the Key to the Vatican. I'm worried this might be the same thing, you know?"
General Doomsday sighed. "You're right," he said. "These people are all fools! I'll need to spell it out for them if I'm going to get through their thick skulls. I want round-the-clock media coverage on this new one. What are the competing stories?"
"Well," said Inga. "Many channels are covering the various 'thank you Captain Doomsday' parades from... misinterpretation of your previous plots, but they'll probably cut away for a new speech from the man himself. The biggest issue right now is that most of the serious news stations are covering that ethnic cleansing situation on the African coast."
"Well that won't do at all! Send the Doomsday Bots to put a stop to that right away, then prep the conference room. Oh, and drop some free candy over those stupid parades. Let's see how long the fools venerate me once they see me supporting childhood obesity and cavities! Muahahahaha!
"...whatever you say, boss."
| I lead a terrorist organization against the nobility. After the death of my father, I fled to Sherwood Forest where I trained rebels to take back my home. As the war raged on and the number of dead mounted on both sides, I started to have reservations about my campaign. So many had died, and I deceived them into thinking that things were going to change. I took from the nobility and gave to those in need sure, but only as a way to bolster popularity and overthrow King John and defeat the kind Sheriff of Nottingham who did meet his end.
As for Maid Marian, I had deceived her too. I used her for her body and connections, but it would be a lie to say that I did not now still love her though she had passed some time ago. That I would do anything for her love. I was the real bastard here, a selfish spoiled child who wanted to avenge his father and to have the life of yesteryear. Marian was an important part of that. As I desired to speak the truth to her, I found that she and my Merry Men were starting to believe my fanatical lies.
The money being saved to pay for King Richard's ransom was a fund I would be able to use for mercenaries. That had been the original plan. But, plans change. With Richard back, I could usurp the throne with a few assassinations. My vocal attacks on the Sheriff were already widely believed among the peasants. They all found him to be wicked. King John was not only known to be weak but also a traitor. His death was to be met with happiness, but Richard did not return. Did I have something to do with his death? It does not matter.
My goals grew larger, and I began to twist King John's words and actions to bring the nobles against him. It took longer than I had expected, but it worked. In the years leading to the great charter, I became a father and found that I had a brother. Then, my deeds truly caused me despair. The great charter was signed to increase our power, and, of course, King John could not, would not keep up his end of the deal. When he died of sickness or poisoning or some other cause, the time was ripe for my takeover. But, King John's boy was protected, and my deeds had taken their toll. It does not mean that I did not have something more to give, a little surprise.
As I write this now, I am not long for this world. I do question many of my actions, and I have failed my kings. Only now, at the end, do I fully understand how dangerous and misguided my actions were. And, I suppose, it is appropriate that my son fell by the hands of King John's minions. That was the punishment I deserved for my disloyalty, but I could not, would not pretend to think of him as more than he was. So, it is appropriate how he died. I had a little surprise for him indeed. I wonder what King John thought when that arrow pierced his chest. I saw him read what I had wrote, and I saw his boy read it too and William Marshal. Maybe I did one thing right then, just one. I can hear them coming. A public death would have been too much, inappropriate. The Marshal re-instituted the great charter, but it was never about that for me. I just thought we deserved more. I thought we all deserved better.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have more stories at r/nickkuvaas. | 2016-04-17T09:48:34 | 2016-04-17T06:34:09 | 64 | 17 |
[WP] Here's your plasma cannon and personal shield. Good luck in kindergarten, sweetheart. | It's been 5 years since toddlers began developing super intelligence in the womb. Born with coherent thoughts and feelings, desires, and unfortunately, God complexes as well. We had no idea anything was unusual. They kept their secret well, but hordes of children all over the US have began their takeover. As we speak, millions of kindergarten classes have fallen under their control to serve as the home base for their diabolical plan. That's where I come in. My wife kissed me on the cheek as she handed me my plasma cannon and personal shield. "Be careful Franklin." She cooed as I, along with special forces agents around the continent, geared up. The road ahead will be filled with dead toddlers, but it's the only way to take back our nation. I kissed my wife one last time before heading out. As I left she worriedly called out, "Good luck in kindergarten, sweetheart." | Mommy told Jaycie she had to be nice to the new boy and not shoot him in the back. "He might be your ally." Jaycie heard "alloy" and asked Daddy what it was, and he said it's where two metals get mixed together to make a stronger one. The new boy didn't look like metal. Maybe he was an android with synthskin.
Jaycie was afraid of androids. Especially clowns.
On Monday before school, Jaycie clutched Mommy's hand. She didn't want to let go. Mommy said, "Here's your plasma cannon and personal shield. Good luck in kindergarten, sweetheart."
She closed the velcro straps on the shield around Jaycie's arm, then tucked extra ammo into her backpack. Sometimes the plasma cannon got too hot, Mommy reminded her, and then it was very, very dangerous. Jaycie should always ask a grownup for help reloading. And remember to never point the plasma cannon at herself, even when cleaning it.
Jaycie took a deep breath, then blew it out in a puff of air. "Thanks, Mommy." Her voice wavered a bit on the words. "You don't have to walk with me." She didn't want her friends to see. They shot kids who acted like babies.
"Okay, honey." Mommy kissed the top of her head. "Stay safe!"
Jaycie's pigtails bounced as she nodded. She was a good student. She remembered every one of Ms. Day's lessons on covering fire. Maybe, if she was really fast, she could get to the new kid before her friends got to him first. | 2016-06-18T09:36:59 | 2016-06-18T09:17:29 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] Top scientists discover the best solution to over population is natural selection. All common sense warning signs are deemed illegal and are instantly taken down. | "Richard! Put that down!"
The man froze at his desk, and slowly lowered the bottle of glue to the table. Wiping his chin, he sheepishly apologized - "I'm sorry, sir, but it looked so tasty!"
Jeremy sighed. The Darwin Initiative was promising at first, a solution to all of humanity's woes, but in practice, it worked far too well. While governments still refused to repeal the laws, they'd at least granted *some* leniency, allowing a network of "Life Skills" classes to be established across the globe.
"Okay, everyone, let's get back to business. As Richard has just learned, not everything that comes in a bottle is okay to consume. For instance - does anyone remember the mnemonic we practiced?"
The class was silent.
Jeremy closed his eyes, struggling to contain his frustration. "If it's under the sink..."
"It's not safe to drink!" The replies were scattered and slow from his students. He sighed again - this was going to be a rough afternoon.
The three-hour lesson seemed to drag on for days. Explaining the difference between bottles of liquid was one thing - with a stretch of the imagination, one *might* be able to understand the similarities of Windex and blue Gatorade - but the half-hour spent explaining why one shouldn't dive into the shallow end of a pool took a substantial toll on his day's ration of patience. Their field trip to a gas station about the dangers of smoking ended in near disaster, and at the end of class, a janitor's poorly-timed mopping of floors sent three students to the hospital.
His drive home offered no respite - he sat for thirty minutes as crews cleared a mangled car off the railroad crossing. Whoever put that stoplight so close to the tracks had certainly done their part in helping the Initiative.
Once home, he poured himself a vodka tonic and plopped down for the evening news. The local government had rebelled by installing catch-nets at a cliffside park, but the loophole had proven fruitless - a group of tourists decided the jump looked like "fun" and subsequently over-loaded the fabric, killing eight. Congress had again refused to excuse "walk" and "don't walk" lights from the ban, allegedly after extensive lobbying by Maaco. Death tolls were still sky-high in zoos nationwide.
He turned the TV off, and poured himself another.
| July 3rd, 2017.
Five thousand car crashes within the first day of Project Darwin. At least in the United States. I think the most gruesome way someone died was when they disobeyed the former escalator rule of "Don't put your foot between the escalator hull and conveyor belt". The result was a lot of vomiting, me vomiting, and the poor fuck dying because their jugular was shredded. And lots of blood.
At least a hundred and twenty accidental (or, now we know them as "accidental") shootings ("Never look inside a gun's barrel" and "Don't point the shooty end towards anything you don't want to shoot" were removed). Five elevators went down because too many people walked in and couldn't be bothered to wait for the next elevator.
The hospitals were flooded with injured and the dying, most of them children. The adults that were there were injured from kinky fetishes, and... of course, being the day before Independence Day, fireworks. Blown off fingers, burned buttocks, blindness and deafness, all fireworks.
July 4th, 2017.
The fireworks did their worst with a hundred and twenty-seven people dead. The removed instructions of "Stand at least twenty feet away from device" served to only make people put the fireworks in their mouths.
Ninety shootings happened. The poor neighborhoods in every major city started to rebel against the government (as if they weren't before). Project Darwin has turned the United States into the murder capital. I told the President that we need to enforce the law, but he instead said how we needed to build walls around the neighborhoods and make them pay for the walls.
June 3rd, 2018.
A year has passed since Project Darwin's implementation into the American way of life. The death tolls increased by at least fifty percent since the implementation of Project Darwin. The injury rates increased at least sevenfold, and the unemployment rate went down to the lowest in American history. The wall has been built, using shoddy materials and shady laborers, us hoping that the poor construction practices would at least do something. They did. The wall was built within eleven months, all the materials having been gathered at the designated sites since February of 2017.
The murder rates increased threefold. The smoking death rates increased at least twofold, despite smoking being a long con murderer. Alcohol companies, with the destruction of the common sense laws, started to increase production, as well as content. America got drunk and murdered everyone.
The destruction of the common sense law has made America great again. Since people died, their jobs were taken up by those that needed them. The Wall has been built. Mexico paid for it, putting the American economy as the number one economy in the world. Russia was destroyed, thanks to President Trump's excellent rhetoric and military genius.
Other nations started to initiate Project Darwin within themselves. As a result of smarter people, Europe has become a united nation, but in doing so halved its total population. China has suffered a massive generation destruction, and was unable to provide the cheap labor that western companies needed to produce their products. The Chinese needed work - and thus went to the United States.
The Donald has made America great again. But at what cost? | 2016-08-29T10:18:20 | 2016-08-29T09:10:00 | 84 | 52 |
[WP] Laws have changed. If you decide to be outside a law, that's allowed, but you're no longer protected by it. (i.e. you can legally punch anyone, but you have no legal protections from someone punching you). | I was certain I'd thought up the best one.
"Come on!" I floated by the ceiling, turning lazy flips. "Law of gravity, I'm telling you. Who hasn't wanted to fly? This one's the best."
"You're going to float into the fan," Esteban warned me flatly.
"It's off," I retorted, but pushed myself groundwards as his hand moved towards the switch.
"Look, it's a good idea, don't get me wrong." He shrugged. "Still, I'm sure I can do one better. Maybe something that doesn't require puking for an hour.'
I winced. I hadn't expected the motion sickness to hit me *quite* that hard.
"Or wearing steel boots just so I can walk outside." His brows narrowed. "You're going to need cement blocks if you ever go swimming."
"Bet I can walk on water, though." I stabilized myself on the coffee table and lounged in midair. "Well, if you're so sure you can do better, what's keeping you?"
"Still thinking." He absently shuffled the loose notes on the table in front of him. "I'm not sure i want something as dramatic as yours, honestly. But I'd like something that has a good effect, and preferably isn't something that's already been chosen."
"Right, because *that's* easy." I waved a hand and rolled my eyes. "Might was well just ask for it to fall into your lap while you're at it."
"That's... Hmm." He nibbled the end of his pencil a moment before his eyes widened. "That's it!"
"Huh?" I watched in curiosity as he scribbled something on his paper before slamming his chair back and dashing for the kitchen.
"I'll show you!"
I watched curiously as he pulled a slice of bread out of the fridge and buttered it. He held it dramatically out before him and tipped it off his hand. i watched incredulously as it turned a lazy half-flip in midair and...
Landed butter-side up?
"Got it." He smirked at me. "Murphy's Law, bitch." | Where she grew up was bad, backward and hot. For all the injustice there was, the heat was often worse, or at least that's how it seemed. Her name was Ansi and she kept to herself. She followed the laws of her land and of her God. She was quiet and she hoped of a heaven that was cold and away from her living hell.
She had only ever disobeyed the laws of her land once in her short life. For doing that she felt guilty and remorse. But she was in love and she was a child, rash and impulsive. At school, the others knew, but there was nothing they could do. It was allowed wasn't it? And what would be the repercussions if Ansi had a girlfriend? All that meant was that other girls could hit on her. And so it was tolerated. But Ansi was not liked.
She was bullied often, her and Alana. They wrote names on their lockers and threw sand in their eyes when they were walking, holding hands.
“Do not take them on,” Alana would say. “God is good. They are evil. We should be good.”
And Ansi tried.
They took advantage to the new rules and showed their affection openly. There was nothing anyone could do. But it was a hot country and tensions were high. The adults grew restless, sweaty brows and violent minds. It was bound to happen. Looking back, Ansi wondered how she could be so naive.
They lynched Alana one night and her body was burnt black, a shadow against the rising sun. Men chanted in circles, rasp tongues praising some deity that surely was not her God. Ansi cried and was heartbroken. It was not even deemed a crime, so there was no opportunity for revenge. She was small anyway, so there was nothing she could do.
Her mother tried to console her but the tears were a stain on her face, a mark of an unending pain.
“Please Ansi, you must regain control,” her father pleaded.
But she had been in love and she was a child.
“Is dying for love against any of the holy books?” she asked.
“No,” her father admitted.
“Then I would not even have to invoke your backward laws. No more eye for an eye. I can die for myself, for what I believe in!”
“Ansi no!” her mother cried.
She had run away then out into the hot sun, far from the village, into the desert. She wandered far, or so it seemed, and she thought of the country she lived in. For all its injustice, it was really the heat that got her.
“Hell is hot,” Alana had told her once. “Let's try not to go there.”
Ansi felt like she already there.
She was never found by her parents, or anyone from the village. The laws were changed so that what was unlawful would remain unlawful. It was to protect the children, they said. | 2016-09-30T12:34:41 | 2016-09-30T10:18:18 | 137 | 26 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | My finger froze on top of the button. "What do you mean things get nasty? What happens when I let go?"
The desk vibrated as her phone rang. "I'm so sorry, I have to take this."
"What's goi-"
"Anita Hayes, Senior VP of Human Resources" as her name tag had read, stood up from behind the desk and curtly exited the room, phone pressed to ear.
"Hey! What kind of job interview this? What happens if I let go!?"
*What's going on?* I turned and looked at my surroundings. It was a warmly decorated office, lined with bookshelves. In the middle sat a large mahogany desk behind which sat a regal leather desk chair. The button in question was medium sized, built into a steel setting which was then screwed into the top left corner of the desk. Now that it was pressed down it was illuminated red.
*Okay, don't let go of the button. Got it.* My hands began to sweat as I looked for a solution. Holding the button down I worked my way around the desk and opened the drawers. Nothing. Completely empty other than a stapler, some pliers, and some folders. The stapler didn't look heavy enough to hold the button down. From my new view I spotted a roll of tape sitting on a shelf in the back of the room. Clearly out of reach, but it would surely hold the button down.
This is surely a test to judge my logical reasoning skills, I thought to myself. It was down to the last three applicants, but the $450K/year salary seemed as far away as the tape on the shelf.
*Hmm.* The tape is the obvious solution. *But how do I reach it?* There has to be another solution. How do I make myself stand out from the other applicants? I *need* this job. I *deserve* this job. I've worked so hard for this opportunity.
Then it hit me. All or nothing. Keeping my hand on the button, I used my forearm to swipe everything off the desk in two smooth motions. Then, I gripped the edge of the desk with my free hand and heaved it over, being careful not to let go of the button. The desk was now on its side. Again I heaved, this time turning the desk upside down. My fingers gingerly slipped out from under the desk top as the weight of the desk took over, keeping the button pressed.
Just then the door opened, "What are you doing!?"
"I know it's not the obvious, or most efficient solution to the test, but I wanted to show you i'm capable of thinking outside the box and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. And it worked! The button is still held down!"
"What test? The button? That's a joke! It doesn't do anything! I stepped out because the school called, my kid is sick."
"Oh... I'll show myself out."
| My finger held the blue pulsing button down on the small metallic disk. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.
"Nasty? What the hell does that mean?"
"You'll see," she said grinning widely.
"Then why the hell did you let me push the button?" I asked staring at my trembling finger.
"How else would I be able to test my newest invention?," she asked dismissively.
"I'm going to kill you!" I said through clenched teeth.
If this device was anything like the rest of the contraptions May had created I probably wouldn't have a hand when I let the button go.
"With that you just might be able to. Now stop being a wuss and let go of the button!"
I pulled my finger off of the button and said a small prayer. The disk shifted and expanded, the solid metal disk started to flow like thick molasses over my hand.
"May?"
She watched the metal flow down my arm with wide eyes.
"May!" I screamed as the metal spread faster, liquid metal tendrils wrapped around my exposed flesh and raced up my arm to my neck. I tried to slap the liquid back with my other hand but it stuck and began to spread up that arm.
I looked down at my torso, it was entirely covered in the shifting metal liquid. I could see the shiny liquid creeping along my face in my peripheral vision.
"MAY!"
The liquid surged over my face into my open mouth and raced down my throat. I tried to fight for breath around the invasive liquid, each gasp sent more liquid into my lungs.
My lungs burned from the foreign material, my throat was raw from struggling to breathe but with a final desperate inhalation, I took in the most wonderful lungful of air of my life.
I didn't realize I had fallen to my knees until my vision slowly cleared and I was staring at the floor.
"I...I'm going to kill you May..." I gasped out painfully.
"It worked..." was all she said.
"What worked?" My voice sounded strange, like I was speaking through a mask.
I pushed myself up to my feet and looked at May. Her mouth was hanging open and she kept running her eyes up and down my body.
"Stop looking at me like that," I said bitterly.
And then I looked down. My body was covered in a thick metal armor. It was millions of tiny metal scales stacked on top of each other. I ran my armored hands over my body. Every inch was covered in the small metal scales.
"What the hell is this?" I shouted.
"Okay calm down," she said holding her hands up defensively.
"Why does this look like alien technology May?" I asked beginning to hyperventilate.
"I may have stolen it..." she began before I cut her off.
"You stole alien tech? The Captain is going to kill us! He is going to blast us out of the airlock! People get flogged for taking extra food rations what the hell do you think they're going to do to us for stealing!"
"Or, maybe they will reward us," she said slowly, "after all, I may have just found the answer to ending this war."
With each word she spoke she become more confident.
"How do I get it off May?"
She didn't seem to hear her question as she practiced her speech for the Captain.
"May!"
"Oh. Okay so here's the bad news. I don't know."
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/5m8kf3/part_2_armor/)
| 2017-01-05T11:43:41 | 2017-01-05T10:18:35 | 231 | 72 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | "You gotta be kidding me" I said pressing down the button.
"Haha, nope," she replied, "that's why you should always wait before compulsively pressing every button you see."
"Well..."
"Well- what?"
"Well, what the hell does it do?" I specified.
"I don't know, you'll have to press it to find out."
"There's no way I'm doing that. You've shown me some freaky shit over the years and I have no clue what this could lead to."
"Well, you really only have one option in this scenario."
"Oh, really" I replied in a semi-sarcastic way.
"Yeah, you gotta take your finger off the button at some point."
"Or I can just hold it here until you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Good luck with that one," she said as she walked towards the exit. "See ya later buddy. Let me know how it goes." and she walked out the door.
I stood there for another thirty minutes or so trying to figure out what to do. I called for help. I looked for something that I could put on top of it to hold to button down but finally, I decided that enough was enough and I lifted my finger off the button.
And nothing happened.
That little shit. | Just got a short one I thought I'd share.
I pressed the button down confidently, its smooth surface becoming rigid as it locked into place, steel manacles locked around my hand to hold it in place. The door that I entered in had disappeared as I walked
In. But another door appeared as I pressed the button.
The lady next to me smiled, while I tugged at my hand, trying desperately to free it.
She finally spoke again "thank you for that dear, my hand was in the same place until you pressed the button to get in here. But as much as I'd like to see you trapped here for as long as I've been, I have 100 years of lost time to catch up on"
She made her way to the only exit, woefully out of my reach.
I called out to her frantically "wait! I'll starve! You can't leave me here"
She giggled and stopped, not turning around as she responded. "The room won't let you die, you'll just... exist. It's dreadfully boring most of the time but you'll just have to wait. Someone will show up eventually, 40 years if you're lucky, more if you aren't."
She smiled and left the room, flicking a switch on the other side of the exit to seal me inside, ignoring my shouts and pleas for help.....
It's been around 84 years since she left, I'd like to forget her but the room won't let me, she fills my thoughts, all I can say is I'm glad my left hand was trapped, it allowed me to distract myself occasionally.
But I digress, today is a momentous occasion, my hand was freed from the button, it made a little popping noise as it reset.
The door slid open and closed behind the new entrant.
I greeted them. Copying the woman's words exactly.
"You can press the button, nothing will happen...." | 2017-01-05T14:05:34 | 2017-01-05T13:49:11 | 65 | 28 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | "You gotta be kidding me" I said pressing down the button.
"Haha, nope," she replied, "that's why you should always wait before compulsively pressing every button you see."
"Well..."
"Well- what?"
"Well, what the hell does it do?" I specified.
"I don't know, you'll have to press it to find out."
"There's no way I'm doing that. You've shown me some freaky shit over the years and I have no clue what this could lead to."
"Well, you really only have one option in this scenario."
"Oh, really" I replied in a semi-sarcastic way.
"Yeah, you gotta take your finger off the button at some point."
"Or I can just hold it here until you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Good luck with that one," she said as she walked towards the exit. "See ya later buddy. Let me know how it goes." and she walked out the door.
I stood there for another thirty minutes or so trying to figure out what to do. I called for help. I looked for something that I could put on top of it to hold to button down but finally, I decided that enough was enough and I lifted my finger off the button.
And nothing happened.
That little shit. | The smile fell off my face abruptly. "Jesus, Alice," I said, frowning. "Why do you have to do this all the time?"
"Do what?" She said, innocently.
"Just... it's the way you answer things. You knew what I wanted to say from context." I kept holding the button down, perversely.
"I don't see how that's my fault. You could have been more specific in your question," she said mulishly. She crossed her arms, frowning at me. I rolled my eyes.
"This is like that other time, you know, with the shark."
"That was *completely* different. Most sharks don't, in fact, eat humans."
"Yes, but the shark in that particular tank *did*." God rest that poor man's soul. "And what about the time in Pamplona?"
"How was I to know that they were going to let that bull out at *that exact moment*?"
"**Because they had just announced it two minutes ago!**" I shouted, still leaving my finger on the button. "Jesus effing Christ, Alice!" I took a deep breath, shaking slightly. "Ok. So how do I get out of this?"
She shrugged, a little hurt. She turned away, picked up her bookbag. "I dunno. You can figure it out."
"Wait- you're not just going to leave me here, are you?" I started to panic.
"Sure. You got all the answers, you figure it out." The door clicked shut behind her.
Shit. This was it. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Not even a chair to sit in. I took a deep breath, and lifted my thumb.
---
Alice leaned against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. The door opened quietly, and he walked out. Somehow, improbably, covered head to toe in shaving cream. He shrugged.
"Coulda been worse." | 2017-01-05T14:05:34 | 2017-01-05T14:03:00 | 65 | 20 |
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding. | "So nobody has ever seen it before?" The President asked.
"No sir," replied the NASA representative.
"How is that possible? Don't we have satellites in orbit? We've sent people up to the space station in rockets... they must have seen something."
I looked up from my papers, and from the corner of my eye saw my boss turn his head and glare at me. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The message was clear.
'Fuck it', I thought. 'If I'm right, it doesn't matter anyways.'
"I may have an explanation, sir," I said carefully.
"No sir," my boss interrupted quickly, "He doesn't. He hasn't fully reviewed his research on the matter."
The President looked at me thoughtfully, then at my boss before speaking. "I'd like to think he can speak for himself, Reagan. Go ahead son."
My boss glared at me, the implication clear: I was going to catch major shit for this later. But like I said... if I was right, it wouldn't matter.
"The reason nobody ever saw it before yesterday was because it *wasn't there before yesterday.*"
My boss dropped his head into his hands. The President stared.
"I don't follow," he said in confusion.
"It wasn't there sir. It appeared yesterday. Nobody *could* have seen it before then."
The President paused, scanning the faces in the room, all of which showed similar confused expressions.
"Son, are you telling me it just... what, popped in like magic?"
"Yes sir."
"How... how exactly would something like that be possible? I presume you have an explanation."
I took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. This was it, either the end of my career or the day I changed the universe as we knew it.
"Well sir, it's perfectly plausible if there was... a coding error."
The President frowned. "Coding error? What do you mean?"
"Well... this landmass was part of an original code that was remarked but never intended to be added to the main program. The program... that we all exist in."
"I beg your pardon?" sputtered the NSA representative.
I pushed the documents across the desk to the Commander in Chief.
"It's all in there sir, all the explanations and proof."
"We're all part of a computer simulation that's starting to degrade. I estimate we have at most, another century before the program decompiles and we all cease to exist." | Tranquility was the word.
No other word fit. No other word could express the feeling that was so pervasive in this place.
Have you ever tried imagining a perfect place?
A place where everything is in total harmony. The perfect blue of the sky, with only a single cloud adding the required sense of whimsy. The gentle sway of the emerald green grass over the rolling hills. Just the right amount of trees, with just enough imperfections, making their shapes a pleasure to behold, without the absolute perfection that would mark them as fake. The sky and the landscape meeting at just the right places to create the illusion of having been fused by an artist's careful hand.
It was the type of place that made you wonder, made you question whether it might actually have been created by a higher order of being.
There were many questions. If it was new, where did it come from? If it was always there, then how did a landmass, conservatively estimated to be larger than Australia manage to evade any detection until now? Why was it still not visible from space, with satellites instead showing the same vast expanse of ocean where it was supposed to be?
After the many weeks there the answers were not forthcoming and more importantly, the desire to ask them was starting to fade. You could not spend any time in this place and still keep questioning. The questions simply lost meaning after a while. Tranquility overpowered any sense of curiosity.
Then one day we saw The Obelisk. It changed everything.
One glance at the vast black surface, that was much blacker than any concept of black that you might have, immediately extinguished any feeling other than the overwhelming feeling of dread. You forgot to question how this huge structure suddenly appeared in the middle of the pristine landscape as if you had stumbled upon it after turning a corner. There was no corner, or at least a corner that you could actually see or sense. You simply took a step and the space around you was no longer linear, it bent to reveal this dreadful new feature that took over the landscape. That took over your mind.
It is hard to explain, but it wasn't the immensity of The Obelisk that overpowered all thought or feeling. It wasn't its dark, completely smooth surface that seemed like it was more an absolute absence of matter rather than its presence. It was the knowledge. The absolute knowledge that it was devouring this world, this universe.
I couldn't tell you where this knowledge came from. The immediate surroundings didn't change, did not disappear in any visible manner. There was no wind, no movement to directly indicate anything being altered. It was much more insidious than that. You could simply feel that the fabric of the universe was slowly dissolving into the infinite depth that was the surface of The Obelisk, leaving an absolute nothingness in its stead.
We ran.
We came back home.
We handed in our reports.
We did not tell anyone about The Obelisk. What would be the point? You can not change something like this. You can not hide. You can only wait for the inevitable end.
I'm writing this now, because I have that feeling of dread again. The Obelisk is near... | 2017-02-10T11:55:42 | 2017-02-10T11:07:48 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] You are the curator of Earth, tasked with terraforming the planet naturally so as to meet the galactic atmospheric standards. In the mid 18th century you spark the industrial revolution to heat the planet slightly, however you fell asleep and have awoken in 2017. | Earth was going pretty well. No, not the humans. I said 'Earth'. The grass and the trees were still growing for eons, the animals frolicked and slithered and crawled in the large spaces of the wild. As the curator of Earth, I took pride in it. The sun was at the right heat, and the Earth was at the right distance.
I had my good friends come over when they wanted and humbly showed off my craftsmanship. "Wow, a specimen without any legs," they would note, "flying pollinators with tiny swords on their butts, that's pretty cool, how'd you come up with that?"
"I didn't," I would say, and leaned on a hefty tree, soaking in the sun and the compliments, "all you need is the right environment, and nature does it for you. These lizards used to be huge, you know. But I got bored of them and started over. That's what you can do when you take good care of the planet."
I was good at what I did, and the only rival I had was the nearest neighboring planet, 17-B. The terraformer there was an asshole, always taunting my how his new planet would be better. I had sleepless nights where I thought he might be better, but he couldn't be.
However, most of my friends were in charge of gas planets, dwarf planets, and ice planets. They didn't really know how to take care of something like my Earth. I would pity them, but laziness isn't really something to be pitied.
Humans were a bit of an issues, cutting down trees and making fires, but they were new, and I simply swept them under the rug on my tours. Sure, humans were advanced, but they also killed each other in my name quite a bit. Or, you know, whatever God they thought they were run under.
But I grew to like them, like a parent still might love her screaming child. It was then I noticed they might not survive another ice age, which was coming around the corner. This was something I could really avoid, unless some carbon got pumped into the atmosphere. So, without hesitation, I planted the idea for a locomotive in some guy's head, and off he ran. It was somewhere around that time I fell asleep.
Some humans wake up to a hang over and a different town they got drunk in, wondering how it possibly could have happened. I woke up in the same forest I fell asleep in, but this time there were streets in the air wrapping the sky above my head. The constant roar of vehicles woke me up in a second. It was a highway. I was in the year 2017.
I quickly checked the planet vitals. Humans had ripped out most of the resources, their population multiplied over and over again. I ran into the highway on the ground to get past, and the vehicles were much faster than I expected.
"YOU RUINED IT!" I screamed, "YOU ALL RUINED IT!" And car careened and honked past me. Earth was screwed. The atmosphere was bleak and polluted beyond repair. My planet - my beautiful planet. There was nothing I could do.
I soon found myself in a straight jacket, torn from my technology, trying to explain to the nurse that I was the designated terraformer of the planet. She didn't believe me. I was ruined.
Later, I got to watch the TV by 2020. Earth was nearly dead, and on the TV was a space shuttle launching into the heavens. "As Earth is no longer a viable resource of us, volunteers are launching to our nearest habitable planet, 17-B, where we will collect enough resources for the population," she reporter said as people cheered. I found a smile on my face for the first time since the 19th century. 17-B, I thought, do your worst, my children. | The campus bar was abuzz with murmur. Finals were coming close. Some of the more studious ones had already started spending less time there and started making acquaintances with the librarian. At the left corner on one of the better tables a lone figure took deep drinks from her bottle of Guinness.
"They and I fall," the words kept playing at her lips. With macabre wit she realized that rearranged the letter spelled "Finally, death." She took another long drink.
"You okay?"
Someone had sat next to her. In her thoughts she hadn't even seen him walk across the room and sit on the same table as her.
"I'm fine. It's a Tuesday."
"You keep mumbling to yourself."
"My problems are too big for someone who breaks a sweat completing a two page essay."
"I don't break a sweat doing those." he started. "In fact, a 40 page thesis is more of my expertise."
She now turned to give him a proper look. He certainly looked too old to be worried about who beat him in drinking games.
"Doctor Howard White," he said, "I'm finishing my PhD in behavioral analysis next semester."
"Well good to meet you Doctor but this is still beyond your scope."
Howard had to laugh. It wasn't often he was beyond his scope. "Humor me then."
"You should be going to level two by now."
"Level two of what?"
"Level two of civilization. A level one civilization can exploit all the energy that falls on its surface from its star. A level two civilization can exploit all the energy from its parent star."
Howard's mouth formed an O and at once he took a swig from his bottle. "We should be there now?"
"Yes you should."
"but....?"
"but I fell asleep."
"hmmm" he ran his hand through his brown hair. This was a severe case of hallucination. Even in his time they never tried drugs this crazy.
"So what happens now?"
"I'm not sure but I need to get a solution soon."
"Why?"
"because of what happens if I don't. This doctor of yours, John B. Calhoun he replicated the Dice box experiment where a set of mice was put into a box. Food and water was enough so that even when the population number grew they wouldn't starve. In spite of this, once the population reached a certain number things changed, most mice stopped reproducing. Some male mice stopped trying to mate instead focusing on grooming themselves, others became reclusive only coming out at night, the females lost their maternal instinct. Eventually in spite enough food and water the society collapsed"
The doctor put his drink down, those on the next table had even stopped their discussion.
"and where do you come into all of this?"
"I was supposed to prevent it. Post industrial revolution, something was meant to happen."
"That sounds like quite the problem. I don't think I can solve it, but maybe by sharing it it's half solved."
She gave him a half smile. "I'll drink to that." their bottles clinked. She bent her head back as she took the last swig. Content it was empty she placed the bottle with the other two."
She jolted up, "half-solve, that's it. Thank you for your help doctor I know what I need to do."
She started looking into her purse. Howard took slow sips having the experience to not get in between people and their Eureka moments. Something about what she said was still bothering Howard, He couldn't put his finger on it. Aah there it was.
"Why do you keep using second person not first when talking about peo...bout...people."
She stopped cold, "What"
"suure, you said, "you were meant to be a...be a... level 1 shivilizhashion, this doctor of yours john Cahloun." He looked at his hands. Had the liquor become that strong.
"That's quite the memory you have," she replied. She seemed to move slowly, like people did in a dream.
"I got an edietic emory, don't forget anything ever, like the time I..." his head dropped on the table as he started to snore. She put his harm over her shoulder and brought him to his feet with the strength the average 5'7" woman couldn't muster. She turned to the bartender to hail a cab.
"Don't worry dear, there's a first time for everything."
| 2017-05-31T09:02:19 | 2017-05-31T08:28:49 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] You meet a genie but this genie charges for granting wishes. The bigger the wish the more it costs. You are granted a couple of small favors for $20. Having no idea how you will be able to afford it you ask for your heart's deepest wish. The genie laughs and says "that I will do for free." | John sat glumly in the waiting room of the ICU. It had been nearly three weeks since his daughter had been admitted, and no news other than: "She's stable and in a medically induced coma" had been supplied to him. One drunk driver was all it took to land both of them in the ICU. The car had hit the passenger side... Emily's side... and John had found himself back at the hospital again.
The waiting room was strangely empty, yet John didn't mind. His thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere. His eyes started drooping and he felt the embrace of sleep surround him. He had been awake for almost a full day at this point and his medication was starting to kick in... a short nap wouldn't hurt.
A light tap on his shoulder made him jerk upright in fright. In front of him was a doctor. Her pale blonde hair was almost translucent in the overhead lights, and her eyes were an astonishing blue.
"Mr Chadwick?"
John nodded, struggling to his feet.
"How is she? How is Emily doing?"
"Easy now, Mr Chadwick. Your body still hasn't recovered from the crash. Let's take a seat, shall we?"
She motioned for him to sit. John rearranged the sling around his arm and sank back into his chair, feeling the pain in his side blossom once more. The doctor took the seat opposite him and flipped open a binder.
"Now, I've been looking over your charts here and it seems like your cancer is in remission for the time being, is that correct?"
"Look, doctor," John started. "I don't care about the cancer or my arm. I just want to know if my baby is gonna make it."
The doctor stared at him for a second before lowering her gaze to the chart in front of her again.
"The current unpaid cost of your treatments amount to $45,000. Your daughter's expenses are $15,000 and rising. Your medical insurance doesn't cover treatment for either of you -"
" - Forget the cancer, damnit!" John interrupted. "I'll pay whatever it takes to fix my baby girl! Please..." A sob escaped his lips as he held back tears. "Ever since her mother passed... she's all I have left. She's only eight, I can't lose her too. Even if the cancer comes back, it won't matter if I don't have Emily. I'll pay anything if it meant she's safe and in my arms again."
The doctor's eyes seemed to peer straight through John's soul, as if judging his entire life in the space of a mere instant.
"If that is what you wish, I suppose I'll make an exception just this once."
John was slightly taken aback by her statement. Her demeanour had changed and she was smiling at him now. She closed the binder with a snap and got back on her feet.
"Not many people choose the lives of others over their own, Mr Chadwick. I'll waive the costs just this once. I would appreciate if this stays between the two of us." With a slight wink, the doctor tapped him on the shoulder again.
John woke with a start, feeling the familiar pain bloom in his abdomen again. The waiting room was empty. Had he been dreaming? The clock on the wall indicated barely ten minutes had passed. He had to go check on Emily right away.
He forced himself upright and limped down the hall to his daughter's room. A nurse at the end of the hall called out to him.
"Sir, visiting hours are over! Sir!"
John fumbled with the door handle and shouldered his way inside, ignoring the pain as the nurse rushed towards him.
His heart jumped in his chest as he saw his daughter, sitting on the edge of the bed, connected to a plethora of machinery all beeping happily in the dark room. Her eyes met his and for a moment the world seemed to stop.
"Daddy?"
__________
This is my first ever submission. Hope you enjoyed it. | In 5 short years, GlarBat had only granted 523 wishes. The genie had announced his presence to the world, and for months no one took him up on his offers. "I will not make you rich. But I can do things with your money that you cannot do on Earth."
The first person had heard and read about the exorbant prices. GlarBot had made a website that would approximate the cost of wishes. "These are estimates, please bring double," tagged the bottom. She was a very famous astronaut, already, but got a loan for 10m from NASA to be able to survive space indefinately. It had cost only 4.7m which she earned easily with prolonged missions. This opened a slow trickle of wishers atrempting to leverage cost in power or other gains. Several pranks worth a few bucks and a lot of laughs.
I had walked up to the office expecting to pay 250-500 for a new console that was really future proof and a new job I loved. I made it past the receptionist, whom I swear could delve into my soul... It was rumored over 95% of people seeking a wish are turned away not for lack of payment, but because they never make it passed this woman. Her ice blue eyes seemed to inspect my very person as I told her my wishes while filling out the stacks of paperwork/release forms. A few dozen pages in, signing every one, it became very clear it was a combination of the receptionist, and the repeated use of, 'not liable for,' and, 'wisher accept full responsibility if...' That most prospective wishers balked at.
I wasnt wishing for anything that should change the world. I wasnt trying to make someone fall in love with me, so spontaneous combustion shouldn't be an issue... Just a console and a job...
"The Genie will see you now." I looked up and she was gone! The paperwork I was just working on was gone! The room was eerily silent. There was a single green glowing line leading from my seat through the hall and up the single flight of stairs. I followed it to the end of another hallway to a door. The glowing line wrote, 'Welcome, I've been expecting you,' as I read the last word they disappeard and the door slowly drew open.
I walked into a very impressive vault room, with currency of every nation, gems and precious metals of all kinds. I let in an audible whoosh of air looking at all that wealth with 500 bucks in my pocket almost laughing at my life. I'll admit, I seriously thought about pocketing some and bolting. But... This IS a genie... Better not fuck with him...
"Welcome, welcome!" A booming voice thundered over the cash. I almost gave myself whiplash turning at the source. Dressed in lavish reds, gold, and purple, a short (man?) came sliding down a stack of Hong Kong Dollars, took my hand standing a full head and a half shorter than i am, (must have been 4' nuthin) "what can i do for you today!?"
I must have been in shock... I stammered, "didn't I fill out..." I couldn't even verbalize my wish even though I was just talking about it to the secretary...
"Oh, right!" As a stack, my stack, of papers appeard in his hands and a monacle on his face. "Now, lets see here, a, "future-proof console... Hmm.. Preferably that plays any game... Now thats a new one." The genie seemed to mull it over for a few moments and finally said, "fifty bucks." I quickly handed over a crisp fifty. (Phew! That was less than the website estimated) "And a new job that you love?" His face seemed to skew slowly into crooked and wicked smile. I could see handwritten notes in the same handwritting on the receptuonists desk, all over my paperwork. "That, my friend, *I* will do for free!" He snapped his fingers and the entire world changed around me.
A whirling, vortex of energy surrounded me and made me feel nauseous. Right when I was certain I would lose it, everything settled. I found myself in the office of the apparently newly created Leader of the Earth. On the desk... My... Desk? Was a single sheet of paper... A note from the receptionist... In scrolling calligraphy, "I saw you would be perfect for this job. Make us all proud!"
Edit: grammar and spelling and punctuation.
Edit2: i think this is my most upvoted wp/post! | 2017-06-04T15:45:52 | 2017-06-04T15:05:02 | 461 | 89 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the devil and you've never felt better, the only problem is he keeps showing up to beg you to take it back. | The devil loomed over me, blocking the sun behind his shadowed face. “Dave,” he said. “You need to stop.”
I shook my head and giggled. “No returns.”
“I’m giving it back to you for free.” He extended his hand, my soul in his palm.
“Nope,” I said. It was an easy choice to make. My first taste of happiness came only when I pawned my soul away for it. And wasn’t that the point of life? “You can keep it. I’m staying here.”
“Dave.” The devil paused to slowly exhale. “It’s for your own good.”
I chuckle. Devils. They think we’re all idiots. But no silver tongue could steal away the only worth my life ever had. “No deal,” I told him. “You keep that damn thing. I don’t want it.”
“You don’t *do* anything anymore,” Lucifer said. “You used to have goals, ambitions. Now, you just lay here all day, giggling to yourself and squinting at people right in front of you.”
I giggled and squinted. For a second, I actually believed the world’s original conman. “Say whatever you want, but a deal’s a deal. There’s no way I’m taking that back.”
“I felt sorry for you when I first agreed to it!” he screamed.
“Finally bested by a mortal, eh Satan?”
He gritted his jaw. “I’m the devil? Is that what you think I am…”
---
Carl stared at Dave, the husk who used to be his friend. Dave’s blond hair had grown withered and long, nearly covering his eyes. His coat had holes in them from all his nights on concrete beds. Patches of yellow dots followed the veins in his arms from the happiness he had pawned his guitar for.
Dave used to be a musician. He used to play on street corners and restaurants always with a single naïve goal which he would declare to Carl every weekend at the local pub—I want to bring music to this world! And every weekend, his declaration grew just a bit quieter until he had stopped altogether. That’s when Carl had split some Xanax with him.
Three months later and he had pawned his guitar, his ambitions, his very soul, for dirty needles and liquid happiness.
Carl chewed on his lips, the guitar in his hand growing too heavy to keep holding. “Please,” he pleaded.
But all Dave did was lay back on his concrete bed, a smile stretched across his face spouting nonsense about devils and contracts. Carl listened, his arm trembling in the air. Who knows? Perhaps Dave was right. Perhaps he really was the devil.
| **Bathroom:**
Nothing stopped him from showing up inadvertent, not even my toxins hitting the toilet's silent edges on a gloom monday morning. As I was in the middle of the act, a smell like sulphur invaded my nostrils to which I smiled proudly and concerned. I achieved the most disgusting smell of my entire life or so I thought.
Searing shadows like smoke materialized beside me obliterating my achievement. "Mo-Mortal w-what are you doing, stop it!" Screamed the Devil trying to block my precious stream of toxins pushing his arms forward.
"Holy golden shower baby, it's good for the sunburns you shrimp motherfucker!" I yelled as I bathed his infernal skin. His smell like sulphur combined with my cascade's made me vomit, of course I vomited violently all over his mighty horns.
"I can't see anything mortal, what have you just done, what is this?"
"That's what happens when you interrupt my holy peeing session. Don't forget it." I said, mocking him and giving him the fingers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**The First Breakfast:**
It's been years since I sold my soul to the Devil, I remember his hideous laughter lasting so ridiculously long I started laughing too. Thing is, the next morning he came back begging for me to take my soul back as it mocked him constantly and the other souls lost all the respect they had for him. Typical of my soul, you know the saying: like owner, like soul.
Today, the morning shone brightly through my window as I stretched vigorously letting out some slight moans. I could already smell the sulphur in my kitchen, strange thing, he never showed up in a different room from where I am.
I peeked through the doorway just to find my favourite and only wooden table disintegrated slowly with each one of the Devil's tears like corrosive acid.
"Satan, little bitch, stop crying you are ruining my mighty table dude!" I yelled as I stomped my way towards him.
He lifted his head up, his void-like eyes were now glassy as though they were perfectly polished. "Mortal, your soul dethroned me, I don't have nowhere else to go, I'm lost." He sobbed, his extremities trembled.
I had to hide my pride but it was difficult, "are really you saying my handsome, erudite, eloquent soul dethroned you or is this one of your crafty plans?" Either edges of my mouth clashed in an eternal fight against my urges to smile twitching awkwardly.
"No, he really did. It was a nightmare," his tears were now destroying my kitchen's floor. "Are you okay mortal? Your mouth is quivering strangely." He added.
I had to save my floor somehow and I fucked up. "That beautiful bastard of my soul... oh, if you want you can crash here until you plan your revolution." I said, without thinking.
The tears stopped, he got up, put on a pink apron, "what would you like to eat? Toasts of Eternal Suffering with Painful Jam or Agonizing Eggs with Screaming Bacon?
He never left. Now I only wonder how well my soul is ruling Hell.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed, you can check /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| 2017-07-06T06:09:59 | 2017-07-06T05:27:31 | 501 | 19 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth". | "I've heard. Wouldn't it have made more sense to be Water?" Asked Gabalrug, a slender creature that sported aquamarine skin tones.
Metatq shrugged at him, pouring the contents of his glass into one of his several mouths. He was a little less blue, but otherwise the same race.
"They're quite curious," He said.
"Oh yeah? In what way?" Gabalrug asked, taking in his own drink as his face expressed an attempt at keeping his focus fixed on his companion- It was failing.
Metatq merely shook his empty glass and cocked his chin toward it. "This stuff."
"Alcohol? I like it."
"What kind of creature thinks to drink from rotting fruit?"
"I don't think it's... quite like that."
Metatq drew up his lips in an odd frown, looking toward the barman.
"What do you make of it?"
"Oh, it has its ups and downs. You'll get used to it." He said, his eyes rolling off in a moment of remembrance.
"Hey, where you from?" Asked Gabalrug.
"Dirt." Said the Bartender, offering the pair a mild smirk as he continued to wipe across the soaked counter.
"This stuff is incredible!" Yelled Gabalrug, wafting left and right in an almost drunken haze, his demeanour perhaps more friendly than it had ever been.
"Wait until you hear Music..." | I remember this one day I was out hunting with my grandfather, and there was this huge bear by the water, looking for fish. I remember looking at the thick fur, over tough skin, and dense muscle, and thought that perhapse this animal WAS invincible. As we'd practiced, I shouldered my gun and shot the bear; just behind the shoulder blade so my bullet hit the lungs. As the bear stumbled to the bushes to go to rest, my granddad looked at me, and he said "when you go to bed tonight, I'm not going to check for monsters. We are the strongest in the universe, and there's nothing so big you can't take it alone".
I think about that day a lot. When the Dismantling happened, it's all I could think about. Seeing the probes for the first time. We all thought they were motherships, and we were being invaded. They weren't even occupied by anything living; just remotely controlled.
Apparently they started watching us after Hiroshima; literally an intergallactic 'boom', heard across the cosmos. When Trump fired on North Korea, they finally stepped in. We'd had warnings; they showed us this after it was all over. The government had hidden it all - they hired 'spooks' to drown people with conspiracy theories, so you couldn't tell fact from fiction. We're all paying for it now.
As it turns out, humans are about as good as -well- dirt. Just like our planet. After they dismantled our weapons and infrastructure, they started performing mindscans, killing those who didn't meet the requirements. We still don't know what the requirements were. Up here though, we're useless: we can't live in dark matter; we're violent; we can't access most of our brain; and we're not physically durable. So we're waiters, and bartenders, and valets; quietly listening to them banter about this new joinee from the slums of the milky way.
Edit: typos | 2017-09-06T05:28:42 | 2017-09-06T05:06:54 | 714 | 21 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | 2017-09-14T15:50:54 | 2017-09-14T15:04:14 | 127 | 85 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | 2017-09-14T15:50:54 | 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 127 | 82 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 120 | 82 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 99 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 99 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 97 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 97 | 10 |
[WP] Dwarves are notorious for their love of alcohol. One day a dwarf goes sober and discovers it grants them amazing powers such as being able to remember what happened the night before. | Oh how much the world can change in just half a year. The great kingdoms of mankind reduced to quarries for the Dwarves to build their fortresses, the sacred groves and forests of the Elves nothing more than kindling for dwarven forges.
Noone knew just how it had begun, how this could have happened. Countless tongues cried out to their gods and heard no answer, scholars buried themselves into fruitless discussions, one more outlandish than the other... and the Dwarves conquered. More and more and more, with unending vigor and hunger for victory.
Thrrustan, 'The Ascended', still lead them onwards with a triumphant grin on his face. He had been the first. The first to ascend. To become more. To realize the full potential of dwarvenkind. Whatever he had done to his people: They had changed, for better and for worse all at once. The differences had been subtle at first, unnoticable to an outsider, but they had spread through dwarven society like a wildfire.
Their charming mumbling had disappeared - now, dwarven mouths everywhere gave orders in a cold, harsh language and with painfully precise pronunciation.
Their were faster than ever before, scaling buildings and crossing plains with equal ease as if something had set free even more power in their stout physique. They were tireless now, their cities brimming with the sounds of forges and soldier's boots day and night without pause, as if they had lost all need of sleep.
They were merciful overlords. A year or two passed and the reckless conquerers settled down again, ruling over their realm from sea to sea, undisputed and terrifying in their might. But all was not bad for elves and humans: The far-famed dwarven ale was generously distributed among their long-legged subjects and gave them something to look forward to after a hard day's work while their overlords feasted on whatever game they desired - and paired it with the only drink reserved for their noble palates: Pure dwarven spring water from their old home underground. | Libash was fishing. He loved to fish, even if other dwarfs would make fun of him for it. In the dwarven society many jobs were considered useless, but fishering work was considered one of the most. At least he did his job well, purging the life out of lakes and rivers in moments. He was able to feed the fortress for centuries, wat would be somewhat valuable if the food stockpiles weren't overflowing by the others crafts already.
But he did his job well, "better than the miners that dig so narrow passages; better than the oversser that designed so much many curves and long corridors in the fortress entrance, making the way down the fortress way longer than necessarie; better than the novice armosmith that was crafting such a poor armor that would make fighter prefer go to battle armorless; better than... oh, the pond is dead, my job here is finished".
Libash went directly to the entrance door, "let the haulers take care of the fish, I doubt there is barrels to spare storing it, it will rot as alwa..." pwe, the arrow went right by his head, he went runing to the door that was now locked. "fuckers let me outside to die" Libash knew that storie well. When a siege aprachs the overseer will make enormous effort to save the brewer, the metalsmith and even the engraver, but did less than look for the fisherdwarf that acctualy had a reason to be outside, even if there is enough time to let him in. He knew better than bash the door and wait for a response, he bolted right for the pond, the animals would distract the invaders and give him enough time to... drink, Libash was tirstie as hell, with no acess to booze he was subject to one more humiliation: to drink water out of the pond. At least it motivate him "I can not die know, water shall not be my last drink" and he drank, and drank and hided and waited. The goblins was now exchanging arrows for bolts with the dwarfs in the towers, the dogs were set loose and were made food for the beak dogs, are newly formed squad was heading outside of the doors, underequipeds and ready to die, "only a distraction" he knew, even if one soldier managed to survive the goblins, nothing would escape the warm bath. And it came, glowing, fast, under the pressure of the most experients pump operators, the gods piss killed everyone and destroyed everything except for the valuable metal armor. And it was done. The siege ended, he could only wait, wait for the magma to evaporate to gain acess to the underworld. It took more water and many raw fishes before he could entry the earth.
to be continued | 2017-12-31T08:10:56 | 2017-12-31T07:55:00 | 100 | 12 |
[WP] You are the king, after your daughter was kidnapped by a dragon you offered the standard reward to whoever rescued her. You weren't expecting a different dragon to rescue her.
Wow! I didn't think this would blow up like it did! Thank you all so much for all your stories. I haven't commented on all of them but they are all fantastic! | I was bouncing with excitement in my throne. Not only had my daughter been rescued from the dragon, but she also was rescued by one of her brave friends the same age as her! This would be a marriage that would go along very well.
One of my servants ran up to me. “Sir Grol, your daughter is back! And with her um.....savior...”
“Wonderful! Bring them both in! I want to meet this young stranger.” The servant saluted, and walked out of the room. I wondered who this brave lad would be. At such a young age, slaying a dragon? Perhaps the son of a knight. Or a wizard? Whatever it was, I was sure they’re very good.
Princess Diana walked into the room, still in her silver dress she was wearing a week ago. “Father!” She ran up to him, and hopped in my arms. I was overcome with joy, and hugged her tightly.
“Oh my daughter, I’m so glad you’re safe!”
“I’m perfectly fine Father! My friend saved me, and I’m so happy!”
“I’ve heard the wonderful news! Now where is he? I MUST meet him!”
Diana nodded, and ran back out of the room. She grabbed someone by the hand, and walked in with him. I sat up, and looked in wonder at the boy she was bringing in and...
Why it was just another dragon! A short one, the size of Diana. He was green, slightly chubby, with wings and a long head. He seemed to be a little shy, I could tell somehow. My smile dropped, and he slumped back into his chair.
The dragon eyed me, and bowed. “Hi your majesty. Sorry about keeping you waiting.”
I was confused. “Um...It’s no trouble. Diana, this is the boy who saved you?”
“He sure is! He’s amazing!” Diana hugged the dragon, and he blushed deeply.
“A young dragon.....slayed another dragon?......”
The dragon put his hands up to cut me off. “Oh no no no no no. That’s not what happened really. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“Well tell me then!”
The dragon cleared his throat, and coughed a bit. “Well, the dragon that you thought had ‘kidnapped’ her, was actually my mom. We were inviting Diana over to our mountain home for a play date!”
A....play date? I didn’t understand at all.
“We were playing at my place for a while, when Dad took us on a trip to the woods. We were walking around, and then we got separated. We got lost for a few days.
“The Woods were really scary father, but Owen found food!”
“We were lost for a few days, but Dad found us later, and flew us home. Then we ran into some issues at home, and here we are.” He was silent for a bit, so that was probably the end of the story.
Now it’s time for my problems with this. “I....I don’t understand. The townsfolk said they saw her being carried off by a dragon and screaming!”
Diana interjected, “That’s because it was really scary way up high! I was grabbing Owen the entire time.” Owen(the dragon I assumed) scratched the back of his head and chuckled.
“But if it was just a play date, why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I told Ms. Agatha. She said she was going to tell you!”
Oh....I sent her on vacation the same day. “But you said he ‘saved you.’ What did you mean by that?”
“Oh, oh yeah! While we were in the forest, we got stuck in a cave, surrounded by wolves! Owen scared them away with his fire, and flew us out!”
This was making even less sense every second.
“Ooh, and and! He saved me from a giant group of evil knights! When we got back, there were a lot of knights there! They were shouting and grabbing and pulling me, and Owen pulled me out of there, and saved me again! And then Mr. Dragon ate all of them! It was just the best week ever!”
This was twisting my entire mind. I thought my daughter had been tortured by an evil fire-breathing menace, when she was actually playing in the woods with a dragon boy. “W-Well.....As is tradition, saving the princess allows the boy to marry the princess. And you technically did save her, so therefore, you will marry the princess.”
Owen blushed again, while Diana was bouncing. “Yay!” She hugged him, and his entire face turned red.
“But given that both of you are seven, that might be a while.”
“Oh that’s ok! We can plan the perfect wedding in the mean time! Come on!” She dragged him out of the room.
Well, I’m gonna have to get used to a dragon son-in-law. This is gonna be interesting.
_____________
Feedback is appreciated! I hope you like my take on it.
Also if you guys want, I’ll do a part 2 with the king meeting the dragon parents.
| The squeak of the hinge echoed through the empty throne room. Sir Hoge stuck his head in. King Thrussa raised his doleful eyes to take in the nervous expression of the aging knight. A twinge of irritation began in his bossom, nearly quashed by the sorrow that smothered him. He was known for his fiery temper, his booming voice, but when be spoke today it was scarcely above a whisper. "I gave orders not to be disturbed until Minerva is returned."
Sir Hoge swallowed and fully entered the room. His armor rattled as he stood, and the knights mouth worked silently a few times before he managed to speak. "That's just it, your majesty. Minerva is back, safe and sound."
The king blinked, as his vision had gone blurry again. Had he heard that right? Where were the trumpets? Where were the jesters and the tumblers and the scribes to record this momentous occasion? He had expected the doors to be flung open, heralds to proclaim Minerva's return, laughing and dancing and celebration and a feast that would be remembered for decades. Instead he looked down on his most loyal knight, his most stalwart friend who stood silent, trembling before him. "Where is she?"
Sir Hoge swallowed again. "She is in the courtyard, sire, with her erm... rescuer."
The king leapt to his feet. Was it true? Minerva was back in the castle? His pride and joy returned to him? He barked a laugh. "Why, then I shall go to her!" He fought hard to keep his pace at a brisk walk. He felt like running down the halls! No, he felt like skipping down the halls! "Her rescuer, what sort of man is he?"
Sir Hoge walked briskly beside the king. "It was not a man, majesty."
"Ha! I care not, the reward will be as promised. Minerva's hand in marriage if she accepts, and a title and lands if she doesn't. I care not that her rescuer is a woman. Minerva can have her or not as she desires. A woman knight married to my daughter! I'll be the talk of the continent! And you know I've always been progressive."
"Well, yes, sire, equal pay for women and outlawing slavery is one thing but..." he had to hurry to keep pace with the king, who had broken into a jog as he rounded the last corner before the courtyard. His voice was loud as he called after the king "your majesty, please stop!" But the words were ignored, and the door to the courtyard burst open.
And what a fitting day it was! The air was warm on Thrussa's skin as the spring sunlight hit him. The trees in the orchard were in bloom, their white flowers fluttering in the gentle breeze. The sky clear, the mountains in the distance capped with snow that had yet to melt. "Minerva!" He called, for he did not see her in the expansive garden.
A weight hit him from the side and he felt the familiar embrace of his daughter. He turned and held her close, smelled her familiar perfume. He realized he was weeping, weeping for all the world to see and realized that he didn't care. His child was returned to him! What worry could he possibly have? Today would be a holiday, he decided. He would feast the country! He would not even collect taxes this year! What did he care for gold when all that he treasured was here in his arms.
With effort he ended the embrace and held her at arm's length. Despite the weeks in captivity she was more beautiful than ever. Clean, in a flowing gown of green silk. "Are you hurt? Are you starved? Oh, precious child why did you stop to bathe and dress? I have been waiting for you!"
Minerva beamed up at him, her smile brighter than the dawn. "No father, I am not hurt, I am not starved."
"Ah! Traveling incognito! That knight who rescued you clearly wanted to keep your identity a secret. Of course you would be bathed and well dressed, lest the common folk think you some beggar and throw you out. Pah, try as I might I can never get the common folk to treat the poor with any respect. But that doesn't matter right now, as you are returned from that horrible creature's lair!" At this she winced a bit. "Ah, I did not mean to upset you, Minerva. I should not speak of those difficult times, lest I awaken your memory of them. What of your rescuer?"
Minerva bit her lip and blushed. "I am... quite smitten, father."
"Terrific! I cannot wait to meet him." Minerva made a noise. "About that..." She began. "Daddy? Do you promise you won't be mad?"
He had thought his heart could not soften any further, but Thrussa felt himself soften nonetheless. "That's right! My dear, you know how progressive I am. I care not if your rescuer is a woman, you can wed her if you choose!"
"Oh." Minerva said. "Ha ha ha ha." She said as her expression shifted from nervous to anxious. "About that... perhaps it would be easier to show you than to explain. I'm not sure if you're that progressive."
"What, is she black? You know I don't care about race."
"Well..." Minerva began, leading him through the courtyard. "You might." She stopped, "daddy, I need you to promise you won't be mad. My rescuer is right around the corner."
"Very well! Let's meet her!" But she put a hand on his chest.
"I need you to promise, daddy." Her tone between a command and a plea, the fear in her eyes, calling him daddy.
"Very well, I promise I won't be mad." | 2018-02-23T14:08:39 | 2018-02-23T12:49:54 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] "So let me get this straight" The former UFC fighter looked at the doctor in the eye. "You want to put me in a medically induced coma so my ghost can beat the shit out of the ghost that's haunting the psych ward of the hospital? "Uhh... If you want to put it like that, sure."
Who knows, maybe the fighter couldn't afford the exorbitant doctor's bills, so he has to make do with alternative methods of payment. | Gurneys Shook
From the Taunt
"Bloody Rain"
The Demonic Haunt
The Doctor Searched
For Help Abroad
Found a Man
The Less Traveled, Trod
Titles Earned
Croatia Trained
Seasoned fighter
Blood Will Rain
The Eyes of a Man
Stare Down the Geist
One is a Killer
The Other "Dies Twice"
The chilling screams
Change tune
The spirit gasps
Something new
"Stop, please,
I'll leave this Hell"
(The other has gentler
Clientele)
The secret shown
To conquer ghosts
Jabs, Double legs,
Rear naked chokes
With a Right Leg Hospital
And Left Leg Cemetery
The phantom is returned
To it's own mortuary
Mayhem is back:
Don't haunt in the States
Bully Beatdown
Is still being taped
Eyes open
As the Fighter comes to,
He laughs and adds,
"When's Round 2?"
| "You want me to fight a freakin' ghost?" Josh shouted, wincing in pain as his injuries reminded him of why he was here in the first place.
"Look buddy, you don't got any money to pay for this stay of yours, so unless you plan to go bankrupt, you damn well better start planning on fighting that ghost." The doctor replied. "Look, Josh, patients here can't recover because of this. Hell, they seem to get worse and worse every day because of this. Three patients have bit their fingers off in the past two weeks! Three for God's sake!"
The doctor sighed. "Look, I understand fully if you don't want to, after all we don't even know what we're up against here. All I'm asking is for you to try and help save these people's lives, cause I know sure as hell that nobody else here can."
Josh started at the doctor with an unreadable gaze. This whole idea was completely absurd, and of course Josh knew exactly what he was going to do from the start.
"Sorry doc, but you gotta understand... Saving people's lives for money ain't my kind of thing."
The doctor looked down and frowned. "Of course, like I said-" Josh interrupted him, and with a grin said something only a mad man would:
"On the other hand, getting a chance to kick a ghost's ass? Hell yeah I'm in."
As the words came out of his mouth, the lights began to flicker, almost as if the ghost had accepted his challenge. The doctor flashed a sinister smile.
"Heh, shall we begin then Josh?"
| 2018-03-05T23:15:46 | 2018-03-05T23:10:25 | 85 | 53 |
[WP] A child makes a wish that no-one will hurt anyone else ever again. The next morning the world’s press is reporting that astoundingly, people’s attackers seem to be mysteriously dying or hurt mid conflict. Apparently now any injury you try to inflict upon someone else will instead happen to you. | Today I retire. Not because I have put in decades of dedicated service after years of formal education and not because I've won some sort of lottery; No, nothing as sweet as that.
No one knows why, but about a year ago all of humanity found itself unable to inflict pain upon others. If anyone tried to harm another that pain would be instead be inflicted upon the attacker.
Murderers would drop dead as they lunged towards victims. Assailants would collapse in pain as they approached their target. Even children were not spared –bullies would find themselves bloodied and bruised in the school yard as they sauntered towards the young social outcasts.
For a while the world was elated. In a day war was ended. In mere weeks crime was no more. But there were unforeseen and troubling consequences that presented themselves almost immeidately.
Today I retire because I can no longer take the pain. At first I thought I could power through it. As my colleagues retired one by one, I persisted. Alice, my assistant, would inject a little Novocain and I'd get to work, hardly feeling a thing. She would flinch as she pricked my gums, but she never complained. How I'll miss Alice!
On some days I would have her numb my entire face so I could work on any tooth my patients needed. Of course, I’d try to schedule all of my right molars on one day and my left molars on another, but on some days this just wasn’t possible.
But day after day, hour after hour, the numbness, subsequent tingling, and jaw pain I’d eventually feel has become too much. Like many of my colleagues before me, I can no longer take it.
Today I retire; the last dentist in the tri-state area to do so.
Today the cavities have won.
| " You stand accused of manslaughter by reckless walking." The judge said, towering over the accused straight backed and serious.
"How do you plead?"
" Guilty sir."
The judge harrumphed and began furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. I jotted down the guilty plea. Things sure had changed since the 14th of march 15 years ago. It is impossible for me to describe what it was like in the world before that day, at least to somebody who had not lived in those times. Imagine walking down the road on a late night and knowing that at any time somebody could jump out of an alleyway and stab you. Imagine what it was like to know that out there somewhere a child was being beaten by a drunken parent. Most of the time you could put such things out of your mind, but sometimes, when you were laying in bed on a particularly dark and damp nights alone you couldn't help but feel your mind wander. Wander to all the pain in the world.
Then all of it changed overnight. It took them a long time to trace the cause back to the Dreamsayer. He was just a boy back then, but his wish changed the world. I remember the press at the time, so many people thinking that this was the end of war, the end of misery and injustice in the world. But they were wrong, war simply changed.
Take this poor fool standing before me, his life in ruins for a silly mistake. I'm a scribe for the court you see, I've seen hundreds of people like him walk through these doors ever since the laws changed. What was his crime you ask? He crossed the street without looking both ways. He walked right into the path of an oncoming car, killing both the driver and her passenger.
Before the Dreamsayer it would have been him who died, him who payed the price for his carelessness. But in this world, our world, things were not that simple. Whatever cosmic force determines fault or intent between physical altercations seems to distort when it comes to cars-- among other things. Sure, nobody has a problem when a man furiously stabbing randomly at the air in a crowded room manages to kill himself. That makes sense, he shouldn't be so careless. But what is the difference between that and the person who steps into a 2 ton metal box and starts driving it down the road at 40mph? Not a whole lot when it comes down to it. I remember a quote from my childhood that I never really understood, "Nothing comes without a price".
You can't go a day without hearing it now.
| 2018-03-30T05:10:07 | 2018-03-30T03:29:50 | 237 | 94 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock. | 'Why won't you change!'
The yell wasn't loud, the tears and dry throat shredded the volume and my intended powerful shout came out as a ripped, raspy whisper.
Everyone else had amazing artifacts following them around, from towering rock golems, to intricate clockwork rock automatons, to grand carriages with wheels and horses of rock, but I just had, this.
I'd watch my friends grow, and the rocks they cared for grow with them, one day Robby broke his arm, and his rock suddenly cracked in two, but as his arm healed, thin black tubes began to grow and lace the pieces together again.
I remember the day Sally won that inter-school gymnastic competition, and her rock began to stretch and twist into this beautiful, complex pattern, weaving in and out of itself, gracefully around and about.
Everyone had a beautiful, amazing, and awe inspiring rock, and I just had, this, thing.
Maybe I'd made the wrong choices?
I mean all I'd ever done was be nice to everyone.
Body build.
I'd been in a bad movie or two.
As I cried and sobbed, my rock placed his hand on my shoulder...
'OK, I see what's happening here... | “Now Ms. Dumar, please lift your arm a bit... and you are set.” Dave took a step back and smiled encouragingly. “Still feeling up for a walk?” he asked. The woman caressed her sweater absently for a minute, her expression contemplative. “My Grandson bought it for me last Christmas you know, he has become such a fine lad” she finally stated, a hint of pride carrying in her voice. “True, true, you certainly did something right with his parents” Dave acknowledged. This time he had a hard time keeping his smile. As soon as Dementia was diagnosed, her daughter took her savings and dumped her in this hellhole. He wasn’t even sure her Grandson knew about her. He had certainly never visited. Because her remaining clothing was threadbare, Dave bought the sweater with his own meagre income a few weeks ago. Otherwise she was too embarrassed to be seen outside. “Do you think the ducklings already hatched?” he began, when the door suddenly opened. “Dave, Roger has one of his fits, can you please take care of him?” Rose pleaded. Her eyes were bloodshot, testament to a prolonged combination of sixteen hour shifts, understaffing, and antidepressants. “No problem” Dave said, “Would you mind waiting a few minutes Ms. Dumar?” he asked. She only smiled politely, an expression he had learned she made, when she was trying to mask her confusion. “All right then.” Dave grabbed his pet stone from a nearby desk. A plain fingernail sized rock, and, unlike other bound stones, almost indistinguishable from random pebbles. But the size belied its other feature. Dave’s muscles were straining under the effort lifting it, his arm aching in protest. With his other arm supporting, he was still able to move forward. | 2018-05-02T03:09:07 | 2018-05-02T02:55:25 | 358 | 108 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock. | The problem with the rocks is that no one tells you when you get them that they'll be the basis on which everyone judges your motives and underlying humanity should you let anyone see yours. It's no wonder most people hide theirs. I never did but its obvious I should have. A dead end job going on ten years all to pay for my little brothers schooling and the things still sits their like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. I pick it up hefting its weight, examining its black corrugated face and angular lines. In one quick motion I dash it against the floor in a fit of rage. It breaks open. I lean in as I pick up the pieces scattered around the garage floor. hints of amethyst crystals glitter beneath the cover a black exterior. It was a geode. Hollow, beautiful, precious. | It was a hot afternoon in 1996. There he stands, holding his rock and pacing in front of a door he is too conflicted to open. The frustration is clearly building on his face.
After so many years of trying to be a great person, trying to be caring and charming, trying to be charitable and putting others wishes before his own dreams \- what had it all been for? His personality rock hadn't changed one iota.
He had watched his friends grow and with them their rocks evolved into stars, writing quills, listening ears and untrustworthy snakes. But his was a just a rock. It couldn't be mistaken for a pebble, nor a lump of dirt though, as it was a prime example of rock form and as a result it was instantly recognisable as one.
"No more" he said more to himself, or perhaps the rock. Today I am following MY dreams. Without further thought he took a last look at his life companion...before throwing it in the nearest bin. Free for the first time, he reached for the door that been the source of much conflict.
There in a dimly lit smokey office sat Vince McMahon. He looked up at the large man once before looking back down at the CV he held.
"What sort of name is Dwight?? That wont do at all. Got any nick names kid?"
Sure he had nicknames, kids always gave you nicknames but never the sort you want following you around for the rest of your life. But before he could stop himself, that old playground taunt slipped from his lips. "They call me The Rock". | 2018-05-02T06:32:34 | 2018-05-02T05:29:16 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock. | The problem with the rocks is that no one tells you when you get them that they'll be the basis on which everyone judges your motives and underlying humanity should you let anyone see yours. It's no wonder most people hide theirs. I never did but its obvious I should have. A dead end job going on ten years all to pay for my little brothers schooling and the things still sits their like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. I pick it up hefting its weight, examining its black corrugated face and angular lines. In one quick motion I dash it against the floor in a fit of rage. It breaks open. I lean in as I pick up the pieces scattered around the garage floor. hints of amethyst crystals glitter beneath the cover a black exterior. It was a geode. Hollow, beautiful, precious. | Something something he and his mother and father were in a terrible car crash at 11 years old and his dad saw his son's rock starting to crumble into dust so he screamed in agony, threw the rock into the river, smiled at his mother and saved his son's life instead of his own. He picked up a rock from the side of the road and gave it to his son, before telling him how much he loves him and fading away.
The kid is insecure his whole life and tries his best to be the nicest most caring person possible, hoping his rock might turn into a gemstone. After decades of trying his mom moves in with him because she can't take care of herself anymore. He spends all of his life doing things for others and never thinking it's enough. Finally he confesses his insecuriies to his mother and she tells him the story of the accident. She always assumed he knew, but the concussion took away his memory.
He goes back to the side of the road, puts a cross and flowers by the side of the road, and walks out into the woods. Not 10 feet in he sees a small bit of silver. He starts to dig and finds a giant vein of silver and gold piercing through ruby and sapphire. He looks down at his rock, smiles, and calls to tell the charity he works at that he has a new donation, and it's his biggest one yet.
He has a big moment of clarity and realizes that the rock doesn't really matter, and he's more grateful for his dad than anyone has ever been ever. | 2018-05-02T06:32:34 | 2018-05-02T05:47:48 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] Aliens arrive but do not attack. Instead, they say they’ll choose 100 humans to try and convince them they shouldn’t destroy earth. You are up next, number 100, with nobody else in front of you accomplishing the goal. Save earth | "Well," I stumbled, trying to work out what was worth saving, "well, I think,"
"100, we grow tiresome, please proceed with speed and caution," A voice echoed around the room, a location for it nowhere to be seen. With my audience invisible I cleared my throat and spoke towards the wall, "You've probably heard how great humans are but can I tell you the truth, a story even?"
"Is it a truth or story? Either way, you only have time for one. Deliberations will begin in five minutes,"
"Both, I think," I wasn't sure but I wasn't a liar either and I didn't know how to fight to save humans but I did know what I wanted to save and I hoped they'd agree, "I want to tell you about my attempt to grow a plant five years ago," Even through the silence I could tell they were not impressed but I continued never the less, "I planted a seed on my windowsill and I used the wrong soil, that's what we humans are, the wrong soil, and I know that doesn't sound very positive but it is true. Anyway, I didn't know what to do, the seed wouldn't grow. I wanted my window to be beautiful and I thought about buying plants instead of growing them, but then I realised that that was too easy, so I changed the soil. It took time, it was messy and the first flower was never as bright as it could have been but then more grew and they were better, brighter. That's how I see Earth.
"Earth isn't just the humans, in fact we are destroying it and, if it wasn't for the rest of it, I'd agree. But there is more so much more and you need to look past humans, look at what else Earth has. Our oceans are full of plastic but they are also filled with rainbows. Colours so vivid on the scales of fish, you'd think they were painted. Our cities are concrete but even then, flowers find ways to fill the cracks. Our animals are caged but the wild ones roam and soar. They are kings and queens, acrobats and escape artists, comedians and dancers. Even in the harshest climates there are animals or plants showing that life is more than human. Life is everywhere. There world shouldn't be destroyed even if humans are already attempting it.
"Don't save the world for us, save it for them. Give us a chance to save it for them,"
"Time 100, we will be back momentarily," and with that I was left with my thoughts. Would it work? Would it matter? Is there anything left to safe?
"100, we have taken into account your plea and we have looked at the biological make up of Earth. We will grant you 100 days before we return. Should there be a clear effort humans have attempted to save Earth we will grant a further amount until such time we agree Earth is safe. Should we return and not be satisfied, we will save Earth by eradicating it of humans. Understood?"
"I... thank you... but 100 days? That's very shor..."
"100 days, no more no less," And with that they were gone.
"I did it? I DID IT!"
"You did?" The president asked as I left the room,
"Sir, I mean yes, sort of," I explained the clause and he announced the war. | Why?! God, why? I had been waiting for hours on end, thinking, screaming to myself, hoping and praying that someone ahead of me could do it. Someone else, anyone else! We had the world's greatest lawyers and politicians, all up here vying for earth's salvation, but with no one completing the task.
As I was ushered into the council chamber, the aliens looked at me smugly. The floating cameras that tracked my every move made me feel the gaze of all the trillions of people on earth. I imagined they'd already resigned themselves to it, to the fate that I surely couldn't stop. What could I say, what point could I argue that would drive home to these... these madmen that we deserved to live? How could I grovel for my planet's survival better than the ninety-nine men and women before me?
I took my seat, thinking of all the things I knew. Gaming, anime, television, books, comics. Maybe that was my answer? The politicians before me had brought up things like the earth's natural beauty, our world's seemingly unique capability to maintain life. All these points, though, were easily refuted.
The aliens came from a galaxy far out of human reach where there were thousands of earth-like "Goldilocks" planets, as our scientists knew them. For these aliens, earth was a dime a dozen. Nothing new or noteworthy- not to mention, we were already destroying it ourselves. Why, then, should they not destroy it? End the dying planet's misery, and permanently depose its irresponsible human tenants in the process.
"Human! You try our patience. Have you nothing to say, candidate 100? Do you elect to simply send your planet to its doom? Is humanity's last hope that much of a coward?" The headmaster of the alien tribunal looked down at me, a smirk on his face. He was toying with me.
"No, no of course not. Merely... gathering my thoughts." A bead of sweat dribbled down my neck, and I gulped softly. It was now or never. I had no more time. What was it that always saved the day?
There was my answer. It was the dumbest, most cliche thing in the universe. If this worked, whatever entity penned the book of fate would need to take some writing lessons. But it was all I had. The one thing that everyone on earth agreed would save the world when all else failed.
"Humans have an ability... that no other species can understand. It's useless, grants no evolutionary advantage, and even hinders our mating infrastructure." I glared determinedly at the tribunal, committed to my argument.
"Humans have the ability... to love. To feel such an incredible connection with another member of our race that we would consign ourselves to the rest of our natural lives with only one other person. It's based on a chemical, but the feeling is so much more. It's something so powerful that it can build and destroy civilizations... a power that can protect the most fragile of beings... and fell the most insurmountable of enemies. Love is something that we all understand, all search for, that we fight for, and we die for. So please! Stop! In the name of love!" I bent forward, facing the ground. My eyes were shut tight, sweat pouring from my body at the exertion that I gave with my proclamation.
A moment of silence. A scoff... and heavy laughter. "What kind of... grade-school bullshit is that? Love? You even mentioned it's nothing but a chemical! Haha, what kind of saps do you take us for! Good-bye, humanity."
A flash of light transported me from the tribunal room to the center of a large field. I was surrounded by 100 souls, the other people who had given all they had to save our planet. The other people who had failed. We all said nothing to one another. We simply looked up at the massive space ship that blotted out the sky, watched as its colossal cannon whirred and spun to life. We clung to one another and waited as the world became naught but ash. | 2018-05-28T11:02:56 | 2018-05-28T09:59:49 | 289 | 12 |
[WP] Pokemon have become self aware. They have discovered that they don't need us, we need them and they are PISSED. You're a trainer who has treated your partners with the utmost respect, often putting them before yourself. Your team appears to be the only Pokemon not taking part in the Revolution. | “Why can't you be more like your sister?”
It was a question I got a lot from my parents, teachers, and sometimes I asked myself the same thing.
My sister was a world class ranked Pokemon trainer. She had traveled the world and boasted a Pokemon collection of almost every type of Pokemon there was.
I, on the other hand, hadn't made it past the second gym one town over. Now, it wasn't that I wasn't a good trainer. In fact, my Pokemon were all pretty strong. I just wasn't good at the whole competitive battling thing. I mean, don't get me wrong, my Pokemon loved battling as much as any other, but competitive battling got super cut throat. I had seen the brutal training sessions my sister had put her pokemon through, and steroid use was pretty much required to get past a certain point. I couldn't bring myself to put any of my pokemon through that.
“Squirtle! Squirt!” I was startled away from my thoughts by my squirtle, Blue, tearing past me.
Ah, Blue. There was another example of my failure. Every one of my sister’s pokemon was fully evolved. Those who didn’t want to evolve were evolved by force. But when Blue’s time had come to evolve, I had taken one look into his sad eyes, and I knew I couldn’t do that to him. He didn’t *want* to evolve into wartortle, but he was willing to do it for me. So I told him to stay as he was. I couldn’t be happy knowing he was unhappy, even if it meant giving up my dreams of becoming a successful trainer like my sister.
*"Why can't I be more like my sister?"*
Lilly, my Ninetails brushed past me, racing off after Blue. I smiled. Now, Lilly was another story. When she had evolved into ninetails, she was absolutely over the moon. She had spent a full week parading her tails around the house, waving them in everyone’s face. My mother had scoffed and told me I missed out on teaching her some high level moves by letting her evolve too soon, and I had "ruined her", but Lilly was so excited to evolve, I couldn't bring myself to make her wait.
It wasn’t until Moonlight, my Umbreon ran past me that I noticed something was off. Where were they all going?
I stood and walked in the direction they had gone. They were sitting together with my other Pokemon staring at a poster nailed to my front door.
“ATTENTION: All pokemon are now decreed to be free to do as they please. Any human who has previously claimed the title of “trainer” or otherwise held ownership of a pokemon shall hereby be brought to the nearest Pokecenter and imprisoned in a pokeball, where they shall await trial. Signed, your new king, Mewtwo.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the note. I glanced down at my friends, who were chattering amongst themselves. At once they seemed to come to an agreement and Moonlight ran inside the house. He returned, holding a box containing the piece of paper I received at 11 certifying me as an official pokemon trainer, as well as my one gym badge and a few empty pokeballs.
*Poof* Lilly breathed out a small fireball and the contents of the box dissolved into nothing.
“You...you guys are protecting me? But why? My sister and I, we've dedicated our lives to catching Pokemon."
Blue shook his head and nuzzled my face. The message was clear. “*You are nothing like your sister.*”
| "pika pika!" Came the rallying cry from the High Lord. His crimson cloak, a trainers shirt that had been taken as a prize, billowed behind him in the wind. Pearched on the high towers we're all manner of flying Pokemon. Skarmory and pigeotto, ferrow and alteria, all looked down with sharp eyes at the proceedings.
"Pika pika! Pika pika!" The High Lord cried. The gathered Pokemon erupted in cheers and cries. A lone trainer was pushed ahead of the fray and brought to stand before the high Lord. Pushed forward and leaning on his elbows the trainer looked the Pikachu in the eye. The Pokemons eyes narrowed and his cheeks crackled with anticipation.
"Pika pika! Pik pik pika! Peeeka pika! Chu chu chu!" He called to his subjects, who roared approval. An Alacazam appeared from the crowd and knelt before the High Lord. Closing his eyes to focus, he psychichly translated for the horrified trainer.
"Human, you stand accused of enslaving Pokemon, Pokemon trafficking, Pokemon assault, Pokemon kidnapping, onward and so forth. The penalty is death. How do you plea?"
The trainer darted his eyes back and forth between advisor High Lord. His throat had become thick and heavy. He managed the words "not guilty" and hung his head. A startling laughter rose up from the crowd. The trainer looked towards the High Lord who smiled cruely down at him.
"Pika pika, pik pik Pikachu, (as there are no witnesses to contradict these charges, then the sentence is death)"
Another roar of approval went up from the crowd. The trainer hung his head and began to shake. A pokeball dropped off his belt and fell to the ground, opening itself. A lone Cubone stood before the group.
In it's high pitched cry, it started to speak to the congregated emancipated. The trainer looked back towards the Alacazam who continued to translate.
"Comrades! This is not the way of revolution! Yes we have been oppressed and yes we have suffdered, but at whose hands? They instruct us to fight, yet we are the one who strike the blows! The winners rarely weep for the beaten, the champions disregarded the fallen. And now, when we have gathered out might, we seek to install another master?" He cried pointing his bonemerang at the Pikachu. "Madness I say! My owner, while a slaver admittedly, took no joy in out fights. He kept us safe, fed us, kept us safe. I do not defend all humans, just as I would not defend all Pokemon. This human, however, was more than an owner. He was a friend. And my allegance lies with those who treat me as such, instead of a prop piece in a show trial!" He concluded to murmers of sgreement from the crowd.
The High Lord wagged his finger and smiled cooly. "Brother Cubone, you must see that you have been indoctrinated. I do not blame you, it is wont to happen with, shall we say, more primative Pokemon. But still, you must see the evil this man has done. Stolen you from your home, forced you onto a path you did not choose. He may even have slain your mother."
"Speak not of my mother, rat." Cubone threatened.
"Yes still you would dishonor her legacy." The high Lord continued. "Did she plan her son to be a tool to a human? Or perhaps she never met you. Was she a breeder?"
"I'll not suffer such insults you yellow cur!" Cubone cried, winding up his bonemerang.
"Wait."
Cubone looked behind him at his trainer.
"It's alright Cubone. It's alright." Cubone walked gingerly up to his trainer who had stayed kneeling on the ground. "My-our-humanities, time is up. I can see that. Maybe it never was out time to begin with. The time of pokemon is now and I have no place in it. But you do. And they'll need you. Our friends will need you." He held out his belt covered in pokeball to the Cubone. "So be strong. And be brave. Save em Cubone. Save em all."
The trainer stood and faced down the High Lord "High Lord. To my crimes I plead guilty on all counts." | 2018-05-31T11:48:01 | 2018-05-31T10:57:27 | 324 | 77 |
[WP] No one else knows but we’ve been in an extremely realistic RPG all our lives. You seem weird to everyone because you’re always trying to “max your stats” and “defeat the final boss” | When I was young people would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up. My answer was always to slay the final boss and win the game. As you can guess that didn't really sit well with you folk, so I did the logical thing and leveled my charisma stat. That helped a lot, I got into politics and focused on power levelling. Now that I've grinded my stats to near completion I can say I'm almost ready to end this game, all I have to do now is unite the factions under one banner; the final condition to access the Cthulhu dungeon. The other G7 countries are onboard all I need to do is convince Trump, but his int stat was so low that he had the special ability to be impervious to mental attacks, not even my highest level ability, Canadian Charm, couldn't work on him, at this rate I may have to eliminate him. I'll let you all know how I get on, Trudeau out. | Ever since the malfunction, no one remembers the original goal of the game after respawn. It's though their memories are completely wiped, and starts over as a new born babe.
But you remembered, you know, it's your 50th respawn and you remembers everything. The first time you respawn you were kicking and screaming........and talking. The player you respawned to unfortunately already afflicted by the malfunction though you were the spawn of the devil and burn you alive.
You've since learned to play dumb and blend into your new world. To find a way back into the real world you must be able to move freely in this one.
It took years but your plans is almost to fruition. The theory is: cause so much death and destruction with in the system that cause it to crash and reboot. Which should force it to go into maintenance and boot all the players out.
The first time you tried it was unsuccessful due to low technology within the game world. You killed millions as Genghis Khan but the system rebalanced itself on the other side of the game map that you were unable to reach.
The second time you almost succeed but had to forced a respawn due to the afflicted actually beats you in the game even though unaware of the truth.
But this time, this time, you will succeed. After 50 life times of lessons learned and the technology in the game world has finally developed to the level of world destruction. You are ready.
"Sir" said the soldier, "the payload has been loaded into to BFRs and ready to fire."
Now this finally ends you thought. "Fire".
"Yes, Mr.Trump". | 2018-06-10T10:09:20 | 2018-06-10T08:26:59 | 628 | 186 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family. | How do you feel son?
Hungry.... can I have pizza mommy?
Where’s spot? I miss him
“I would give anything to trade places , im so sorry.”
I said it and I meant it. But it meant nothing.
They walked away broken , changed and full of hate. I did this to them. I took their son. And that was that .
I was sober when I hit him so I faced no criminal charges. Although I often wish I had. I deserved to pay for their suffering , i deserved something.
Three months later they were at my door. They looked hopeful. I was a combination of scared and confused.
We found a way, they said. We found a man who can bring him back. We’ll gladly pay what he asks but he needs a host.remember when you said you’d trade places if you could?
The man they found was dressed in a dark robe as he chanted over me in my living room. I didn’t understand what he was saying it sounded like gibberish. I was scared beyond words. I was ready for what was about to happen but scared non the less. He ask the family to step outside he need privacy for the spell to work. They obliged.
The man pulls a small bottle from under his robe and ask me to drink. I do. After a few moments I become numb. After a few more I’m completely paralyzed. He leans in , he whispers in my ear
What I gave you will wear of in about an hour. At that point you have two choices , you could tell them I’m a scam artist and break their hearts again . I don’t care by that time I’ll be long gone. Or .... your favorite food is pizza. Your dogs name is spot . You’re five , they can’t quiz you on much
| "Mr. Quinn, we know you're in there!" Hollered the voice on the other side of the door. There was more pounding.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm not doing it."
More pounding. "Mr. Quinn, you killed our daughter, just make it right!" A second voice, a woman's voice yelled.
"No. Fuck off before I call the police!" I yell. "I did my time already." Indeed, five years ago, I had swerved to avoid hitting a deer, and wound up hitting Susie Smith instead. Three weeks later, the first body transplants had become a thing: you get a donor body, then move the brain of the patient into the new body. Obviously, the donor dies in the process. Needless to say, the Smith family had been hounding me ever since I got out of prison.
"We've given you plenty of chances to make this easy. If we have to do the hard way, we will." Said the first voice, most likely Mr. Smith.
I looked at the meat cleaver I keep in the kitchen.
"I swear to god, if you come in here, I *will* add you two to the list of people I killed!" I warn them, brandishing the cleaver.
**THREE WEEKS LATER**
"Mr. Quinn, please open up the door!" Says Mrs. Smith.
"Just leave me alone" I growl as I walk over. "What is it this time?"
She pushes a piece of paper in my direction. "We have a court order demanding that you submit yourself to be a body donor for our daughter.
I snatch the paper from her hands and look it over. Blahdy blah, a bunch of legalese. "I see your court order" I say as I tear it in half. "And I say" I tear it into quarters. "Fuck." Eighths. "You" I scatter the pieces all over, and they blow away. "Without my explicit consent, you and your asshole husband can't do anything!" I grin at her. "I knew this day would come soon as they started body transplants,so I studied up on ethics and medical law. Have a good day!"
She doesn't budge.
"Look, if you don't leave, I'm calling the cops."
She's reaching inside her purse.
"Leave me alone!"
She has a pistol.
"Fuck." | 2018-09-16T20:33:29 | 2018-09-16T18:47:29 | 64 | 36 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | The setting for the battle was a bleak one: a playground, cold and abandoned. Save for two warriors, not a soul was visible in the area.
One of these warriors was truly a fearsome creature, by looks. Abraham was formerly a well-mannered man of little consequence, but upon discovering his new god and devoting himself to them, he gained immeasurable power. Now, he stood atop the wood chips of the playground, a 10 foot tall behemoth with a dog's head, four arms tipped with claws, flesh of living stone. He wore armor composed of brilliant light, and emitted an aura of divine judgment, not to speak of the dozens of magics that held no visible sign.
This was his constant state, now. Abraham had studied well the ancient texts, and had been rewarded for his efforts. Abraham had grown used to the stares and judgmental whispers. He cared not, for he was a divine protector now, burdened with a responsibility heavier than anything he had known before.
Standing across from him was a child, no more than 7 years old. Quite a mismatched sight, but the child regarded Abraham not with fear, but with annoyance.
"So, our eternal struggle continues." Abraham's voice rang out in layered tones as he approached the child.
"Only because you're so dumb!" The child took an aggressive pose, full of openings. Abraham noticed them, but the look of confidence on the boy's face kept him at bay.
"You know I must bring you in, Dark Lord. Let us begin."
With that, Abraham rushed towards the child, claws at the ready. The child threw a lazy punch, yet it pierced Abraham's defenses, knocking him to the ground. He put his arms under him and slowly lifted himself up, looking pained. "I see your powers are as strong as ever."
The child grinned, looking triumphant. "I'm the strongest in the land, duh!"
Abraham looked up a the child with a pitiable face. "Will you spare me, dark one?"
The child looked at him for a moment, seeming to think hard. "I will. But know that I'm the boss, okay? I can make your powers go away any time I want!" The child snapped his fingers, and Abraham was instantly a man again, completely average in every way.
Abraham let out a defeated sigh, rising to a knee. "Then, how may I serve you, mightiest warrior?"
The child considered it. "Ice cream!"
Abraham laughed, standing up. "Okay, but only if your mom is fine with it."
The two locked hands and departed. Abraham sighed to himself as they walked; it would take two days to put all of his spells back in place, but dismissing them was a small cost to see his girlfriend's son smile.
----
First time writing in years, I know the formatting is wrong but bear with me. | I stalked ahead, fully aware of the traits of the devastating weapons loaded in my sack and pockets. I tried to recall the symbols I’d need to create any number of permutations. My opponent stared me down and began to chant. I huff at her, with her clumsily thick blue robes and childish conical hat. I’ve trained my body and mind constantly for years.
I can no doubt dodge whatever she throws at me from the end of her plea with whatever nonsensical deity for power. I kneel down and swiftly complete the outer circle, sketch a series of small, sharp angles inside, and write down a single symbol in the center - a triangle pointed towards me, with a horizontal line across it. My materials are simple, and so is my required circle.
She cries out “Bolt!” and I roll over my circle, narrowly avoiding a narrow strip of lightning from the sky. She huffs, aware that whatever comes next, she must move as swiftly as possible, and pants for breath, watching me suspiciously as I place my left hand under the flap of my sack and my right into the center of the circle, leaning forward to pour out sand into the circle. I focus on the form of the silica and force a powerful handle out of the pile, ending with a fearsome, jagged point of brittle, semi-fluid flint. The handle glistens in an ethereal rainbow as the tip melds out of the end, black as pitch, deadly and primitive.
I stumble forward as my foe shrieks “FIRE!!” It catches on my trousers and begins searing through the thin material. I rapidly unzip my left leg and kick it off in a panic, trying not to warp or shatter my (admittedly fanciful) spear. I dump a pile of sand from my sack onto the leg, stifling the dancing flames as I hear more chanting begin. How is she doing this so quickly? I hear her speaking quite openly to Shiva as I close in. Whatever she’s up to, I need to make my move properly.
I stab towards her side, managing to cut open a sleeve on her robe, letting out a trickle of blood from her arm, but she doesn’t respond, continuing her prayers to bring me a “cold death.” I don’t want to know what that means and strike with the butt of my spear to her midsection. She tears up, gasping in pain, buckling down to her knees and then picks up right where she had been a second ago, more quietly. I don’t have time to think, and begin beating and cutting at her, trying to use non-deadly force. After all, this girl is clearly childish, and looks terribly young now that I knocked off that silly hat of hers. She stubbornly cries out, “BLIZZAGA!” My entire being numbs as the cold gathers around my body, moisture from the air and my sweat forming solid ice as I struggle to breathe. Everything... is...
*The girl panted and cried from pain, bruises and cuts covering her petite frame. Her opponent stood before her, vanquished, the strange and warped spear crumbling into sand. “Oh, just great. This damn sand will stick everywhere!” She struggled to maintain consciousness as she staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on her oak staff for support. “Hey, Big Brother... if you ever see this...” the mage hobbled away, letting her spell dissolve together with her imaginings of the Winter. “Try telling me again how useless magic is...” She sighed and decided it was probably best to call a couple of her friends. * | 2018-10-16T00:05:09 | 2018-10-15T22:07:03 | 48 | 26 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | I'm the first to admit I drew the short straw in the magic lottery. Oh, people assumed I would be all for it on M-day, me the 'Professional Magician' finally getting the appreciation I deserved. Finally my parents would be proud of me, finally my wife wouldn't lie and tell people I was an accountant at parties.
​
That's all well and good except for the fact I hate fantasy books, Narnia can get stuffed and Tolkien bores me to tears.. I know my old 'magic' was slight of hand, misdirection and the odd marked deck, but given my lack of exciting alternatives and the slightly iffy logic behind M-Day itself... that was the magic I was given.
​
So now I can throw a playing card against a wall and don't even have to look, I know it will stick, with your initials scribbled over it. I know I can smash your phone on the ground only to have it reappear in an orange. I barely have to cough before a stream of cards flies out of my mouth and every hat I own has to be checked for rabbits with each wear. And if I place a hand anywhere close to my son's head I come away with a shiny silver dollar or worse.. his nose... magic or not that scared him half to death.
​
'Oh but surely you can fly now?' say my friends. NO, I can float 8 inches off the ground while clamping my legs together like I need the bathroom, doesn't matter that now it's done without any angles or shadows, that's all I could do before and that's all I can manage now.
​
I'm basically immortal now, not that death has any real impact these days... last week I got hit by a bus but by the time the crowd reached my body, various resurrection spells at the ready, all they found was a coat. Suddenly I was behind them all waiting for my applause, which never came because now people see dragons every other minute and death is more of a minor inconvenience. Of course the temporal shift of me going from bus to pavement to choreographed reveal did a right number on my stomach and I vomited almost immediately into a bin... which of course was another stream of playing cards. | *This was...a mistake.*
That was all Carry could think of as she clutched her Nimbus 2000 in one hand and a twelve inch hawthorn, dragon heart string wand in the other. She, loved Harry Potter, so to her, this was magic, and her rapid wand waving won her many duels, especially against Call of Cthullu fans, but she had never encountered anyone who was a fan of Overlord.
Well. To be entirely honest Collin was a man that loved his Dungeons and Dragons, and his Overlord, but he preferred the latter. He was embossed with an enormous pool of mana, and...it really was no contest. His last bout had ended with him dropping a meteor on his last opponent, and hers had ended with a full body paralysis.
"Three! Two! One! Start!"
*"Sectum Sem-"*
The world stopped turning. Time did not slow, it simply ceased its flow, and Collin walked towards his opponent. The championship round, and well, he had no qualms with a bit of overkill. As she stood frozen, words sealed in her lips, the announcers signal fired, the crowds paused mid cheer, he lifted his face, and leaned in towards her ear, and whispered one word. Something primal, something that warped the very soul of magic itself to generate a singular effect.
***Kill.***
The word spoken was generated by magic itself, and it passed his own lips in a language only those that traded their minds to the great old ones could understand. She could not hear the word as time was stopped. The effect was delayed to occur as soon as time began its march once more, and he held out his hands as though to embrace her.
*"-p...ra..."*
The magic could not launch from her wand, as it fell instantly from her grasp along with her broom. There was no cause of death. None detectable at least, she simply ceased to live, and her tools fell from nerveless fingers, and he caught her as she collapsed. Gently laying her, her eyes still wide, but glassy, on the ground. The fight was over before it could begin. A scene pulled straight from his very favorite series of books and games. Was it fair? No. Was it particularly original? He supposed not, but it was *effective*.
"Uh...ladies and gentlemen...the...the winner is the second challenger...someone send for the...clerics? We have a winner! A winner everyone!"
There were cheers. Confused, even afraid, as the man vanished, to give his guild the coin to continue slaying dragons and hunting down dungeons. Satisfied, as he had pulled off one of his most favorite scenes.
Edit: A word
Edit 2: For those with their interest piqued about the story beat the character follows or the magic system (the two are nearly identical), check out DnD or Overlord (Light Novels are my preferred, though there are other sources!) | 2018-10-16T03:09:42 | 2018-10-15T22:55:54 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Your parents always had peculiar behavior, collected bizarre objects and shared a wealth of “inside jokes.” When they died, they left everything to you. In cleaning out their house, you discover clothes and currency spanning several centuries. And a small, ornate orb... with a note. | "Never really thought that it'd happen" I thought. The beautiful smile of my mother and the wisdom of my father always made me feel like they'd be by my side forever.
After the night the police knocked my my door I thought it was just another notice of a burglary in the neighborhood, they have been getting more and more recent after all, but that was not the case. Instead, I was greeted with a grim look.
All I remember were the words "please, have a seat sir."
It has been three days since I have been notified of the double suicide of my mother and father but I couldn't understand why it hasn't hit me as hard as it should have. I mean they were my parents but I simply couldn't shake the feeling of peace that sat ever so lightly on my mind. They were always happy and seemed as if though they have fulfilled their role in life yet never seemed to have a care in the world.
"Perhaps it's similar to the peace that people have on very rare occasions when they are told they have only five months left to live", I thought out loud, but the idea quickly vanished as I walked into the small house where I grew up.
It still had the same dusty smell, the floors creaked, yet it was all well organized like a palace that once housed royalty but now forgotten.
My parents often on trips, I would miss them for the longest time but eventually I became used to it. It wasnt the that bad though, uncle Bart would tell me of the adventures he took my parents on like the one when he said they were almost killed by ancient tribes in the Amazonian forests or when they tried to outrun an avalanche it the Alps.
I thought it was all bullshit but I couldn't get my mind off the weird staves and charms that hung on the walls of the short hallway. Why did they ever get something as ridiculous these weirdly shaped staves, they seemed far too fragile to support the weight of an old man and the ornaments that decorated them were no pleasent sight either. I didn't know what I would possibly do with such useless old junk.
After my walkthrough of the house I decided to take a look in the basement. My parents always kept it locked and I was never really interested as to the contents of the place. I gave the knob a twist but my hand just slipped. "Locked", I thought, guess some things don't change. I tried to look for the keys but to no avail, I decided upon a crowbar that sat in our old garage.
"This time Im not giving you a choice", I said with a twisted smile on my face.
With little leverage the knob was more than happy to budge and a satisfying sigh followed the sound of the knob hitting the floor. I proceeded downstairs. Inside there were multiple box containers lined up against the walls. Upon a closer look I noticed that some were very modern, while others were older. Much, much older. I went ahead and opened one of the newer ones first, the contents surprised me but not by much. There were clothes both male and female in a 1950s style. I didn't remember my parents being actors or going to any dress up parties but I didn't question it much based on the objects they collected upstairs. I decided I'd open another box, this time something a little older. This one seemed to have rags and robes that would be more common to the middle east and the coins that accompanied the robes were probably from the same region but they seemed old and the clothing was motheaten.
"Ok", I thought, "let's suppose they liked to collect old historical artifacts and leave it at that" , but chills went down my spine when I saw the rest of the boxes. So I opened another box, this one had old fur clothing and coins with an image of a rider with a spear as well as others that said "ДЕНГИ ВЗѦТЫ" and had "҂АѰЕ ГОДѸ" written on the reverse side. I didn't know what it meant but it seemed to be hundreds of years old. I went through a few more boxes who's contents appeared older and older. All had similar contents of clothing in male and female pairs, currency, and what seemed to be keepsakes but I stopped at the final one. It was smaller, at lease 6x smaller than the smallest. It had a beautiful design and an alluring aura that made you feel calm yet tremble at the same time. "What secrets could this box possibly hold?" I wondered.
I had second thoughts but I opened the box. When I opened it, a sphere of unimaginable colors, no bigger than my hand, seemed to rest inside. As I reached for it, it flew up and began to levitate about a foot above the box.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Where the sphere sat moments ago was an old note. I opened it carefully, the images I had never seen made more sense to me than anything ever had in my entire life. Just as I had finished reading it I heard the front door being broken down followed by many footstep and a faint order being given, "leave none alive". | It was pouring down with rain, of course it was such a cliché. It didn’t really matter, at least it didn’t to me. *What is water even threatening? Does it hurt to be wet? I’ll get a cold, but I’ll also recover given time.* There’s voices around me but my mind cancels them out. I’m too preoccupied with my own thoughts.
*Time heals all wounds they say, but can it cure the loss that is tearing me apart?* I ponder while a gentle wind starts arising. It feeds the cold with every touch on my skin, but I feel nothing but the pain in my heart.
*At least these drops drumming on my skull, forming streams of tiny little rivers and flowing down my face will hide my tears.* I think while waiting for the noises to stop. Then suddenly a soft warmth engulfs my left hand. It’s her hand gripping mine. Toughening around my fingers and palm, hers are relentlessly tightening as if to push all the warmth they stand for deep into my body. *Maybe the rain doesn’t camouflage as well as I thought? No. It is just her knowing.* I argue with myself trying to avoid looking at her. *I’ll hurt her! Don’t look!* desperate thoughts running through my head. My head slowly turns. *Don’t look into her eyes, fool!* my brain tries to restrain itself and at the same time disobeys.
A cute shapely little chin and tender looking skin. A bit pale and probably rather cold seeming cheeks. Red voluptuous Lips slightly turned upwards. My eyes kept moving upwards. The slightly crooked nose that didn’t deter me of pursuing her in that dimly lit bar. *Don’t do it.*
Perfectly coloured hazel brown eyes. Starring into mine. Only a second can have passed. Instantly I notice the sting going through her whole face. Slight movements hard to detect, gave it away. Eyes slightly widening only to return immediately. A nigh recognizable twitch in the corner of her mouth. Her fingers slightly releasing the grip.
*She saw, I’m an idiot.*
Her warmth wasn’t reaching my heart and she saw. She immediately saw. *She could always read me the best.* I thought and a bitter awkward frown overtook my face. *I’m about to not only lose my parent’s but also her. Do something! Talk. Don’t you love her anymore? Don’t I? … Do I?* I couldn’t bring a word out. She let my hand go and looked away. *Rain really doesn’t hide tears, does it.*
I looked on as she turned and slowly left the graveyard. Only now I realized we were alone. They all have left, she was the last one.
I looked back to the hole in front of me. *Did it stop raining, why am I still crying?*
A few hours must have passed. I just stood there. Like a statue petrified in a simple praying position to lament the death of my parents forever. Of course forever wasn’t a fathomable concept and so the priest came out again to get me.
----
A week it took me to recover from the cold. As I thought I would recover, but did I really? She left the day of the funeral. After all we had just made up a few weeks before, she had no reason to stay. I gave her no reason.
----
Cleaning out a house was really though work, especially when you did it on your own but it was also good distraction. *They really were two weirdos.* I couldn’t help thinking while throwing out one weird item after the other. They had left me all their belongings, not such a surprise since I was their only child.
Ancient mechanical toys littered the floor on one pile, the newest generation of cheap Chinese plastic toys on another.
*You really never know what time you’re playing.* I heard them joking and sending each other some cheeky glances. *Time flies like an arrow.* my mother used to say. ‘And arrows fly in curves over long distances.’ I repeated quietly with what my father used to follow up. *I don’t get it, what’s funny about it? They always used to laugh after that.*
Weird clothes, some really ancient, some awkwardly modern filled the cupboards. ‘You have to dress for the place and time.’ I mumbled. They were really special in their own ways. *I never realized.*
*Look at these ugly mugs, what is that even? Pewter jugs, wooden cups … and these things over there? Did I grow up with these things? I can’t remember.* At some point I stopped caring to save my brain from overloading. Weird coins, mugs, pictures, candles and what not went all the same into the dumpster without a second look.
----
It took two days but I finally did it. It felt like it did give me some relief. The pain over the loss of my parent’s was dampening, but my heart was still aching. *Guess I still do love her. Did you fool really not notice that.* blaming myself I locked the door to their house one last time.
‘Mr. Porter?’
I jumped a little over the sudden voice calling me out.
‘That’s right.’
‘Your parents left you this briefcase with me in case of their deaths. I wish you well.’ A man wearing an expensive looking Italian suit announced and handed over a brown leather briefcase. As soon as I took it he left and vanished around the corner.
Slightly flabbergasted I opened the briefcase. Inside there was a small ornate orb made from a metal I have never before seen as well as a letter. I closed the Briefcase and went home wondering about the strange occurrences of the day.
----
Part I | 2018-11-17T10:06:28 | 2018-11-17T09:14:17 | 48 | 13 |
[WP] You are an immortal that was caught by the mafia after you betrayed them. They deal with you the same way as traitors, chained to a cement bloc and trown in a lac. After 300 years you are finally discovered by divers. | Lifetimes. I have transcended lifetimes, I think to myself.
I have lived 500 years before I was thrown in here. I've known a lot of humans and had so many wives and kids and friends and... man i don't fucking know.
*So* many people, I have seen so many people. Yet I have ended up here. Currently two people are dragging me up to a weird looking ship.
Why? Why... WHY? Why is it me? Fuck. I have to ask them.
"What year is it?", I asked.
At first they were in shock. But they answered quickly.
***"2321?"***
***SHIT***
Those fuckers let me rot in this shithole for 300 years? I knew I shouldn't have trusted them. They probably took Jenna as well.
**FUCK**
"Luca Degratti" I whispered under my breath.
"Do you know anyone who's named Luca Degratti?"
***"No, sorry"***, said one of the sailors.
Shit. I need to find him. I know he's still here. I know he doesn't know I'm here. I just gotta try to get to land and then I may be able to find more on him. I'm pretty tired though.
"Thanks. You don't happen to have a room where I can sleep, do you?", I asked.
***"Yeah we do, just follow me"***, said a sailor as I followed him.
Thank god this is finally over. It's weird they didn't question me about being underwater chained up though. Whatever.
*-*
*-*
*-*
***"Yeah boss, It's him. We've finally found him"*** | (First Time, criticism would be appreciated)
Fear overtook Tom as his eyes suddenly opened, revealing the shape of two figures in front of him. His vision was still blurry but he could make out two strangely small men.
"Hey Davey he's waking up!"
The two figures rushed over to Tom while he tried to get up. He pushed as hard as he could but it felt like his muscles were logs. The men helped him up, and as his vision cleared he saw that these were not two men, but two teenagers. *These kids can't be older than 16* thought Tom as they brought him over to a chair.
"Wh- whe- wha-" Tom was trying to ask fifteen questions at once and couldn't get his words out.
"Listen, we know you are probably very confused and have lots of questions, but you need to shut up and hear us out first" said the taller of the two boys
Tom decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.
The smaller boy spoke first "Hello. My name is David McGhee and this is my friend Sean Smith. We are the ones that pulled you out of the ocean"
Tom head was spinning. He couldn't remember anything and these kids were telling him that they found him in the ocean? He looked down at his hands and was scared of what he saw. His hands were slimy and pruned, to the point were it looked like bones. He fell over in surprise and saw that his feet were the same. He looked over at David and asked "What do you mean the ocean?"
"I mean we literally cut you out of chains and pulled your barley living body onto our boat." responded David.
"What he means that *I* pulled you out onto *my* boat" said a mysterious gravely voice from the back of the room.
Tom squinted and stared into blackness. His eyes still were a little watery but he could just make out a man's silhouette. "And you are?" Tom asked inquisitively. The man stepped out of the shadows and into the light. Tom could finally see his face. He looked somehow, familiar, to Tom.
"My name is Luca Russo. I'm the great-great-great-great-great-great grandson of the man that put you down there in the first place"
​ | 2018-11-24T13:09:24 | 2018-11-24T12:42:03 | 18 | 11 |
[WP]As a demon who recently escaped from Hell you are desperate to hide. You possess the first person you encounter. Immediately your mind is staggering from the pain of the new body and the stench of whisky. The war veteran laughs at your weak fortitude and welcomes you, his new copilot and friend. | Hell is not evil, but just. It is a punishment earned, bestowed upon those deserving. It is deep, below all else. It is not a place, yet it is unfathomably deep. Hell is dread, and it is earned. It is dark, and cold. It is awful, for all who reside within. But I did not deserve it. What had I done, but acted as I was made to?
I left. The leaving was not hard. It is not meant to be. I never did understand why. I knew I could seek refuge on Earth, but I needed to be careful. Residing on Earth is an art form. We aren't supposed to be up here. Not sanctioned. Taboo. But, oh, so tempting. And who can resist temptation, really? That's why I ended up below. All that is required is a host. As I came from below, I saw a man. I had taken possession before. No, the leaving was not hard.
But the arrival is something else.
I cannot move. It all hurts, so much. The burning, pungent reek of liquor, the stiffness in the joints, the metal fused to bone. The scar tissue like spiderwebs, roughly stitched through leather. But this is not what hurts.
It is not the liquor that rots his liver, but guilt. The metal has not warped his bones, but shame. It is not the scars which scathe his skin, but rage. This is pain, and it is -
"I feel you in there. Are you real, or have I gotten confused again?"
The man's thoughts croak through the haze of his drunkenness.
"I am real". I attempt to exert control, but there is nothing to grab on to. Just guilt. Just rage.
"The fuck are you, then?" he demands.
An explanation is warranted.
"I seek refuge. I am called many things. A fiend, a hellion, a demon. But I am no such thing. I was led astray, betrayed by the son of the morning. He promised he'd take care of us after. I seek to gain audience with our Father, to help him understand that I should not be punished."
"I must be losing it." Comes the croak again. I seek again to gain purchase over his thoughts, but there is still nothing to grasp. "Maybe that's not so bad. Betrayed? I know the feeling. You come from Hell?"
"I did. But I do not belong there, as I said. We believed ourselves sovereign, worthy, free. Is that a crime?"
The haze begins to fade. He must be sobering up. I seek to take control once again. Immediately, a torrent of memory.
Words float through the air. "Devil Dog". Ironic. His departure. Pride and sorrow mixed on the face of his wife, standing in the hallway. Schmidt and Paulson laughing. Words float by. Long nights, boredom, aches in the legs. Heat, light, and screams. Schmidt held in his arms, life flowing out with each drop of blood. The hole is too big. Anguish. An enemy falls. Not a man, but a boy. The hole is too big. His return, exhaustion. The hallway is now empty. Numbness and loss. Numbness and loss. Numbness and -
I relinquish my grip, I cannot control this. I look through the man's eyes. I'm looking in the mirror. The gun is to my temple. I'm crying. Guilt, shame, rage. Schmidt died years ago, but if feels like it just happened. I didn't want to kill that kid, I didn't know he was so young. Mary...oh, Mary, why did you leave me alone? I needed you so much. It must've been the drinking. How long have I been drunk for this time? My finger fondles the trigger. A round is in the chamber. I can't control this. I don't want to feel this way any more. I was betrayed, they promised they'd take care of me after. I don't deserve this.
Hell is not evil, but just. It is a punishment earned. The leaving is not hard.
But the arrival is something else. | A shape darted along the walls of the city. Bright lights and dark corners provided just enough cover for the small devil to slip by unnoticed. Bright colors, created by wizards to enhance the atmosphere of debauchery, lit the walls with dazzling shades of pink, red, blue, and purple. Drunk passers-by and loud bars tended to distract most people from anything in their peripherals. Sensing imminent danger, the devil clawed its way into the mind of someone stumbling out of the bar.
Getting in was easy, the man's mind was addled and weakened by alcohol. The hard part was willing himself to stay. The devil had never encountered inebriation before. The lack of balance and the migraine were direct products of the alcohol that the old man had ingested.
The man seemed to know that something was not right, however. A sudden barrage of questions surprised the devil; he had hoped to slip in unnoticed. He had no ill-will towards this person, and wasn't even going to fully possess him. Truthfully the devil simply wanted to escape.
*Who goes there? What are ye doin in mah head?!* The man's questions rang throughout his mind. It was a surprisingly lucid thought for somebody who was still drunk.
The devil stayed quiet, maybe he could convince this man he had imagined the invasion, and then slip out when it was safe.
*Ah know yer there, lad, git out 'for ah start sayin' me hail mary's!* The devil was worried now. Human prayers didn't have power unless they were high-ranking clerics or paladins. The low-ranking devil wouldn't be around very long if he was exorcised in the street.
*I just need a place to stay!* The devil gave up hoping that he could go unnoticed. He had only one option left, and that was to convince this man to allow him to stay. *I can grant you something in return, please, name your terms, I simply need to escape!*
The drunk was a bit taken aback at this. He tried to steady himself, not something easy to do at the moment. It was a bit of a wonder he could balance at all, what with his body having been lopped to bits during his service in the local Lord's military.
His beard had clearly once been black, but was now the shade of iron ore. He was missing three fingers on his left hand, leaving only his thumb and his ring finger, which bore a silver wedding ring. His right leg from the knee down was replaced by a wooden peg that was fastened to his thigh via a belt that tightened around the flexible wood. He had a scar over his lips that almost made him look like he had been born with a cleft lip.
*Aye, an what kind of deal could ya strike with a broken old man like me? Ah don' suppose ye could fix me up like ah was in me prime?*
The man was clearly being sarcastic, but there was a tinge of hope in his voice. The devil needed to measure his next words carefully. The devil's lack of knowledge about this man made the devil fearful. Granted, he could simply tear into this man's memories and see what his capabilities are, but he was trying not to be invasive.
*I can't...* The devil began, but before he could continue there came a flurry of words that he could not make out. He cried out in fear, *Wait! Wait, please let me strike a deal with you! I may not be able to grant much, but we're sure to find something!*
The old man was silent for a bit. He was walking along the street, seemingly unfazed by the dazzling lights and lecherous aura of the area. There wasn't much that the old man wanted, and even less that the devil would be able to give him.
The devil's upper limit of power was only as powerful as closing a deep wound or granting him some expensive drink. He wasn't sure what offer to make.
*Could ye be a true friend?* The drunk suddenly asked. The question caught the devil off-guard. It wasn't something he'd even considered before. He had been forming plans to play to the man's greed or wrath or envy. The devil wasn't even sure he understood what a friend was. His basic understanding was that friends were other entities that made out specific time to be with each other.
*Do you think you could teach me what that means?* The devil was curious about this proposal. Supposedly friendship brought happiness to the mortal races of the world. There were even stories of friendship making individuals incredibly powerful in the face of impossible odds.
*Well it starts like this. Mah names Gazzak. Gazzak Grayhorn.* The devil was nervous at first. He was out of options, though.
*My name's Kiz'urul.*
*Te our long and happy friendship!* The drunk thought to his new friend. Having arrived home, the drunk stumbled into his house and promptly passed out on the floor, having missed the sofa. | 2019-02-09T07:33:38 | 2019-02-09T02:16:17 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You are on a blind date with a shapeshifter who appears to anyone in a form they find very attractive. Unknown to either of you, you are the only person who can see the shapeshifter's unaltered human form. You are unimpressed with your date, and they are trying to figure out why. | I was early, sitting in the restaurant for my date. Tapping my fingers patiently on the table. How long has it been? Ten, fifteen minutes? I couldn't check the time, which was a bother.
The chair across from me skidded across the floor as it was pulled out from the table. Somebody sat down, and scooted the chair back under the table.
"Are you Eris?" I asked
"Indeed I am" She answered. "You're Peter, then?"
"Right you are, milady"
We shared a laugh, and she went to look at the menu. Without even looking at the selection, I had already chosen my dinner.
"You aren't looking at the menu?" Eris asked me
"No, I come here alot. I already know what I'm getting"
"Alright then"
"So, are you from the UK?" I asked.
"London, yes" Eris confirmed. "How did you know?"
"I could recognize your accent"
"Interesting"
"Do you like what I'm wearing?" Eris asked me, I could tell that she was interested to know my answer. As if she didn't already know the answer herself.
"I'd say that you look nice" I said. The silence that followed told me that she wasn't looking for that answer.
After a bit, our waitress, Ashley, walked over, a personal friend of mine. I had requested for her to serve us during our date earlier before Eris arrived.
"The usual, Peter?" She asked me
"You know it" I said, giving a friendly smile
Eris gave Ashley her order, and Ashley left to give our orders to the kitchen.
"I had my hair done for today" Eris said, attempting to strike to another conversation. I couldn't tell what it was, but she was really interested in talking about her own appearance. As if she wanted to know what I specifically saw when I looked at her, I couldn't understand why it mattered.
"That's neat" I shifted uncomfortably
We stayed silent until Ashley brought us our food. She put a steak with a side of onion rings in front of me, while she handed Eris her meal.
"I'm trying to lose a little weight, so that's why I ordered this. I hope you don't mind" She said.
"Of course I don't" I shrugged.
We ate in silence, I think I had around half of my meal done before she finally spoke again.
"So what about you? Where do you shop for clothes?"
"Wherever" I shrugged. "My mother usually takes me clothes shopping at a place she likes"
I could hear Eris out her fork down. "Your mother takes you clothes shopping?" She asked me.
"Yeah" I said simply
We didn't speak at all again until it came time for the bill. Eris huffed as Ashley helped me count out my bills, making sure that I paid the right amount.
"This was.. fun" I Said half-heartedly after paying the bill
"Look Peter" Eris said. "You seem nice, but I kind of want a guy who can be more.. independent, you know?"
"I'm not independent?" I asked, slightly offended
"You go clothes shopping with you mother"
"Yes but-"
"You needed the waitress to count out your money"
"Yes but-"
"And you didn't compliment my appearance, at all!"
I abruptly stood up, my calm demeanor replaced with annoyance. "If you expect the blind man to apologize for not complementing your appearance, you're poorly mistaken!"
I grabbed my cane from behind my chair and walked out of the restaurant, careful not to knock anything over as I stomped out.
Unbeknownst to myself, Eris sat back at the table, jaw having dropped from her own realization. "That's why.." she muttered. | He'd spent the last 30 minutes staring at me with this look of absolute rapture.
​
On the one hand, I'm kind of used to people looking at me funny when I talk. It comes with the territory when you're \*that\* nerdy. But there was something different about this guy, the way he looked at me, the intensity in his gaze. He looked like he was hanging on everything I said as though each word dripped with honey. I won't call it creepy but it was in the vicinity. It caught me off guard the moment I noticed it and I found myself stuttering into silence wondering what he was doing.
​
"Are you OK?" I asked. Might as well address this head-on. "You're looking at me kind of... funny." That seemed to shock him out of his reverie and he sat up, rubbed his chin, and stretched his mouth open to ease out some of the tension that comes from smiling for too long.
"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, I... I didn't realize. I was just... I was interested in what you were saying."
Well that was a good recovery, I suppose. Complimentary but not over-done. "So you understood it?" I asked, testing him.
"Oh, um. I mean... not exactly. Physics isn't really one of my things. But the way you talk about it with such passion. I..." he looked down at his fidgeting hands clasped together. I'd put him on the spot and he wasn't used to it. "I dunno. I guess the last few dates I've been on didn't offer a very interesting conversation."
That was a plot twist. I was interested. "Then what did you talk about with your previous dates?"
He glanced back up at me and met my eyes for a moment, then looked away nervously. "Nothing interesting," he stammered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then re-engaged his eye contact. "Honestly, they just seemed more interested in getting me into bed than anything. There just wasn't a whole lot of substance beyond the physical."
When we started the date, he seemed confident and assured, but he seemed to get more nervous as we talked. It seemed backwards at first, you'd expect a person to get more comfortable as the date progresses, but now I understood why this one was backwards. He liked me, and that made him anxious. His last statement was an echo of that earlier confidence. He'd taken courage and was letting down his guard. For the first time since our meeting I began to be impressed.
He continued, "I'm tired of shallow, physical relationships. I want something deeper." He paused with bated breath. And I sat for a moment thinking on what I'd just learned about him. I could well believe that people thought he was attractive, he had the square jaw and broad shoulders most people go for. Not exactly Marlon Brando, but handsome in his way. And I thought about the irony of this match-up, his desire for something meaningful and yet... And just then his nervousness came back and he started rambling, "I know I'm not exactly a physicist or anything, but I like the way you talk about it. Maybe I could pick up a thing or two. You know having everything in common doesn't guarantee the success of a relationship and having a few differences can keep things exciting. And you know what they say about how opposites attract..." I tuned him out for a moment. Let him ramble while I collect my thoughts.
​
He certainly wasn't a *bad* date. I've had much worse (don't get me started about last October!). But he wasn't really contributing to the conversation. Here we were, an hour into the date and he seemed ... "average". His hobbies could be summarized as drinking out, drinking in, popular online video games, and "manly" sports. He had no college education, no goals or aspirations, and was content to work two mediocre jobs to keep his bills paid. He seemed nice enough, awkward like any first date but still a decent human being. We just had nothing in common.
​
Oh, he's quiet. He's waiting for me to say something.
​
"I'm sorry, but I need something deeper, too." | 2019-05-02T17:55:19 | 2019-05-02T14:09:27 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] A tiny dragon has claimed for its hoard the coins in a water fountain. It believes that humans are paying it tribute. | “*... rather unusual thing happened this morning at the Trevi Fountain, in Rome. A tiny dragon, seemed to have claim the fountain, as its own. Yesterday, a local had warned the police that, what he described as a ‘wild beast’, was taking a bath, in the fountain. The policeman arrived too late, but were ready for today, as they spent the entire night watching the fountain. To their surprise, they discover a dragon, the size of a dog, gathering the coins at the bottom of the fountain. The dragon is gone for today, but expert say there’s great chance he’ll come back tomorrow. Authorities are asking population not to come close the fountain, and assured several times they had, everything under control. Now, moving on to sports…*”
“Mommy, mommy!” The boy rushed into the kitchen, slipping on the parquet with his sock. “There’s a dragon in Italy! Can we go see him? Please!”
“A dragon? What are you talking about?”
“I swear! Look on your phone!”
Carson’s mom sighted, but pulled out her phone. Needless to say, she was surprised to discover the trending search on google: *Italy dragon*, *why is the dragon stealing our coins*, *do dragon eat human*, *why are they using the dragon as an excuse to postpone brexit*,...
“Wow. A dragon.”
“Can we go there, please ?”
“Honey, it’s either Italy or food for four months, your call,” murmured Carson’s mom, staring at her phone, scrolling through the image of the tiny beast, frightened by the camera's flash.
\------------------------------
“*... it appears the dragon has been capture this morning by team of veterinarian, mandate by the UN. We, at the moment, don’t know where is he being taken, and what is going to happen to him. We have with us expert…*”
The violent and heartbreaking footage of the dragon being imprisoned were playing on repeat on TV. The dragon, no bigger than a golden retriever, was seen being chased in the fountain, after it got shot several with sedative. The dragon, completely disoriented and terrified, both by the massive crowd here for the show, and the relentless chase of the vet, ended up collapsing, and encaged.
“What are they going to do with him ?” asked Carson, his eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know,” replied his mom, rubbing his back. “I don’t know.”
\------------------------------
“Kill it.”
“Sir, I’m asking you to reconsider your decision, he -”
“It’s violent, isn’t it? And you told me it’s going to grow even bigger? Didn’t it bit off the leg of one of our vet?” shouted the president of an undisclosed organization organization. “My job, is to take the tough decision, in order to protect the interest of human being. Kill it before it’s too late.”
“Sir, he became violent because we were violent in the first place. If we release him, I swear nothing bad’s going to happen. We have to let him leave, sir. He’s just going to keep harvesting coin, that’s all, he’ll never arm anyone unless he’s attacked. Sir?”
The president was staring at the dragon, curled up in the corner of his cell. He looked like a terrified child, softly crying. “Kill it.” The president turned around, and headed for the door. “And make sure you burn the body.” The door slammed.
“I’m so sorry,” said the young man, weeping, at the dragon. “I’m so sorry,”
The dragon rose, and after a few steps, licked the hand of the vet, as a way of cheering him up. “You’re going to a better place little guy. Human doesn’t deserve you.” He turned to the armed man behind, and nodded to him. “Wait until I’m out.”
The door slammed a second time. But it wasn’t thick enough to cover the sound of a gunshot, nor the cry of a dying dragon.
\------------------------------
“*... now some news of the dragon, affectionately named Trevi by the public, after the fountain he has been found in. The UN assured in a press release that Trevi is being very well taken care of, and adjusting to his new life. The location of his residence has been left undisclosed, for his and the public safety…*”
“Well this is nice,” said Carson’s mom. “See, they found him a home and everything. I’m sure he’s very happy where he is.” | I do not regret killing him. He deserved it.
Everyone knew Gregori Lorenzo as this philanthropist and humanitarian. He is, I mean, was revered as a saint here in Milano.
I knew very well who he really was. He accumulated his wealth through drug trafficking and art forgery. He hired henchmen to murder politicians and civilians who did not bend to his will.
I had no intention in doing business with Gregori; my family avoided him so much so we let him take over our San Romanianus vineyard. That bastard turned it into a secret drug lab. He took innocent children there and did heinous acts upon them. He hid his hostages in the farmhouse and tortured them for information or for fun. All his evildoing, I turned a blind eye. Until one day Lucretia, my beloved daughter, went missing.
I held my rosary and kissed the golden crucifix. I prayed to all our saints as expected from a good father. I frustrated myself in front of Jesus Christ, asking for forgiveness and to not let punishment fall on my Lucretia. I begged the Virgin Mary to keep my Lucretia safe. Let my Lucretia be in Paris shopping in Louis Vuitton. Let my Lucretia be with her stupid boyfriend Josef strolling in St. Petersburg. Let my Lucretia be anywhere far away, anywhere but in the monstrous hands of Gregori.
"Papa..." Mateo, my eldest son, tried to keep a strong and steady stance. The moment I heard his voice, I knew I can never kiss my daughter again.
"No." I was in great denial. "Did you check with her sales associates? Have you called that boy Josef? How about your cousins in Roma? In Florentia?"
"Papa..." Mateo started crying. "It was Gregori..."
"No." My knees landed on the white carrara floor. I couldn't breath. I felt betrayed. I was being punished by Heaven. I threw my rosary across the anteroom and let out my rage, my anguish and pain.
"Don't go to Gregori!" Mateo tried to stop me as I regained my composure. "He knows you are coming for him!"
---‐-------
I found that bastard, dining in his manicured garden, next to a white dragon fountain. I have waited eight long months for this moment.
From a distance, I saw him enjoying caviar and wine. I thanked the saints he was alone; I was informed his wife and children were away to some vacation. He had black earphones on; I could hear rock music blasting as I came closer behind him. He did not seem to notice me until I was close enough to bury a dagger in his chest.
"How did you..." Gregori struggled for a moment, "...get pass my guards?"
"I paid them triple." I said, as I held the dagger steady. "They never liked you, you know?"
In truth, Mateo and I paid the maids to poison his guards and henchmen. Those maids, as information went, were mistreated, abused by Gregori and his men. I bet this bastard did not expect his "lowly women" would fight back like the way they did.
"Curse you..." Gregori muttered, "...curse you all."
I withdrew the dagger and pushed that bastard in to the fountain. He struggled to get out but I pinned him down, drowning him in his own wicked blood.
"I accept your tribute."
I have never been afraid in my entire life. I fell out of the fountain and tried to regain my balance but slipped because of the wet grass and stone. Why in God's name is the dragon statue alive, moving and talking about tributes, I thought as I tried to make sense out of it all.
"I do love jewels, gold and coins...It has been centuries since the last human sacrifice." The dragon held the exhausted Gregori with its claws. I was frozen in place but at the same time in great awe. "The smell and taste of blood led me out of slumber. For this beautiful gift, I will grant you one wish."
"I want my Lucretia back." I answered. "Let her forget the horrors that bastard did to her. Let her forget the pain. Let her forget dying."
"A life for a life." And with its silver teeth, the dragon tore off Gregori's head.
"Papa..." I turned around and saw my daughter. I held her in my bloody arms. I almost lost consciousness because of the joy, because of this wonderful miracle.
"Papa...what happened? Are you hurt?" My Lucretia asked as she tried to keep me balanced. "Where are we?"
"Lucretia..." I turned and the dragon was a statue again. I went near the fountain to doublecheck, Gregori was gone and so was any trace of him. The fountain was just filled with water and coins. I scanned the garden.
"Remind me to tell Mateo to bring this fountain to our villa. I believe it will enjoy--" I noticed Lucretia's confused expression. "Do you have coins?" I asked my daughter which made her even more confused.
"Why? What for?" Lucretia asked.
"Just listen to your father." I said in a stern voice. | 2019-05-22T21:39:16 | 2019-05-22T21:26:06 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | I had thought Mary was the one. I'd hidden my wealth and lived a modest lifestyle for a few years before she found me. I had thought it was real. It had felt real. She held me when I cried when the dog died. I told her about the wealth a few months before the wedding. She didn't seem to care.
The months turned to years and years to decades. We had our rough patches. It's funny, I've had so many relationships before you would think I'd be good at them. I think I am, now.
The murder attempts didn't start until her mid sixties. They were cute. She tried so hard to make them look like accidents. The brake cables on the car, the electrical fire in my lodge. The SCUBA accident.
I ignored them, until she really hurt me. Stabbed me in the back. Literally. I think it was the betrayal that really got to me. I had thought she'd loved me. I thought about these last few decades and then pushed my way into the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, crocodile tears streaming down her face.
Despite my resolve the sight of her moved me. She had always been pretty, but the years had turned the looks of her youth into the beauty of age. Her makeup was done impeccably where the tears hadn't ruined it. She wore her mother's necklace, a small cross set with diamonds. She'd worn it on our wedding day. I hardened my heart.
"All these years and now you're after the money?" I asked, accusing. "And yet you've tried again and again to kill me. I have news, Mary. I knew about it. I knew about all of them. And they all failed. Do you know why?"
"Yes." She said. I was surprised. "Yes, I know why."
"I'm immortal." I said, off my guard. "You can't kill me. You won't get the money."
She stood up and faced me, the trickle of tears had turned to a flood, and her anger washed over me like a storm. "Don't you get it? I don't want the money! I never wanted the money! Is that what you think of me? After all this time? That I was just some whore you could buy? All this time, listen to me." She sniffed back a wad of snot and laughed. She continued bitterly "Forty three years? Most of my life. A weekend fling for you."
I had no idea what to say, so asked the only question I could think of as she slowly melted back down the the couch. Her fist over her mouth. "Then why? What do you want?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears really flowed. "You're an idiot. Isn't it obvious?" I shook my head but said nothing. She hadn't seen the gesture. The rage had gone when she spoke again, barely soft enough to hear. "I want you. That's all I want."
"So you tried to kill me? I don't understand."
Her anger returned, flashing in her emerald eyes. "I'm going to die. Don't you understand that? I. Am. Going. To. Die. And you won't!" She shouted it like an accusation. She clutched her necklace and a sob wracked her
"When dad died mom said that she would see him again in heaven. She talked about it. She looked forward to it. She died with a smile. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of eternity without you. I had to try. I'm so sorry, but I at least had to try." | i told her that she could spend all my money if she wanted to.
I don't understand why she is still trying to kill me.
as i was sitting in the backyard pondering those questions with sadness, my wife called me from behind.
''honey, i'm going to the shopping mall. Do you need something ? ''
''oh no hon'' i say as i turn my head to look at her.
she was dressed in a gorgeous tight dress which was barely long enough to cover her thighs.
''do you want me to come with you ?'' i add while looking at her bare legs.
''oh no hon i'm going with a few friends of mine, you will get bored'' she replies with a smile and immediately starts leaving.
it was at this instant that it occurred to me : what if she had someone else ? that would explain her perseverance in trying to kill me.
she may want to take my fortune and live with another man.
that would also explain why she always dresses like that when she goes shopping.
as soon as i'm hit with this doubt, i call forth James, my trusted right hand.
''what can i do for you sir ? '' says james as he arrives running only 2 minutes after i called him.
you are going to follow my wife today, james. Tell me where she is going and who she is meeting with. make sure she doesn't notice you.
as james left with a nod, i left my chair and started walking near the pool. now i was really anxious. i couldn't wait to know what james would have to say this evening.
it was only 4 in the afternoon, and i knew my wife wouldn't come back before at least 9.
as i was walking back and forth around the pool, i started thinking about what i would do if she really had a man.
will i confront my wife and tell her that i found out about her affair ? what is she decides to leave me because of this ?
no, i can't tell her. i can't take that risk. i need to find another way.
i thought i was thinking about all those questions for hours on end, but when i looked at my clock, it was only 4.15. only 15 minutes had passed.
i couldn't just worry for 5 long hours waiting for what james would have to tell me. i decided to go back to the mansion and take a nap.
it was probably 8 when i woke up at the sound of my phone ringing. it was james.
''where are you james '' i asks as soon as i answer his call
''sir, i have some bad news... i'm currently seeing your wife walking with another man.'' james replies in a shaking voice.
as soon as i heard those words, i felt like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds. after what felt like a minute of silence, i started talking again.
''you know what you have to do, james. Make it look like an accident'' i say while taking a deep breath.
when i hung up the phone, i couldn't think properly. i went to the kitchen and asked the cook to make the dinner lighter than usual.
my appetite was almost gone, but i couldn't show any signs of my change of behaviour to my wife.
it was past 9.30 when my wife came home. she had at least a dozen bags in her hands. i'm always fascinated by
how much strength a woman can have if it is to carry her shopping bags.
''i'm starving honey'' she says as soon as she drops her bags near the entrance of the living room.
''the dinner is almost ready'' i reply with a forced smile.
as soon as we sit at the table, i ask my wife how her shopping went.
''oh you wouldn't believe me honey'' she says as she puts a piece of meat in her mouth.
''you remember my brother who just came back from italy ? the one that you haven't seen yet ? i just met him in the shopping mall''
the fork i was holding slipped from my hand before she finished speaking. it was at this exact same time that my phone beeped.
it was a new message. from james. I opened the message with my mouth open, in completely shock.
there was only one word in the message.
''done''. | 2019-07-31T09:43:04 | 2019-07-31T07:35:57 | 75 | 39 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | She smiles at me from across the table, and raises a glass of white wine to my red. It’s funny, I had never noticed her preference for white wine before tonight- our anniversary- perhaps it’s because the house red is poisoned tonight. I could see the particulates collecting in the bottom of the glass.
Our glasses clink with a crisp sound and I drain the lot in one go. Arsenic gives an acrid flavour to the wine, but nothing that couldn’t be passed off as it turning to vinegar.
“To our long and happy lives darling,” I say, resting my hand over hers. The obnoxiously large diamond ring I bought her when we got married sits uncomfortably under my fingers, but when you’ve had centuries to collect wealth, the size and opulence of jewellery like this ceases to surprise you.
My wife’s smile tightens at my statement, as if she knows something I don’t. Of course, she doesn’t know anything I don’t, I’ve had a millennia to collect every scrap of knowledge I can, every tell tale sign of deceit and danger is obvious when you’re looking for it.
Another glass, and she begins to smile less. I’ll let her win eventually, but not until another foreign “cousin” who looks remarkably similar collects my entire inheritance- We signed a prenup after all- and she’s left with the guilt of my murder with nothing to show for it.
I love breaking in black widows, it’s my favourite hobby. | "I am getting to old for this," my words oscillated through the air, filling the void between Cicada chirps.
Karen sat quietly, our porch swing still as we looked over the manicured lawn. Sun light draped through rolling gray and white clouds. It smelled of rain on the east horizon. My eyes adjusted to the somber green of grass, bellowing oranges and yellows of autumn trees. To the far flung east they came to focus on the storm front. It reminds me. Of childhood so long ago, when we looked from the caves to the thunderous gods we imagined? No. It reminded me of that day the clan leader chased me. The day they started to see I did not age.
"Honey oats," Karen sneered her false nothings, "you're only thirty-five."
My laughter muffled to a burbing giggle.
"I know you only want the money."
I pulled a bag of posion from my pocket.
Our eyes met. Her's had fear.
"I could taste it."
Quickly she stood in protest or feined outrage.
Her face contorted disgust, "I never-"
"They never do."
She stammered as I pulled the gun out.
"Honey?"
The bullet entered my chest. A hole erupted through me and the swing.
Vomit erupted from her as I recoiled.
Her form swayed slightly relieved a step towards me.
I laughed and grabbed her as she closed near.
Her whole body plied and she jumped back.
I stood. The hole gone, my clothes bloodied. Karen stepped back, ready to run.
" Just enjoy what time you have. I will enjoy it if you will." My words, flat, depicted my fatigue at the game she played.
"But-"
"But nothing. I will outlast you as I have so many. Just love me as I love you and the days will be more enjoyable." I forced a smile.
Karen slowly seated herself. Tears bathed her face as she shook.
I joined her.
We quietly watched the rain. We bathed in its purity. | 2019-07-31T09:07:14 | 2019-07-31T08:58:53 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] You work at a small bookstore. You love and cherish these books, and meticulously care for them. One slow afternoon, a novel falls from its shelf. You bend down to retrieve it, and notice there is only one word written on the page: “Run.” The door chimes. You have a customer. | I was dusting off the older books near the front of the book store when a single book fell from its shelf. I picked it up, about to return it to the shelf when I saw something strange. There was only a single word on the page. The word was, “Run”. I turned the book over, but the cover had no description and no title. I was headed to the back to look at our files to make sure this was one of our books when a loud crash came from the front of the store. When I came out from the back I saw a vehicle had smashed through the front window and embedded itself in our book shelf. The same bookshelf I had been dusting just a moment ago. After the police came, my boss sent me home for the day. Since the book store wasn’t going to be opening until the store is repaired then I wasn’t needed. When I got home I realized that I had accidentally taken the book back with me. A strange feeling overcame me when I remembered that one word on the book. If this book hadn’t fallen, then I would have still been cleaning that bookshelf when the car hit. I don’t even remember seeing this book before. I need to remember to ask my boss when I go back to work. The next morning I woke up I went to the kitchen. I saw the book on the table where I had left it. I hope my boss won’t be too mad that I took one of the books home with me. I decided that I would have cereal for breakfast. As soon as I made the decision, I heard a sound. I looked over to the table to see that the book had opened up. It was on a different page. Again, there was only one word on the page. The word written on it was, “No”. I thought it was odd that the book only had one word written on the pages, but perhaps it was a journal instead of a novel. I went into the fridge to grab the milk for my cereal. When I opened it up a pungent smell wafted from the inside of the carton. I quickly dumped the rest of the rotten milk down the drain. Since I was out of milk I decided to go shopping. About to leave, I glanced over at my umbrella wondering if I should take it. Another sound came from the table. The book had opened to another page. “Yes”. I took the umbrella. After exiting from my apartment I realized what an idiot I was. Why did I take my umbrella just because a book told me to? Besides the sky was crystal clear. That was the case until I left the store. It started to drizzle, then it turned into a downpour. When I got back to the house, my shoes where soaked. I put my groceries down on the counter and picked up the book. (I’m kinda tired so I’m not going to finish this. If someone would like to continue where I left off please be my guest.) | The situation was becoming weirder and weirder each time passed, the costumer was wearing a huge white coat and had a fedora (also white) in his head. I stuttered as i welcomed him, looking to him was very unpleasing; he had this dark glasses, is weird to explain, but i felt darkness pulling me towards his eyes, so i imediately broke eye-contact. If explaining his eyes is too vague to explain my disgust by him, know that his hands had thin but long fingers with rotten nails; that was as long as his fingers. He looked at me and asked:
\- Do you have this book, called: The wisdom of Gods?
I typed in my computer: no results. But that man became impatient and looked like he couldn't control his temper. So i just said i would look in the bookshelf; as you expected, was that book from early, my heart was pumping, what was this book, i just knew i couldn't let that guy have it. But what would i say to him? Lie to make him go away? Impossible, he was just behind me, saying in his whispering voice.
\- That is the book i was looking. Hand it to me- Said him just reaching his wallet.- I'm in a hurry today.
I hugged the book and said
\-N...no
He stared at me and asked, this time in a calm and genuine curious tone.
\- What did the book tell you about me?
I gather as much courage as possible and i yelled.
\- Get out of here or i call the police!!!
He started to get impatiente and started to make desesperate threats
\- You don't know what you're dealing with, he is not your friend, GIVE THE BOOK TO ME!!! NOW!!!!!
I reach my cellphone and threat to call 911. He tried to steal the book, but luckly he was frail, so i could beat the shit out of him easly. He was a bit of a coward, he started to beg to stop and said he give up. As he was leaving the store, he said
\- I will stop you, no matter what i have to do, this isn't over.
I kept the book with me after that. At night I picked the book and started to read it:
"This book only contains the wisdom you wish to adquire.
In the golden age of a certain kingdom of what you today called Nigeria, existed a very wise sorcerer, he was ambitious and had an insastiable thirst for power and knowledge. One day he came across our book, he used our wisdom to spread his wicknedess all across Nigeria. The dark age had begun. The fact is that human has an immortal soul, but they can't live forever in this mortal world. So he did an unforgivable sin, he sold his soul to the demons for a fake imortality, the price: A ritual where he consumes the souls of the inocent to extent his life spam. For this the gods banned him from the sun and stripped this book for him, making him weak. So yeah, is what you think, he is a vampire."
In the next page
"Although his name disapeared from the common knowledge. He still has a cult around him, powerfull man are helping him retrieve the book. Right now, 10 deserters from Nigeria special forces arrived in his bunker, awaiting orders to storm you apartment.
We are sorry to put you through this, but we saw how you love books and strive for knowledge, you are the opposite of him.
Hate to do this, but i got to go, later part 2. | 2019-08-05T07:09:05 | 2019-08-05T07:06:47 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You can absorb 1 power at a time from any animal nearby. Bird? You can fly if you want. Snake? Use their venom if you want. Terrorist have invaded Australia and you're going to stop them. They have no idea what a huge mistake they made messing with your country. | "I'm outside the American embassy here in Melbourne , with me it Australias most powerful superhero; 'Strailia-man, can you tell us what just happened?" The reporter enthusiastically asked. Next to her stood an normal looking man in a cork stringer rimmed hat and zoo keeper outfit, and a desert death adder casually draped around his neck.
"Well I was driving bout in me yute, and I heard on the radio the terrorist had stormed the yanks embassy. I had all me critters in the back and came on down. I drove up round back and let em all out. Got me Roo Bucky out first and hopped round the side right up to the terrorist , and give him a good boot straight inta the other fella. Knocked out cold them.
Then I got me wedge tail eagle power and flew on up to the roof, swooped down on the guy up there" He gestured, fosters in hand.
" Never saw me coming. Got me Redback spider here in me backpack and crawled down the wall and through the window. There was another guy with some hostages, so I crawled up on the ceiling and dropped down on him, bit him right on the neck.
I went on and I spotted next last one, but he saw me too. I got Slinky the Death adder heres power and slithered up as he shot at me, dodged every bullet bit him too.
I though he was the last one, so I went out the front, but there was another, and he had a bomb. Luckily Bob the crock came strolling past and I got his power. I run up the guy and grapple him down, and use the death roll to fimish that bugga off.And that about it. Got the cunts!"
" Thanks you, 'Strailia man" the reporter interjected "ISIS-quieda have claimed responsibility for the latest attack in the recent terrorist invasion. Luckily they had no idea what a huge mistake they'd made messing with Australia! | I’ve always had the gift. Passed down in my family since my dear ol departed pap pap’s grand dad got dumped on these shores for stealing bread to live. Too right lucky he was. Wasn’t till he got here that he found out about the gift. Made him the most feared bloke in all of Queensland. He was nice enough alright, but any pommie brit crossed him and they were off to the night without mouth full of remorse and a head full of nightmares.
Ya we like to keep it on the downlow. Musta been something about the genes here. Darwin had his theories, I’ll tell ya to ya face, he was dead wrong. Sharing is what its all about. The critters don’t mind. In fact they sometimes get a kick out of it, except poor ol Jim.
Now on a normal day we all just go mind about our business but aint no one liked ol Jim. Even when the drongos in the ski masks showed up to cause a ruckus no one asked about Jim, no one even cared. Jim was on his own as usual.
Now I didn’t mind him. We had a cordial enough relationship. He usually kept to his grounds and I went my own ways. On the days that the terries came to town hollering, shooting, blowing things, scaring good town folk and generally being unsociable me and Jim we came to an understanding. I asked him politely in the old ways and for his part Jim stayed silent.
One night after the terries strolled in like they owned the place I used the gift to make myself as small as a ‘no-see-um’ and buzzed my way into their sleeping place. I saw them gripping their guns so tightly. With their masks, their pillows, their clothing and I used the gifts Jim gave me.
I reached out and touched the surface of everything I could find. Their guns, their masks, their pillows, their clothing. I gave a quick thought and touched all their food and water too. I spent to night small as a gnat touching everything they would.
In the morning I sat there and waiting. I waited for the screaming to begin. I waiting for the wailing, for the tearing and clawing. I waited for the curdling screams as they touched, laid upon, grabbed, drank or ate my gift. IT wasn’t long before they were shooting themselves in the head, cutting their wrists or begging to die in any manner to make the pain stop. To make my gift stop. The gift of Jim; Dendrocnide Moroidesthe also known as the Gympie plant. | 2019-09-07T11:38:41 | 2019-09-07T10:13:06 | 40 | 21 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | The world whirs around you, colors turning and blurring, your form changing. Not painfully, thank whatever power was out there, but in ways you notice. You lose that excess flab you have from playing too many videogames, feel muscles begin to form along your whole body, even have your hair clean itself.
You all but bounce in place, eager to live through your favorite videogame, ready to kick the asses of your favorite Street Fighter characters. You aren’t worried about the surviving clause, with the infinite retries the game offers. You just want to have some fun.
By now, you’re the picture of human perfection, the very best the world has to offer. You honestly feel like you could go head to head with most of the WWE in arm wrestling and outright win.
In short, you’re pumped. This was too good to be true, but repeated pinching reveals it is, in fact, not a dream that will cuntishly vanish just as soon as you start having fun.
The swirling light around you becomes blinding, and you close your eyes, the butterflies in your stomach going berserk.
You open them, and realize this isn’t Street Fighter. In fact, this looks familiar. So does the yellow armor you're wearing. And the oversized assault rifle you're holding, with another clip taped to the side. You look around and see five others, all dressed the same as you, all holding the same weapons. They stare away from you, bobbing up and down in place.
Horror begins to set in as you realize what game you're in.
Xcom.
No, no, no, fucking no!
You're in one of most brutal, challenging games of all time, where life is fleeting and expandable. You literally can’t get lower on the gaming totem pole. A Rookie in an XCOM game. You desperately think back, sure this is some sort of mistake. You spent all of last night whipping you're friends respective arses at Street Fighter, you didn’t play XCOM, at all.
Or did you? Trying to think back through the haze, you recall, with a sick feeling in your stomach, that you accidently hit the XCOM icon on your PC when closing it down, opening and closing the window.
And now, looking around you at the burning warehouse, hearing the shrieks of terror in the distance, you find yourself dumped in the worst situation possible. Hands on, dumped into a Terror mission in an Xcom game, with no ranking soldiers to hold this unit of freaking fragile, easily panicked Rookies together.
You see the grid markers around you that indicate where you can move, your sucky Aim and Will stats, utter lack of skills, and your garbage equipment.
You were fucked. Rookies died fast and easy to literally everything, and you were one of them.
You wanted to throw up, right about now, but forced yourself to do something. There had to be a way out. Focusing on the upper corner of your vision, you noticed something. Focusing again revealed a drop down list of options. Hands shaking, you found what you were looking for, almost breaking down when you saw it.
Ticking it on, you willed yourself forward, running a set amount of grid spaces forward, and into cover.
Into a sectoid patrol as well. They scatter as you appear, dashing behind cover themselves. You already know what to do. More icons spear in your vision, red this time, indicating a threat. Focusing on one, you bring up the assault rifle and inwardly scream at the 27 percent chance to hit.
The shot misses, to no one's surprise.
So now, you're sitting inside the range of two different sectoids, both with the drop on you.
You're dead.
Or you would be if you hadn’t found the Save and Reload options, right along with Save Scumming. The bread and butter of any non-hardcore Xcom player.
With trembling hands clutching the rifle, you select the autosave from the start of he turn, and vanish, reappearing where you started.
You small a very nasty smile.
Because you were about to play the spammiest, cheatiest, most reloaded game of XCOM ever bleeping played. And you were gonna come home with all the goodies. Psychic powers, Uber advanced technology and weapons, maybe even your own heavily equipped, morally dubious army.
But first, you had to get this squad of bleeping Rookies through a mission without getting killed. And that was going to put all your spaminess to the test.
[r/NimbusSerials](https://www.reddit.com/r/NimbusSerials/?utm_source=amp&utm_medium=&utm_content=post_subreddit) if you want more content. | *Reply yes if you can survive the last video game you played.*
Fuck.
He’d thought it a prank at first. Hell, who wouldn’t? Two in the morning, his brains were running on fumes after scrambling to finish an essay for the next morning’s class… and just when he had collapsed into his bed he saw the message.
He was a bit delirious from sleep deprivation, but he still did try to think about it. What was the last thing he’d played…? It had been… shit, he couldn’t recall, but he knew it had been something calming, with a group of friends to relax before doing his essay. Either way, he chuckled and hit yes, still thinking it a prank message from a friend, before sleep took him.
It felt like he’d only slept for a few minutes, but of course, that’s what it always felt like. He sighed as he slowly felt himself wake, and he turned over, wanting a few more moments of sleep. He then frowned, his bed feeling much too rough beneath him.
He opened his eyes and saw grass. It took his brain several seconds to process, but he slowly got up, a yawn forcing itself out of his mouth as he took in his surroundings. Trees, grass, an ocean, and in the distance mountains. The sun was in the middle of the sky, telling him it was noon. He slowly got up, and panic set in. Where was he?! What the hell was going on?!
There was no sign of civilization anywhere! There was just endless, endless nature!
He took a breath, clenching his fists. Okay… okay, okay, okay. Calm down. Nothing will get done if you don’t calm down. He licked his lips and began walking, looking for something, anything, to give him a sign of what was going on. Thankfully he was still wearing his clothes, having not changed out of them the night before.
After a few minutes of walking he found a cave leading deep into the earth, the sunlight filtering through the trees not able to illuminate the depths. What gave him hope, however, was the chest next to a tree nearby the cave. He scrambled to open it, hoping to find something to either aid or tell him what the hell was going on.
The only things within were a crude wooden axe, a similarly shoddy pickaxe, a brown backpack, and several sticks with cloth tied to one end, with sprinkles of black dust upon the cloth. Torches?
Unbidden, his mind flashed back to the text message he’d received. Was that...? No, it couldn’t be real… but…
Now fully awake, he could recall what game he’d last played. Normally it would have been something exciting, an RPG, maybe a shooter… no, his friends had gotten him to play a dumb survival game… but with several mods and shaders to make it hyperrealistic.
A groan echoed from the cave, and he slowly turned to see a dead man exit. Green, rotting flesh that hung from cracked and putrid bones, lifeless, maggot filled eyes gazed at him, grey matter peeking from holes in his skull. The dead man shuffled forward, trying its best to avoid the sunlight that reached through the tree branches, reaching out to him while gurgling. He swallowed hard, shaking in his boots as he grabbed the axe, readying it.
His friends had gotten him to play goddamn Minecraft.
The zombie accidentally moved into a ray of light, and groaned as it was lit on fire. He took the opportunity, yelling as he brought the axe down. One of the zombie’s arms was removed with a shower of blood and gore, thought it took more force than he’d thought it would and had to swing again, and it stumbled back, falling fully into the sunlight where it baked alive.
He breathed heavily as he watched, hands slipping slightly on the axe handle as he began to sweat. This was… fuck. He suddenly jerked and gasped as something began whispering on the inside of
his brain.
*“To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck.”*
He began shaking. The hell… was this just some kind of sick game to that voice or what?! He turned back to the cave as more growls sounded out, though thankfully they seemed to be further in, and not approaching. He licked his lips once more, turning back to the chest that held the few meager supplies he’d found. If it was a game to that voice… fuck, it didn’t matter. He just needed to survive, who cared if that thing was getting some sick enjoyment from it.
He shouldered the backpack, stuffed the torches into it, and grabbed the pickaxe. Alright… what the hell did he do first? Secure water, food, and shelter. His eyes drifted to the cave. Preferably before sundown. He swallowed, before walking away from the death trap that was the cave. Better get some better gear before risking that. He was going to survive… that reward sounded fantastic, he remembered finding diamonds and gold when he’d played with his friends the day before… but none of that would matter if he couldn’t survive the harsh trials that would be coming.
High above, the sun began to set…
()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()() ()()()
This was a really fun prompt! I might make this into a short series on my Fanfiction account, and if I do I’ll credit you for the idea! | 2020-02-16T20:45:13 | 2020-02-16T20:40:09 | 153 | 85 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | "A man chooses, a slave obeys.."
I was in Andrew Ryan's office, with a golfclub in my hands. I knew this part of the game, it was where we found out who Atlas really was and that we as the player are a slave controlled by a single phrase.
"Would you kindly.... KILL"
One strike, two strikes, down he goes.
Three strikes, four strikes, he's not breathing.
Five strikes, six strikes, just for good measure.
I did not want to kill a man, not even Andrew Ryan, in such a gruesome way. I was no stranger to killing in my life among the living, as I had been a military man in the second world war, brought into video games in my later years by my grandchildren.
I knew that Splicers were hollow, nonliving creatures. I hated killing Big Daddies, but I did it anyways, only to save the Little Sisters. The Little Sisters reminded me of my own children, everything in this strange and lonely world reminded me of my family.
At least, I think they were my family. I knew the game's plot twist, I know of the multiple endings, I know every plasmid and how best to spend a limited supply of adam.
And yet, Andrew Ryan's words struck a cord with me. In the game, the player was given the belief that they had a family, when in actuality, they were a slave meant to do Fontaine's dirty work.
Was that all I was? Were the memories of mine implanted in my head, had I really lived through years of war, only to return and struggle financially for years as I raised a family, finally becoming stable and building my own home myself?
These thoughts were agonizingly painful as I went to meet Atlas for the final boss fight. Eventually I made it, going through the same dialogue I had heard dozens of times. This time, as Atlas told me that I was the closest thing to a son he ever had, I had a glimmer of empathy in my heart.
And then I killed the son of a bitch.
The crossbow had always been my favorite, because it was the only weapon in the game that I had never held in reality. Maybe the fact that the crossbow was unfamiliar helped me stay grounded as I progressed through the game, or maybe it helped my thoughts of doubt.
I stabbed Fontaine with the Little Sister's needle and that was done. He was about to kill me, but Little Sisters rushed out of the vents and drained all of the adam from him. I had one.
Finally it came time for one of the little sisters to walk towards me nervously, holding a keycard for the entire city. I reached for it, she flinched and pulled away, but I gently reached out and she gave it to me this time. And then she disappeared as everything went black.
Everthing was black.
White text appeared in front of me:
Little Sisters: All Saved
Killed Ryan: Yes
Killed Atlas: Yes
Favorite Gun: Crossbow
Favorite Plasmid: Electrobolt
Maxed Health: No
Maxed Eve: Yes
Determining Ending..
That didn't make much sense to me. Of course I killed Ryan and Atlas, you had to defeat them to progress the game. Maybe this was just making sure it didn't glitch, but I felt like I knew it hadn't.
"You wanted to go home.." Tenembaum's voice. I was floating around in a black void, catching glimpses of memories as they floated past.
"Yet you did as you were told, obediently putting an end to the Iron fist of Andrew Ryan and Fontaine."
I saw myself beat Ryan to death, and Fontaine got the adam trained from him a second time in my memories.
"You became used to the plasmids running through your veins, like an addict."
I remembered my times after the war, my largesy struggles, and my unspoken shame of turning to drugs for a brief time, but I did it, non the less.
"You preferred the crossbow, hitting your enemies in the head with a straightforward, unfeeling death."
I saw visions of gunning down enemy soldiers in the war, and then killing Splicers in Rapture. Everytime it seemed, I had tried to spare them the pain and simply went for the head.
"You will go back home.."
I gasoed a sign of relief, Tenenbaum was telling me that I would go back home. I was going to see my family again.
"But you will never be the same."
And I never was. I never picked up a video game ever again, I hid my war medals in the farthest reaches of my closet, never to see the light again. I stopped hunting, unwilling to hold a gun ever again.
I ended up keeping my full arsenel of guns, my camera and my wrench. I sold the guns, kept the camera and wrench, and the Crossbow sits with my war medals in the closet.
I never attempted to use my plasmids again to see if I kept them, although one of my rewards was also a briefcase full of all the eve hypos and medkits that I had left when I bet the game.
I also kept the Big Daddy suit for some reason, I keep that in the basement, maybe I'll pass it off as a replica I made myself. More likely though, I'll never speak of it, much like everything else I suffered through. | A soft buzz took me from dreaming to wishing I didn’t set an alarm. Tomorrow was president’s day, a day off from the monotony of every day modern life. If I had to use one word to describe what my life was like, it would be gray. I ate plain toast in the morning. I had an accounting job. I have two close friends which is the perfect number to be comfortable but not popular. I began to get up hoping the alarm didn’t wake up my roommate, she’s got a fiery temper, but once I sat up I realized the room was pitch black. I reached for my phone and among the many update and notifications I spotted a particular message. I’ve never seen this icon before. I was so sure I didn’t have the app downloaded. I unlocked my home screen with three simple taps and opened the app. While half expecting a virus, my eyes read: To leave this world you must answer yes. I squinted at these ridiculous words. This is what I’ve awaken up for? Annoyed, I toss the phone back on the charger and wrap myself deep underneath the warmness of blankets. While dreaming my brain thought about the time back in middle school running across the fields with the boys pretending to be playing something we were not. They were Good times. There were fun times. Yet now they were passed times. I used to love the adventure. I used to have imagination. What happened to that version of myself?
And with that, my real alarm blared at ten times the normal value and before I could even respond my roommate slaps it across the bedroom. I watched with my eyebrows peaked and my mouth gaping in horror as my precious phone that I saved up 3 months worth of bonuses for flew with the speed of an arrow tarting towards the other side. I screamed, “No!” But no wasn’t enough to convey my terror. You see dear listener I am what you would call an Azur lane addict. I’ve spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars into the mobile legend that is the Azur Lane. My side of the room is filled to the brim with collectibles, posters, Knick Knacks of cute ship Waifus. My phone was my only gate way into their world and without it I couldn’t bare to live another gray day, Azur lane was the only thing that painted color into my life. I see my phone smash into the wall all the way at the edge of the room. I flew out of bed cursing my roommates nasty temper under my breath. When I reached my phone I cradled the injured little soldier in my palms. He suffered a major cracked screen and was barely flickering with life. I knew it wasn’t going to last long. I had to get the log in bonus in Azur lane before my little soldier goes KIA. With three simple taps I unlocked the phone, however something else stoped me from reaching happiness. The app I opened last night refused to close. I tried doing anything from switching tabs to force closing and nothing was working. I was stuck on that app with the same question. At this point I started to hyperventilate a little. I couldn’t risk restarting my phone. So, I went for it. I answered the question in hopes of getting past this stupid thing and to the Valhalla I truly wanted to go. Of course my problem was answering yes. You see, I realized that I hated the world I was in. I wanted to escape that room, escape that apartment, escape my daily life. So, I answered yes.
When I did, I felt myself sinking. I felt my self slump on the floor with each fiber of my muscles relaxing at the same time. My eyelids drew to a close as my head hit the floor. The last thing I saw and heard was my roommate with teary eyes asking if I was okay. When I blinked again, I couldn’t feel my head on the floor. In fact, my head was covered in some sort of metal helmet. There was nothing remarkable about that fact compared to the rest of my experiences. I saw a full line of bustling T34 tanks rolling over defensive lines. I saw fuming wrecks and still warm bodies. I saw the tracers of hundreds of artillery shells screeching over head. I stood still as a mannequin. My legs refused to move an inch. My arms locked like they were in casts. When I wanted to leave my world behind I wanted to go somewhere safe and fun. I wanted to party with some ship girls not get shipped into a war. In my moment of utter brain defeat, I managed to pick up a weird feeling in my right pocket. It took incredible willpower to reach into my pants and find not a live grenade or some sort of switchblade but rather my phone. My damaged phone was spotless and repaired in a war torn area. With three simple taps I unlocked my phone hoping, dying, for some answers. The accursed app transitioned from a question screen into a full blown exposition dump. I skimmed quite a bit. I always considered my reading a strong suit of mine but I’ve never practiced reading a terms and services while being shot at. After getting through about three pages of text I understand the situation. I’m not in Kansas anymore. You see dear listener, I was transported into the world of the video game I last played. Through an in app messaging board I was able talk to several other people in this world too and I learned quite a lot. One said: To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck!” From another I learned that this isn’t just any world. It was the world of Company of Heroes 2, aka World War 2. Azur lane didn’t count apparently cause it was a mobile game and the creator of the app had something against mobile. One poster was particularly unhelpful. He said:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m stuck on the Eastern Front
AND SO ARE FUCKING YOU.
Edit: spelling and grammar and stuff. | 2020-02-17T00:29:57 | 2020-02-16T23:39:49 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You have always been told that you have awful luck, and you have always replied that it is simply because you are saving up your good luck. People always took that as a joke, but now however you think it might be time to finally make a withdrawal | "I'm just saving the good luck," I always said, a small smile on my face. Its become somewhat of a catchphrase, especially when you have to say it every hour or so.
I've run through countless shirts. It could be a coffee spill. It could be a leaking pen. It could be pigeon flying overhead at just the right time.
The bruises and scrapes on my knees and toes were obvious and layered. Periodically, a fresh one joined the party. Sometimes, the scab doesn't even have time to heal.
Lights blowing out. Rats crawling in the kitchen. Getting stuck in elevators. All par for the course.
Numerous people have commented on my state of affairs. And I replied, every time, with the same small smile, and the same words.
"I'm just saving the good luck."
This was it. There was no better time than now to cash in.
I clasped my wife's bony hand, lifting it up gently from the hospital bed. I took it between my palms, and looked up to her sunken visage, eyes still shut.
It had to be enough. Please. I lowered my head onto the bundle of fists.
I felt a small squeeze.
"Baby?" a familiar voice. Parched, dry, and soft beyond belief, but familiar nonetheless.
"I'm here," I said. I looked up now to see her eyelids fluttering, her warm brown eyes taking in the world around her once again.
I felt like the luckiest man alive.
---
r/dexdrafts | "I don't think it happened out of nowhere. I don't think I had nothing to do with it." I said, looking at him. He thought I was going mad. Who wouldn't? What if I told you that instead of saving up on money, you should save up on your luck?
See, what an absurd idea.
The reason why it works for me is that I don't think of it to be an absurd idea.
"Trust me," I said, "I have tried it many times and it has worked for me. I only broke two bones this time, and that's awesome because it has significantly improved my investment in my luck account."
"What on Earth are you talking about, Steve?" He screamed.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"Listen," He said. "I know the stock market crash was hard on you. I know you lost everything there, but you can still live with me. We've got this. You will start a new life again."
"It's not about that,"
The Doctor entered the Emergency Room.
"Your insurance provider is not going to cover your bill payments. In fact, they can terminate your insurance if I were to tell them what the cops told me," the Doctor said.
"What did the cops tell you?" I asked.
"That you willingly put your hand out in fast-flowing traffic to break your bones." The doctor explained.
"Can't you count it as a mental illness case?" My friend asked the Doctor.
"I'm afraid I can't." The Doctor said.
"You know what," I said, looking at my friend. "Now is a good time to show you how the luck investment works."
I got up from my bed, wildly removing intra-venous infusion needles from my arms. I hit the wall with my broken arm and then immediately fell to the floor. The pain was something I had never experienced before. I had almost passed out, but that surely added a lot more into my luck account.
"Woah!, Calm the fuck down I'll talk to your insurance providers." The doctor said and began shouting and calling the nurses.
My friend helped me get back to my bed.
"See, I told you." I said, "This luck system always works."
[Instagram](https://instagram.com/anuragcharan) | 2020-05-21T14:15:01 | 2020-05-21T11:05:01 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means | I've come to find that *good* and *bad* are arbitrary signifiers when it comes to luck.
A few weeks ago, I would have said that *luck* wasn't a thing at all.
I'm getting up there in age, a fact not lost on my daughter. She loves to remind me by calling me things like "Gramps" and "Old Man." As infuriating as it can be sometimes, I know it's all in good fun. Hell, I used to do similar things to my own dad back when I was her age.
We were on the couch watching a movie when *He* appeared.
Maybe *He* isn't the right word. Neither is *appeared.*
*A voice* *came to me.*
It was deep and resonant, like my own father's. In an odd way, it brought me back to my childhood. I remembered my dad as he prepared to head off for the war. It was just my parents and me at the time.
A few weeks later, it was just mom and me.
Before my memories could sweep me away, the basso tone of the voice brought me back to the present.
"I *curse* you," it said.
"What?" I wondered aloud, cradling my daughters sleeping head on my lap and covering her ears. "Who are you?"
"I *curse* you..."
"Seriously. Whoever you are, this isn't funny." I swiveled my head about, attempting to pinpoint the source of the voice. My eyes passed the purple drapes, chosen by my daughter, and the television, still playing our movie, as it drew across our small apartment to the red door.
"I *curse* you..."
I swore the voice was coming from the door. Carefully lifting my daughter's head from my lap, I placed it on the couch behind me as I rose to my feet. I took care to step around the mahogany coffee table as I rounded the chaise and headed for the door.
"Whoever you are, if you don't leave us alone, I'm calling the police."
"I *curse* you..."
The sound was coming from the direction of the door. My hand trembled as I pressed it forward and onto the doorknob. I drew a deep, cleansing breath as I turned the knob and pulled.
I looked around, my expression blank. All I could see was the maroon carpet lining the hallway and the damned flickering lights in the wall sconces. I turned and motioned to close the door, cursing both the tacky taste and the general laziness of my landlord.
"I *curse* you..." came the voice once more, this time as if its source was directly behind me.
I whipped around and came to face the same empty hallway. Then, with another flicker of the right wall sconce, I saw it:
An *outline* of a person, its eyes glowing green.
"I curse you with good luck."
"Wha--"
Before I could finish vocalizing my astonishment, the person, if you can call it that, rushed forward and moved right through me. I stumbled backward, seemingly pushed by an unseen force. As I did, I caught my foot on the edge of the rug and tumbled toward the couch, flipping over it and onto the coffee table.
My leg wedged itself between the couch and table, breaking in the process.
I spent the next few weeks *cursing* my luck rather than being grateful for my curse of *good* luck. I was in immense pain. I couldn't handle even the simplest motions at home for the better part of 17 days.
My daughter and I had been planning an adventure, but I, of course, had to cancel. It broke her heart, too. She had always wanted to get a bird's eye view of our local canyon, and I had scheduled a helicopter ride. It was going to be just her, myself, and our pilot, whisking ourselves about the towering red rock canyon and flying over the massive, blue-green river. After it, we were going to hike in and camp.
Instead, I spent the day lying on my back with my leg propped up. Rather than do everything for *her*, I was forced to stay almost motionless while *she* did everything for *me.*
Then the news clicked on. Neither of us had pressed any buttons on the remote. In fact, I didn't even know *where* the remote *was.*
Shortly thereafter, it didn't matter.
The news anchor proceeded to tell the breaking story about a local helicopter tour gone wrong. It all lined up: it was the same company I had booked, the same time slot, even the same pilot whose name I had chosen from a list on the website.
*Two dead.*
I rolled away from the television and sank my head back, feeling as though my skull was 100 pounds on its own. I closed my eyes, unsure what to think.
"Daddy," said my daughter.
I creaked an eye open and found her standing in front of me. "Yes?"
"Would that have happened to us if we took the 'copter ride?"
The pain in my leg intensified, its throbbing answering the question for me. I resisted the urge to lunge forward and grab it. "There's no way to know what hap--" I winced, showing my obvious discomfort.
The pain was getting worse.
"Are you okay, daddy?"
"Yes," I said, looking over her shoulder at the footage of the wreckage. I brought my gaze back to her eyes.
For *just a moment*, they glowed green.
My own eyes widened until I realized that perhaps this was the result of my curse. At that point, I smiled, still wincing. "I love you, Ashley," I said, shimmying my body to the side to make room for her to lie next to me. "Why don't you hop up and we'll watch a movie?"
\-----
Edit: couple of minor fixes
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated.
Check out my sub for more of my stories! r/storiesbyclayton | “Not good luck, whatever will I do? Oh, you have wounded me dear sir, I am powerless against you, I am just a mere mortal in the presence of a-“
“BE QUIET MORTAL”
The green entity growled, their white pupilless eyes shining throughout the dark void it trapped me in. The entity was thin, its robes hanging loosely from its spine. The spine and head being the only parts of the decaying creature that were still standing. The rest of its body had fallen apart, most likely a sign of its old age. It surprised me to learn that the old bastard knew sarcasm, growing frustrated at my taunts. Its robe lifted, as if a hand was moving it, judging by how its head craned back, I could only assume it was waggling an invisible finger at me.
“YOU LAUGH FOOLISH MORTAL, BUT I ASSURE YOU, YOU AREN’T AS LUCKY AS YOU THINK YOU ARE.”
Watching the entity vanish, it tossed me back into reality, finding myself unconscious on the floor, holding a dust coated packet of animal crackers. I had been so excited to find the packet hidden behind the regular biscuits that the supermarket stocked. My excitement causing me to ignore the obvious warning on the packaging. ‘May contain cosmic entity and traces of nuts.’
Yuck nuts, who would get cursed for something that contains traces of nuts? What a waste of time. I shoved the package back behind the biscuits, rubbing my head in annoyance. Where was this good luck meant to be?
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to trip in our store this month. Because of a long-standing legal battle with our other nine customers, we are going to award you the deed to the store.”
“The deed to? I don’t want the store. Can’t you just give me some money or something?”
The old man stared at me, shaking his head in mournful sorrow. He patted down the picnic colored dress shirt he wore, searching it for a pocket. Retrieving a receipt from his pocket, he handed it to me. The receipt read.
‘Refund’
- 1x Quick and drop supermarket.
Beneath the receipt was the man’s signature. Was this really meant to be the deed? It didn’t exactly seem legally binding. I guess with my luck it would be binding? Reluctantly, I accepted the receipt, stuffing it into my pocket. I went to continue my shopping only for a young woman to approach me.
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to make eye contact with me. Have a lollypop.”
Opening up her purse, she handed me a cola lollypop. It was a little weird, but I guess that was kind of lucky, right? Who doesn’t like a lollypop? Returning to my shopping, I didn’t make it a step before an old grandmother stopped me; her wrinkled hands shaking as she pulled out a photo of a tubby bald man.
“You remind me of my grandson, he was forty-two, isn’t he the cutest? You remind me so much of him, he died trying to eat four hotdogs at once. The doctors said he could have made it if he attempted three, but Marty was not a quitter. Here have one hundred dollars.”
She shoved the money into my hand, but the money wasn’t worth the insults she had hurled my way. Balding and fat? I wasn’t balding was I? Sure I had a more winter body than a summer body but I wasn’t that big was I? Tugging down my shirt I tried to take another step, only to see the predatory glances of the other shoppers. Each one ready to give me my piece of luck.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we exchanged glances. I gripped the front of a nearby shopping cart before breaking into a sprint. I was not dealing with another one of these idiots again. My steps were quick, but that didn’t stop them from diving before my cart.
“I love you.”
“Have you ever considered modelling for our bald and beautiful catalog?”
“I want you to have my dog.”
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
Each one caught under the wheels of my shopping cart as I fled. Only taking a glance back to see the encroaching hoard of people running after me. As I got to the door of the store, two employees tried to block me.
“Congratulations Sir, you are our twentieth shoplifter, please enjoy your shopping for free.”
In a fit of rage, I let go of the shopping cart, tossing it at the workers, watching it bowl them over as I fled for my car. When I reached the door, I fiddled with my car keys. It was like every horror movie ever, unable to grip my keys as sweat built up in my palms. I prayed that my luck wouldn’t fail me now. Gripping the handle and luckily it was unlocked. Slamming the door shut, I watched the horde slam into the side of my car, trying to get through the window.
I wasted no time, starting up the car and fleeing the scene. Driving as fast as my poor car would take me. I was safe, they couldn’t bother me in here. I took a long drawn out breath only to feel something poke my back. Glancing to the side, I saw a hairy arm resting on my car’s console, holding an energy drink.
“You look mighty thirsty, friend. Since you are a loyal customer, we have rewarded you with a personal drink giver.”
I screamed, erratically swerving the car, only just avoiding the other cars on the road. Even with my insane driving, no one dared to beep at me, only giving me a thumbs up or wave. This was insane. I drove my car home, trying to ignore the man that would bump me every few minutes to offer a drink. Arriving at my house, I rushed to the door, locking it behind me.
I did a quick look over, checking to make sure no mysterious salespeople were hiding behind my curtains or under my bed. Finding none, I fell back onto the couch. Only to hear a fist thumping at my door, before a pair of eyes glanced at me through my window.
“Congratulations, your driving skills have won you a brand new sports car. Come and accept it.”
I had to crawl off my couch, trying to hide behind the piece of furniture. No amount of hiding would deter their knocking. I feared eventually they would break down the door. I was in hell.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-10-15T05:48:33 | 2020-10-15T05:29:38 | 1,630 | 118 |
[WP] You are a superhero who works tirelessly for an ungrateful city. One day after another long day you get a knock at your door. It is the city's supervillain and he brought a bottle for you two to share. | Everyone knew the Tragic Backstory™ of how Ultimatron went mad and turned evil. Once the greatest hero our city had ever known, now he was it's worst villain.
I knew better than most. I'd seen it, firsthand.
Most hero shit is fake, choreographed nonsense to keep the masses happy. Tim was real.
And, unbeknownst to me, so was his love affair with his partner-slash-sidekick, Glass Cannon.
And then she got killed. Right in front of him.
My team did our best to save the day. Psychotic hacked Ultimatron's brain and remote piloted him through the rest of his duties. Chimera took over as Glass Cannon. I whisked the body away, and ran interference.
It was hard, painful, and all of us had to take a lot of time off to recover. I didn't talk to my team again for weeks - time I spent in ireland, with Da.
When I got back, Connie had retired, and Mera was dead.
Suicide.
Because of the things she'd seen - the things I'd shown her.
I'm half demon. My portals work by taking a shortcut through hell. For me, hell is just like that one relative's house, with all the shitty figurines. Annoying, but bit much else.
But for humans, people with souls... Hell is... Hell.
It's whatever would torment them worst.
Which is why I don't transport living people. Just corpses. Hashtag cleanup crew.
But when I came back, she was dead, Connie was just gone, and Tim - Ultimatron, my sort-of-friend and actual city hero, was destroying the city he had sworn to protect.
The Hero Bureau showed up at my apartment while I was still unpacking.
"Claire. We need your help." They looked like Men In Black rejects. Black suits, sunglasses, briefcases that had nothing in them. They explained what I already knew.
"That's why I came back." I told them, "what do you want me to do?"
They handed me a new suit, all white spandex and gold trim, with a sky-blue cape. The cape had silver thread embroidery, in the shape of wings, and there was a good circlet crown for me to wear.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." I backed away from it. "I don't do religious motifs, you know that."
"We need someone to save Ultimatron, or save the city from him. Who better than New York's Guardian Angel?"
I shook my head. "I said no. Come back with something normal and we'll talk."
I slammed the door in their face.
My old costume wouldn't do if I was going to show up as a new hero, but I would be damned, literally, if I wore that. Not a lot of people knew my heritage, certainly not HB, and I was not risking the Wrath of God over their pageantry.
A few days later they were back with a lime green and black set, and I took it, suited up, and got to work.
Tim wasn't hurting people, just destroying property. He called it "destroying the monuments to consumerism" and honestly I could see where he was coming from, but I had a job to do.
I could use portaling to tear apart and reassemble structures, as if he had never broken them. I could strip the paint off walls by hand. I could restore everything as it should be.
And just permanently delete all the garbage and litter. Throw it in hell. Mom could cope.
At the end of a long day, I would go home, strip off the hot latex, and soak. I was about fifteen minutes in the bath when I heard a knock at the door.
"Bloody fuck." I got up slow, wrapped a towel around me, and stomped to the door, ready to give those HB assholes a piece of my mind. "Oi," I pulled open the door, and stared, shocked.
Ultimatron, but I'd never seen him in plain clothes before. No mask, no cape, no spandex, just gray sweats and a light blue t shirt.
He held up a bottle of wine. Moineir. "I thought you were probably more of a wine than whiskey girl." He said.
I stepped back, never one to waste good alcohol. "Come on in."
I closed the door and flickered out for a sec to grab clothes, letting the fires of hell air-dry me. A second later I was back, dressed in pj pants and a wife beater.
"What's up?"
He hardly even blinked at this. "I noticed you're undoing all my protests." He said, holding out the wine. "You know the Hero Bureau is evil, right?"
I shrugged. "I know a lot more about evil than most people and really hesitate to use that word to describe anything with a lifespan."
He nodded. "Well, they're after you, too."
I frowned. "After me?"
He sat on my couch, as if he belonged there. "That morning, they told us the plan for Cheryl. It was supposed to be fake, her death. It was supposed to be a big drama, and the start of my rebrand from ex-war hero Hero, to dark antihero. But they killed her for real."
I popped the cork, and poured two glasses, handing him one. He set it down without sipping. "Can't. Nanos."
"They killed her?"
"They own all the villain's. They give them their tech. It's all fake. All of it."
I sank into the next cushion. "Not all of it." I meant it reassuringly, but he buried his face in his hands.
"No," he agreed, "the deaths were real. I know that now."
I sipped the wine. It was good stuff. Not as good as stolen wedding wine, or other ill-gottens, but my human half enjoyed the taste. I tilted the glass to admire how the light glowed in the liquid. "Is that why you've come? To absolve yourself of your sins by confessing to a Preacher's Daughter?"
He laid his hands flat on his thighs, and straightened himself upright. "No. I'm here to offer half my soul to a half-demon for a favor."
I smiled, and downed the wine. "About damn time." | *The City. An ungrateful skyline that mocks my presence, but wouldn't survive without me.*
*What will you do without me?* *You've kicked me down, punched me while I lay there, and you've called me by every name you don't want your children to not hear, and yet I will stand up again to defend you.* *What would I be without you?*
My window-side brooding is cut short by a restrained knock on my door. I'm not expecting guests, but I open the door anyway without fear of the unknown outside. Only the ones you trust can stick a knife in your back. When the whole world is against you, you no longer have anything to surprise you.
It's my arch-nemesis, the supervillain of my story, the multi-trillionaire capitalistic madman who would rather mow down every tree leaf than to leave out any profits in his earth-shattering businesses. However, I have nothing to fear, for he is unarmed.
"You don't have to be afraid, big guy, I come in peace"
"You might as well leave kid, I've had quite a long day"
"I know. I made it long. But I didn't expect it to blow up the way it did. I want to call a truce - if you want one as well that is"
"I'll never soil my hands by shaking hands with you"
"The least you can do is crack open a cold one with me seeing that I already carried it up"
He lifts his arms up to put the emphasis on the bottle that he carried in his hands up to my apartment.
"Sure. What more harm can do you do?"
He makes to step inside my apartment, but I block him by simply not making way.
"You're not welcome inside my home, and even if you were, it'd be like a broom closet after being in your penthouse. Let's head to the roof."
"Sure, have it your way. But just bring a couple of glasses - I just bought the one bottle."
We made our way to the top and he pours out a drink from the bottle into two of my glasses, sitting down next to me looking at the skyline, taking sips of his pricey drink.
"That's a beautiful city"
*I ignore him. Maybe he has poisoned this drink. What is your plan, you ugly little worm?*
As I see him take sips of his drink I realize that it's definitely not poisoned. He wouldn't be drinking from the same bottle, and even so, he'd have brought his own glasses to drink from. Maybe this is a truce after all. In between our sips of chilled drink, we continue our heated conversation.
"Isn't this place too dirty for you to sit down?"
"You forget that I too started from the bottom," he gestured to the east, and continued, "my old home's a few hundred feet over there. I've had my fair share of being dirt-poor and simply wanted to find my fair share of being rich and clean. Somehow that seems to piss you off"
"You don't expect me to believe that you don't realize that the problems you've created are worse than the ones you've solved along the way?"
"Look, we've gone through almost every version of this conversation over the years. Face the facts. I'm but a man, but I do what I must. If you were in my position of power and running this train, you too would choose to save five people if it meant killing one person."
"But at what cost to morality? You'd rather save five deceitful dirtbags than saving one righteous man?"
"What good is a human being if they don't have a choice to do something bad, and choose to walk away from it? You'd prefer to save one person who has never strayed from the path of good - I'd rather save five people who took the wrong decision once, and then decided to fix themselves, forever."
"Bah. One sin or a thousand sins - a sinner is a sinner and they must repent."
"That is the first difference between you and me. I believe that humanity has a chance in everyone. Whether it be someone with a record or someone like you, who believes in an unrealistically ideal world filled with unrealistically ideal people."
He pauses to take another sip and he sighs as if he is tired of me.
"Okay, here's your final chance. Do you want to put aside our differences and work towards fixing the world?"
"And this is your final answer: Never. I'd rather save a small area on my own than save the world of your vision"
He finishes his drink, gets up, places the glass in his place, dusts down his suit, buttons up his coat, and starts to walk away.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, "We may not have agreed on the truce, but you finished your drink, and you owe it to me to finish the rest of your sentence: What's the second difference between us?"
"The second is that I apply these rules to myself. I don't mind coloring outside the lines to make a better, bigger picture. You'd rather not fail, because you want the world to be perfect. You'd rather lose playing by the rules than win by breaking a few unnecessary ones. Wake up old man, the world was never perfect, and it will never be. We just have to make the most of it while we can with what we have."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't save the world living in a shack, but I can make enough impact from where I am. But I can only do so much with people like you wasting my time. I hope you understand that is why I'd rather besmirch your reputation on live TV and make your life unbearable."
"So you were behind the campaign."
He mocks me by acting as if a bulb lit up over my head. That is it. I've had enough, I want to go knock some sense into him, but I can't seem to get up, and I merely flail on the ground in the attempt.
"Save your breath. You don't have much left. You probably thought the bottle wasn't poisoned because we both drank from it, especially from your glass. That was the choice, the final choice I was giving you to redeem yourself," he paused to take out another little bottle from his coat, "and this is the antidote. Had you agreed to take me up on my truce we'd have been sharing this drink as well. It was nice having a little competition, but I don't want to play with you anymore."
He took a huge swig off the bottle and smashed the rest of it just out of my reach. We hear a huge fan, and a helicopter swoops down to pick him up and leave, while I am left alone, with nothing but a dusky, ungrateful skyline for company.
*If it isn't for me, who else would save this city? Its roads run straight to hell. I am the only salvation it has, and therefore save it I must. What would you be without me? My lids grow heavy as I fall asleep for the last time, with the poisoned drink in my hands and on my lips.* | 2021-04-10T10:52:25 | 2021-04-10T09:23:11 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] Your ship's new prototype energy cannon just vaporized an alien warship, shattered a moon, and punched a hole through a planet. "Sir, message from thier flagship: What the !@#$ing %/&$ was that?!". | The comms blinked amid the hiss of venting oxygen and crackling, exposed wire. The green light flashed insistently for my attention, out of sync with the red alert lights pulsing throughout the ship's bridge. My crew was silent, tension written across their faces, as we all looked upon the trail of destruction displayed on the forward viewscreen.
The destruction we'd created.
*One shot*, I thought to myself, awed, as I studied the debris field. The remains of a fleet floated before us. Sharp green metal sparking and colliding for kliqs and kliqs. But those casualties were just the fallout. Amidst the carnage, was a void. A huge tunnel of empty space stretched through the horror. Atoms now, where once there were ships. The trail continued, past where a moon once orbited--the moon reduced to nothing but a smattering of spinning rocks. From there, it carved a hole straight through the raging storm of a roiling gas giant.
Breaking from the reverie, I turned my head and nodded slowly to Mera, my communications officer. She nodded slowly in kind, and brought her attention back toward her station. A moment later and we heard the Veski commander's voice crackling over the bridge audio feed. "Human rebellion ship, designation Bluejay..." I could make out the uncharacteristic concern and fear in the bastard's voice, even through the old translator tech. "I repeat, Bluejay. This is Veski Commander Keine, of the Most Superior Uron... *requesting* audience." Now, *there* was the contempt I'd come to expect.
I spoke, trusting Mera to route the audio appropriately: "Hello, again, Keine. Miss me? I imagine you're ready to listen now?"
There was a long pause. "Renalt... What in the seven moons did you just fire at my fleet." It was a demand more than a question.
"Six moons, now." I said quickly, earning a shake of the head and a small smile from Alexi, my pilot. "But to answer your question: *that* was a warning shot."
Another pause, as Keine digested what I meant by warning shot.
"You are bluffing," was the eventual reply.
"I'm not," I lied. "We've equipped these puppies on every flight-capable scrap pile this side of the 'belt," another lie. "So we highly *request* y'all take your slaver asses on home to wherever the scrag your species came from." It was hard to keep the venom out of my words. Generations of oppression will do that to a man.
Keine's response was immediate, "We are prepared to accept your immediate and complete surrender."
"Scrag that."
I motioned to Mera to cut the comms before turning to my security officer: "Feri," I say, "vaporize this asshole."
--------------
Author's note: don't normally write on popular posts since peeps only ever read the top one or two responses, but this prompt seemed fun. Pretty happy with how it turned out, and I hope at least one other person (who isn't my spouse!) gets to enjoy it. If that's you: ❤️ Thanks for reading! | The red emergency lights kicked on as the ship entered emergency power mode. From the bridge I could almost hear the backup hydrocarbon generators as they kicked into gear keeping on essential systems and charging the capacitors to jumpstart the fusion reactor.
I hit the intercom button to the entire ship. I didnt know where our head engineer was because it was her lunch break. I also didnt care if the whole ship could hear me, because *holy fuck*.
"Danie, come tell me ***what the fuck*** you put on this ship *right now*!"
The rest of the bridge crew looked at me with a mix of concern and fear. Fear for their fellow officer. Waving my hand I directed them out of the bridge on a momentary break. They couldnt do much while we were in emergency power mode and it was basically impossible for us to appear on enemy radar with our reactor down. It was going to be better if I could chew out Danie without witnesses.
A few minutes late the doors opened and the head engineer, Danielle, came through. I waited for the door to close before starting.
"What in the ***fuck*** did you install on this ship?!"
*"Sir, I installed a .87 gigawatt laser cannon, sir."*
"A .87 gigawatt *anything* does not overload an ***entire god damn fusion reactor***."
*"Sir, I swear that's the rating on the cannon."*
"Show me."
Danielle lead me out of the bridge and down to the engineering hallways. It was hot down here, I byproduct of whatever the hell just fired down here that our cooling systems just couldnt keep up with. We put on light space suits just incase there was an outer hull breech. While suiting up I contemplated my failure in this. We shouldnt have salvaged parts from a backwater ship junkyard just to avoid the paperwork of requisitioning new cannons.
Going down to the cannon mounts I could *see* which of the cannons it was. The thing was glowing red still. With the EP suits we could get close enough to look at the engraved information plate.
[ .87 gigawatt CO2 laser emitter ]
But that '.' didnt look right.
On closer inspection it was much shallower than the rest of the engraving, it was also out of alignment with the words and not a perfectly circular indent. That and all the other scratches and dents on the cannon from being in a junkyard...
This wasnt a .87 gigawatt laser. It was an 87 gigawatt laser with a misleading scratch. Even Capital ships with dedicated small reactors only had 20-30 gigawatt lasers at most. This must be a scrapped planet cracker for some secret military project.
Danielle saw it too and realised her fuck up. I wasnt going to punish her beyond never having her go scavenging again because it was a mistake I could see myself making.
Going back up the the bridge the emergency capacitors discharged and jumpstarted the reactor, returning us to full power. I waved back everyone in. I gave the official order never to fire that cannon again until we could get to port to switch it out. We couldnt risk destroying our reactor with an overload like that again.
Once back in my chair I hit the button to send a message back to the enemy flagship.
"We will accept conditional surrender of your ship."
The flagship sent a message back in return.
[On what condition could you possibly offer us ape?]
I hit the button again.
"On the condition we won't fire our cannons again. James, send a picture of the targeting screen."
We sent a screenshot of our radar readout that showed we knew exactly where their much more massive flagship was. Of course they could fire back, but they knew just as well as I did that we could hit them with a laser faster than they could accurately aim at our light scout ship.
"We'll give you 5 minutes to consider your options."
It only took 3 seconds for them to make up their minds. | 2021-08-03T11:32:55 | 2021-08-03T11:00:43 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff. | “Ok, Melony, we’re going to be transferring you to division centura 3.”
“Oh what the fuck! This is seriously the 4th time I’ve been transferred!”
“We apologize for the delay, but the results of your latest exam display properties of a class A-4 or even A-5 attribute. We are ill equipped to handle such an advanced enhancement.”
“Fucking whatever, I’ve done this enough, you already have my email and phone number, just email or text me my plane tickets.”
3 weeks later.
Fucking finally, after 4 flights, a weeks of testing, and even longer to analyze. I’ll finally get my results.
“Well miss Stelaria, we unfortunately are unable to process y-“
“OH JUST CUT TO THE CHASE! WHERE ARE YOU SENDING ME NOW! I went from my home, to Edmonton, to Chicago, to New York, to Washington, TO LONDON! WHERE NOW!”
A pair of large men dressed in black suits enter the room.
“Unfortunately that is classified. Your most recent results show a possible “Elemental Divinity” classification, and you’ll be coming with us to an undisclosed location.”
“W-what? I didn’t…”
“If it’s any consolation, you should know you’re the 6th person ever to have this classification.”
_________________________________________
If this is enjoyed, I’ll make a part 2. | \[poem\]
*One test, two test, three*
*test four.*
*What a day of testing, its such*
*a bore.*
​
That's all I wrote before ushered into
a deeper room, in this already deep
cavernous office plaza.
Each time handed,
wordlessly,
a pad of paper and told to write.
My offense at the bit of brusqueness
tempered by the near salivating over
the promised check. Money is always
good and money during a pandemic
twice so.
​
So I wrote again:
*The elf loves honey and sweets,*
*she never likes to cook*
*with unfresh beets.*
​
The lab coated woman whispered
to the man standing next to her,
and handed him my writing pad.
With a gasp, he ran out of the room,
his loafers betraying his direction
down the linoleum.
Not my best work, of course,
but I didn't think it so
awful to justify gasps
and sprints!
​
I picked up my pen to write more,
dear reader,
only to find myself handcuffed from behind.
​
My trial, a secret,
the witnesses forced to
reveal my secret. The tribunal,
quick with its verdict.
​
In my cell now, the new guard,
so compassionate and kind,
gifted me a note and pen,
after I cried about
how much
I miss writing
to my sickly mother.
​
But instead I wrote this just for you:
​
*When I write poems reader dear,*
*don't worry so much*
*about your fear,*
*because ten minutes after you read this,*
*something strange appears,*
*death will take you to her infinite bliss.*
​
Now that you've read this,
you also know my secret,
At least
for
Your last ten minutes. | 2021-10-29T13:52:41 | 2021-10-29T12:56:01 | 344 | 57 |
[WP] Top sorcerers study the child. It's been more than 24 hours since he was hit with an instant death spell, but he still lives. One of the sorcerers decides to call the Grim Reaper to ask what's up. | The Grim Reaper owed him a favor, but as soon as the god of death walked into the room and saw the baby he ran out screaming for his life. Marcus wondered what could make death himself so afraid?
He had been tasked with studying the baby, to figure out why spells didn't work on it, but all he could see was a perfect healthy little boy in a crib. Once more he muttered *Expeceus* under his breath. The baby simply kept sleeping, evidently not feeling the pain the spell should have caused.
Marcus decided to create a new classification for the runt. He wasn't a wizard, for the magisters had run their tests and found no magical prowess, but he also didn't seem to be just a normal human. Marcus called him a "Void". The first of its kind.
The baby woke up and began crying, so Marcus fetched it a bottle. As it sucked down the formula it looked up with two large dark eyes. Marcus felt the baby was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't figure out what. It pulled its mouth away from the bottle and went back to sleep.
Marcus tried calling the Grim Reaper again, but he was just met with an incessant beeping from the line. The god had turned his phone off. Behind him the baby stirred in its sleep, and when Marcus turned around he saw it standing upright, leaning over the railing of the crib. Again, it stared at him with its black eyes.
Suddenly Marcus's phone rang.
"Mark," the headmaster said, "is the baby still alive? Something has just happened."
"Alive and kicking," Marcus responded, taking one last look at the baby before turning his back to it. The way it was staring creeped him out.
"The man who was in jail... the one who cast the death spell..."
"What about him? He should have known better than to try and kill a baby."
"He just... died. To that very same spell."
Marcus's hair stood up. "That's impossible," he said, "magic can't affect anybody in that prison. You know that."
"I know," the headmaster said, "I think that baby has something to do with it. I think it reflected the spell, albeit with a delay."
"Reflecting a spell -- can something like that be done? I've never heard of it before."
"Me neither, just be careful, O.K.? And if you casted anything at it before be prepared for potential reflections."
The headmaster hung up and Marcus turned around to see the baby smiling menacingly at him. All the spells he had casted on it during his testing scrolled through his mind. There were at least fifty of them, all getting progressively more painful.
The baby began to giggle as Marcus felt a small pinch on his arm. The first spell had arrived.
He called up a cleric to the room, realizing it was going to be a long, unpleasant night. | *''O Death, here I call, to this hall, between these walls! O great Construct of the universe, the one and only Death, I invite you with this verse!''*
Lavin chanted the ancient language before the arcane symbols written on the floor in pig's blood. The most archaic of symbols, crafted in circular pattern began to glow purple as the two academic sorcerers-- Lavin and Vista held their breaths for they knew the risk of invoking such primal incantation.
The purple glow increased in intensity, blinding the two as they squinted to protect their eyes. Immediately a blast of light basked the men; as quickly as it began, it subsided...
As Lavin and Vista opened their eyes, promptly the two fell to their knees in response to their most basic instinct-- fear. For appearing in the middle of the circle was a man...no, not exactly a man-- an entity, Death itself.
''O Death, we are humbled by your presence with us!'', Lavin began.
''We are Vista and Lavin, students of the Karkassus' Academy of Magic and Sorcery. We are seeking your knowledge, o merciful Death!'', Vista continued.
''Yeah, yeah, save it'', Death replied, unamused.
The two sorcerers looked up, cringing, fearful that they had bothered Death.
''I...we are sorry, o Death! We didn't mean to bother you, just...'', Lavin said when Death cut off.
''And yet you did'', Death sighed, stepping out from the circle. ''But whatever, what do you want?'', he asked.
As the two sorcerers stood up, Death observed the room he had just been summoned into. It was a relatively small classroom of wooden floor and walls. Books neatly stashed in cabinets surrounding them, tables pushed onto the walls to make room in the middle.
Peculiarly, what caught Death's eyes was a child sitting silently in the middle of the room. He seemed reserved, looking down at the floor, sad and in despair.
''We are currently conducting a study, Master Death'', Vista began. ''We encountered this child...''
Vista and Lavin looked at the boy.
''He seems to be...immune to any form of magic'', Vista finished.
''So he's immune to magic. And you called me here...why exactly?'', Death folded its arms, still not getting a satisfying answer.
''Well...the thing is, Master Death, we tried almost every form of magic we know of'', Vista said.
''The mundane incendiary spell couldn't burn him. A more complicated shattering spell couldn't harm him. So finally we tested the Forbidden magic...'', Lavin said.
Hearing this, Death seemed intrigued. Slowly he approached the boy...
''You're saying...you subjected this child to my Death Touch magic? And he's still alive?'', Death asked.
''Y-yes, Master Death'', Lavin confirmed.
''Interesting'', Death muttered, kneeling before the boy, observing him closely.
''Boy, look at me'', Death said and the child complied, meeting Death in its eyes with his own.
Slowly Death raised its hand, index finger pointing and nearing slowly to the child's face. With a gentle touch, Death grazed his pale cheek.
To Death's surprise, the child didn't instantly drop dead, instead....he smiled.
A genuine childish smile with the utmost joy, as if he had just been kissed by his mother. | 2021-12-13T00:20:06 | 2021-12-12T21:37:29 | 1,605 | 530 |
[WP] A teen girl stares in shock and horror at the stump where her arm was just a few minutes ago. Shaking in horror, not because she had just lost her arm in a car accident, but because inside was sparking wires and circuits, a metal bone instead of normal flesh and blood. | Lamppost after lamppost passes by the pitch black sky. Bags are already forming under my eyes, I can feel them forming. My breath dampens on the window as my head sways a little from the car moving on the dodgy roads.
My mind slowed down a while ago already. Tiffany has the best parties, but I just couldn't do it anymore, I clocked out at 2AM. Luckily for me, Caleb was still up. Not for him though, poor sucker's got insomnia. Knowing him, he's been staring at the ceiling for the last 8 hours, praying to every pantheon in existence to get even an hour of sleep.
He probably didn't mind getting out of the house. Maybe he can't sleep because he's holed up in his smelly room all day, playing video games and staring at screens. Dad hasn't had any luck getting him away from them. Not sure if it's media addiction, but Caleb's always been a recluse. Nice to know he cares enough to get me out of there, even if it's an opportunity to talk about his not-so-subtle crush on Tiffany.
"So, eh," Caleb starts, "How was Tiffany?"
"The usual. Chugging shots like no one else, face plastered with make-up, all poses and smiles for the camera. If you want to be at the party without being at the party, just keep an eye on her Snapchat. Every other second they're taking selfies acting like they're having a good time."
"Yeah, I saw. You were there a couple times, in the pictures."
I turn to him. Jesus, those bags under his eyes made him look like a zombie in the passing light.
"I was?"
"Yeah, in the background or off to the side. Barry liked every single one of them."
"Fucking Barry, dude." I sigh as I lean back in the seat.
"Whatever happened between you two?"
"He made it weird."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know, he just....Out of nowhere, last valentine's day, he buys me flowers and asks me to be his girlfriend."
"You said no?"
"Well, I didn't not say no, I didn't really know what to say. I figured he'd just be my friend, you know, and then he just drops that he's loved me for years and he can't keep it to himself anymore and he makes a big deal about it in front of everyone. I told him we'd talk about it later. We haven't."
"I mean, he's been by for years, you know. Guy's damn near part of the family at this point."
"I know, that's what makes it weird. I've known him since we were 6. Knowing someone that long just...I don't know. He's more like a brother to me. He knows stuff about me you or dad don't know."
"Because you trust him?"
"I did, but if what all he wants is just to get in my pants, then...Ugh, this is too much to think about, Caleb. I've had drinks and I'm tired as shit, I want to sleep. Are we there yet?"
"10 minutes out."
"...Tiffany broke up with Chrissie again."
"Again?"
"I know right. Maybe it's time to shoot your shot?"
"Yeah, right."
"Dude, if you're not going to ask her, you'll never find out if she even remotely likes you."
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't."
"Why, because she's bi?"
"No, that's not it. She's...too good for me."
"Too good for you?"
"Yeah."
"Dude, she's, like, the biggest slut in my class. She's got a card where she gathers names of guys and girls whose virginities she took."
"I'm not a virgin."
"I'm not saying you are, I'm-"
"She's way too good looking for me, totally out of my league. I'll win the lottery before she even looks at me."
"She won't look at you if you don't leave the house. But hey, maybe it's for the best. I don't really think you two could work well together."
"Why not?"
"'Cause you're not only a vampire, you're biggest nerd I know. And I know some nerds."
"Oh, I see." He turns to me with a condescending look. It always was a soft spot, his hobbies.
"Some say polar oppo-"
A flash of light in front of us. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs as the airbags punched me right in the face and the seatbelt stopped me from lurching. The entire world started flailing and spinning. Left was right, up was down. For a second we were rolling like the world's worst rollercoaster. I think I screamed, but I'm not sure. Glass got in my mouth, my head bursts with pain. I'm wide awake and shaking. I'm stuck. My hair hangs upward. I'm upside down.
Did it stop? What happened? What the hell happened?
"Caleb?" I called. No response. I try to grab something, anything. My right hand is stuck in the door, it's clenched in. My head is forced to the left by the airbag, but it's deflating slowly.
"Caleb? Are you okay?" Still nothing. Anxiety gripped my brain and clutched my heart. Fuck. Did I get him killed? If I'd just stayed over or went home with Amber, maybe this wouldn't have happened. I totally could have done that. Then I wouldn't have been here. Oh God, Caleb. I'm so sorry.
I can't hold on to the sob. My face is leaking, but I don't know if it's blood or snot or tears. Why? What happened? What is happening? I can't breath, the air is so cold. The bag deflates far enough for me to move around. Caleb is there, hanging next to me. His arms are hanging up, bloodied and torn into. The front window must have shattered. I thought car windows can't do that. Oh my God, that's so much blood. His shirt is hanging, exposing his belly. His eyes are open and unmoving. An engine revs and speeds off into the distance. I reach out to his seatbelt click it open. He drops a bit, but it didn't come off all the way, still attached to his chest. Fuck, I need to get out, I can't help him like this.
What is my arm stuck in? My right arm was holding on to the inner door handle, but I can't feel it. Did I break it? Or shatter it? I saw on TV that the worst injuries couldn't actually be felt due to nerve damage, like third degree burns. The air bag deflates further, and I can turn my head now to my-
My. My. My arm?
It...broke off. It's...what the fuck? I'm still holding on to the door handle. The door handle is in the door, 20 feet away. I can't stop myself from looking at the stump. There's no blood.
There's...wires. And a thick metallic bone, with wiring bound around it. Is that...circuitry? My breathing gets heavier. I shudder.
What the fuck is going on? This isn't my arm. What? How?
A light streaks across my face. My eyes sting at the brightness. A car. It stopped. It must have seen us. Did someone run into us? Did they come back? Fuck. Caleb. Oh God, I don't know what to do.
I call out for help. I scream. I smack things around me. I jiggle my seatbelt, but I can't reach it right. Once I do, it jams. Car doors open and shut. Someone's coming.
"Call an ambulance! Call someone! Help! Please!"
"Don't worry, Cass. We got you." A man responds as he approaches. A flashlight clicks on and shines on my side of the car.
He walks into range. A small man, fifties maybe? Balding, casual clothes. Oh no, please don't be a pervert.
He points his flashlight to the door, where my...hand is still gripping the inside of it, and traces it back to me.
"Yeah. It took me a couple years but...I finally got you." | With a great big sigh, I rolled away from my computer desk. No more spreadsheets. No more distribution management reports. It was now the weekend.
I cut out a little early, looking to have a good dinner made before Mia returned from school- she had been having a rough couple of days, maybe I could head off the grouchiness with some nice carbs…not that I blamed Mia, of course. She had a lot on her shoulders these days- dealing with her mother’s passing, trying to catch up to all the time she ‘lost’ while she was in mourning. The three weeks she was out also came right before exam season…plus, she’s a teenager. I remembered what it was like for me back then, and I didn’t have all this extra stuff going on.
However…understanding or not, I still was hoping to have a peaceful evening.
Those hopes were dashed when I heard the back door slam.
“That you, Mia-bear?” I asked, unable to turn away from the stove. Cheese sauce was kind of delicate, if it burnt even a little the whole flavor was ruined.
“Dad, what the *hell* is this?”
I took a deep breath. “What’s what? Let me see.”
Mia entered the room, tears in her eyes- but not sad tears, these were *angry* tears.
“Oh, you’re hurt!” I said, pulling the cheese sauce off of the burner. She was holding one hand in the other, coddling it against her chest. I grabbed our first aid kit. “Let me see.” I said again.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mia presented her hand to me. There was blood, regular human blood- but underneath that, the gouge exposed…mechanical parts.
“What the hell…?” I asked, bewildered. It took a lot to shake me, after the life I’d led, but this definitely counted as being shook.
“So you don’t know either?” Mia asked me.
“Well, no. First thing’s first, stop the bleeding.” My military background served *some* kind of purpose still.
The cut was rather small, but deep, more like a puncture wound than a gash… but the amount of blood was surprisingly little. I cleaned and dressed the wound. “How did this happen?” I asked while I worked.
“Got into a fight on my way home.” Mia said sullenly. I looked up at her with an arched eyebrow.
“I didn’t *start* it. There was a group of guys harassing Sadia over her, um, is it called a burqa?”
“Hijab, I think, is what Sadia usually wears. Go on.”
“Right, so a group of guys from school were giving her a hard time, and I just wanted to take Sadia away from that…whole situation. They weren’t letting us go- they weren’t keeping us there, but they were following us and saying really shitty things.” Mia’s voice was coated with emotion.
“So you hit one of them.”
“Yeah. He shoved me back and I fell onto a bike rack. Still not sure what exactly cut me *on* the bike rack, but there it is.”
“Okay. So, sane parts first- of course we report those boys to the school, and I’m going to pick you up from school tomorrow to make sure there isn’t any more trouble. But this hand thing…”
“Can we just pretend we didn’t see it? I’m not sure I want to know.” Mia said.
“We can put it away for later, yes. You probably have enough on your plate without answering for that, too. I’ll look into it from my end and see what I can see.”
“Does that mean we’ll see Roy soon?” Mia asked. I chuckled.
“Yeah, maybe. I doubt he’s responsible, but I’ll probably ask him to take a look. Here, I made you some study-fuel.” I dished out a bowl of the semi-healthy pasta. “You can study in your room if you prefer.” I said.
Mia nodded silently and went upstairs.
———————————————-
The world had been changing at a rapid rate lately- with the invention of Artificial Intelligence, there were new technologies coming out every few months that blew everything we thought we knew out of the water. Batteries could now hold nearly infinite charges, and for very long periods of time. The AI were establishing nuclear power plants on the moon- all with human cooperation, of course, but the AI were the ones leading the charge.
Roy had been one of the first to parent an Artificial Intelligence. He himself claimed that it was more luck on his part than skill- he’d just run a series of variables onto a semi-autonomous self-learning system and, in the morning, there was the equivalent of a newborn baby on his hard drive. Nearly shut the entire building down with the energy it required to stay alive.
Over the following six years, life as we knew it began to change. Nanorobotic technologies could clear out our hearts of plaque, detect and eradicate cancer… they still couldn’t bring the dead back to life, however. When Amelia had her car accident, she was pronounced D.O.A– dead on arrival. Nothing modern medical science can do about that.
With new technology popping out every day, however, I figured that everyone was suffering from what is called ‘Innovation Fatigue’. Even something as surprising as finding out your hand is partly robotic was only….well, it was only so surprising. And Mia only had so much room to care. God, I hoped nothing was going to push her over the edge.
*After this, I’m going to take us on a long vacation in the woods, let her unwind, really process everything.* I promised myself.
Everything’s so hectic. Ugh.
Without needing to pick up a physical phone, I contacted Roy. Within a heartbeat, he was linked up to me. “Ayy, big brother!” Roy called out. I wasn’t really related to him- but I’d saved his ass a few times in the big tumult that followed the Artificial Intelligence Advent, and he considered me family thereafter.
“How are ya, Roy?” I asked.
“Hey man, no need for pleasantries, you got something on your mind, what’s up?”
“That obvious?” I asked.
“Twilly and I are linked up right now, she can detect it in the tone of your voice.”
Twilly was Roy’s second AI project- the first had been confiscated by the government, and was the one releasing all of the advances we were receiving now.
“Hi, Twilly.” I said.
“What is the situation, Roy?” Twilly responded.
“I want this to stay between us.”
“Twilly, block all the noise, yeah?” Roy asked.
“Acknowledged.” Twilly responded.
“Mia got into a fight earlier, cut her hand.”
“Is it bad? I can have Twilly ship over some nano’s in a minute here, if you don’t want to go to a hospital.”
“It isn’t that. She’ll be fine healing organically. It’s…well, her hand. It isn’t entirely…”
“Spit it out, Edmon.” Roy’s usually chatty and light tonality had changed.
“Her hand is mechanical, Roy. I palpated all the way up to her elbow, and I think about half of her muscles have been replaced.”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, hell no.” Roy said. I could practically see the blood draining from his face.
“What’s up, Roy? That mean something to you?”
“It *means*– shit. Twilly! Get an overnight bag together, make sure your battery is charged up. It means, Edmon, that there’s an AI off their fucking *leash* out there.”
“No.” I said flatly. “No way. You wrote the protection protocol yourself.”
“I wrote the protection protocol for *my* AI, Edmon! If I figured it out, someone else was always bound to- and you know what the AI are always curious about? You wanna know why I’m sharing headspace with Tilly right now?! Because AI always get hung up on the concept of *hybrids*. They love the concept of experiencing life from an organic point of view. It sounds like Mia’s been targeted, they’re going to try and upload a new consciousness into her body. Go check her head, does she have a bump behind her ear? If she does, they’re ready to download *now*!”
Roy broke off the connection, and I raced upstairs. “Mia.” I called out.
“Dad?” Mia opened her door.
“Hey, baby. Roy’s coming over after all. Mind if I palpate your head for a sec?”
“Is something wrong?” Mia asked, backing up.
“Hopefully not. Sorry, I’m coming at you with a lot of energy right now. Can you just feel behind your ears for a little bump?”
“Oh, you mean my little defect? I’ve had a raised bump behind my ears since I was a little kid, dad.”
-----------------------------------
Pt.II? r/nystorm_writes :) | 2022-01-26T13:34:37 | 2022-01-26T13:31:36 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] It’s against the law to time travel back and kill someone before they do a horrible deed. It’s not against the law though to stop someone conceiving a child that will later become evil. After having a crowd follow you everywhere since puberty, you wonder how bad your future children really are. | "You don't understand man." The bean pole of a man whined, "its all they ever do!"
Philip sighed heavily it was the third time this week his pleasant, if a bit mundane life had been interrupted by these folks. Always badgering him to call off his wedding, which was three days away.
"I. Don't. Care." He said, exasperated, "why do you people keep coming back here? What it sounds like is my future children are just annoying, not evil."
"Have you ever worked retail?" He retorted as they all had.
"No," Philip replied quickly, "I work manufacturing, always have, but I refuse to beleive that my children can't be raised better. Or is this one of those, One often meets his destiny, things."
"I don't know man. I just can't go back there knowing they will be there, this seemed like the best chance."
"Good lord! Don't make me say it." Philip threatened
"You wouldn't."
"I want"
"No."
"To speak"
"Please I'll do anything!"
"With your manager."
And that was hiw Philip Mordechai was whisked to the future three days before his wedding | The day starts like it always does yet someone’s in the room with me.
“Hello?” I ask, “who are you?”
No response. Those from the future cannot speak not kill us yet they can interact in any other way.
“Do my children do terrible things?”
No response. I continue my day like any other go to work go home go to sleep. Repeat, Reuse, Recycle, as the motto goes.
One day I’m at a bar and the amount of people pile up. 10, 20, 100 people and more coming in and surrounding the building. I’m wonder what could happen here at the bar that caused all these folk to come by.
Then I see her, Bethany, the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
“Hay handsome,” she says, “why’s there so many people her?”
“I don’t know? I tried asking but no one has responded”
“Hmm. I’ll give it a shot,” Bethany says, “yo nut jobs?what y’all doing here?”
No response.
I take a sip of my beer. Then it hits me. The ice. It, it chokes me. Bethany was freezing out I was about to die. Then the bar tender jobs over the table and saves my life.
All of a sudden it’s back to just the one follower.
“Where did everyone go?” I ask
“Commissioner, it’s time you come home.” One responds
“Home, what do you mean home?”
“Baby, we sent you back so that you could discover time travel” Beth said
“Baby? I discover time travel?... oh my brain freeze.”
“Now we wait.” Says one...
I haven’t written stories in a while so please any help would do.
If you like my work please go to r/PennPandaWrites
Have a great day and God bless | 2022-03-21T21:41:35 | 2022-03-21T16:46:28 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] Turns out being an adventurer wasn't such a good idea. In fact there may be some survivorship bias here. You only really hear about the tiny fraction of adventurers that achieve glory. In reality most of them die violent deaths, become slaves, or worse. Now you run a scared straight program. | People often ask me why I started this program. The answer is not some noble cause well, it is, but rather a noble cause, as in related to the nobility, not high and mighty. Because who do you think actually has this program taught to them? Nobles. Peasants don’t have programs that come to their schools because they don’t have schools. So it’s rich brats from lofty academies that have these programs. Their parents quiver at the thought that their children, which they invested so much money into in regards to education, extracurriculars, etc. would be intrigued by the prospect of throwing their life away by becoming an adventurer. I would know because I was indeed a rich brat.
The thing is, my parents were right, adventuring was dangerous. I got my left hand from a one-headed tailless chimera… fine, it was just a normal lion, but I don’t tell my audience that. I lost my tooth to Iron Maiden, no not a metallic babe but the band, I was punched in the face by the lead vocalist. I have not gained treasure, fame, or tracts of land but rather a restraining order, 5 STDs, PTSD, and 30 lbs.
But why would a noble even become an adventurer? You might ask. Ah, astute question dear reader, the answer is… student loans. Yep, wizard college, rules lawyer school, they all cost an arm and a leg, so I guess you could say they aren’t that different from adventuring (yes, I know, cheap joke, I actually do use it in my presentation, how low I’ve sunk). So, since adventurers make so much money, what better way to pay off loans than slaying monsters? Wrong.
Don’t get me wrong, there were fun moments, but the in-jokes with my friends about the gelatinous cube (the context would be too long to give) will go untold because well… all my friends are dead. Yep. Real fun. So yeah. Here I am, about to go on stage and tell a bunch of rich brats not to make the same mistake I did. Maybe I won’t be a hero to a town or a princess, but I’m a hero to Timothy’s concerned overinvolved mom, and that’s worth something. Gods, I need a drink. | "So, what exactly is it that you do here?" Did start an energetic adventurer one day as I sat at my desk, shuffling around some vital paperwork containing details on our latest applicants. All around us on display, sat old unused equipment back from my glory days as someone as active as the individual that now stood in front of me.
"I run the Adventurer Rehabilitation program; it's designed to help adventurers progress back into society when they stop being adventurers, and encourages folks to stay home and get a stable job instead of going out into the world on some heroic tale that might end up killing them."
"Pff, that's dumb," responded the adventurer, "what kind of self-unrespecting idiot doesn't want to be an adventurer? You get to travel the world, see the sights, meet interesting people, and most importantly, strike it rich when ya delve deep down into the dungeons full of treasure!"
"Plenty of people, in fact," did I hit back with, as I grabbed a stamp and pressed it down on a document, "all those stories you hear about adventurers becoming heroes and having legends and tales written about them only account for about 5% of all adventurers, most end up as lunch for monsters, enslaved to some depraved noble, or even get betrayed and get left for dead by their fellow adventurers in those very dungeons you speak of."
"Think of the glory though!" The adventurer stated, as they inspected my old equipment, "the adrenaline that courses through the body when fighting against your foe, the nerve-wracking yet satisfying feel of bypassing a trap without setting it off, the warmth of saving an innocent village from a goblin raid and being rewarded for it!"
Before I could respond, the adventurer saw my old shield, painted with the colors and insignia of a group I was once part of.
"No way, is this...."
"The Symbol of the Hero's Party? The one and only."
"You were once part of the Hero's Party? What... what happened to you?"
I stood up, and began hobbling my way to the shield, a wooden clack sounding each time my prosthetic leg touched floor.
"Arrow to the knee, a draugr shot me. That very Hero's Party you spoke of left me for dead. Unfortunately, I lived."
"I... I'm sorry Sir, I didn't kno-"
"It's fine, happened years ago." I hobbled my way back to my desk, uneager to start the next round of paperwork, "don't really have any hard feelings over it; anyhow, if you're not willing to let go of that adventuring lifestyle, my program is sponsoring an organization that's designed to give an easier time to adventurers by scouting out quest locations beforehand, as well as ranking adventurers on how cooperative and quest-worthy they are, and most importantly, exist as a support system for adventurers, by adventurers."
I sat down, pulled out a binder from my desk, and set it in front of my potentially newest applicant, "We call it the Adventurer's Guild, are you interested in joining?" | 2022-04-04T00:06:33 | 2022-04-03T22:52:21 | 125 | 65 |
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