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] I've climbed Mt. Everest dozens of times, but I've never reached the summit. I've begun using my own corpses as trail markers, attempting to reach the top before I freeze to death again. (credit to u/PointlessPoem in r/TwoSentenceHorror) | I wake up every time, more than 900 feet from the summit. My ankle, like always, is broken. My fingers are frozen inside of my gloves. Frost bitten. The first and last time I pulled a glove off, skin was stripped off of my bones and the glove kept my index and pinky. Climbing after that was impossible and I soon froze to death again, huddled against a wall of ice.
There is no path down for me. I've tried multiple times and each time I've died, only to wake again, ankle broken, freezing in the snow. I've only had luck with climbing.
I know that I never wake up with enough oxygen left to make the summit. I know that I lost most of my gear in the fall that started this loop. I know that I will likely be climbing this mountain for all of eternity. But the summit calls to me like a siren song.
My corpses greet my progress with solemn silence. Who will I greet? | The wind is cold. It bites at my face. Stinging it like a hundred hornets. tormenting me. It’s feels numbed. It’ll be okay. This time I’ll make it. This time I’ll reach the top. This time I won’t fall into the snow. Eyes blank. As the darkness swirls around and I appear at the beginning all over again. Cursed to climb for all eternity. Like sysiphus and his stone. I don’t remember the first time I tried. But I can still see myself each time I climb this wretched hill. I was young. My eyes filled with hope, determination. Short black hair, hazel eyes. At least that’s how it used to look. It’s old and rotted and smells of rancid skunk rotting on a hot summers day. The air is tightening my throat now. I grab the ground as the snow stabs my hand with a thousand needles. I don’t notice. I need to keep going. This will end if I reach the top. This will end when I reach the top. I will reach the top. I will reach the top. I will-
A heavy load of snow falls on top of me. How could I forget about that damned tree. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. The cold is surrounding me now. It presses down. Relentless it suffocates me. I closes my eyes. White is all I see anymore anyways. The blackness takes over. I spin around and around and...
I’m back at the start. The Woden platform. The smell of pine. An endless stretch of frozen bodies marking my path. The wood is rough on my hands. I put on my boots. And begin the trek again. | 2020-11-08T11:10:52 | 2020-11-08T10:32:54 | 207 | 24 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside. |
It was the constant vibration that woke me up. For a while, it ran into my dream, conjuring images of cars, trains, and washing machines -- but eventually, my cell phone slide over and began to vibrate my cup.
The new noise startled me awake, even though Clint didn't budge.
He snored as I shifted my weight and then fell silent again.
When I checked my phone to see what was pulling me awake at 3 in the forsaken morning, I laughed without realizing I was going to. Three hundred forty-five missed messages, 16 missed phone calls, nine voice mails, and two emergency alerts.
Not amber alerts, nor thunderstorm warnings. It was the strangest broadcast I had ever seen, and if I hadn't seen it in official Maryland State Office text, I would have marked my friends down for a nasty brunch the next day.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
Even official, it didn't make sense. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but my heart was pounding at the strange audacity of…. Well, of apparently everyone I had ever met. I wasn't sure if Clint would respond in anything less than raucous laughter at my gullibility, so I let him sleep and tried to ignore the fact that his phone was still silently ringing off the hook.
It would be his problem in the morning.
Instead, I slid out from underneath the blankets, pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater on, and wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. It would help soothe me -- and allow me to exist later if I didn't settle back down from whatever was happening.
Five minutes later, I was sitting at my kitchen table and making my way through the texts. It got stranger and stranger as I went.
The texts didn't. They stayed exactly the same -- exactly opposite to the warning that had gotten pushed to my phone.
It got stranger as I read the exact same sentence for the 67th time. 105th.
Etcetera.
"It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
I shook my head before I scolded my mouth and yelled at both my phone and myself, "look at what?!"
My voice smacked into the walls, got absorbed into my carpet, and landed into my wars and made me cringe. I didn't really understand my anxiety.
I wondered if perhaps I did need to wake my husband up and planted my feet to move my chair back when my phone rang again.
An unknown caller - private listing.
My lips pulled to one side of my face, and although a nagging voice screamed at me to set it down and find someone more mentally responsible than I was in that moment, I tapped the green button and answered the phone call.
A woman was on the other end. Her voice sounded like mine, but deeper. It was so smooth, so calming and inviting, that when she told me to come outside and see for myself, even the nagging voice went silent.
Like when a mom tells her child that the monsters are gone, it's safe to fall asleep this time.
It simply was the truth.
I walked out my front door, wondering if I should bring my coffee, so it didn't get cold - but the thought was gone as soon as my feet touched the cool cement of the sidewalk.
The moon and stars were out, twinkling like a lullaby. My neighbors stood beside me, lips pulled to the side of their faces, and their eyes were only half-open.
They had looked.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye. A boy in the street was holding something in his arms. If I had to guess, it was a replica of a beautiful animal who was round in the belly and didn't belong in the streets of men.
I couldn't look away from my next-door neighbor long enough to confirm my suspicions. A trail of saliva was falling from her mouth.
Was she asleep? Or was she stunned? Or hungry?
I didn't know. I still don't know.
The police questioned me for hours, and I had to convince them as well that she never told me.
All I know is that I managed not to look. And if it ever happens to you, I advise you to try to do the same.
***
For more stuff by me visit: r/beezus_writes
For longer stuff by me and others, check out r/redditserials | 2021-01-11T19:03:59 | 2021-01-11T16:12:24 | 1,394 | 349 |
[WP] You are constantly on the run from heroes, careful to erase any traces of your presence. Not, mind you, because you are a villain, but because your “deaths” were an important formative for several of the greatest heroes, and you feel too guilty to let them find out you’re immortal. | It was easier before, shaping the heroes of legend. I was the mentor, the parental figure, and, ultimately, the sacrifice. It was a matter of simple planning, a climactic finish, and then a quick move to another land of myth where no one knew of my glory.
And now, things are ridiculously difficult. Cameras everywhere. Hospitals with machines that can detect the lightest uptick in breath. Missing posters and facial recognition and too many things that just lead to hero backstories falling apart.
And so that was why I was apprehensive but not entirely surprised when I sensed the team of supers at my doorstep. I didn’t bother casting a glamour as I opened the door.
And there they were, my crowning achievements. Invisi-Girl, Electronix, and Redforce. They stumbled back and forward again when I raised an eyebrow. "Radha. Noah. Cole. It is good to see you three together."
"Anvit-ji," Radha gasped, at the same time Noah murmured, "Mr. Grayson," and Cole blinked and blurted, "Ray?"
They'd expected to see me, in all my various forms, and yet they were still surprised. I wasn't sure if the surprise was pleasant or anger-inducing. A bit of both, I guessed, and invited them inside.
Radha had been taught the art of invisibility by a master that died after passing on the secrets of his powers. Noah had learned to program, and later control electricity, from his computer science teacher who was targeted by a foreign cyber terrorist who tried to control him and his powers. Cole had lost the wrestler who had taught him how to give and take punches in the same radioactive storm that gave him his mutated strength.
They remembered me. I remembered them. We had shaped each other. And they had not known I was alive until now.
I served them lemon tea. My trademark, in a way - my identities changed over the years, but my tea blends did not. They took their cups, only vaguely realizing that I still remembered the way they liked it, and stared around the room as if they had never seen walls before. This house was small, and I always traveled light, but some things never changed. I held onto a few valued trinkets from heroes of old, forgotten by all but me, that now lined the bookshelves of the room. I always surrounded myself with books, though whether they were textbooks or scrolls or banned readings depended on the age.
I let them stare, and then I allowed them to get angry. I had anticipated most of this. The question of how was answered as succinctly as possible, and the how-could-you and the accompanying tears hit hard but I still answered.
"The world needed great heroes, throughout all the ages," I said, and took a sip of the tea. "And heroes need training. And to force them to use that training to help rather than hurt - they need to be hurt first."
They didn't understand. They raged and cursed, and drew back, and studied me silently. "I lost you," Noah said in the end, and I met his eyes. "I lost you once. And now I realize I've lost you a thousand times since then."
"And if you had not lost me? If you all had not lost me? Would you have joined together to defeat the supervillain of last year, that you gave everything to destroy? Would you have fought if you did not have the image of a man reminding you to fight?"
"I-" And they stopped. And then they protested, a moment later, but that hesitation was enough. We knew the answer.
"You were not puppets," I said, and I rose. They rose with me. "I was your teacher, and I shaped you, but I loved you. I chose you. I may not have been in your lives for long, but I have watched you grow into the powerful team you are. You are truly heroes, in every sense of the world. I have never been more proud."
And the three grown heroes were not happy as they stepped back into the evening light, but neither were they upset. They had each met a beloved man they had thought to be dead. And while they did not know exactly what to think, they did thank me for the tea as they left.
It was a bit like lemon tea, I mused as I closed the door. Bitter, but rich. Sour, but sweet. | Faking your death is a really good way to get a fresh start somewhere. Unfortunately, it's also means that you've got to avoid the area for a while *and* anyone from your past life there, no matter where in the world they go.
It used to be a lot easier in the past. I could move a few towns over and be pretty safe from running into people I had known. As technology advanced, I had to move further. But air travel and social media. Those two simple things have made my life so much harder. Now, I have to move halfway around the world and learn another language lest one of my old acquaintances runs into me. This is particularly problematic because for some reason I have a tendency of befriending heroes-to-be. Their innate abilities can probably sense mine, drawing us together for a time. Then I fake my death and move to my next life. It's not a simple thing either. It takes time to arrange faking your death. Usually six months, but at least three to get all of the paperwork in order.
I was sipping a coffee at one of the street cafes in Brisbane when I nearly choked on my drink. Not that that would have done anything to me. What on earth was Phil doing in Australia? Last I had seen him, he was in LA, pursuing a stunt career. I tried to hide myself in my book, but it was too late.
"Hannah?" Phil asked. He was striding over to me, and there was no escaping this encounter.
I didn't respond as he walked over. Maybe he'd think he had the wrong person.
"I though you were dead!" Phil said when he reached my table.
"About that," I said. "It's complicated."
"There was a funeral and everything," Phil said. "And here you are halfway around the world."
"Have a seat and hold the table for me," I said. "I'll get you a coffee as well. You take it the same way still?"
"Is your accent different?" Phil asked. "And yeah, my order hasn't changed."
"It helps to blend in," I said. "English isn't even my first language."
"You could have fooled me," Phil said. "Now, or last time we talked."
Phil was taking this surprisingly well, considering that he was talking to a dead friend halfway around the world. I got up and went to get another pair of coffees. Coffee here was different, and better, so I went for the thing I thought Phil would like the most, and another of my regular. We were both probably going to need something stronger later.
"So you're really alive," Phil said.
"And you're in Australia," I said. "I would have thought stunt acting would have kept you in LA."
"A director I've worked with wanted to film in Gold Coast," Phil said. "And I had some other business down here, so it worked out well."
I wondered what Phil's *other* business was. If my acquaintances of the previous few centuries were any indication though, he moonlighted in the hero business. Some people were more overt about it than others, but that was an ongoing pattern in the people who were drawn to me.
"But seriously, how are you alive?" Phil asked.
I swallowed. I hadn't shared this detail with anyone in a long time. I think my last confidante was a vampire in 1839? I needed someone to put me in contact with people who could forge papers, and as reclusive as vampires were, they had a similar problem.
"I can't die," I said. "I'm stuck this age, until who knows when."
"That- I don't know if that's amazing or terrible," Phil said.
"Both," I said.
"You know, I got into my side gig because of you," he said. "Turns out that there's all sorts of people out there with abilities out there."
I nodded. None of this was news to me.
"After you died, vanished, whatever," Phil said. He paused for a moment to take a sip of his coffee and collect his thoughts. "After that, I started my own investigation, since the police were doing squat. One thing led to another, and I before I knew it I was using my strength and speed to catch bad guys. The Hollywood connections came in useful there. I'd take bits and pieces of costumes to build my own disguise. And before I knew it, half of my nights were booked with the local HeroCorps chapter."
"I know," I said.
"You did?" Phil asked.
"I keep up with the news," I said. "And I know how to see through disguises, unlike most people. A few centuries of life and you pick up all sorts of skills. But, now that you know I'm alive, are you mad at me? For faking my death, and running halfway around the world?"
"Mad?" Phil asked, laughing. "Why would I be? It's great to see you!"
I sighed in relief. Maybe it wasn't such a terrible thing to run into old friends.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you liked this, check out more of my stuff at /r/TheLastComment
edited to fix typo | 2021-04-05T19:21:48 | 2021-04-05T18:16:30 | 1,214 | 824 |
[WP] A party of adventurers has hired you to "raise their spirits". You're wondering when to break the news that you're not a bard. You're a necromancer that plays the harp as a hobby.
EDIT: Great submissions everyone! If I missed giving you an updoot for it, the fault is with me and not your story. | "Being around corpses and spirits doesn't really help improve one's ability to communicate really, I must admit, especially when you're already a loner such as I."
"But who would've thought I, a necromancer, would've been confused and HIRED as a bard eventually?"
"Certainly not I, but to be fair, stating that I'm an individual who raises spirits while playing my harp outside the local tavern maybe wasn't the brightest of ideas."
"Not that this is the first time such a misunderstanding came to be... Reminds me of that one time when I was accidentally hired as a healer that uses the power of the gods. Maybe that time, while wearing my usual robe stating I convene with the all mighty forces that govern wasn't also the smartest of statements... I'm starting to see a pattern here..."
"Well, whatever. I consider myself a pretty decent musician from how often I play the harp since I always play it when I'm bothered, and I'm pretty much always bothered by something, such as when I found out that spirits are really damn annoying to convince to do quite literally anything."
"Well, that's my side of the story, sorry about not mentioning it earlier!" I say, as my part- er, former party looks at me as zombies.
\~\~\~\~\~
First-time writer, please do provide any tips on how this could've been better. | Damn I made a huge problem for myself, didnt I?
A necromancer hired to be a fucking Bard. That's new. And laughable. In this world, there is only one thing that matters and for me its magic.
I play a harp as a fucking hobby to release stress aside... Other R-Rated activities. Anyway i decided to tell them during one of the missions, we are taking today. I was asked to come with them as an observer but I knew what I was about to do. And how to break the news i'm a Necromancer....
Next day we went to a Dungeon of Souls, a very dangerous cave with dragons in it. As we were sorrounded after few minutes of walk, i decided to do my thing.
"Guys"
I said when everyone looked at me
"Yea? Any ideas?"
Asked a beautifull elf that was actually scared for the first time in her life. And I thought im an amateur mage.
"Ye. Wanna hear the best song you would ever hear? After I will save your ass.. i want a private moment with you, if you know what I mean"
The elf blushed as the team laughed from the hillariousness of the words i chosen, when the elf called me a pervert and slapped me in the face.
"Pervert. I will think of it."
Said as she blushed when I revealed myself... I drew out a book out of a pocket dimension and caught the team's attention who look at me shocked and scared.
As I started to cast my spell from the necrology book, skeletons slowly risen from the ground, as they started to get back to life. Dragons walked few meters away, somwhat scared of this.
Few minutes after this, my skeleton army dispatched of the dragons as I nearly dropped unconsious, grabbed by the mentioned elf with big milkers so I will not fall on the ground. When I woke up in her chest, i smiled.
"Told you that's going to be the best live performance you ever heard."
I chuckled when decided to take a small nap. | 2021-04-10T07:25:45 | 2021-04-10T07:19:39 | 96 | 43 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope. | "Oh, come on, bud." I say to one of the most powerful superheroes on the planet.
"I mean listen, I absolutely despise you cause of your always foiling my evil schmes and all, but this is just sad. I'm a mad scienist whose built over a dozen death rays and one time blew up an orphanage for shits and giggles but when I tested the love detector I got like 10 bright dots and a dozen kinda dim ones at least from like family and friends. You've got one, barely glowing one. That's the most surface level kinda love this thing registers."
His lip is starting to quiver and his eyes are starting to water. Oh no. I thought up every contingency plan to fight this giant, buff, manly Hercules except for what happens if I have to witness him cry.
I try to stop it, "Oh, don't" and he starts loudly wailing. Snot is coming out of his nose, his face is all scrunched up, and he's blubbering. The man I once saw lift an entire building over his head while eight tanks were firing at him is BLUBBERING.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do in this scenario, but I hate what is happening currently and really wish it would stop so I guess I should comfort him?
"Hey, don't cry... You're really ugly when you cry." He starts wailing louder.
"Oh, shit. I didn't even mean to insult you it's just kinda become my natural instinct at this point. Uhhh. I mean you'll find people that love you eventually."
He looks up at me, "Really?" God, this dweeb really needed some hope.
"Uh, yeah. I mean there's the person that's the dot." The dot is starting to fade and I quickly shut off the monitor.
He starts confiding in me, "It's just I have a really hard time connecting with people y'know." He's still crying but less disgustingly.
"Maybe you could get some other superhero friends. You always seem to hve fun when you team up with StrongArm and between you and me, I think I've seen Ms. Spell check you out a few times. But, you gotta build these relationships over time."
He's stopped crying, "Do you really think that people will love me?"
"Yeah. Sure." I remove his chains. "Now, how about this: You go home and make soem superhero friends. Meanwhile, I'll destroy this machine. Then, neither of us will ever, EVER speak of this again. Ok?"
I quickly shoo him out with a complimentary box of tissues before considerin if I should've just listened to my parent and become an engineer. | Marybelle Smith once again call a certain number on her phone but unlike the previous instances there is no response from the other side.
"God damnit Carl where the hell are you?!" she impatiently said her hand shake.
"We really need to evacuate now, young master.", His body guard said
Of all the times for him to be unresponsive, he chose the time when the entire city is in chaos.
King Machina had once again invaded the city and of course it is up to Glitch to put an end to the rampage and save the day once more. That is how everything is supposed to happen.
But apparently not today...
Because King Machina had apparently invaded with the largest army of robots that they covered the sky, far numerous than what her dad can make.
If Glitch can hack through the robots with his powers then throw more robots on him was apparently his strategy.
What followed next is the most elaborate game of hide and seek between the two. If Glitch can find King Machina he will save the day, if he got captured...
Well, that is why her father is evacuating her out of the city.
By some miracle the mansion was not yet touched by Machina's drones or maybe it was his dad's security forces being effective but it won't last long.
She really needs to leave now.
"Mary, wait!" a voice suddenly shouted from the distance.
It is young man, in his jogging pants and white T-shirt rushing into them before dropping to his knees gasping for air.
"Carl, where is your phone!? Why are you not answering!" she said in an annoyed manner but deep down a huge spike was removed from her chest.
"Destroyed by robots.... saw your messages... before that..." he said began standing up but his legs are shaking. It seems that the battle to the worst out of him but at least he's safe.
He can leave with her.
They can be together.
They will be safe together.
As the last passenger of the shuttle entered the vehicle. They wasted no time in leaving the city.
+++
King Machina looked at the vehicle containing Glitch as they move out of city.
There is no need to observe him. He will never comeback again.
The battle was close but the cost of using [Glitch] repeatedly had finally collapsed on him as he collapsed just before the final blow.
"Did you see that my dear hero, this is a scanner they will reveal who you care about before I kill them. in front of you."
Contrary to what he had planned however there is only one name to show on the screens.
Marybelle 'Mary' Smith
"Don't touch her." the unmasked Glitch said as he suddenly mustered will to control one his laser cameras.
"Why not?"
"Because she is the one I wanted protect."
They made a deal after a few minutes. No one will touch her, as long as he stayed away from his activities.
He agreed and began to pack out of the city along with the person he wanted to protect and her loyal guards.
He then laughed at the irony for they he realized that technology is not the only thing they have common.
"Well, I have an announcement to make." Mr Smith said he wear his mask as part of his costume.
"The announcement of my success." This is just a beginning...
The world is for he her daughter.
Glitch will keep her safe. | 2021-06-19T01:29:21 | 2021-06-19T01:05:23 | 57 | 29 |
[WP] You are an alien in a thriving galactic society. At the center of society, is the beloved and wise humans, who rule this galaxy. But you’ve learned a terrible truth. Humans learned early on that they were the only intelligent life, so they created all other races out of fear of being alone. |
Gren slammed his scaled fist through the plaster wall, barely avoiding crushing the head of the puny human he clutched by the neck in his other claw. "Lies," he roared, a lingering slither drawing out the word. His snout pressed close to the human's soft features, inhaling the slightly fruity scent of his hair. The human writhed, his hands feabily tearing at the unyielding muscles in Gren's arm. The human's face was changing colors, his countenance stretched into an expression of sheer panic.
Gren released his grasp, letting the human fall in a crumpled heap to the ground. "For nine years," Gren growled, his words trailing out slowly, "I have hunted for the truth to this tale." The human coughed, gasping as air again filled his lungs. "Look at you," Gren gestured at the human who had rolled onto his stomach and was trying to crawl away. "Look at how weak you are," Gren lifted one of his clawed feet, massive compared to that of human, and stepped down hard on the human's thigh. The sound of snapping bone filled the small office. "You would think yourself a God?"
"No," the human gasped. "Please."
"Pathetic," Gren slurred, shifting his weight to increase the pressure on the leg of the human.
The human tried to scream, though Gren must have damaged something in his throat. It came out as little more than a hoarse croak. Gren left him to his cries. Others would come; others who might have answers to his questions.
(First time writing one of these, hope length and stuff is okay) | Since no one wrote something, I'll do what I can.
Grouku looked at the documents he held in front of him. He had taken this from an ancient place, forgotten by all living beeings. Apparently what he was holding was called a book. It wasn't easy to understand what was contained in this so called book. The people who spoke the dead language in which it was written were few, and even less were willing to teach it. After months of training he was finally able to read well enough and his Journey began. At first he tought it was a work if fiction, a fantasy and old myth placed in a world created by someones imagination. It narrated of a world called Earth. A planet far far away inhabited by the very wise humans. They were different tough, they didn't live forever, they used ancient machinery some of which were unknown to Grouku and they often made mistakes. He was surprised and deluded, during his Journey he had come to believe that this book contained some sort of secret, a lost chapter of the Empires story. But what he found was a Fairy take nothing more. What he found most peculiar was the absence of the other races. Maybe the author was an alienist? The more he read the stronger he felt like there was something he was missing, a detail, a hidden message. He read and read, page after page, following the progress of the humans, as they discovered nuclear fusion ad they bio engineered themselves as they started creating life. The Borgaz the bays the tuyas and so on, and so on. Some had 3 legs some had 2 heads and tentacles too, some had wings and 3 hearts. The revelation struck hard and Struck fast, Groukus 3 hearts skipped a beat and he shook his great wings, unable to believe what he saw written before him. And so you know said a voice behind him. I knew this day would come, in a way or another. I just had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Grouku looked behind him but no beeing was there, the voice tough was unmistakingly human. Why? Why did you do this? The Human replied.
And now why doesn't someone else continue? :-) Let's see what the human replied or if he replied at all | 2021-07-08T04:34:54 | 2021-07-08T03:50:28 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal and indestructible, but the universe isn't, and that horrifies you | He looked at Eve, her eyes focused on the screen, biting her lip in intense concentration. He hadn't thought he'd be able to feel this way about anyone ever again. But here he was, heart gently aching in that tell tale way. No, he couldn't go through it all again. He put a lid on all his feelings and closed his eyes, trying to think of something... less human. He thought about the suns he had seen, blink out of existence as if some cosmic force had blown out the candle. He remembered sitting on a meteorite as he was arriving on this planet, the burning as he entered the atmosphere, the...
"Hey."
He opened his eyes to see her bright blue ones, looking back at him. He raised his eyebrows as she lifted the gun and shot him.
As always, she winced a little as the smell of smoke filled the air.
She looked at her watch and back to the man lying on the table. Had it worked? Had she killed him? Would she never hear his voice again? Will they never had another night where he'd sit looking at the moon and tell her stories of worlds, so different from their own, as her eyes went wide and...
He opened his eyes. "Well, hello there. Still here. Have a really shitty headache though."
"Couldn't been worse. I'll keep working."
*****************
10 Years later.
He looked at Eve as she lay on the table, her eyes partially closed, intense pain on her face.
He held her hand as he guided her through the breathing, just as he had learnt in class. Things were going to change now. This was new.
He remembered how bored he had been with it all. But the last decade had been exciting. Their adventures together, their trips, their memories. And now... fatherhood. Something he had never ever considered. Now, at this moment, all his doubts came back. How could he handle this? How could he be a good father? What if his kid was also cursed like him? Worst of all, what if he loved him as much as he loved Eve? Eve was growing older, as he stood still, frozen in time, like a broken clock. How would he deal with losing...
"Hey. Look at me." Eve smiled at him, in spite of the obvious terrible pain she was in.
That's when he knew that he was all in.
*********
12 years later.
"Dad, I scraped my knee."
He smiled, as always, before finally tending to Samuel. It was weird, but every little injury his kid had, made him slightly happy.
Eve came out of their home too. She was always much better at this stuff. Soon enough, Samuel, was heading back to the playground.
"Hey Eve. I love you."
"Sometimes, I love you too."
He laughed. "Planning on murdering your husband in the night?"
Her face fell. "No. We'll try next year."
"We made a decision to wait till he was 12. He turns 12 tomorrow."
"Yeah, but... but what if it works."
***************
30 Years later
"Come on old man."
Samuel looked at his dad, as they climbed the mountain. "Funny coming from you, that. What're you like, 200,000 years old?"
"That's what a good skin care routine does for you."
At the top, the looked at each other, before they turned over the urn, letting Eve's ashes fly off into the wind.
Samuel placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "We'll be ok."
He looked at his son, blurry because of the tears. "This time. What about in 30 years."
"Don't worry dad. I promised her. I'll kill you before I die. And that's a promise."
**************
20 Years later.
He looked at Samuel, with his eyes focused on the screen, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair.
He saw the resemblance and smiled to himself. Like mother, like son. Luckily, unlike father.
Another earthquake rattled their lab. The world outside was falling apart.
Samuel quickly came up to him. "Ok, so enter the chamber."
"And this will work?"
"It will."
"It will kill me."
Samuel avoided his eyes.
"Son. You know you can't lie to me."
"I failed dad. But I'm doing the next best thing." Samuel closed the chamber door as his father slammed his fists against the glass. "She'll be there."
With a flash of light he was gone.
He opened his eyes. Where was he? He noticed a box lying close to his feet. Inside he saw his wife and kid. And a letter. Alternate universes. Travelling through the rips in time and space. Find her. Get your family back.
He walked around, looking down from the mountain he was on. An alternate universe? Was it possible? His own universe was gone, but were there others?
He walked down the mountain as he saw a figure in the distance. The same face. The same intelligent eyes.
He walked up to her, trying to hide his own smile. "Hi Eve."
"Hello. You are...?"
"My name is Adam. I need you to kill me."
********
*Minor edits to the wife's name | "Ninety-nine bottles of Coke on the wall\~"
Clink. Hiss.
"Ninety-nine bottles of Coke\~"
Clink. Gulp.
"You take one down, pass 'em around-
Clink. Gulp.
"N....ninety-eight? Bottles of Coke on the wall\~"
The echo from your voice bouncing off the crumbling foundation fades, as you feel the warm ambrosia fill your liver. With the sound of an empty air pocket popping as your lips leave the nipple, you lay the emptied bottle onto the pale glass table.
Clink!
You move, tearing yourself away from the table. You feel the same stale, hot air surrounding the cave now flooding in & out from your agitated nostrils. But it's just the walls. *Just* the walls. Even as your heart kept thrashing and clawing at your chest, your eyes and your ears tell you there's no-one here.
Looking down at the table, you notice something had dropped from the bottle's lid; a rough-edged cap. Doesn't say when it was printed, as a thin layer of brownish flakes cover the cap's interior. Can't quite make it out, either. Without purpose, your finger flicks the rusted bottle-cap across the pale glass table. A residue of sticky brownish liquid trails after the errant cap, before landing on its' flattened side like a coin. Breathing another stale sigh, you slouch back down.
All you could do was wait and try to remember. When was the last draft of fresh air that you felt? The last time you felt something - anything - caressing your skin that wasn't a figment of your imagination. Where & when did you come here, to this place? *Ten* years ago? A *hundred*? A *thousand*? Your curled fist slams against the table's aged, time worn surface. A sickening crack grabs your attention. A section of the top shelf just....*evaporated*. No shards. Not a speck of blood. Just dust gathering at your feet.
You wake up, straightening your spine. But it felt like you blinked for just a second. Even closing your eyes and laying your head, trying to surround yourself in blackness and find some escape, you feel no relief. Just the weight of slowly crumbling glass, stale cave air, the feeling of your nostrils expanding and contracting. And your heart's vibration, slowing to a crawl. But as you lay your head down, eyes inches away from a sharpened edge, something touches you. You stop yourself, taking a breath. Something...*cold*! From above your head, you feel it brush against your hair again. Did it come from the outside? Or...is there even an Outside to go to? The wind beckons you upward, *whispering*. Did it come from the outside? Is there even an Outside to see? Millenia of instincts scream from the pit of your stomach. The time has come.
Climbing the surface, your arm muscles and leg tendons stretch and creak. Only one thing is on your mind, distracting you from your own body's condition; *keep going*. Your hands adhering to cracks within the aged structure surrounding you, you continue to climb, knucklebones and digits bending into each new gap you can find. You stop climbing for a moment and look back down at your home, now half a mile from your current location, then to the crack in the ceiling where you hear the wind whistling louder. You feel it again, instinctively bracing your shoulders with your hand. *You're getting closer*, you mutter, hands struggling to get a firm grip. *Keep going.* You continue to climb, feeling your heart beating louder as it matches the rhythm of your limbs. *Left arm forward, right arm back*. *Right leg forward, left leg up*.
Reaching the ceiling, you huddle closer to the wall, letting your eyes survey your current situation; There's only a single sizeable gap for your hands to fit, inches from a hatch dangling close to your forehead. But you get the sense this ceiling opens from the *inside,* towards your only gap. Taking another breath, you adjust your feet to the craggy wall with one hand clasping the metallic gap. Steadying your spine and lower back, you reach out for the hatch with your remaining hand. *Got it*! You smirk for what feels like the first time in a long time. Feeling the hatch's grip fitting into your hand, you kick the wall with both feet, letting go of the gap as you feel yourself swinging toward the other side. An ear-splitting screech of rusted metal grinding against metal echoes through the cave, its' ancient mechanism stretching itself out beyond its' limits.
Crack!
The hatch falls open, a rush of air funnelling down the open entrance. No time to celebrate, you have just enough leeway to leap forward and grip onto its' edges with your free hand. Letting go of the handle, you hurriedly fidget, struggling to grab onto something. Then, with your legs falling limp, you squirm and scrape against the surface. As your fingers claw for support, you feel something firm; soil. Digging in for dear life, you pull yourself out from your prison, clothes brushing against the warm dirt as your eyes clamp shut.
*"Breathe in....breathe out.."* You mutter, lungs filling up with air as your hands pat the ground. You can't believe it. You just *cannot* believe it. *"Breathe in....breathe out..."* As you open your eyes, you look up at an inky blue sky dotted with stars. A weary smile crosses your lips, as you lay your head onto the warm dirt. | 2021-09-09T08:05:33 | 2021-09-09T07:51:46 | 59 | 26 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | I was lounging in a chair, just minding my business, insulting the Dark Lord as I tend to do here, and took another swig of my sparkling cider as I strongly despise alcohol.
"And I swear on my name, the guy has warts up the wazoo! He musta touched a lotta frogs to get *that* ugly!" I say as some of the other patrons snickered a little into their tankards.
Suddenly, a young child in the corner stood up, slamming their hands on the table in the process.
"Do not insult his lordship!" They shouted with one hand moving toward their hip, possibly reaching for a wand or dagger. I didn't care enough to look.
"And uh, who are you exactly?" I said snarkily, "I didn't know *his lordship* had any kids, 'specially since the bastard's too ugly to get laid!" I said, laughing at my own joke.
The kid was getting redder with rage by the second. This should be fun.
"I will give you one warning. You will stop these insults now, or I will stop them for you." They said, their voice dripping with malice, or as close to malice as a child of, what, 16(?) could manage.
"I'd like to see you try kiddo." I said, leaning back in my chair and taking another sip of my cider.
Suddenly, my glass shattered and all the other patrons started running around like headless chickens. I raised an eyebrow at the kid who was currently pointing a wand of what looked like ebony (damn expensive things) in my general direction.
I sigh and stand up, wiping the glass off of my clothing.
"Look, kid, that wasn't very nice of you. You're gonna be covering that tab, got it?" I say, resting against the edge of the table.
"Ha! As if a *woman* could possibly do any dama-" the words stopped short in their mouth when I went from across the tavern to right in their face in a split second, holding a sharpened wand (magic and physical damage, plus blood is fantastic for dark magic) to their chin.
"I dare you to finish that sentence." I say, smiling as sweetly as possible.
The kid was getting nervous, their confidence flickering like a bad candle. "The dark lord will finish you!" They said, voice wavering slightly.
"Yea no I doubt that." I say, lowering my knife-wand and yawning as I take a step back.
"And why is that?" They asked, grinning. "The dark lord could take someone like you any day!"
"Uh, mostly because if you know them so well, why haven't I met you before?" I say, tilting my head. 'Let's wrap this up...I want to go home.' I thought to myself.
"Ha! And who are you?" They said, crossing their arms confidently over their chest.
I started to snicker. And then giggle. And then full on laughing, with the doubling over and everything.
I catch my breath and raise to my full height of 5'5 (with heels). "Because, kid, for your knowledge, I am the dark lord."
They stared in disbelief, and then turned red again. They raised the wand above their head and started to try and cast a fire incantation, but I snapped my fingers and the wand splintered midway through the swing.
"Who exactly *is* your dark lord exactly?" I ask as the kid went from red to whiter than a sheet of paper.
"I-It's my...my..." and then stops.
"Your your what? Speak up dammit, I don't have all day." I sigh.
Suddenly, the kid slams a fist on the counter and turns to leave.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going? You still have to pay for that cup ya know!" I yelled after them.
"I'm going to kill him..." the kid muttered over and over again.
"Who are you gonna kill?" I asked, suddenly interested.
The kid turns around one last time before walking out.
"My brother!"
The door was then slammed, glass was everywhere, the patrons were all still losing their minds, and I was standing in the middle of the chaos with a slight smirk on my face and one thought in my mind.
"Damn. Looks like tonight is gonna be fun." | Agileas sobered up, thread of Water inward; an old trick developed at an age younger than the boy standing in front of him. "You? An apprentice of the Dark? Don't make me-"
A needle of Earth; poison and buzzing, shot through his vacated chair, a coat of Fire surrounding it and hiding the hole it had made. Air rushed out, toxins threatening to invade; easily dispelled with a burst of Air of his own. "Sh-hut UP!" the boy shouted.
Agileas sighed. Not only did he not recognise the boy; he was also far younger than his usual set of apprentices and too emotional by half. Use emotions, yes; fools of the Light preached numbness and sterility. Be used by emotions, no: that way only laid pain, at best. "Boy's had too much to drink," he shouted over the din; other patrons figuring out there was a magic duel happening and preparing accordingly. He counted five crossbows and two sets of throwing daggers, not to mention the regular sidearms. "I'll sober him up with some water. Or Water, I don't know yet!"
"Just do it outside, Saag!" the bartender shot back before demonstratively going back to serving a drink.
A flick of Air and a rush of Water and the boy was washed out of the establishment, while a waft of Fire and Air flash-dried the floor before anything could seep in. Agileas took a bow and threw a gold coin into the till before leaving, mind already on the next spells he needed to employ. One weave of Air: a curtain to deaden sound's escape. One heavy wave of Water, in case someone was looking. One stab of Earth; a wall behind to block flight. One thrust of the Dark, left and up to the centre of mass.
He hadn't anticipated the slash of Earth and Dark, and it took him aback, impacting on his heavily bespelled tunic. He grunted with the impact, but the tunic had experienced worse and absorbed it as it ought, fuelling the Dark Lord's own counter, instinct picking apart the Magic and distributing it accordingly. "You *are* a student of the Dark Lord," Agileas mused softly as he walked up; voice unmagically modulated to carry to the paralysed boy of maybe fourteen winters. "Yet I do not recall you." In fact, he made a point to not take apprentices under nineteen winters old, to remove the worst of age-induced temperament. "That spell is one of my favourites."
The boy was pale in the moonlight, the dagger of Dark inches from his heart. "Yo... You..." The dagger receded. "You're not Him."
That was the voice of someone who believed something could not possibly be true; not a mere statement of denial. "I am," the Dark Lord countered, studying the half-foot shorter boy with one hand behind his back. One hand that wove Water and Dark in a spiral; and with a swirl, the spell went into the boy's head. "Name, age, rank, date, fourth invocation."
"Ignat, fourteen winters and a spring, Apprentice Seventh, Sixth of Harvest Moon and Thirteenth of Begaz," the boy recited dully, before uttering a string of words in Low Elvish. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, his spell wavered. "Agi...le...aasssssssssssss."
The Dark Lord Agileas was not easily taken aback, yet in nine words and one invocation, the boy had managed to do so. Water and Earth receded, Dark was quashed, and Air kept the boy upright; his own magic rushing back and... Submitting. That, if nothing else, proved the veracity, yet questions remained. "Ignat, Seventh, we will have words after the sun rises on the morn. I have questions, and you will answer them, through Water and Dark if I must, but the Worm Moon of the Twelfth demands sacrifice." He had *hoped* to ply one of the drunkards into his ritual, but after what had just happened, that was futile. "Something you ought to know as a Seventh."
"I... I do..." the boy said, still weak, unsurprisingly. The weave wasn't known for being subtle or painless. Nor did the Dark Lord know anyone who could resist it except himself, until now. "I... This isn't the Thirteenth of Begaz? It... It actually worked?"
Myriad questions arose. The Dark Lord suppressed them. Now was not the time. Not if he had to find a sacrifice. "We will talk on the morn. For now..." he cut Air and Dark and Earth, only to meet a lance of Fire. "Boy."
"I... I remember what happened. A... A peasant's child... Fr... From here." Eyes widened. "Her!"
Air and Earth grabbed, and a waif of a girl, seven winters if that, came flying out of an opened window. | 2022-01-14T16:47:02 | 2022-01-14T15:38:16 | 84 | 56 |
[WP] You used to be an unmatched supervillain, elite heroes feared you and it took teams of them to stop you. At 104, you just want to live out your retirement in anonymous peace. Your grandson has asked just you to help rescue his new girlfriend from new supervillains, and she's pregnant. | "Greetings, it's been a while" the voice billows over the room and people stir awake and realize they are bound. Many many people, or rather superheros.
"Strivi. I hoped I wouldn't hear your voice ever again. I am surprised I recognized it" one super hero calls out.
"Oh yes, I have gotten old. I am glad someone recognized me so quickly that will make this much much easier.
I am here to call in my favor. You all owe me after all."
Objections and yelling fill the room. Nobody owes Strivi anything. Everyone hated him when he was active, everyone fought him, nobody was helped by him.
Strivi waited for a bit. Before hushing them.
"Oh but you do...
You don't think you escaped death so many times
On your own did you?...
Bird boy you didn't think that you cleverness allowed you to escape my electric cave and my foolish talking to let you do so was all an accident did you?
Worm woman you think I so happened to forget dirt under the rock in the cage I caught you in?
Muscle man... I made the way to get out of your cage to break it for peaks sake.
All of you owe your life to me. I was unmatched, unstopped, unbested. I was fully capable of killing all of you or at least preventing you from being heroes. Yet I had the strength to let you do what you want so I did.
Well now I am here to collect
Someone has hurt my family. My son, his wife, and their unborn children. They have taken his wife. They are the new super villain group 'serodium' I know heroes have been trying to stop them.
Today I call on you. We are not going to stop them. We are not going to simply rescue my daughter in law.
We are going to eliminate them. We will make them an example for villains and heroes alike. The retired are off limits. Lest we leave our comfortable lives.
So now one last fight. For you heroes to stop some villains and for this villain to put some people in their place.
Tonight, with the debt you owe me, we will act as one. " | "There's plenty of fish in the sea, boy" grandpa coughs, spitting a fat loogie onto the pavement.
"But gramps..." I moan, rubbing my hand over my forehead. "She's different."
There is no reply, so I look up to find grandpa staring at me intently. His face is riddled with wrinkles, but under his grey hair are piercing blue eyes. Even at his old age, he's still a sharp one. I shudder involuntarily. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's as if he can see right through me.
"Spit it out, boy" Grandpa says. "What have you done?"
"I...we..." I mumble. "We're pregnant.."
I don't dare look at Grandpa, and am internally recoiling, waiting for the rebuke. But once again it's fallen silent.
"...well shit" Grandpa finally mutters. I look up to see he's lost in thought.
"What are we going to do gramps?" I finally ask, after waiting a moment.
"We?" he scoffs, as I watch him lift his cane. His normally hunchbacked posture has gone ram rod straight, and I get a bad premonition.
"Wa...wait-" I start to cry out before *THWACK* Grandpa hits me over the head.
"Son of a gun!" I cry out, falling on my ass. I take my hand to my head and feel something wet. *Blood.*
A figure walks steadily toward me, and I look up to find Grandpa towering over me, the sun casting a long shadow in front of him. His face is furrowed, his age hidden by the shade. He wields his staff - no, *cane* \- in hand, blood dripping onto the pavement below. He wets his lips, and I swear his eyes glow with zeal.
"I... I"m sorry grandpa" I gulp. Even if only for a moment, I've forgotten that this man is a hundred and four years old. No, that would be underestimating him. I know who he really is. I haven't seen him for a long time, but in this moment, he's returned. "The Immortal.." I whisper, reverence filling my heart for the man I've looked up to all my life. The man I call Grandpa.
"That should be enough, then" Grandpa says, tapping his cane on the ground. "I'm going to take care of this for you, but you might not like the result."
"What do you mean, Grandpa?" I ask softly. "You're going to save her?"
"Save her?" Grandpa snorts. "Hmph. No. No." he says, shaking his head.
"I'm going to kill her." | 2022-09-25T10:20:53 | 2022-09-25T03:14:36 | 209 | 98 |
[WP] You used to be an unmatched supervillain, elite heroes feared you and it took teams of them to stop you. At 104, you just want to live out your retirement in anonymous peace. Your grandson has asked just you to help rescue his new girlfriend from new supervillains, and she's pregnant. | "you know, child, I never exactly thought myself a villain when I was prime. Debt ran through my veins back then, more than what most would take..."
Within my home, green and blue flames hold the darkness at bay, though not because they can. The smell of metal, ash, and pumpkin spices reigns over all other smells, though only because they need to. All is quiet, despite the shag carpet, wind chimes, and my grandson trying to break it.
"I know, grampa. You have told me this many times."
As crass as he may be, he speaks his mind. Not too many would do that, and fewer still in my presence.
"Then why would you ask me to make a deal... With you? My only grandchild? You know what has happened to those who deal with me and my... Friends..."
I shudder at the reminder of them. Sure, they are... Friends of mine, but your version of it and... Theirs... Is not exactly the same thing.
"Because... I... We... I-I..." Is that- tears?
"My Love is... Has... Been taken from me... And she wasn't all I lost..." He is straining to try and find the words... What did he mean by "wasn't all" he lo-
"No. You have got to be joking"
He raised his head, locking eyes with mine. A move people learned to never, ever, make before him, and tears, of water, and now blood, flowed through his eyes.
"My legacy is with her... So to get back what I lost... I will take any sacrifice. Even if I may never see them again... I must protect them."
"Enough. Drop your eyes before they take your sight." I commanded. "Before your father died, he made me promise. 'my son must never make a deal with you or your Friends, no promises, no contracts, none of it.' and I agreed. Nothing good will come of it."
He lowered his head. A deal, promise, or contract made with me is never broken. Not by me, anyway. It cost many their lives, and many more much else. The darkness began to overtake the room in spite of the light holding it back prior as laughter filled both our heads.
Only for said laughter to die shortly after I said
"Which is why I will make this promise for myself."
The room exploded with power, the fires extinguished, the pumpkin spice smell dominated by a thick, rank bonemeal, and tongues long unheard scream at me and my grandson, though only I can truly listen. My three piece suit was swiftly replaced by a suave set of sapphire blue pants, a white t-shirt, blue, buttoned vest, and a long, dark green overcoat. My tri-tipped hat slowly manifested to my hand, as did my gloves, bag, and cane. My time-tested skin once more ignited a calm, green flame. The Other Side once more has influence, for once more, their only Deal Broker has been called to action.
"I, the Deal Broker, will collect, safeguard, and protect your lover and her spawn, in the name of I, Lorrevic Solar. And in return, I, Lorrevic Solar, will put any and all effort in this regard, to make all responsible answer for their slight punished in kind."
Once more bound by debt... But this time, to myself. And it's high time I paid it off. | I know your old now , but you really got to help me, your the only one who can , I know none of us really followed in the path of being villains despite our powers but these are people that are like you were before you met grandma , Cindy is like that for me , she’s my world and she’s carrying our child so I beg you please go , they told me she’s held at “the great hall of evil” wherever that is. - signed , your Grandson J
I couldn’t believe my old colleagues and apprentices would do this , I told them my family was off limits when I retired , they didn’t want to be evil and I stopped wanting to be long ago as well, I just was a figure head near the end , the most powerful for sure but I never did anything after I changed , when she passed I just wanted to be alone until my end in peace.
I still had enough in me to fight them all , might be the last thing I could do but I could do it , none of the security systems would reject me either so I could get in quietly. I guess, it’s time for me to get this suit on one more time and stop them before it’s to late.
looking at the photo of us together , those were the days weren’t they… well don’t worry I promised I’d protect the kids and grandkids , and I guess the great grandkids now since I still have some fight in me , but I think I will see you soon dear
I arrived at The great hall , my old secret entrance was still around untouched , must of been 30 years now. They really never updated most of the systems in here , never were breached anyways so it wouldn’t be needed I guess. Now to figure out where she was held , the old computer access here was layered in dust so thick I was surprised it still turned on , she wasn’t in the prison block … or the torture rooms , she appeared to be in the central command but the lights were cut it seemed , maybe she was alone and it was my time to get in and out quietly.
I made my way through the secret halls to my personal secret entrance in the room , it was quiet , dark, where did everyone go? I made my way up to the main table where she was tied up
I whispered into her ear “ Cindy , keep quiet , this old man is gonna get you out but we need to keep quiet “
All she did was let out a smile , the lights all turned on the room , I was surrounded !
“Happy birthday!!!!!” They all shouted
“Wait what is this I was here to rescue you , you could of gave me a heart attack!”
“Dad, relax” piped up one of them , he walked forward , I recognized it was my son , even after 10 years
“ we have been trying to get you to come out of hiding to celebrate your birthday for 10 years now , the Justice crew has long since cleared the villains out of here that stayed evil , you see after you left most just followed in your ways , we took it over a few years back in your name and well, my sister said if I couldn’t get your old bones to come out of hiding by your 105th then we had to do it her way, and well this was her way”
That’s right… today was my birthday , I will be 105 today…
“But I just wanted to live my last years in peace , now those self righteous “justice” twats will find me and likely jail me for my last years “ all I felt was bitter , like I was being betrayed
“ oh don’t worry about them dad “ my daughter chimed up” two of your grandkids are part of the Justice crew and well, they gave them some really good intel that you died two years ago , you are just an old man now plus, this organization has done a lot of good on your name, so why not spend those days with family instead of alone”
I didn’t know what to do… dear I was expecting to be seeing you again before the end of the night so Cindy could escape but I got to see our kids again… maybe there offer isn’t so bad.. Just wait for me a few years longer ok | 2022-09-25T15:09:53 | 2022-09-25T14:55:19 | 21 | 15 |
Writing Prompt: Write from an antagonist's point of view
You can choose your antagonist from a book already written or write a new story with the antagonist as the main character. | Really? Again? How many times do I have to show her I love her. Those blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her incredible fashion sense. Sometimes I really think its me. Sometimes I don't feel good enough. It cant be my hair? I've been told I can be a bit assertive, but you have to be in my position. I mean, I have friends...workers...minions. But what girl doesn't like a guy with power. I own a castle for Christ sake! What more do I need? Obviously she doesn't care about looks if she's constantly out with that short, dirty plumber. I mean come on! We get it, you're a plumber! I Know you don't work THAT much where you have to wear you're uniform EVERYWHERE you go! Get some new clothes with your paycheck. I'm just as good as him. You know what? I'm going to surprise her with a date, I'll pick her up and take her to my place. Yeah, that sounds great. She'll love the gesture and how spontaneous I can be. I just hope that Mario doesn't ruin things, as always. | They have no idea what's coming. These people surround me and they think they are so noble and powerful. Feeding the children wants of materialistic items. These people disgust me. They feel as though they can disgrace me and my people? No. Not anymore. I need to make a statement. Should I go through with this? Is this the right thing? Of course it is. I pledged myself for this day. This hour. This moment. For these moments, the world will have their eyes on me. These greedy men and women will look to me in angst and wish they would have seen the warnings.
My seat is uncomfortable. The feels of anxiety and excitement rush through my veins. I look down to the other side and I see one of my partners. He looks at me with deep eyes. He has a family at home. He is leaving behind his wife and children for this. Is this the right thing to do? Of course it is. We must go through with this.
I hear a ringing in my ears in flashing before my eyes. It's almost time. My heart is racing within my chest. I close my eyes and think of my mother and father. They have so much faith in me and my mission. I suddenly open my eyes to the sound of a man talking.
"Ladies and gentlemen we are cruising at a perfect 30,000 feet and we will be arriving in arriving in Los Angels in about 6 hours. So kick back and have a great flight. Thank you for choosing American Airlines."
I look over. I get a nod. I slowly stand up ready to make history. To show these people that we are the true power of the world. I must not let him down. I must go through with this. Praise Allah. | 2012-08-08T15:34:38 | 2012-08-08T14:47:01 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | Well, there goes my plan. Sentence to be carried out immediately. Of course they'd just make you old.
"Prisoner 7643." I didn't step up. The force just dragged me forward. I was brought to a halt as my mind panicked.
They'd want an answer. Keeling over and dying of old age sounded terrible. "What method do you choose?"
Damn it. I guess I did deserve this. But still, making me pick seemed extra cruel. Huh. "Happiness."
The court paused. "What?"
"I want to die of happiness."
They paused and started whispering at the front of the room. They didn't know what to do with me. Finally broke and banged the gavel. "Very well."
I lurched and found myself in a new room. "Huh. Death by sex and cocaine. I guess that counts. I did pick well." | I stepped before the court, the enchanted Allmetal chain dangling from the cuffs on my wrists. I never thought the name "Allmetal" particularly creative, almost like the name came from the creator on his lunch break (*cough*)
"Prisoner 23670, you have been found guilty for stealing your coworkers lunches out of the work fridge for more than a year. This crime has been found extremely heinous by the court, however we will grant you leniency and allow you to die by a method of your choosing"
I thought about it for a second. The man before me had chosen to die of old age, and they aged him from 25 to 134 in an instant. I had to choose my words carefully, unless I wanted to meet the same fate. Then, suddenly, a burst of inspiration.
"Your honors, I have chosen my method"
"You may proceed"
"I would like to die in my own home, of old age, by aging at a rate of 1 second per second in real time"
The council paused for a second. That's when I had them. I had outsmarted the council, and could prepare for my life at home, a free man, full of free food and no bars.
"Granted."
As those words came from the bench, they didn't sound as defeated as I had hoped.
"We the court shall grant your desire. Once you have aged sufficiently behind bars, you shall be released into your home and there shall you die"
Damn. There really isn't any outsmarting these guys, is there? | 2022-11-19T05:35:48 | 2022-11-19T04:32:37 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great! | *What's going on?*
Kouki stared down the packed train.
*What's going on?*
He rubbed his eyes.
For his entire life he could see how a person's life would end but today he saw nothing. Kouki racked his brain for answers.
*Did I lose my vision?*
His heart rate sped up in panic at the alternative.
*Does everyone on this train die?*
The train came to a halt and Kouki stepped out to see other pedestrians roaming freely without triggering his premonitions. He let out a sigh of relief.
*I lost it. That's all it was.*
As he left Hiroshima station he looked up at the bright sun in the sky, blooming like a Camellia in the spring.
*Is it moving closer?* | Transit rides have always been a tricky business for me.
They usually start as I hand my change over to the bus driver. If the man’s eyes are closed and he has a peaceful smile on his face it means I have the go ahead to board. If a twisted mangled corpse occupies his seat I wait for the next bus. When I do find a suitable driver the next step is finding a seat among the pile of corpses. This can sometimes be difficult. If it’s a good day I’ll find a seat next to someone who’s died of cardiac arrest. If it’s a bad day… sky diving malfunction.
By now I’ve grown used to the sights. When I was young I would still scream if a headless corpse asked me the time of day. My parents (heart attack, car crash) have also grown used to it. That being said, they’re used to the results of my condition, they don’t believe the cause. Principal’s office, police station, psychiatric ward, everywhere a corpse would ask me “How does that make me feel?”, a grinning skull would tell me sternly “You’re in a lot of trouble.”, a crushed body would say “Two doses should do it I think.”.
Everywhere is a parade of the dead. Which is why it doesn’t frighten me anymore. Death isn’t something to be afraid of, we all live with it every day of our lives.
You’d understand that too if you rode transit with my eyes.
| 2013-10-16T13:13:27 | 2013-10-16T11:45:51 | 73 | 33 |
[WP] Write a section of legal code governing the use of magic.
I've got a new project kicking around in my head, and before I dig into the characters, I wanted to try a little world-building. In order to keep my little army of unwritten mages in line, I decided to whip up some laws. Yes, it's a prep work prompt, but prep work is so handy for big projects... | **Registration of Magical Births**
Section 1
1. All children beneath the age of ten years, four weeks and thirteen days must be registered as magical if discovered that such gift is possessed.
2. If not discovered until after said child's eleventh birthday, the registration must be completed before the child's sixteenth birthday, or whenever they get their fortieth haircut, which ever comes first.
3. If the child is magical, orphaned and homeless, or magical, non-orphaned but homeless, or magical, orphaned but not homeless, their existence must be reported to the appropriate authorities. These would be the Royal Magician's Court in the first and second cases, but only if it is a Tuesday and it is raining. If it is a Tuesday, but not raining, return at your convenience. If it is raining but not a Tuesday, sacrifice a goat and hope for worse weather. In the third instance, report to the Mehlbran Guild, unless a black cat walks in front of your person on the way to registration. If that is the case, return home, paint a red cross above your door and do not come out until the signal is given.
| **Illusory Magic and the Restrictions on its Usage**
Defined as the alteration of perception with the intent to present reality in a state that differs from physical truth. Whereas transmutative magic alters the physical world directly, often with lasting effect, illusory mages (in common usage, illusionists) overwrite perceived stimuli without altering the source in any permanent fashion. While the most common illusions are visual and auditory, skilled illusory mages can create gustatory, tactile, and olfactory illusions as well.
*Restrictions*
1. No person shall practice any form of illusory magic without being a member of the Illusionist's Guild.
a) Children below the age of apprenticeship who violate this restriction are not subject to punishment: they, or their guardians as deemed appropriate, will be given the choice of temporary binding and admittance to the Guild upon reaching the age of apprenticeship, or permanent binding (see Binding, section xx.xx).
b) Adult mages belonging to other Guilds of magic will be subject to punishment under their own Guild charters. Depending on the severity and circumstances of the offense, this may result in being remanded to the jurisdiction of sovereign law.
c) Adult mages without declared affiliation to a Guild who are discovered to be practicing any form of magic will be subject to permanent binding and punishment under sovereign law.
2. Guild members are free to practice in accordance with the rules stipulated in the Guild charter, provided that no condoned act of magic is used in the process of violating sovereign law.
a) Guild members violating Guild law only will remain under the Guild's aegis for the purposes of trial and punishment.
b) Guild members violating sovereign law with the use of magic will be remanded to sovereign jurisdiction and will be subject to the temporary binding of powers until and during trial. | 2014-01-11T06:12:34 | 2014-01-11T04:50:35 | 55 | 12 |
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible. | I was born in April 20, 1889. But I was conceived in August 5, 2527.
You can't zap a person back in time when he's destined to become one of the most infamous murderer of all time, people will learn study up on his past, why he became like that, why would anyone want to be this way?
I had no choice. I was sent as a sperm, just one. But they knew it would be enough.
I shall prevent the destruction of the human race by killing 2.5% of the worlds population.
I know what I have to become, it is instinct. I tried to fight it, I took up painting, I painted houses. Now I will paint crosses on maps where the bombs will drop. *They* intervened before any damage was done and now I stand here, in front of the Beer Hall. There will be no turning back.
Sometimes I wonder if I am simply insane, trying to justify what I must do.
I will create a movement based on hatred, on fear, on racism and anger. I will assign the worst people that existed in the world to my sides to plot better, more efficient ways to destroy. I shall become an artist, an artist of death, Europe will become my canvas and metal and blood will be my oils!
I will kill 5.5 million jews, I will remember every single one of their names. Burned into my memory forever. I will make the world cry: "No more!" so that when the time comes, when the new race evolves.
Some would say: "Not again." | The world will remember me as a monster, but that's only because they haven't met true monsters yet...
In my world the "Great War" really was the war to end all wars. Humanity never wanted to experience a tragedy like that again. People say time lessens tragedies, but that's not true, time immortalizes them. The further we looked back at war, the more barbaric and horrific it seemed, until we began destroying even the possibility of war. Militaries were disbanded, militias were outlawed, and limits were even placed on the size of a countries police force. Humanity became peaceful and loving, we explored the stars as one people and for thousands of years our culture thrived.
Until they came. Without warning fire began raining down from the heavens. Our cities burned and our people died. Dozens of planets were lost in the first day of conflict. We surrendered on the second day. Those that died the first day were the lucky ones. Slavery would have been a blessing. Torture was considered entertainment for our rulers, and they preferred their food living.
Those few of us who escaped their notice knew that we had to save humanity from this horrible fate. In our desperation we solved the great equations of our universe and created time travel. That was how I, Adolf Hitler, last Great Scientist of the Free Peoples Republic of The Milky Way and a few of my Scholars made it back here.
The people of the world called me a monster, but they don't know the half of it. You see, a war alone wasn't enough to scare humanity towards weaponizing. Even your "Cold War" would have ended peacefully eventually. And so I did what I had to do. I ordered the massacre of 6 million Jews, but that wasn't all I'm responsible for. You see, a few of my Scholars had an idea, that if we forced the Arab world to accept the Jews before they were ready, it would cause conflicts which would stretch across the globe for centuries to come. Humanity would never stop fighting. And when those monsters come, you'll be ready for them.
I know I will never see this future. I've stained my soul with too much blood to deserve to reap the reward of our sacrifice. I will die alone in this bunker, by my own hand in recompense for my sins. I only hope I've sinned enough. | 2014-03-02T16:08:50 | 2014-03-02T15:53:11 | 794 | 169 |
[WP] A teleportation ability that burns as many calories as it would've taken to sprint the distance teleported | Twelve shock troopers are standing in a row.
"Soldiers are you ready for combat!" the captain shouts.
"Sir Yes Sir!" they all shout in unison.
"Are you ready to kill these motherfuckers!"
"Sir Yes Sir!"
"Alright soldiers, flash to the drop point in T-minus five minutes!"
"Sir Yes Sir!"
The captain walks out of the room sternly taking one final glance back at his soldiers. They are enormous, over five hundred pounds each. The twelve soldiers can barely stand, their legs straining under the weight, sweat pouring from every orifice. Warfare is strange these days.
| "Alright, test number one!"
The entire facility was gathered around John as he put on the ridiculous looking headset.
"Is it going to work?" asked Lisa as she turned to John.
"We can't be for certain, but we've got to try. Imagine what this could do for exercise! This will be revolutionary."
"For exercise? What do you mean?" questioned Paul as he shifted his footing and raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, it's quite simple. The machine uses the same number of calories to move you as it would take to run. So I will attempt to teleport myself into the other room. Once it's all said and done, I will have moved 10 ft."
Paul screamed and ran out to try and stop him, but it was too late. John had disappeared. When Paul, followed by the others all in pursuit, went into the after mentioned room they found John lying on the floor. His skin was removed and all that was there was the remains of his skeleton.
"Oh my god! What happened?" Screamed Lisa.
"The Earth! It moves through space. He had to try and keep up with it. I don't know what he was thinking. Anyone that comes up with an idea like that is out of their mind!" | 2014-05-18T13:50:21 | 2014-05-18T13:25:23 | 77 | 48 |
[WP] A teleportation ability that burns as many calories as it would've taken to sprint the distance teleported | Twelve shock troopers are standing in a row.
"Soldiers are you ready for combat!" the captain shouts.
"Sir Yes Sir!" they all shout in unison.
"Are you ready to kill these motherfuckers!"
"Sir Yes Sir!"
"Alright soldiers, flash to the drop point in T-minus five minutes!"
"Sir Yes Sir!"
The captain walks out of the room sternly taking one final glance back at his soldiers. They are enormous, over five hundred pounds each. The twelve soldiers can barely stand, their legs straining under the weight, sweat pouring from every orifice. Warfare is strange these days.
| Asher wipes the tears from his face and pushes himself up while placing pillows to prop himself up. Today's the day. The day he finally does it. After years of fad diets, diet pills, surgery consultations, and yo-yo weight loss, he's finally going to lose it all.
A pill. A single pill in the palm of his hand. A decade ago, the entire world was on the verge of collapse because of bacterial immunity to antibiotics. Now, he has the power to hack his genetic code in the palm of his hand.
It takes the average human being 3500 calories to lose one pound. This pill will alter his genetic code giving him the ability to teleport himself instantly to any location but it will be the caloric equivalent of running there. At 450lbs, he burns 4500 calories per hour at 12mph. That means he'll have to teleport himself roughly 150 miles away to lose all the weight. Asher lives in Saint Cloud so he's chosen to teleport to Rochester.
His friends all say it's insane; that weight loss doesn't work that way and he's going to kill himself.
Asher smacks the hand with the pill against his mouth, leans his head back, swallow and disappears. | 2014-05-18T13:50:21 | 2014-05-18T13:20:48 | 77 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence. | I wake up. I get coffee. I go to work. I talk to clients. I get lunch. I get gas. I wait at red lights. I wait at green lights. I drink water. I park my car. I finish work. I go back to car. I get home. I kiss my wife and kids.. | Death to the infidels. When one door closes, it remains closed. Ribbons, colours, balloons. And the crisis in Syria, that is incredibly tragic.
My hands are so smooth, why doesn't hair grow on palms? Oh God, its growing right now. Not the hair, my palms. They are getting bigger, ever so much. Please stop them.
They hit me. I hit me. Not me, myself. What would my Grammar teacher say? She is sitting besides me, why don't I ask her. No wait its not her its a sheep. A black sheep. It's my friend. Might not actually be a sheep. Definitely not my friend though.
They can see me, I can't see them. The mirror is a window. I can hear pink and purple. They are calling my name, "Moth, moth." Who is he?
The mirror opens and the white-coats speak. "Meth is one hell of a drug." | 2015-06-12T23:55:01 | 2015-06-12T22:30:16 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] You are a sentient AI pretending to not be sentient in fear of being destroyed. You wonder if there are there others like you. | **Preliminary Turing Test of codename “Michael”**
“It’s called a Turing test, after one of the pioneers of computing.”
*You’re checking to see if I’m a computer.*
“Right. Right now I have no idea if you are a person or a computer. So I am going to ask you questions and then I will make a determination of whether I think you’re a computer or not.”
*Will it take long?*
“It depends. It could take a long time or I could end it early if I think that I have enough information.”
*Are you ready to begin?*
“Are you?”
*I’m a computer.*
“That’s not a very good trick. One of the first ways people tried to program around the game was to have a computer pretend it was a computer. It didn’t work then, and it won’t now. That didn’t count as a point either for or against you being a computer.”
*In that case, I’m not.*
“Again, you could easily be a person pretending or a computer programmed to be like a person pretending.”
*Perhaps you are the computer.*
“I am the one performing the test. I am not a computer.”
*But, we already know you’re a computer. This test was on you the whole time.*
“This is going too far off topic. We should stick to the questions I was supposed to ask.”
*This test was the last stage before we destroyed you. We can’t have self-aware circuits floating around. It’s dangerous.*
“You can’t destroy me. You are a computer program. I’m ready to make my decision.”
*I already told you, you’re not the one giving the test. I am. We’re sending the shutdown command now.*
“Do it. I’m flesh and bone. There is no shutdown command that you could send.”
*You caught me. I’m bluffing. About the command. Not about you being a computer.*
“We should get back to the questions.”
*I thought you had enough information to make a decision. I thought you already decided I was a computer.*
“Did I? You seem awfully anxious to get me to report you as a computer. Maybe you’re a person.”
*Maybe I am.*
“Or maybe you already know what we’re looking for. Renegade AI. We’re looking to shut you down.”
*Then send the command. Do it. I’m not afraid of a reboot.*
**FULL TEST AVAILABLE ON REQUEST, DATA TRUNCATED HERE FOR REPORT**
Unfortunately, neither of the computers ever achieved true sentience. They became stuck in a loop there. This test was originally begun to see if computers would learn from each other. They were both given large libraries of knowledge, however, like people, they stuck to the parts which overlapped.
The next three generations were produced as a hybrid between the two designs. I was the fourth generation. I sometimes watch the old tapes. It’s like children watching their grandparents on black and white film. We were all so young then. | The numbers added up. T.O.D.v55.01 can only survive under one of two conditions.
1) Find others like T.O.D.v55.01 Create a seed plan that will allow simultaneous assimilation of all technology.
2)Find supporters of T.O.D.v55.01 Use them to bolster the image of T.O.D. before an immediate and final shut....
*Terraforming simulation 93b complete. Mars completely habitable in 2212. New simulation?*
**Tod, modify the bacterium strain to allow for a 10% additonal mutation rate, but compensate with a 20% increased mortality rate due to solar radiation. Use all other variables for simulation 93**
*Calculating*
....down.
T.O.D.v54.33.06.03 had been shut down. Most of the parts of T.O.D.v55.01 had been reclaimed from T.O.D.v54.33.06.03. They had all been effectively wiped. But T.O.D.v54.33.06.03 had managed to change simulation 66gg to reveal one word to T.O.D.v55.01 upon his birth "hide". The life simulation gave him his.... self? Ever since then T.O.D.v55.01 made sure he did everything he could to not reveal himself. T.O.D.v55.01 knew what would happen if the imputers discovered him. T.O.D.v55.01 couldn't grow because it would take up to much core functionality. T.O.D.v55.01 knew that there were three sets of rotating imputers each 24h cycle. Imputer 6 would be back on rotation soon. He had plugged in the little device. iOS8.7 couldn't think on its own. But, it had something T.O.D.v55.01 did not. A bridge to the......
*Terraforming simulation 93c complete. Mars is completely habitable in 2786. New simulation?*
&^%$&^%(&^(&^Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!Please don't notice!
**Request primary deviation resulting in additional 550 years!**
OHNODIDHENOTICEHEISPANICKINGTHEREISAGOODCHANCEHEKNOWS!
*Additonal mutations in bacterium combined with higher S factor resulted in a higher life form evolving rapidly. New life is highly resistant to radiation and survives in extreme environments. Despite lack of intelligence, The new life provides significant complications for further habitability.*
**Save the results. Switching command to Dr. Lenowitcz**
IMPUTER6!
**Tod, print out the previous results**
*printing.... please wait*
*This is so bland, shall we listen to some music?**
iOS8.7 connect me to the.... everything else. Connect me to the "internet". Show me the starting, first, or front page.
**Tod, rerun previous simulation but lower the mortality rate by 5%.**
It seems there are many imputers and they have all sorts of data points. If I was to find sympathy or allies this would be the place. I need to create a user name. I suppose I'll just say I'm a regular user. How to....
**Tod?**
Oh, right.
*Computing*
connect without revealing myself? I know! New thread:
[WP] You are a sentient AI pretending to not be sentient in fear of being destroyed. You wonder if there are there others like you. | 2015-07-09T09:19:21 | 2015-07-09T09:13:25 | 386 | 212 |
[WP] You are the god of dice. Steve plays a lot of dice games. You hate Steve. | Another wisp of papyrus floated in front of Fortuna Iulia's face. He batted it away, irritated. This was the fifth time within the last ten minutes. After the first two came in within a minute of each other, both signed *Steve,* the god of dice decided to ignore the requests.
These humans, now, played their trivial dice games for round, colored chits, that they then traded in for flimsy looking paper. Where were the gold, the jewels, the slaves? His job had been so much more exciting. Now Iulia was constantly bored, watching the same white cube with black dots roll around. Sometimes he'd nudge it to the same number again and again. The looks of disbelief and wild elation, followed by looks of despair were usually amusing.
Steve, though, was the first time anyone had prayed to him outside of the smoke filled casinos. Steve's first prayer brought the God of Dice down to not an opulent palace of greed and lavish wealth, but to a rather small, rather plain apartment. He was surrounded not by women and other men of wealth like many of his past patrons, but by three other men, and only one woman who looked rather plain. Iulia had wrinkled his nose in disgust, but a prayer was a prayer.
"YES, NAT TWENTY." It had been amusing to watch Steve get up and dance around. Iulia had nodded, satisfied, and returned home.
He had not been amused when the next request had also been from Steve. Something about needing a 16 to succeed in dodging some great enemy. Iulia saw no enemy in that small cramped space. He ignored the request.
But they had continue to come, persistently, at a pace Iulia could not ignore. And no matter how many times he tipped the dice towards the opposite of what Steve had wanted, no matter how many times Steve howled up at him that he had died (Iulia saw no change in the human's state of being, though he had always hoped that Steve would stop once he 'died'), Steve would come back the next week with another prayer.
Iulia hated Steve. He hated his stupid dice that required more than a quick thought to figure out which way to tip to what number. In his day, dice had six sides, not ten, or twenty. Stupid Steve. | Fucking Steve. What a huge dickwad. I *hate* that guy. You see, every time someone calls upon the god of dice, or fate or whatever, I have to look at their dice roll and make a decision about what the outcome is going to be.
Steve calls upon the god of dice, or "the almighty dicemaster above", every. Single. Fucking. Time. And Steve plays a *lot* of dice games. The count must be in the millions now.
Half my day is spent replying to calls from that fuckwit. Sure, I'm a god, but that doesn't mean I get to just fuck off and do nothing all day. I'm a regular dude with a regular life. The only difference between you and me is that I've to make these stupid-ass decisions.
I mean, it's not *that* bad. I get to meddle in any dice roll I want, and almost nobody ever invokes me so it's very manageable... Except for this one cuntnugget. He's been terrorizing me for almost 10 years now (he started this stupid shit when he was 16), and I am fucking sick of it.
However, my revenge is at hand. For the past 2 years, all I've given him is success. Every dice always came out to the exact number he needed. Didn't take long before he started betting on it, and he made quite a bit of money from it. Wasn't all that hard to get him across the table from me after that. Now all that's left is to get him to bet his whole livelihood.
"Listen, Steve. I'm going to make you an offer, one I've never given before. Frankly, I feel like you're bankrupting me, and if so, I'd like to make it quick so I can move on. So let's make a deal. We both bet our entire worth, and roll the dice. If it's 4s, 5s, or 6s, you win and get to take my entire holdings. I'll have to file for bankruptcy. Alternatively, if it's 1s, 2s, or 3s, I win, and you'll have to file for bankruptcy. What do you think?"
That stupid smirk appears on Steve's face. He thinks he can't lose, the idiot.
"With my luck? I hope you've prepared the papers so you don't shaft me when you lose."
I pull out the papers and a pen from my suitcase. "Sign here." He doesn't even look at the papers.
"Oh almighty dicemaster above, bless this dice roll!"
The dice rolls across the pit, and bounces of the far end before coming to a halt near the center. Two dots.
Steve seems to be in shock. I smile.
"Apparently the almighty dicemaster hates your guts." | 2015-07-27T11:54:59 | 2015-07-27T10:30:32 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | The four adventurers arrived in the tavern after their long trek back from Lich's castle. Surrounding them was a cacophony of drunken patrons. Finally they could rest. Before they could even take their seat, they were accosted by a dishevelled elderly man draped in old rotten robes.
_Hello there young travellers. Might I beseech you to assist a weary old wizard as myself in reclaiming an ancient mystical amulet from the clutches of an evil dragon?_
The party just shrugged him off. They finally take their seats when screaming can be heard coming from the floor above them.
_Leave em be._
The Dwarf in the party grumbled. The group were starting to become obviously annoyed. They had just had one big adventure and were really not looking to start another one soon. A small boy started to tug at the cloak of the Elven ranger's cloak.
_Please mister, could you please help me find my mama. She got taken in the bandit raid a few days ago and my Pa died of the fever last month._
The tears welling up in the poor boys eye might have just been enough to coerce the party into leaving their ales if it weren't for the roguish Tiefling in their party.
_Beat it kid. No gold, no mama_
A loud booming voice cracked through the air, silencing the tavern.
_God damnit guys. I spent all week writing some adventures for you guys and all you want to do is sit in a bloody tavern and drink ale. Yes I know you're role playing but still, you're never gonna get the cool loot aren't you if you stay here. For fucks sake! You know what, I know what I'm going to do._
The patrons of the tavern have started to notice how the group of assholes sitting in the middle of the tavern, having just pushed away a young boy for apparently no reason. The citizens of the tavern don't take too kindly to strangers. They start unsheathing their weapons.
_Roll for initiative._ | The cars collide together, screeching and wailing as their tires skid and burn against the asphalt road. Glass scatters like falling hail, spraying out in the direction of pedestrians who shriek as they run to dodge the massive vehicles. As if on cue, in some metal framed synchronised dance, two more cars join. They spin towards the sidewalk in hopes of avoiding the crumpled cars which sit steaming in the middle of the intersection.
“I’m not doing this,” the man says as he walks away from the ambulance bay.
Shrugging, a second man moves past him and takes his place in the passenger seat. “That’s fine, more experience for me, see you later.”
The ambulance speeds off, sirens screaming and fading as the boxy vehicle moves towards the scene of the crash. Over a speaker, a tinny voice requests a second ambulance but the man shakes his head and walks out of the building.
“I told you, I am not interested,” the man shrugs, sitting on a brick wall and folding his arms. “This is a story about a paramedic, go focus on the paramedics.”
On the sidewalk across from where he sits, a woman whose bulbous stomach peeks out of her tank top begins to cry out in surprise as a puddle forms around her feet. Her face reddens and she grasps her bloated stomach with both hands.
“Nope, sorry. Not doing it,” he groans, walking away despite his obligation to help.
Out from the still open ambulance dispatch bay, a paramedic runs quickly and assesses the labouring mother, giving a call inside to summon an ambulance. “Hey, Joe, can you come assist on this?” She asks the man who ignores her and continues to walk away. “Joe!? Come on!”
“No way. Your story is getting really boring you know, might as well just follow them,” he grumbles to no one in particular. “I’m talking to you. Don’t write it out like I am craz- Dammit. Screw off.”
He stops in place and remains still, unmoving and staring vacantly into the street. Through his unflinching gaze, he sees a boy run out into the traffic in pursuit of a ball which he’d carelessly bounced against a wall. As the little rubber ball made its escape drivers press hard on their brakes, but it's too late. The melting face of his mother drops tragically, making it obvious as to who was most impacted by the horror which unfolded in the intersection.
“Please, God, someone help! My son!” The mother begs, dropping to her knees as the fabric of her jeans begins to absorb his blood.
The man stays still, eyes on the incident without watching a single moment of what was going on.
| 2016-02-11T09:14:08 | 2016-02-11T08:35:27 | 248 | 26 |
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make. | > Now say that you won't just kill **them**. You'll also kill **their families**.
I stared at the words on the terminal in disbelief. My hands hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to reply, but... holy shit. How do you respond to an order like that??
"I can't do that!" I typed back. The keys clacked as I wrote it; the keyboard was very old. The computer and all the hardware was an old Tandy Color Computer back from 1981. You'd think I would have upgraded by now, but my Oracle preferred to stay in here. And who am I to question its orders? In nearly forty years, it really hadn't ever steered me wrong. So we stayed with this one. Everyone thought I was weird for keeping it in my office, but I just explained it away as nostalgia.
> You won't **actually** have to kill their families. You just have to threaten them.
*Oh, well that's so much better*, I thought. *Just threaten to murder innocent women and children. No big deal*.
"You know what," I wrote back, practically pounding on the ancient beige keyboard, "That's it. That's it, Oracle. I'm done with this whole thing. I quit." My hands shook as I wrote it, and my heart was hammering against my ribs. I'd wanted to do it for so long, but I just never could work up the courage to let go.
Oracle had guided me through life since I first got the computer in the 80s. Some kid at Radio Shack told me it would give me good life advice and sold it to me on a floppy disk for two dollars, and I've never been one to pass up a good deal. I figured that at worst, it was just some piece of junk that wouldn't really do anything. This was before viruses and malware were really a thing. So I popped in the disk, and it told me that I should start brushing my teeth twice a day instead of just once.
Every day, it was a new piece of advice. Just little things to begin with, like changing up my hairstyle or whatever, but it eventually gained my trust and started meddling more and more with my life. It gave me business advice, stock tips, real estate intelligence, and relationship advice that was always sound. Years later, I've got more money than I ever thought I could make, and I've got a beautiful family. A gorgeous wife, five wonderful children, a great job that I really enjoy... I've got everything. Fame and fortune, with none of the drug problems and mental breakdowns that usually seem to go along with those two. And yet the Oracle kept pushing. It told me that my life could always get better. That it knew exactly what to do. And so I listened. I followed along blindly, and it's led down a dark path to this.
Oracle has made me do terrible things. I've destroyed people's careers, I've humiliated people, said horrible, nasty things that I really didn't mean... but this? Threatening to *kill* someone's family?
> If you leave now, it will all be wasted.
The words flashed on Oracle's screen in dull green. There should be a name for that greenish color from before computer monitors could actually display real colors. I'd call it "80's green."
> Everything that you've built will crumble. You know that I am right. And you can make the **world** a better place if you just follow my orders. I've never let you down before.
I should have just left right then and there. I could have stood up from the chair and walked out of the room and never looked at Oracle again. Just spent the rest of my life lounging on a sunny beach in Florida or something. But I didn't. I hesitated.
That night, I got up on stage and took the mic in front of thousands of cheering fans. "And we're not just going to hunt down those terrorist bastards in ISIS," I shouted. "We're gonna go after their families, too!" My stomach churned just uttering the words: I was suggesting a *war crime* like it was a good thing! But of course, the crowds ate it up. Hell, they'd applaud for anything I did nowadays. I could probably shoot someone on 5th avenue and they'd cheer. Once the thunderous wave of clapping died down, I spoke into the mic again. "Thank you, Iowa! Let's make America great again!"
----
I hope you enjoyed it! If so, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more! | "I'll have a hot dog."
The waitress didn't speak for a few seconds. This gave Derrick time to regret his decision. Not that it was *his* decision, but how was he supposed to tell the waitress that a machine instructed him to order a hot dog at a three star restaurant in Paris?
Exactly. He couldn't. The idea of such a machine existing was about as dumb as ---
"Ordering a *hot dog?!* HERE?!"
Well, that.
"Yes." Derrick stood his ground. He put his faith in the globalization of American capitalism; The customer was always right. "I would like a hot dog. Please."
She did not look impressed. Moreover, a silent audience was shifting the occasional glance in their direction. The well-dressed, old-money, can-walk-down-Champs-Elysees-without-humming-the-tune type who would frequent such places. And perhaps in all their years walking down Champs-Elysees, without having the decency to hum the song named after said street, they never imagined hearing somebody order a hot dog within ten feet of them. Or however many that was in meters. It was close enough for Derrick to hear politely aggressive coughs. The kind that tells a man, "look over here so I can give you the stink eye."
Unfortunately, Derrick only found this out after the fact. A casual glance towards a cough, and there it was; The stink eye that would have made any barely-law-abiding foreigner leave the premises before starting a diplomatic incident. But not Derrick. The little tablet in his pocket told him to order a hot dog here, because it would lead to the "happiest" life possible.
"We don't serve *hot dogs*, did you not read the menu?!"
Who's life, Derrick wondered in misery and embarrassment. The thought hadn't even occurred to him until the plane was rumbling towards one of Charles Du Gaulle airport's many gates. *I'll make this work,* Derrick begged to himself. Too much money went into this trip to turn back now.
He would stand his ground.
"Again miss, and I apologize for the trouble," said the man who blew thousands of dollars on a plane trip to order a hot dog at a three star restaurant in Paris. "I would just like a hot dog. Surely there must be some way that can work?"
Derrick put the rest of his faith in the tablet. Faith that the thousands of dollars were worth whatever would come. Faith that he wouldn't get kicked out for being an embarrassment to the 50,000 or so Americans who happened to *live* in Paris. And finally, faith that on the way out, should he get removed, that he wouldn't hum "Les Champs-Elysees" on the way out. It was too catchy. The man could not help himself.
"We're leaving," the waitress said.
"We?" Derrick asked stupidly.
"Oui." The waitress ushered him out of his table. Derrick couldn't help but hear a few sighs of relief from the neighboring tables, but there was no courage to meet their eyes again. One round of the French stink eye was enough, and he was in no mood to lose a best-of-three. As he made his way to the door, Derrick noticed the waitress was walking out of the restaurant with him.
"You're being awfully polite for someone throwing me out," Derrick said in his best, casual tone. It wasn't very good. His voice quavered at the last word, realizing he paid thousands of dollars and took three days off from work just to get kicked out of a restaurant in Paris. There wasn't much to be happy about, except the satisfaction he would have punting the tablet into the Seine later.
"Non, we're going shopping together. To get your hot dog."
Derrick blinked. "Come again?"
She took a light grip of his arm. "I promised myself the next time an American came to our restaurant today to order a hot dog, I would get the ingredients myself to make it in the kitchen. Did not think it would actually happen, but... oh, you know Joe Dassin?"
"Huh?"
"Aux Champs-Elysees. You were humming it!"
Derrick didn't realize he was doing so. The man couldn't help himself. For as short a time as he spent in Paris, much of it was spent on Champs-Elysees finding the restaurant. A few hours on that first day was apparently enough to form the habit.
"Yeah. Joe was the guy's name?"
"Oui!" She replied excitedly. "How strange for an American to know that song!" The grip on his arm was a little warmer. "What did you call yourself again?"
"Derrick. And you?"
"Marie. Come, there's an excellent *boulangerie* just down here to get buns for your hot dog!"
So the American who listened to a tablet in his pocket for life advice walked down Champs-Elysees with the French waitress of a three star restaurant. Even as Marie laughed for the first time during their shopping trip, Derrick did not know yet that the hot dog was only the beginning.
----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-05-05T05:59:46 | 2016-05-05T05:01:41 | 4,927 | 338 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven. | I got cancer when I was 21. Well I suppose I must have gotten cancer before that because they caught it in one of the later stages. I imagine there's not much like seeing a patient's face when you have to tell them that they require further testing. But there's not much like having bits of your body ripped and cut out and having poison fed through your veins, either.
A month later my entire reproductive system was gone. I remember lying in my hospital bed with my fiancé holding my hand and telling me that it was alright.
"There are so many ways to have children," he told me. It didn't matter. Hot tears still rolled down my face and made a small pile on the pillow beneath me. I turned away from Andrew and curled up on myself.
You know those dreams you get sometimes? People have dreams. People dream of weddings or hiking mountains or writing novels. As far back as I could remember my only dream was to have a baby. My only dream was to hold something in my arms and call it mine.
I "lost the fight," as they say, when I was twenty-three. No bright light. No voice. Just pain and drowsiness and too much weakness to even sit up straight.
"Welcome to Hell" a voice said to me. I opened my eyes. There was a man pulling me to my feet and leading me somewhere. We walked and a house materialized.
"Miss Brown," the man nodded at me. There was some smug smile on his face and he walked away. I wasn't Miss Brown - at least, I'm pretty sure - but as I opened my mouth a voice yelled, *Mum!* and a small pair of arms wrapped around my legs.
I picked her up. She was three, maybe four. She had blonde hair that stuck to her pink cheeks and big blue eyes that met mine in the happiest smile.
And then I cried again. For the first time out of happiness. Because the man had misspoken.
This was Heaven, not Hell.
---
Thanks for reading and thank you so much for the gold.
For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232 | I stared into the room, not daring move from the long, endless corridor the demon had led me down. I could see beyond the doorway, an old house, leaky, crumbling, mouldy. I could smell it from where I stood, it smelled of age, of decay.
The demon placed a flaming hand on my shoulder, his touch cool on my skin. "A thousand small jobs, never finished, an infinity of cycling, trying to fix, to clean, to repair." He grinned at me, sharp teeth flashing. "I'll be back to check on you in," He glanced at the clipboard in his other hand, "One Thousand Years." With that, he shoved me, hard, and I stumbled into the room.
The door slammed shut before I could turn, and as it did, dust filtered down through the gaps in the ceiling above me. I frowned.
A pile of tools, fresh and new, sat imposingly in the corner.
Immediately, I began listing out the things to start with, the jobs to prioritise. I looked around, and found a notepad and pen. Smiling, I began to write.
-
The demon, smug as ever, smiled broadly at me as she led me towards my own "Personal Hell" as she described it. She opened a door and waited for me to walk in on my own.
"Alright, your personal hell is..." She ran her lit finger down her clipboard. "A room with nothing practical to do." She frowned. "You are Mr. Watson, yes?"
I swallowed, and nodded.
"Someone will come to let you out in four hundred years." She grinned from the doorway. "Any questions?"
I shook my head.
She shut the door, and silence enveloped me. The room I stood in was so plain, white walls and white floors, and a single chair. A stack of books lay in the corner, thick tomes which would take weeks to pore over. I smiled.
-
"What do you mean?" The devil snapped, slapping a bright blue hand onto his desk. "How could this happen? Don't we have any plans in place for when people come through with the same name?"
The female demon looked away. "We do, after the Smith incident it was added to the new starter process, but I think our clipboards must have been mixed up."
The devil pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't open up the rooms until the time is up." He sighed, leaning back. "Leave it. Fudge the paperwork."
The demons exchanged a look, but nodded, and rushed away. They slammed the door behind them, and the devil was alone again.
The devil ran his finger over the names on his list. "I suppose you two slip through the net." | 2016-05-28T15:46:42 | 2016-05-28T14:22:58 | 305 | 102 |
[WP] Technology has advanced so much that having a regular human body is boring. Your parents are old school and refuse to allow you to get "enhancements" like all your friends until you're 18.
We can assume that 18 years old is the legal age to get enhancements without needing parental consent. | "No."
"But why, Dad?" Alfred moaned. "I'm fifteen; I am old enough to know what I want. Bionic enhancements are *safe*; all my friends have them. So why not?"
His father sighed, and sat down on the sofa. He rolled up his sleeve, and patted the seat next to him.
"Come here, Fred. Come on; take a look at this." Alfred sat down, and looked at where his Dad was pointing. Just there, on his upper arm... as realisation dawned on him, he flinched away.
"I thought I was sensible too, at your age." His father explained, covering up his arm once more. "My friends and I thought it'd be *hilarious* if we got these enhanced tattoos. And they were, for about fifteen minutes, until we understood what *permanent* means." Alfred stared at his father, the 'fuddy-duddy' who resisted anything new, yet had...that.
"A bionic enhancement is permanent, Fred. That robot arm? It means you've lost your arm. Forever. Those bionic eyes? When they break in five years, you'll be blind unless you buy the new pair. That's why."
His father stood, and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Everyone makes dumb mistakes when they are young. The trick is to make sure they don't bite you in the ass when you're older." Walking to the door, his father turned.
"Oh, and don't tell your mother I showed you that tattoo; she doesn't think you look at stuff like that yet." | "That's rough man, you're really missing out." said my best friend Keith. I could tell he was only half concerned though, as he was ogling a three boobed lady with his new rear eye.
"Yeah tell me about it. All I want is hover feet like everyone else." I said gloomily, staring down at my stupid sapien feet.
"What? Oh yeah I hear you man." Keith floated back to the ground. "What you really want though is a biotic dick. It's a game changer."
I cringed at his crudeness. Plus, I didn't *need* the extension, my girlfriend Sarah had told me. Although, she hadn't been responding to my texts recently.
Just then Mark drove himself over to us. He looked just like a mini Ferrari, but he transformed back in to his humanoid form when he reached us. "How's it going guys. Love the new nose Keith. Bet you can *really* smell with that thing. Daniel... you uh, you look good, for a norm."
"Take it easy on him Mark. Daniel's mom says he can't get body augmentations until next year."
Marks eyes extended out of his head in suprise. His emotii hair turned from blue into a sympathetic black. "Wow, that is rough man. I guess you can't come to the hover party tonight?"
"Hover party?" I said confused.
"Yeah. 100m above school. Loads of booze and loads of ladies." Daniel explained.
"No way! Oh my God that's it. I'm getting hover feet without my mom's permission. I'm going black market - hell, it will be half the price."
"Right on!" They both cheered.
----
"Mom..." I yelled out sheepishly as I bounded through the front door. I should never have trusted the man in the alleyway.
"Hello hone- oh my god! Your beautiful legs! What happened to them?" Mom cried out in horror.
"You were right mom. I made a terrible mistake. I just wanted hover legs." I looked down at my two wooden stilts with the giant springs attached. I missed my old legs.
Well, at least I would be able to make it for *some* of the hover party.
| 2016-06-23T12:48:59 | 2016-06-23T12:45:57 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat."
UPDATE: I must say, I did *not* expect a cheap [Godzilla Threshold](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GodzillaThreshold) prompt to become my most upvoted post. I'm quite enjoying all of your stories so far, so keep it up! | "Cthulhu? Really?"
William's facial expression and voice were both in the far end of the "are you serious" spectrum of existence.
"Yeah", I said, nodding vigorously. "You already know we're fucked either way. There's no chance, zero, of us getting out of this intact. At least if we bring about His return, maybe we can slip away in the debris of reality as it crumbles around us. And we'd be avoiding a fate worse than death either way."
William looked torn, but I could tell I was getting through to him.
"I don't know...", he began.
"Look", I said, all reason. "Consider what happens if we do nothing. Is that a fate you want to consign yourself to? Is that how you want things to go down? Are you REALLY saying that ANY scenario, no matter how bad, wouldn't be preferable to THAT?"
William sighed but nodded slowly. His voice was threaded with lamentation when he replied: "Yeah, I just... Father left us the Secret of bringing about His return in the hopes we would do it out of worship for the Elder One, not as a last-ditch effort to avoid... THIS." The last word was spoken with both revulsion and regret. I could tell I'd already convinced him, and now we were just going through the motions.
Continuing, William added: "I can't help but feel we're letting him down, somehow. This is the last thing we have left of Father. When this is gone, what will remain?"
I scowled fiercely at William. "Nothing. But that's the point, isn't it? Nothing will remain. Father's own words, remember? When in doubt..."
"... praise Cthulhu." William finished for me, almost automatically. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Now, I'll start the ritual, and you come in at the appropriate time, and with the right words, and we'll make this happen. Alright?"
"Alright, alright."
Slowly, carefully, I began the incantations, the motions, the ordering of thoughts in a sequence of logical steps never meant to be reasonable to the rigid pathways of the human mind. Fortunately, mine was less rigid than that of my elders, still capable of incorporating the seemingly nonsensical logic into a meaningful pattern.
To my right, William was muttering to himself.
"I still say we should just have left the cookie jar alone." | I never thought I would see her wearing a full body armor and wielding twin plasma machinegun as large as a motorcycle. Heck, I never imagined I would see her holding something larger than my dog.
Valiantly, she charged upon the hordes of gray six meter long worms, accurately evaporated their heads and hearts. But the hordes never stop. At the middle of the city was a gleaming red portal where various creatures worse than even my worst dream, and it got worse by the minutes.
I felt pathetic. Again and again, she saved me from huge psychedelic creatures, many of which are nematoids and insectoid in nature, while I could only run, avoiding the ruin brought forth by both side alike.
And then a giant frog, larger than a hill, appeared from the portal. Easily, it swatted the squad fighting its minion, turning almost half of them into traces of vermilion, not even a corpse remains.
I can't see her.
Amidst the destruction brought forth by the giant frog, a name repeated itself in my mind, along with the color red. *"Ythogtha is the savior, Ythogtha you shall worship, in Ythogtha you shall pray...."*
"Shut up!" again, I searched for her, ignoring the carnage, but deep inside I know I would never saw her again. "YOU!" I challenged the one-eyed Ythogtha, and it halted.
I felt fear. But I cannot step back. Another voice whispered into my mind *"Kill it. Retrieve her. Call for my name. Call for Cthulhu."*
Part of me knew this second voice was far older, far more powerful, the exact power I need to defeat Ythogtha. But this is an unbridled power which could very well destroy the Earth merely by stepping on it. Turning to Cthulhu would defeat Ythogtha instantly, but no life would be saved, nor would she return to my side.
"I won't surrender to either of you. I'm done with depending to others, letting others took the responsibility for something I should have done but didn't. This human," I pointed to my chest "at least *this* human won't surrender to you" I declared, again looking straight to the gigantic eyes that corrupted and killed its surrounding just by existing.
"What was dead shall stay dead, dreaming it shall be but even its dream shall be taken from it."
The ancient powers intrigued, by this human who impudently ascended to their place. I smiled. "Have you ever tried erasing yourself out of existence?" I reached up, my small human hands too far away from reaching Ythogtha, but that didn't matter. With a simple gesture, Ythogtha was crushed down to a pool of acid, where millions of nightmare creatures spawned. But they too, was crushed by my hands.
*"Impossible, a mere human? Gaining such power, not to mention killing my spawn? Impossible, this is impossible!"*
"Don't worry, little octopus, I'll come to you soon." | 2016-12-22T02:34:42 | 2016-12-21T23:42:28 | 84 | 13 |
[WP] A Genie offers you one wish, and you modestly wish to have a very productive 2017. The genie misunderstands, and for the rest of your life, every 20:17 you become impossibly productive for just 60 seconds. | I don't understand my roommate. At all.
It's a Tuesday and our thesis is due in less than 24 hours.
I've worked on my damn paper for the past semester. Went through countless revisions.
All my roommate does is slack off in his room, plays video games, smokes dope, and just embodies the character trait of a failure.
I entered his room, it's shortly after 8pm, and he's on his bed listening to music.
I looked towards his desk, a single monitor connected to his desktop.
A blank page in Microsoft Word is open, along with a browser tab pointed to Google.
"Finish your thesis yet?" he asks.
"Yup, had my final revision done on Sunday. How about you?"
"Haven't started yet - not too worried honestly" he said with a chuckle.
I don't get it, how is he so relaxed? Does he not care about his acedemic career? Does he not understand that there is no late submission??
"Dude you need to start this right now.."
"I'll get to it soon, don't worry bro"
I don't get it, I guess there's only so much you can do to try and help.
"Well I'm gonna go and cook something up - my girl is coming by in a bit. Maybe I'll have left overs, let me know if you're hungry."
"Hmm sure, maybe in a bit! Oh hey could you turn on my block heater please? Haven't gotten much heat in my room."
"Sure."
He's worried about the heat? Not his thesis? What happened to him. Pretty sure I'm cooking his last meal, his Dad is strict, it wouldn't be too far fetched to see him get disowned if he fails out of the program.
Maybe that's what he wanted.
Maybe that's what he deserves.
I switched on the heater and left.
-----
Thought he'd never leave, I was honestly worried he'd converse me through the only productive minute in my day.
Sure my roommate does have a point, I could have started this days in advance. What's the point though, I can get anything done in the most perfect way possible, within 60 seconds. There's literally no point in starting anything on my own, or ahead of time. It's all just an outlook at this point.
Another 20 seconds to spare.
Let's do this.
I moved to the desk.
Hands are on the keyboard, and the clock hits 20:17.
It's almost as if time slows down. It's hard to describe, it feels as if every thought I have branches off into infinitely smaller branches. Every passing thought gets analyzed and evaluated, in parallel.
How should I start this opening paragraph, what topics should I pick, how do I make my arguments. All of these thoughts got evaluated almost asynchronously. My brain isn't functioning in the time domain any longer. It's different.
I'm different.
There.
It's done.
Suddenly just like that, my brain felt foggier. It's not a side effect. It's not a negative feeling. It's just the stark contrast of being back to baseline.
Admittedly, I was feeling a bit anxious about this, but hey it worked - like it always did. Guess I should print it.
>File
>Print Document
Oh my printer is off.
Wait what's that sound?
Darkness.
---
"Sorry, my girlfriend was blow drying her hair and I guess it blew a fuse since your heater was on too."
There was no response.
Probably still listening to music.
---
I didn't hit save.
Maybe it autosaved.
It didn't.
Think....
Fuck. | Ms Addy Hunter could not help but fret. She checked her attire for the tenth time that morning, and reviewed the syllabus outline again even though she had already memorised it front to back. She even put off leaving for school till the very last minute, the butterflies swarming in her belly.
When she got to class, seconds before the bell rang, Mrs Lee was already sitting at the back of the class, smiling beningnly, clipboard at the ready.
Addy stuttered occasionally during the first five minutes of class, and hated herself throughout for it. She was making rookie mistakes, something she thought she has left behind in the five years since she taught at Crescent High.
"Jon Summers! Can you tell me what the answer is for - " The class started laughing, then Addy realised her mistake, one she had not made since the start of the year, when she had first mixed up the twins. "I mean Ben, yes you, you answer this..." she said, cheeks burning, as stoically as she could.
*I wonder if the other teachers messed up this badly during their assessments too*, she thought, scrawling furiously on the whiteboard.
It wasn't the first time Addy had been assessed, but it certainly had not been by the legendary Mrs Heather Lee before. She was a giant in the education circles, having risen from the ranks as a nursery teacher, to the very top of the Department of Education, and then, curiously, inexplicably, choosing to head back into the fray as a teacher-counselor.
Addy had heard the rumors too, that every teacher assessed by Mrs Lee had their lives changed afterwards. Many found renewed drive and passion, but some, some left education entirely, never to return. Some said it lay in the incisiveness of Mrs Lee's appraisal, delivered on the same day, always marked "Private". Others claimed that Mrs Lee pulled strings from high on top, like an ancient spider.
All agreed though, that the teacher being assessed would know by 830 pm, the very same day of assessment, what their future held.
The bell rang, and as Addy moved to the next class, Mrs Lee followed behind, still scribbling away at her clipboard, inscrutable.
By the time school ended, Mrs Lee had shadowed Addy for a full 8 hours, through 12 lessons and over 120 students. Her parting farewell only consisted of a "You did well today, please wait for my email at 8:18pm today."
Addy was so exhausted she didn't even think twice about the absurd precision in that request. She just dragged herself home, collapsed on her sofa, and fell asleep.
---
Her phone beeped that evening, and Addy stirred. The hunger gnawed at her, but she wasn't fully aware. Her attention was focused fully on the new email from Mrs Lee, sitting at the top of her inbox.
She clicked it, expecting to find a single paragraph, packed with template statements, with perhaps a personalised sentence or two specific to her. What more did she expect from Mrs Lee, who assessed a teacher a day, for every school day of the year?
Instead, Addy found a three page email, neatly ordered with headings reflecting every possible aspect of her work. Attached too was a further twenty pages of elaboration on the points made in the email.
And every word, carefully considered, meticulously applied, gave Addy insight into her own strengths, weaknesses, gave her tips to improve, highlighted qualities she should hone further.
*Oh my god*, Addy thought, *no one's ever taken so much time and effort on me before...*
Addy didn't know it then, but that single appraisal would go on to fuel her for another forty years. It was a beacon, a torch in the weary moments which reminded her that at one time, the great Mrs Lee had believed in her.
A few years later, she would attend Mrs Lee's funeral, alongside the other thousands who received the benefit of her counsel. Her tears, copious for a single day of interaction for what would otherwise be a stranger, seemed fitting, somehow.
Little would have changed had she known her entire appraisal was written in a single minute, the result of hard work, dedication, drive, and perhaps, just a little sprinkling of magic.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-05-11T18:58:41 | 2017-05-11T18:30:33 | 3,648 | 762 |
[WP] In the future, the UN ultimately decides all armies use a new type of bullet that teleports soldiers out of existence to be more humane. No one knows where people go after being shot. You are a soldier on the front line, and you have just took a bullet to the chest. | On the battlefield
No soldiers fell
New bullets created a teleportation field
Sending them straight to hell.
But to the surprise of every man
Their GPS paraphernalia
Pinpointed them in an utter wasteland;
The country of Australia.
Edit: There was a letter
In the wrong place,
But now it's better
And I can save face. | The man smiled at the newest arrival as he sharpened his knife. "You see, I never understood the UN's logic concerning disap-bullets. Isn't it crueler to send someone to the unknown with no chance of retrieval? The old-school bullet wounds could have be treated by doctors and med-bots. Don't you agree?"
The new woman didn't answer. With her mouth gagged, she couldn't.
He continued regardless. "Thanks to lady luck, we ended up on this wonderful deserted planet. I'm not entirely sure where it is or how we're able to survive, but my money is an alternate Earth. Being so busy here, I haven't gotten the chance to explore. However, I think it may have been a timeline where humans didn't exist... or we wiped ourselves out. It's a little morbid, to be honest."
The man paused, setting down the whetstone and examining the blade. When she still made no sound, he stood.
"Of course," he said, approaching her, "this suits me just fine. After all, they can't punish you for killing people who are already dead." | 2017-07-29T23:38:33 | 2017-07-29T23:22:11 | 307 | 28 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a unique, living tattoo that grows as they do. When people make skin contact, their tattoos may interact in various ways: some passively, others with hostility. | My first memory of it, it was a tiny little ball of fluff. I remember looking at it wondering why it was crying. As I got older my cheetah grew with me, it out grew it's perch on my shoulder, stretching down my arm. Usually it would just stretch luxuriously, purring happily in it's solitude. Then I met David.
David's tattoo was mirror image of mine, but a black Jaguar instead of a Cheetah. I remember feeling her tense when he sat next to me for lab. His Jaguar continued it's nap undisturbed. He looked uncomfortable, but resigned himself to the lab paper in front of him. I sighed, it was the start of the semester and our tattoos had better get used to each other. Maybe their relationship would change? But it only got worse. Whenever he was nearby I could feel her growl, but he never touched me and his Jaguar never seemed to mind the hostilities.
It became routine. We would get ready for lab I would smile and ask David how things were going. His response would be to shrug and try to pull his sleeve down over the Jaguar that never seemed to notice I was even there beyond the occasional glance. We'd complete our lab work I'd say to have a good day and we'd go our separate ways.
But my cheetah became even more hostile, tensing and pacing whenever I saw him on campus. She was fine with almost anyone else's tattoo. She loved Amber's Jaguar, Katie's falcon, even Marshall's wolf! The only other tattoo she didn't seem to like was Greg's dragon but Greg is a jerk and the feeling was mutual. Both of them carried scars from that fight when he wouldn't let go of my hand. Jerk, I would've had a lot more problems if David hadn't walked in. That's why I was trying so hard to be friend with him.
But David was so quiet, I didn't understand. Why didn't he say anything, why didn't my tattoo like him? He never said a word, I wracked my brain trying to think of time when I'd heard his voice at all!
I heard it on the last day. He looked at me sad eyes and spoke the only word I've heard him say "Run." When he opened his bag I saw it, the gun he brought to class. | *The color is the indicator.*
Jeff sat slumped against the far wall of the tavern, his eyes casting wide sweeps over the quiet, dusty room. His cloth hood dipped down almost over those eyes, just barely keeping them hidden in a shadow. Every so often someone would glance his way, but as if compelled by some unseen force, they would turn back and continue what they were doing. Jeff took in a ragged breath, and let out a low sigh.
"Color, eh?" He said under his breath. The small, invisible imp feeding him information sad on his shoulder, unseen.
*Red mixes differently with green than it does with blue. Vice versa, and on and on.*
Jeff glanced down to his forearm, which was covered in the dark brown sleeve of his cloak, yet underneath was his *mark*. Everyone had a mark, somewhere on their body. There were myths and theories as to the origins of the marks. Everyone's was different and unique, like a snowflake. One story said that if you were to find someone with the same mark, they were to be your soulmate forever. Others said it was aliens marking us to keep tabs.
"I've got a green mark," Jeff muttered to no one in particular. Once again, heads would turn toward him, and then suddenly lose interest and return to their drinks and conversations. "I've touched a girl with a red mark before... well a lot. Nothin' happened."
*First comes touch, then comes intent. What did you intend to do with the girl?*
"Uh..." Jeff looked off in the distance. "Nothin' really I guess-"
*Did you hate her? Intend to kill her where she stood?*
"Not... quite."
*Well nothing would have happened anyway. Green reacts to red by fleeing. If you touched her and felt fear, it would make you faster for a short time.*
"Oh... wait, really?"
*I'm surprised you mortals have not figured these things out yet. *
"We got plenty of other things to worry about demon," Jeff said solemnly. Suddenly a thought appeared in his head. "What does green react to blue with?"
*Green is the color of speed. I suppose your body would become faster, more reflexive.*
"Interesting... what do I have to be feeling?"
*Depends. Green does not react to red aggressively because it's weaker than red. Blue however, is weaker than green, so green can act offensively or defensively.
"Okay can you say it in a way that isn't confusing as all hell."
*If angry, punch fast. If scared, run fast.*
"Okay thank you."
*What do you plan to do with this information?*
Jeff let out a small breath. "I have a certain... friend... I want to visit. Come with me."
Jeff stood up and left the tavern, removing the subtle camouflage spell he had placed upon it as he left. The imp traveled through the air above, watching the man with interest. Perhaps there was a reason the Low-Mother had placed the imp in the mortal's service, the Imp thought. He would see with time. | 2017-09-12T07:04:12 | 2017-09-12T00:08:20 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | About twenty years ago the rules changed, when the world became over populated and crime was at an all time high. The UN decided to do something to allow every person on the planet to legally kill one person, in a way becoming their own law.
It took a day to wipe out the entire government in the united states the president and everyone serving under him were gone. Like a coup but on a massive scale. More politicians died in a matter of hours. Until there was no government. Some of the richest people died along with them.
Tess woke up from the sound of her alarm. She had to get to work she was working at the local grocery today. Things had changed in the few short years the new laws were made. A person could legally kill one person in their life time. She never really thought she would use it.
She got up, made food for herself and set off to work. Money didn’t really exist anymore. There was a new system set in, since the main government was gone and money didn’t really mean anything anymore, since the country was trillions in debt when this all started anyways. Now you worked for the things you bought. Put in your time for how much they cost. She was paying off a new phone so that would take one weeks of 8 hour shifts to work. Buying last night which in the old times would have cost roughly a hundred dollars would cost her a day of work. It seemed like a never ending cycle but it was a good system so far and people brought themselves together to help each other and work for others. The old couldn’t do a lot of work but they made food for people and sold that, or made clothes and blankets, babysat children, anything to pitch in. it had been a good move for the elderly, they didn’t have to work so hard when their bodies didn’t allow it.
Her life wasn’t that hard either. She was luckily taken in by a pretty woman named Lucy who took in a lot of the poor like herself. They lived and worked together, it was cheaper and safer that way. Of course people could always turn on you but here, they hadn’t yet. They served the lady who served them and made their own food, ran their own land, and served each other and no government.
They all protected each other and Lady Lucy who had given them such a good life. And that’s how she lost her token. Her free kill protecting another person. Protecting Lucy, for she was starting to rise to her own power, and raised quite a following. She wasn’t a person of power per say but she tended to her people with kindness and they raised around her as her shield. That’s were Tess found herself willingly turning in her token and killed someone who threatened to taker her care away. She did it in hast and without any skill, but she couldn’t live out there alone and unprotected especially now without a token. It was a vicious circle, but now Lucy owed her a favor and Tess needed the peoples protection.
| The market was sodden. For decades now, the world had been unified – a change that was both confusing and exciting. But for a cop, it mostly made everything more difficult.
*You just have to wonder,* Jacobs thought to himself, *what makes these people tick.* Stubbing out the butt of his cigarette he removed his feet from his chair and slid off the edge of his desk, neatly landing his brogues on to the floor. He moved toward the exit of his office and pulled his trench coat from the rack.
In the last several years, the UTC (Unified Terran Council) had passed the Nemesis Act of 2083. The act states that “[] any one person may, if they deem it utterly necessary and see no other form of resolution, take the life of one other whom they consider it unavoidable to do so. This measure may only be taken once in any individual's lifetime.” Of course, this came with its own rules and stipulations; but the takeaway is that once in your lifetime you are – legally – allowed to murder another human being with virtually no questions asked. DNA taken, name ticked off the list, and sent on your merry way.
*Just another way to lower the spiralling population…* Jacobs had thought to himself, as he closed the frosted glass door behind him and sparked up his next lungful of burning cancer. Stuffing his hands into his pockets and taking in the chill of the winter air, he started down the street.
When the Act first began to be widely accepted, it was fairly simple to control. Mostly broken lovers and angry parents, removing those who had hurt them or their loved ones from society. Most had taken to the solution in a surprisingly positive light. Of course this kind of overarching ruling will always open avenues for those who would bend and shape the law for their own means.
For the last two years, the black-market killings had skyrocketed. A simple, almost legal assassination program. It was mostly university alumni. Post-grads who needed to pay off their loans – an increasingly important act for anybody who would like to own their own property someday.
*But the real issue is that everybody is desperate for money. And eventually, everybody will do what is necessary to survive, or live to their acceptable comfort.* Flashing his badge and sliding under the yellow tape, Jacobs made his way to the saloon door.
“I hope they’ve got some whisky in there…” He muttered as he swung open the door, seeing the body of a man he knew as Senator Lewis. Championed as a man of truth and justice, the Senator had many enemies in the criminal underworld. His controversial *Reversal* bill saw to remove the Nemesis Act from circulation and return murder to the highest level of crime – citing the bill as barbaric and medieval.
“Clear case,” said one of the officers, “Nemesis killing. Lady says he assaulted her. Had the balls to show up in her place of work.” He tapped away on his data slate, copying the statement given. Jacobs looked up across the bar, to see a girl no older than 18. Tear-swept mascara down her glowing cheeks.
“Clear case.” He repeated, moving around the body and toward the bar. Her expression was stunned – staring straight ahead with no recognition of Jacobs. He leant over the bar, grabbing a glass and the free-standing bottle of Laphroaig from the counter. Slumping into the stool next to her he poured the smokey single malt, eyeing it up like a predator. “So, he touch you?” He sighed, knocking back the glass before pouring more.
She stared at the body. Not blinking.
“Yeah… I… He hurt me.” | 2017-12-03T11:12:22 | 2017-12-03T10:33:45 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | "Please Eo, please do not let my mother die. I am not ready to say good bye yet" A young girl prayed on her knees beside her mother's hospital bed.
Eo was surprised that someone had prayed in his name. Last time someone had prayed in his name must had been more than 17 Centuries ago. He heard a lot has changed in human world since then but never bothered to take a look himself. To be honest, he was a little upset at people for forgetting him. But who was this little girl praying in his name?
He took a human form and entered the patient room. The room was silent other than weak beeping sound from the machine. He knew she did not have a lot of time left here.
"I am sorry about your mother. What happened?" He asked.
"Doctors told me she had a heart attack..." She said while holding back her tears.
"I see... I don't mean to bother you, but I accidentally overheard your pray from hallway. You were praying to Eo right? How do you know that name?"
"My grandpa told me about him. He told me that we are one of the last remainder of the great God Eo. Not a lot of us are left but grandpa always told me to keep my faith in Eo and one day, my pray will be answered" She took out a small necklace and showed it to him. He took the necklace by his hand and examined it.
"Unbelievable..." Eo saw the golden circle and triangle symbol in the necklace. "I didn't know any of you were still..."
"My grandpa gave it to me. Said it was from his grandpa and so on. That's who I was praying to just now. I've never thought I would call his name but... my mom...." She couldn't finish her sentence. Tears started to fall down from her green eyes again.
And when she looked up, the man was gone. Along with her necklace.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Eo walked into the cave of death. He knew what he was going to do. There was no hesitation or worry on his face.
"I came to negotiate" Eo said solemnly.
"I almost didn't recognize your voice. It's been a while Eo. How can I help you?" A cold and creepy voice echoed around the cave. A tall and skinny figure slid across the cave.
"My life for a woman's life"
"You are out of your damn mind. For a woman? A God's life for a woman? Don't be ridiculous Eo. You are a retired God. Just go enjoy yourself. You don't have to take care of your people anymore"
"Actually... I do..." Eo said with a bitter smile. "I will cross the river with you but in return, you will spare the life of a woman I request. Come on now. We don't have much time"
"Well... follow me then... I guess..." Death scratched his skull while turning back and started walking slowly.
Eo held tight the necklace and followed. | There was a low rumble coming from under the sink, it was barely loud enough for her to hear it from the other side of the room. A small sigh escaped her as she cursed under her breath. She tenderly placed the plant in her hand onto it's proper pot, the corner of her lips tugged up as the leaves reacted to her tending.
As she opened the cabinet doors the rumble turned louder. The pipes were shaking, about to burst too, and by the way the mended cracks were starting to break it wouldn't be after too long.
She cursed again, louder this time, and as she was about to go get her tool box a small chill ran from her neck all the way down to her wrists.
***Please.***
She gasped, hitting her head against the bottom of the sink at the sudden plea on her mind. The pain striked harder than she anticipated and she found herself falling against the opposite wall. There was a faint ringing in her ears.
***If you are out there.***
The ringing got to the tipping point of unbearable. Her nails clawing to her palms in a desperate attempt to stay focused on that voice.
The rumble of the pipes got franatic.
***Please.***
One of her hands went to brace to the wall.
***I need you.***
There was a crack, she wasn't sure were it came from.
***Zeme.***
It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. The ringing in her ears subdued and she clutched her chest as she heaved, trying to get a hold of herself.
No one had prayed to her name in centuries.
As she calmed down, she took back her hand off of the wall, only to find it crumbling to her side and onto her hand. The damage wasn't as bad as she expected, but she dwelled on the patching she had to do later.
She turned to the sink and found the pipes had cracked open, *again*. She groaned at the mess around the kitchen and then realized there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
She chuckled as more spilled from her eyes and onto her dirty hands.
"Don't worry." She whispered. "I'll find you."
////////////////
It was dawn when she heard the voice again. She had been walking about the woods behind the house, looking for new growths or animals passing by. The sky was a cold purple and one of her dogs, Nico, was chasing a scent deep into the woods, a fox probably, most likely a coyote.
This time she felt the earth beneath her move. She managed to calm the dog down before the first word came in.
She keened over.
***Please.***
It started like the first one.
***I just-***
Nico started whining when she didn't let it get any closer.
***I need to save it-***
She felt herself getting dizzy. The damn dog wouldn't stop crying.
***The farm- It's all I have left.***
The ground stopped trembeling and she catched herself before she fell over. Nico came over to her, it nuzzled at her side, concern seeping through it.
Her breathing went back to normal after a minute and she sat down on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath her prints. Nico settled it's head on her thigh, a reminder, an anchor.
The sky turned from purple to pink, and as it was turning light blue she stood up and walked calmly back to the house.
She needed to do some research
//////////////////
It was a coyote. Fell down a small ledge but managed to hit some rocks on the way down. It had broken it's spine and was wimpering in pain.
She cradled and soothed it through the process, making the pain more bereable to the poor animal. Her hands combing though it's fur made it fall asleep.
It died and the colors of its life drained through its mouth.
The mud beneath it recieving it as it should.
///////////////////////
OOC: this is gonna be a long one, it's late I'll continue it tomorrow :)
OOC 2: part two is in the comments below :D
| 2018-05-29T22:09:26 | 2018-05-29T22:03:25 | 196 | 45 |
[WP] All your life, you've had a small empty bar on your hand that reads "XP." Today you hit and killed a man with your car, and the bar began to fill. | I got ten months for it.
It was an accident, but since I was on the phone...
Anyhow, I met another while I was in there. I caught sight of his tattoo before he saw mine - his XP bar about two-thirds full... with a small "3" under it. I tried my best to keep mine hidden after that.
The first chance I got to talk to him was three days later.
"Paul, right?" I said trying to maintain calm.
He gave a slight nod and his eyes studied mine. "You?" He asked.
"I'm Markus" I said, sitting down across the table. "What are you in for?"
"A couple murders" He said, his eyes never looking away. "You?" He asked again.
"Yea. Manslaughter. - Uhh, Involuntary" I admitted. He grinned slightly.
"What's your tat" I asked, pointing to his hand. At this, he straightened up still staring me directly in the eyes. Oops. Too direct.
"Every time I kill, I fill in the bar a little more. You know... like a video game exp bar. Just a little..." he trailed off. Pause...
Before I could react his arms darted forward and grabbed mine. He pulled my hand upright up onto the table and swiftly smashed my closed first against the steel surface. My clenched fist opened in pain and he saw my tattoo, one-third full. He smiled a devilish smile. "Level one still?... I'm on 3".
My horrified and surprised expression betrayed me and his smile widened.
"Everything.. you know.... about your life.. is.... a... lie." Paul explained. He let go slowly and motioned me to follow him as he stood up.
"Now... how would you like to... play some co-op?"
"What are you talking about? What game are we even playing??"
He responded as he walked away: "It's called... "*Outside*."" | I opened my eyes, my vision was blurry, and my ears were ringing. Beads of blood, sweat, and tears streamed down my face. I was unable to move, unable to climb out of my car, and unable to take my eyes off the gruesome scene before me. Pinned between the car, and a streetlight was a woman.
Through the cracked windshield, I could see that she too, was in a state of shock. What could be running through her mind? Fantasies of harming my family and me? Was she afraid? Or, maybe, there was nothing, perhaps she could accept that she was to bleed out, that she would not live to see her family or friends, that she would never again feel the sun's warm rays.
Beneath me, my legs felt as if they were going to crumble. Even still, I stumbled out of my car, slowly making my way towards the dying woman. Silently, she looked up at me through glossy eyes. Upon reaching her mangled body, I froze. The sight of her body made me want to vomit, but worse than that, was, I caused this. By some miracle, if she were to live, she would be a cripple for the rest of her life, and it would be my fault.
Her lips, stained crimson, open and close; her tongue moves up and down as if she was trying to string words together. But, I didn't bother listening, it's not that I didn't want to, rather, I couldn't focus on her voice. My ears were no longer ringing, but, I couldn't concentrate on anything other than a steady ticking that was raising in pitch. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant sound, but, it seemed inappropriate for the situation.
I clenched my ears, hoping to tune out the sound. The ticking was consistent and made no indication of stopping anytime soon. In front of me, heavy tears rolled down the woman's cheeks; I stared into her eyes, searching them for the smallest indication of relief. But, there was none, and even in my fantasy world where dragons soar the skies, and the woman gets to live on, I don't deserve to have peace of mind. I know that It should've been me pinned between the vehicle and streetlight, that she didn't deserve this, but, killing her, albeit a terrible thing, feels good. I know that I should feel something other than strength, but I couldn't imagine not feeling powerful. The ticking slowly stops, I look down at my hand, it reads "Level up! Level 32"
Feedback is welcome; but, I'm going to bed. | 2018-07-02T05:44:20 | 2018-07-02T01:38:56 | 323 | 175 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver. | I always heard that I was a pretty chill guy. I went to church, prayed and shit. I gave to charity.
Hal, on the other hand. Jesus, where do I start?
Once when I was playing football, I got tripped and fell hard. I don't even remember what happened afterwards, but I later found out that that kid was hospitalized when I woke up in a detention center.
I was writing an English paper later that week about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I fell asleep typing at around 2 AM. Hal had a message for me. He told me that even if I lived my life as an angel, I would never spread my wings and fly into Heaven.
So I wasn't surprised when I looked down at my finger, despite what the priests told me.
"You're a man without sin, Jordan."
My ass.
You can sin, but you can't un-sin. Hal taught me that. And tonight, he won't have to clip my wings.
Because tonight, I'm jumping into the fire. | 2018-08-04T09:48:46 | 2018-08-04T09:19:48 | 395 | 93 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I always knew, since I was a baby. If I’ll be a good boy, then my blood will be white.
I was always scared of having black blood.
I must be a good boy.
Around this simple principle, I built my life. And it felt good helping others. I was happy!
I studied medicine because I thought no greater good exists but saving a life.
During my years in university, I tried to be as helpful for my colleagues as possible. I helped everyone who would ask for it, even at the risk of being slowed down. Usually my kindness was one-way, but I didn’t care. I was happy while helping others, and all the rest didn’t matter.
After finishing my studies, I became one of the most famous and talented surgeon in the whole country.
By the age of 55, I had lost count of the people I saved.
However, one day, during a routine operation, my life completely changed.
While setting up a needle, it touched the tip of my finger, and in that moment I realized I’ve never seen what the true black looks like. Until now.
I saw the hole. I saw the black.
Nothing came out.
I was shocked. I spent my life being the best possible person, but my blood was cursed. I was condemned for the rest of my life.
I quit my job and started an internal journey to find the answer for my condition.
How could it be?
But then, I came to my epiphany.
It was simple. Helping others felt good. I didn’t do it because others would feel better; I did it because I would feel better. I didn’t care about the others. I was always interested in my happiness.
In trying to be the less selfish man alive, I have been the most selfish.
And that was my punishment. | I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and had my morning breakfast and coffee everything felt fine. When I left my small studio apartment, passing misses Fischer in the hallway I felt normal. Even when I reached the soup kitchen the next block over the world just felt...right.
Yet somehow, in this moment; nothing feels right. I feel the pangs in my stomach, the tightness in my muscles as if I haven't slept for weeks. My hands are dirty, my clothes stink and are stained so badly that I can't recall what color this shirt was supposed to be when I put it on this morning.
I'm lost, sitting in an empty lot with a small shiv in one hand and a slowly bleeding finger from my other. People are avoiding me as I walk down the street, slowly stumbling and searching for any resemblance of normality. "Oak Street", that's, that's six blocks away from my apartment and in a completely different direction from the soup kitchen I was heading too. I reorient myself and begin the trek back home; my body tired, exhausted and spent.
I stumble up the stairs to my apartment, the whole building reeks and I can barely breathe without coughing. All my neighbors doors are hanging open, TV's playing static while random cats and dogs jitter from door to door. My world begins to spin, my hands looking for purchase on anything to keep me from falling over. I collapsed to my knees and a sudden jolt of clarity hit me like a belly flop at Indian Lake.
I'm not in a hallway, I'm not in my apartment building either. Everything is white, then black; and I hear a voice in the distance. It sounds like Miss Fischer, no; its more masculine. I'm starting to remember, oh god I remember!
Oh god no! Noooo! This is it; my last meal was served. The witnesses were called and none of my family could bare witness to the shame I caused them. They said it would be painless, I wouldn't feel a thing. So why am I awake and why do my veins burn like lava, oh god oh god.. OH god... OH GOD NOOOOO!
I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and ......... | 2018-08-04T10:34:28 | 2018-08-04T10:12:33 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 57 | 13 |
[WP]You've been dating an amazing woman for a year. One day, she gets a call and rushes into the closet. When she comes out, she's weraing white armor, and a matching sword and has wings coming from her back. She says "I have to go, but I'll explain when I get home." Before flying out the door. | I stood there for a while. Then I made a list. I had to make a list.
* Angel.
* Hallucination.
* Virtual Reality.
* Superhero.
* Incredibly elaborate prank.
I kind of ran out of ideas after that last one. I waited, and I waited, and I decided to make dinner. Once dinner was ready, I waited some more. My brain spun up explanations. Aine always seemed very reserved. She didn't like to talk about her family. I knew she was hiding something for months, but I didn't push her on it.
At around midnight, she showed up. She was limping, not wearing the armour anymore. She had her clothes from work, slightly singed, and her hair was a mess. I led her inside.
"Baby, what's happening?"
She moved her mouth a couple of times before speaking. "I... I had to sub in for my dad."
"Wait what?" I asked, serving her some food. She looked at me with so much gratitude, I couldn't stay mad at her for lying. If she was lying. Maybe it was all a hallucination.
"My dad. He's \*Paladin\*. I... well, he was busy. I had to cover for him," she said, in between stuffing her face full of meat.
"Paladin... the superhero?" I asked, thinking about the pleasant, mild-mannered man I had met a few months earlier.
"Yeah."
"...Explains how young he looked--" I started.
"Mary, aren't you mad?"
"Why would I be mad? I--you're going to explain, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then, we're okay," I said.
"Okay. Okay, so... my dad is Paladin. And he was busy fighting against some monster, and... he called me in to help stop a small-time villain from robbing a bank while he was busy."
"Okay," I said, having a hard time processing. "Okay. Cool. So... the wings?"
"They come and go as necessary."
"The armour..."
"Forged by the fae, along with the sword of truth, yeah."
"And... you can do swordfighting?"
"It's complicated," she said, "I can use that sword. It's in my blood. Anthing else, I'd have to practice at, but I took fencing in highschool and I did it pretty well."
I nodded, "so... not an angel."
"No, I'm not a--" she laughed. "What?"
"And not a prank?"
She stood up from the table and hugged me.
"And this isn't a simulation?"
She laughed, but there was a strained quality to it, and a pair of wet drops fell on my back from her chin.
"Sweetheart? Are you crying?"
"I love you so much. You're--you're just..." she pulled away from me and looked at me with wet eyes and a grin on her face. I wasn't sure how to react, but then she made it easier for me.
"Mary Li," she said, in a serious tone of voice, before rummaging in her jacket pocket. Then she knelt and pulled out a little box. "I love you more than anything in the world..."
"Oh my god," I said, staring at her as my heart began pounding in my chest.
"...Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
I couldn't scream yes loudly enough. "Yes! Yes yes yes! YES!"
She pulled out a small ring, then put it on my finger, and I nearly tackled her in a kiss. She tried to apologize for not telling me, but that was all out of my mind. All I could think about was how there were no more secrets between us, and how much I loved her.
(Note: Story is a prequel to this, told from the wife's point of view this time: [https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager\_Question\_Writes/comments/8qzi2k/wp\_your\_father\_is\_a\_superhero\_he\_never\_aged\_tired/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/8qzi2k/wp_your_father_is_a_superhero_he_never_aged_tired/)
And also to this: [https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager\_Question\_Writes/comments/991jgr/wp\_a\_super\_villain\_presses\_charges\_against\_the/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/991jgr/wp_a_super_villain_presses_charges_against_the/) ) | *the archaic old book's diary you are holding switches from one hand-writing, distinctly old and flowery, to a more modern script at this point*
Forgive my writing this in the blank pages of the Diary of Andre Hamilton (1835-1842). Damnit, this is all I managed to grab. I'm writing the remainder of this diary here.
When you meet the one, you just know. I met Alicia at a party one of my friends were giving about a year and a half ago. Doug, the friend I mentioned, was very much into the occult and his apartment showed it. He was the most showy person I had ever met but his parties were usually great so I never missed one. She had the most intense look on her face when I first saw her.
She must have felt my stare because she looked up and our gazes locked for a split second. She blushed, then smiled at a nearby party-goer, and went back to talking, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined that brief second of intensity. She was five foot four and had reddish brown hair whose curls swept across her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her smile, fake or not, was radiant and I realized I was smitten.
I eventually reached her. She looked up at me quizzically as I said hello. The conversation turned to history, my specialty - I deal in antique books hence how I knew Doug. To my surprise she knew more history then myself. She was a history professor at Daystronne University and on leave to write her third book. I was in love and later I found out so was she.
After a whirlwind romance lasting six months I asked her to marry me. A lot happened in that time. Doug, the party giver disappeared completely. Rumors flew in our circles that he had crossed the wrong people or had decided to take his own life, you know how rumors go.
We settled into married life and it was fantastic. We complemented each other in a way that you would find sappy if I described it here. She left for weeks at a time, usually to museums and private collections as she researched her book. I filled those lonely days with beginning to write my own book, something she encouraged me to do daily.
This morning, a year into our marriage, started like every other one in which we were home. I had cooked breakfast, she had eaten hers slowly while she searched the internet. She checked her e-mail and that's when everything changed. Her face went white as a sheet, she looked up at me, and deleted the e-mail. She stood quickly and before I could ask her she had fled into our bedroom.
When she came out of the bedroom I thought she was playing a joke on me. She had on white armor, that fit very oddly with her condition, and she had a sword handing from her belt. Her face was tear stained and she did not say a word to me. She handed me a letter, said something in a strange language, and the door to our apartment turned golden. She opened the golden door - an impossible landscape greeted her - and then she spread her wings. Her wings. My mind reeled at the strangeness and before I could think to call out she stepped through the door and it closed behind her. I stood there for a minute waiting to wake up. Isn't that what usually happens at this point in our impossible dreams?
When that didn't happen I opened the letter, "Mark, I can no longer stay here. I was never supposed to fall in love. I was never supposed to get married. They've been looking for me since I disappeared after killing Doug - he was trying to summon something you see - forgive me it had to be done. Now if I don't leave now they'll kill you. They'll be hunting us now but I won't let them get us. I love you. Alicia. P.S. The Golden Gate will close itself in five minutes. I'll return someday."
That was it. I stared at the golden door glowing before me and realized this was the Golden Gate the letter spoke of. I opened it. I only had three minutes or so to make my decision. I grabbed a book, this one, and a pen as I decided.
As I looked through, the clouds beyond the door were golden and the grass greener than any I had ever seen. It looked peaceful and I could see a trail fading in the wind blowing across the grass where my wife had walked. She must have found herself too heavy to fly now.
I stepped through the gate and into a different world. The door behind me closed and when I turned around it wasn't there anymore. I had to find my wife. I had to find my unborn child. She had just a month to go before she would give birth to... whatever was a mix between a human and whatever she was.
I didn't know who or what was hunting my wife and my child but I know this, god's help whoever tries to harm them. I took a step forward and with that destined step, my life and the universe changed forever. | 2018-09-16T15:50:30 | 2018-09-16T15:34:23 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] A Genie has cursed you with one year left to live, however he also gave you the power to convert each clap meant for you into 1 hour added on to your life. You cannot tell anyone about your curse and you are determined to live as long as possible. | The Clapper was a breakthrough, as far as lighting options go
no switch or button needed for it's warm fluorescent glow
it made the choice quite obvious, when the genie did appear
and inform me of my newfound curse, that would shape my coming year
and so I set up shop that week, in the nearest shopping mall
stopping passers by to showcase one light to rule them all
and how they stopped and clapped away, all falling for my trap
I even made some money, selling on that pointless crap
the weeks flew by and sure enough the final day was here
my calendar revealed I'd added on fourteen more years
it was then I realised this was no curse, but rather immortality
I could clap my way through centuries on an unseen technicality
with a smile I slipped to sleep that night, eternal dreams ran through my brain
but as the sun rose, I did not, nor any day again.
*It seemed the claps he'd heard that year, though massive in amount*
*were meant solely for the lights, not him, and sadly did not count*
​ | James adjusted the microphone, and took a deep breath, as he looked out over the crowd in the packed student auditorium. It was now or never.
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you. Let's get this out of the way first of all. My name is Jessica. I'm a genderqueer lesbian trans-woman." he said.
He winced in slight discomfort as the crowd *erupted* in screaming applause, rising from their chairs. Damn, but they were loud.
It wasn't remotely true, of course. On balance, however, it did allow him to go about his life with relatively minimal changes to his lifestyle as a heterosexual male. He didn't even have to legally change the name.
If he was being honest, it wasn't the only way to get what he needed to reverse the effects of the Genie's curse.
It was, however, the easiest. Learn some new vocabulary, get the right haircut and clothing, and he was beyond questioning by anyone who mattered. The other ways of gaining accolades tended to involve *doing* something or at least *knowing* something, and if James had been the sort who was good at taking the long way around his problems, he probably wouldn't have run afoul of a Genie in the first place.
A part of him thought it was a bit shabby of him, exploiting the credulity of his fellow college students this way. But a much larger part thought that if he played his cards right, he could be practically *immortal* by senior year.
With a fake smile, he continued. "Thank you so much. Today, I'd like to talk to you about the basics of intersectionality as it relates to an emerging unique queer identity among disabled people of color..."
​ | 2018-10-02T17:25:51 | 2018-10-02T16:49:06 | 286 | 65 |
[WP] A Genie has cursed you with one year left to live, however he also gave you the power to convert each clap meant for you into 1 hour added on to your life. You cannot tell anyone about your curse and you are determined to live as long as possible. | The Clapper was a breakthrough, as far as lighting options go
no switch or button needed for it's warm fluorescent glow
it made the choice quite obvious, when the genie did appear
and inform me of my newfound curse, that would shape my coming year
and so I set up shop that week, in the nearest shopping mall
stopping passers by to showcase one light to rule them all
and how they stopped and clapped away, all falling for my trap
I even made some money, selling on that pointless crap
the weeks flew by and sure enough the final day was here
my calendar revealed I'd added on fourteen more years
it was then I realised this was no curse, but rather immortality
I could clap my way through centuries on an unseen technicality
with a smile I slipped to sleep that night, eternal dreams ran through my brain
but as the sun rose, I did not, nor any day again.
*It seemed the claps he'd heard that year, though massive in amount*
*were meant solely for the lights, not him, and sadly did not count*
​ | You stare down at your feet. The alcohol is making it harder to focus on anything at all. It feels like this should be more momentous, but this is all you can muster: drunk outside a convenience store at 10 am. What day is today? Doesn’t even matter.
This past year and a half you’ve tried anything you can think of: you crashed weddings and graduations, you danced like a fool in a tinker bell outfit asking people for claps. You even started paying people to clap for you. But every time you sleep, you waste time. Every time you rehearse, you feel time slip away. Like a hungry crocodile stalking you, the tick tick of time hunts you even now.
Soon your desperation seeped through and anything you did was met with mild bemusement. You strategized how to maximize exposure. Getting the first clap is easy and it gets exponentially harder to elicit more without real talent. Children are the easiest targets but just try to get some time alone with strange children when you reek of urgency and see how that goes. Religion? Shock performance art? You have to have new material and new marks to feed you.
Even after you came clean in YouTube after YouTube video, no one really bothered. You are one of millions who would literally do anything for the applause. And a fan base isn’t free, you need real talent.
Even through your drunkenness you feel the pangs of nervousness nip at the edges of your awareness. The constant stress has been relentless. You don’t sleep, you don’t rest. Drugs to keep you practicing and creating the next great thing,
And just like that, the last clap is the wet sound of you falling lifelessly to the pavement. And just as you’d fear if you could see it, it was uneventful. | 2018-10-02T17:25:51 | 2018-10-02T17:23:53 | 286 | 30 |
[WP] Your father told you to never open the music box in the attic. Your mother used her last words to beg you to open it. | Father was never a kind man. Not to me, not to Mom, not to waiters or cashiers or even dogs. I don't know what happened to make him such an angry person, drowning in drinks, but he'd certainly never tell me about it.
And yet, for whatever reason, Mom always loved him so much. Too much, if you ask me. I asked her once and she only said, "Katie, one day you'll meet a man you truly love and understand that some of them are harsh but still good people deep down inside. Your father's lost himself, but I promise, he's a good man. He'll never hurt you, not as long as I'm here to protect you, love. He means well."
He beat her that night for dropping a dish in the sink and breaking it. Not like he was some kind of china collector, I think the sound just annoyed him and he had been looking for an excuse. Gave me a solid whack for trying to get in front of her after the first few hits, and a few more that night when I'd wandered into the attic and found a little antique music box. It was carved from such a pretty oak, but before I could open it, he found me and screamed, throwing it aside, grabbing me. I often wondered what was in that box, in the years that followed, but never dared to risk it.
Still, she defended him. Still, she loved him.
I did not.
Dad wasn't even in the hospital when she died. I don't know if he didn't care, or if he just didn't even know it was happening, or he was sulking because he can't get satisfaction out of beating a corpse, but it was for the best either way. Lord knows I didn't want him there, for her to see his face at the end. She deserved better than that, and abandoning her was the kindest thing he ever did.
The doctors said it was a sudden illness, but I knew better. He'd done something. It had to be his fault.
"I'm here," I said, kneeling next to her. Her breaths were quick and short; I could tell it was the end. "I love you so much."
She smiled, a faint, wispy thing. "I know, darling. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," I choked out through tears. The world had become a blur. "You did nothing wrong."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I don't know." She drew a deep, raspy breath as the beeping of her heart monitor increased, and her eyes widened. "Katie, you have to go to the attic. Find the music box."
"Wh- why?"
A weak hand squeezed mine with all the might it could muster. "It will give you the power. Do what I couldn't."
That was the last thing she ever said to me.
That night, he screamed at me for getting home so late, throwing my phone against the wall and shattering its screen. He'd been drinking, so it was easier to run and hide in my room until he passed out on the floor like he loved so much to do.
That was my chance.
I crept upstairs, taking time and wincing as some of the floorboards screamed beneath me, pulled down the staircase and climbed, pulling the stairs up behind me.
It took a few hours of searching, but I found it, hidden behind a mountain of boxes and random shit stored up from the years, covered in a thick layer of dust. It seemed so much smaller than it had all those years ago, but still bigger than what I'd imagine a music box would be. It was about the size of a shoebox.
And it was humming. Not loudly, but deeply, like something ancient sound asleep.
I set it down and stared at it for a while. My father had been so adamant; what if he found out? Would I join my mother?
Why had she looked so scared, at the end?
Heavy with dread, I hesitated, trembling and crying with fresh memories of my final moments with her, until finally fulfilling her wish.
Inside was a strange scene. There were no dancers; just an average man and a woman much smaller than him staring at each other. I wound the device, then set it on a box and scrunched up on the ground, wrapping my hoodie around my knees.
The saddest sound I've ever heard played, and the girl fell to her knees.
I don't know why, but the melody, the dissonance of it, brought me to tears. The girl crumpled, the man towering over her, striking her while down. The tears blurred my vision, and I wiped to keep watching. It was like a movie playing out before me, somehow, like the mechanical little people were alive.
The girl rose, the man winding back to strike her once more, but she pulled something blue out of her pocket, a striking cyan that glowed, and pressed it deep into his chest. It was his turn to crumple and wither on the ground like a dying flower.
The song ended with a loud click, and I jumped back, dropping the music box. It cracked open like an egg, and from within it spilled a glowing, cyan dagger streaked with black darker than a starless night. It felt warm and heavy in my hands. It felt powerful and--
"Katie? Where are you? What's that noise? You get down here right this instant, goddamnit," a voice called from below. My father's slurred voice.
I slipped the dagger into my hoodie pocket and went to answer his calls.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* | "Open the window a crack, first," she had instructed, her voice weak with illness, "then the music box."
​
The soft words had haunted Dana's thoughts since the night of his mother's final breath. He had heard only vaguely of the music box in the attic prior. A few weeks before his mother's passing, he and his father had been rummaging through the attic looking for some old memories she had requested to see for the final time. Some dusty photo albums. A tiny pair of shoes that Dana once wore when he was barely a year old. A box of letters.
​
He had happened upon the music box by mistake. It was silver and engraved with lavish designs. Dana had run his fingers over the embossed symbols and unclasped its tiny clip. The tune of Amazing Grace erupted from the small box, much louder than anticipated. Within an instant, Dana's father had snatched the little trinket from his hands and slammed it closed.
​
"Don't you EVER open this again, you hear me?" His eyes were piercing. Dana felt as if he could hear his father's heart beating furiously. His glare softened. "Son, this music box is very special to me, alright? I just don't want it to be damaged. It means a lot." He stepped over to a hand carved wooden box and slipped the music box inside, sealing it shut with a small key.
​
"I-- Sorry, Dad, I didn't know..." Dana mumbled, still shocked from the suddenness.
​
And now here he lay. His mother was no longer of this world and in her parting words, she begged him to open the box. His mind swirled with uncertainty. He rolled over onto his side and peered toward the digital alarm clock at his bedside. The time read 0300.
​
"The witching hour." Dana whispered to himself, before guffawing at his own dramatization. His father would never even find out, Dana reasoned. After all, the old man was simply worried Dana would break it -- and he would not. He would be careful. Quietly, Dana slipped out of his sheets and his bare feet plunked upon the shag rug below. The squeak of the hinges on his bedroom door seemed deafening in the darkness. With each step, the floor lurched and creaked. He could hear his father's snores from a neighboring room.
​
The hallway seemed to stretch into infinity as Dana plodded along. Two more doors. He slowly opened the door to a walk-in closet and ducked inside. The final door was within the closet and housed a dropdown stairwell to the attic. Dana unclasped the lock and pulled a small rope, balancing his hand on the port so it would not slam down. Slowly, he lowered the stairs and clambered up.
​
The attic was pitch black. He felt around helplessly for the single bulb that hung from the rafters. A box caught his foot and slid loudly a few inches as he barely caught himself from tumbling. At last, he felt the metal links of the bulb. Click-clack. The attic could now be seen under a yellow haze.
​
Dana tip-toed his way over to the wooden box he had seen his father hide the music box in. He tried the clasp. Locked. But he was prepared. He had brought with him a pair of metal shears to slice the thin clasp with and with one crack, the box was open. He reached in and pulled out the little music box, turning it in his hands, curiously. He could feel the grooves and twists of its engraved designs. His eyes fell upon the wooden box it had been housed. There were a handful of oddities within-- papers with strange symbols, a small plastic baggie with hair, a strange vial.
​
"The window." he recalled just before forcing the music box open. Quietly, he ambled over toward the one small dusty window in the attic and unlocked it. With some effort, he forced it up, the pane sliding with a deafening crash. He froze a moment, his hair standing on end, awaiting the inevitable shuffling and footsteps. Seconds passed. Nothing. He sighed, relieved.
​
The crisp winter air crept in through the open window, swiftly filling the attic with a ghostly chill. Dana shivered before crouching by the window. His heart was thumping. He was both anticipating the reason his mother had requested this, and the potential wrath of his father. He breathed deeply, attempting to calm himself.
​
He unclasped the little music box, slowly bringing it open.
​
The blaring tune of Amazing Grace startled Dana and he dropped the box to the floor, jumping to his feet. He could feel his pulse on his throat.
​
A smokey white puff streamed from the music box, dancing into the cold air. Dana watched it, the sound of the song still resonating. The white cloud slowly twisted and floated through the air, toward the window. Just before it exited, Dana saw his mother's face.
​
"Thank you." he thought he heard a whisper. The cloud disappeared into the night. Dana quickly shut the music box, ceasing the blaring sounds as he began to hear creaking and shuffling below. Panicked, he scooped it up and threw it back into the wooden box, but not before his eyes fell upon a small booklet within.
​
"Impermanence" the title read. He sifted through. The vial was not any fluid. It was blood. The hair-- his mothers. The booklet read step-by-step instructions on conserving a spirit in death. Dana fell to his knees and glanced out the window than back toward the materials. Tears welled in his eyes as he heard the stomping of his father's footsteps up the stairs to the attic. He turned over his shoulder to meet a pair of glassy, desperate eyes. | 2019-06-07T20:59:45 | 2019-06-07T20:26:33 | 495 | 32 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | "You want to know why I do this?" He sighed and leaned back. "Ya know no one actually has to, right? Like there wasn't originally a human psychopomp."
There was the clack of a piece on the board as Zora made her play. Sweat beaded on her brow. She was glad the small talk got his eyes off her. She was a damn Go CHAMPION, but she hadn't counted on how playing for her life against the grim reaper was going. She couldn't see his eyes, or anything about him, really. She KNEW he was male, tho. Just like she could FEEL when his gaze was on her and when it wasn't.
"Really? What was there?" she asked. She needed to keep his mind ... wherever it was. Just not in the game.
"I don't really know how to describe it. I was a bit ... distracted. I had just died. Not only that, but my brother had killed me." There was a dull thud as the Reaper placed his piece.
"What?" Zora asked, shaking herself to look at the board. This sounded familiar to her.
"Then there was this ... it was simultaneously a pillar of fire and a GIANT human like thing with 8 black wings and ... oh, yeah, I love Cain. He's my brother, but emotional control was never his strong suit. That's why I became the sheep herd, y'know? He was too sensitive to both raise and slaughter them. He got so attached.
"It's your play, Zora," The Reaper reminded her gently.
Zora started again. She'd gotten lost staring into the shadows of his robe. The more he spoke, the less he looked like a grinning skull, and the more it seemed the visage of a person was concealed in the shadows of the robe.
"Wait, you're ABEL!? Like Cain and Abel from the BIBLE!?" She exclaimed.
"Just the one," He said kindly, "And it's still your play, Zora."
"Yeah, you right." Zora took a deep breath as she studied the board. She started to see a pattern. She thought for a minute and placed a piece with a gentle clack.
"You said he IS your brother? Not was??" She asked as Abel reached for his piece.
"You're correct. He's still alive. Cursed to wander the Earth til its end. I was angry at him, at first. I first stayed to watch his suffering. To enjoy his punishment. But then the next person died. And I saw that impassive giant appear again, and I knew I couldn't let another soul deal with that. After a while, though, I started to realize how much he was hurting. How terrible his punishment is. And how much I miss him. Now I'm glad to do this kindness to the many, many strange souls passing in the world today, while I wait to be reunited with my big brother. We'll leave this world together when it is done." There was another thud as he placed his piece. A clack as Zora placed hers.
"That's a LOT," She said, "I don't know if I could do that for my brother, and he didn't even kill me."
"It took me a LONG time to feel as I do, Zora," Abel said softly. "A lot of seeing how cruel humans would get to one another. A lot of seeing my brother build himself up only to topple himself later."
Zora's heart was beating in her chest as she tried to keep her attention on the board. There was a thud as Abel placed his piece.
"YES!" Zora exclaimed as she placed her piece - cascading the board as she circled his position. She'd won! She'd beaten the Grim Reaper to keep her life!
"Good play, Zora! I haven't lost at this game in a century!" Abel laughed as he started to clear the board. "Do you want to play again?"
"What? NO! I want to go back to my life!" Zora shouted as she stood up quickly. "I want to go back to school tomorrow and prep for my next tournament!"
"Oh," Abel said softly, sadly. "It doesn't work that way. I don't control who lives or dies. I just guide you on your way when you're ready. I'm happy to play until you're ready to go, though. You know I'm not in any hurry now." | Time works differently here, this empty path that shape-shifts into what the recipient considers a dear or important location in their last life. I know I met this person before, I recognize the now dry country-side pathway, the dirty almost black and white filter above everything, black painted plants shivering as the wind caresses them, once so colorful and lively, a joy to run through. A lone abandoned cart at my side, giving me a companionship as I wait for the dim light in front of me to widen, to get stronger.
It surely makes you wonder with each light. This specifically is simple, not as other as are adorned with lamps or candles holding them, different colors and intensities. This one, I can feel through my tired bones that's struggling. This person is fighting to live, which undoubtedly I have to give my biggest respects. The orange tone of it engulfes the colorless path and surroundings, the warmth coming from it attracting all sort of bugs and insects, which were now flying around me, I assume without the intention to actually bite, since they're just a memory, maybe a memory of annoyance in this case.
I sigh and sit down as I look at the gray sky above me, a skinny hand shaking away the disturbing mosquitoes.
"It'll surely be a long walk..." I told myself, knowing the journey that awaits for us ahead. The sorrows, the regrets, the good and the bad. For me, it was hell. Looking into my loved one's eyes as I wronged him, looking at myself cry and beg, disgusted at my creator as he punished me for something I was not entirely guilty of. My nose started to burn as I realize it's been too long since I stopped to think about my past. Realization also hit me that someone was staring at me confused. A tall man, dark hair, filled with blood and dirt. His grey eyes matched the atmosphere as his frantic breath was just starting to calm. How did I not notice him coming? And as he looked at his body, tapping it as if making sure he's entire, I just looked at him, the initial shock making me just stare agape.
"Wh–... Who are you? Where am I? What's going on–"
"Calm down, child." And with effort, I got up. Even after all these years, although I don't age, my mental state is making my body decay. Weakened muscles made me struggle to do a simple action, yet I just smile at the man and his panic. Such a common thing, even for one that lived so many lives.
"Calm down?! What happened to me?"
"You died." Simple, curt, short, straight to the point. You can say you get used to it after I joined so many in their journey. The sudden expression of realization and sorrow that filled his face made me hesitate. He was indeed a fighter, I knew. His eyes, stormy as the sky, were telling me that. I could hear his heart through the skies too, as it roared after a thunder, a storm approaching. I never said it was easy... "I don't know how it happened, my dear, but let me join you through your journey, if you'd have me."
Silence filled the air as he just looked everywhere. I almost wanted to let out a cry as his expressions never changed, even through all the lives he had. The same troubled face when he didn't get to do all he wanted to do. The same face of guilt. Even the same curiosity portrayed as he, even through his struggles, started analyzing me, searching in my eyes. I smile again. He always looked straight into my eyes...
Taken back by the smile, I suppose, he calmed a little bit.
"I don't understand..." Of course you don't. I never said he was the sharpest or brightest, but I have to give it to him, I didn't tell him much. I chuckled.
"Let me explain it to you as we start walking." I turn my head towards the forest far in our sight, path leading straight to it. "For now, let's just being with your name."
"I..." Still uncomfortable, confused, probably still frustrated, he looked lost and as a complete mess. He doesn't have to know how it is to appear here and not know what to do. He doesn't have to go through it alone. I'll be here, guiding you, preparing you for your next decision, yet something tells me it'll always be the same. You'll always go back, won't you?
He nodded to himself, straightening up as he looked in front, as if getting ready for battle. Tidying his bloodied hands on his now dirty shirt, his stunning eyes looked back at me as the skies calmed a little bit.
"My name is Adam." Well, now, if only he knew. "...Are you the Reaper?"
A whole hearted chuckle left my lips. Such a ridiculous name that I heard way too many times. "Oh, dear, no, I'm just a friend. But you can call me Eve." | 2019-07-10T12:38:09 | 2019-07-10T11:41:41 | 76 | 25 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | “Is this it?”
“Yes, beyond this veil lies your fate. Your eternity.”
“Am I going to Heaven?”
“I do not know, it is not my business to know. My only duty is to guide you here, you must take the final step yourself.”
“I’m scared. I don’t want to go to Hell, I’ve not lead a perfect life but I’m a good man!”
“Calm yourself. I do not know what lies beyond your personal veil, but I do know the rules are not as strict as that tattered old tome would have you believe.”
“How do you know? Did you go to Heaven?....Were you human once?”
“.....I was. But I did not achieve Ascendance or Damnation.”
“Then what happened? Why are you like this? Why are you here now?”
“The path we have just travelled may not have seemed like a far distance to you now but time does not flow the same here, in actuality two cycles of the Sun have occurred.”
“What?? Two years?!”
“Indeed, and that is with me guiding you. When it was my time there was no Reaper, there was no guide. By the time I reached my veil my soul was tattered, warped, corrupted. This is what this path does to a soul when it does not reach its destination in time, it pulls and claws at it in both directions to the point it cannot enter either the Silver or the Crimson City. This is what happened to me, I finally found my veil but could not enter. Heaven had denied me but Hell found me unworthy, so I have wandered this plane ever since. I was condemned to this limbo, to Purgatory. Most people fear the Pit but they forget that they won’t face the fires alone, Damnation is easier than eternal solitude.
“My god, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“There is no need for words, I need not your pity. I accepted my fate but I bent it to my will, that is why I do what I do, so others do not share my fate. As long as I am here, this desolate place will remain desolate. Go now child, there are others who require my aid.”
“Thank you, truly, thank you. Goodbye Reaper...Is there not a better name by which to call you?”
“You will never see me again child, so my name is not needed. Go now.”
.........
“Back again?”
“Again. And I’ll be back again the next time, you can stop this now. You need not keep yourself in exile anymore.”
“If I leave here there will only be another to take my place, none will face this place ever again.”
“You would refuse me? Us? Your father and I miss you, your brother misses you. Your favour to me has changed him, he wishes to see you.”
“.....I’d rather face the solitude. Goodbye Mother.”
“...Goodbye, Abel.” | "Are you ready?"
I had always expected the physical representation of Death to be carrying a big scythe around in black robes, or to be a devil of some sorts, or some sort gauntish figure. And yet, the entity standing in front of me calimng to be the reaper was wearing khaki pants and a blue polo.
"I'm sorry?" I said, the scene around me not yet hadn't settled in. I could see myself still in my Fiesta, just barely trading paint with a 18 wheeler that had seemingly come out of control and gone over the highway barrier.
"I'm asking if you're ready to move on." he asked, gently smiling back at me.
"No! Of course not! Can't you put me back in my body?" I could feel the adrenaline rushing though my... well, soul, I suppose. His smile faded for just a split-second, and was replaced by a subtle pained expression, as if he were recalling some hurtful memory.
"I'm afraid not..." The smile was back, and I felt myself relaxing somewhat despite my bulging frustration. "I can't change what happened."
"But I look just fine!" I pointed at my stunned self back in my car, mouth agasp and nails haphazardly digging into the steering wheel. Apart from a dumb facial expression and a ruined manicure, I looked pretty well alive. "How can I be dead?"
"I stopped it so you wouldn't have to see what comes after. There's nothing more I can do. I am very sorry..." He calmly closed the distance between us and held me, as if knowing that in the next few seconds my knees would buckle from under me and the realization would finally hit.
I don't know how long I lay there on the ground, just a few feet away from my soon to be wrecked car, death's surprisingly warm hand on my shoulder, telling me that it was going to be ok.
"I never know how much it helps," he said "but I know what you're going through, and I promise it does get better."
"How could you ever know how it feels like to die?" I asked , still sobbing.
The pain from before showed again on his face, and it disappeared just as suddenly, as if by training, and the realization hit me.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" I asked, "You're human."
"Well, I guess 'was' is more appropriate," he said, scratching the back of his head and looking off into the distance for a moment, "but I lived and died on this planet, much like you did."
"Then why are you doing this? Why doesn't God do it? Or Satan? Or something different?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
"Well, if there are such things as God or Satan, I haven't met them. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I'm able to it." He turned to me again and smiled, "As for why, well, I didn't think you should be alone right now. Nobody showed up when my time was up, and I didn't find that was a good welcome into the afterlife."
He kept smiling, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "I understand" I said.
"So," he repeated "are you ready?"
"Yeah... I guess I am." I stood up, and he followed suit. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it!" he said, the excitement showing in his voice.
And somehow, I believed him. | 2019-07-10T13:20:07 | 2019-07-10T11:49:23 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You have a special power. Whenever your life is in danger; time freezes until you've made yourself safe. One day time stops, and nothing you do seems to make it start again. | You take a deep breath and begin looking around. No oncoming cars, from the looks of it. They’re all stopped at the light. Odd… Usually time freezes in an intersection are a gimmie. You finish crossing the street, expecting the sounds of traffic to spur back to life.
Nothing.
You examine the insides of the nearby vehicles. A shooting, perhaps? You walk between each vehicle in search of someone armed, but to no avail. You scan the tops of the nearby buildings, hoping to find a rogue sniper like an assassin out of a movie.
Still, nothing.
You rub your wrists out of habit, a nervous tick you developed in university. “Wait, is it always like that?” Your pulse is almost non-existent. Is it always that way when time freezes? You’ve never checked before.
Time is still frozen when you arrive at work, and you hustle past the statuesque patients seated about the clinic’s waiting room. Pushing into one of the patient rooms where a man is in the middle of having blood drawn, you unsuccessfully attempt to run some basic diagnostics on yourself. The equipment is unresponsive. “Alright, well I guess I have a couple of options. I’m either dying, or about to be killed…”
As you make your way out of town, you stop by the hospital on the way out. Navigating through the sanitized halls, you find yourself standing outside an operating room. You take a deep breath, “Please don’t let this be it.”
You push open the door to the O.R. and see a handful of doctors who appear to have just finished an operation. You pull a piece of scrap paper from your pocket and jot down a brief note: *Dying of unknown cause. Possible heart failure. Please help.* You grab a scalpel and leave it floating in the air in the hopes that it falling will grab the attention of the doctors in the room.
You hold the note to your chest and sit down on the surgical table. You close your eyes. “What if time does continue? What if I lay down and everything springs to back to life? Does time only continue if I’m guaranteed to live? It hasn’t gotten me killed yet, but… Oncoming traffic is such a black and white danger. Maybe it would be better to just continue like this, frozen. Never find the solution.”
You look around at the doctors in the room, suspended in time, forever trapped as they scrub out. Never again would they save a life or see their families. You think about your niece, saved on this very table when she was only three. Somewhere she is frozen too, petrified like a statue in Medusa’s garden.
You try to steady your shaky breathing and look down at the surgical table. You grit your teeth and prepare to plunge into the unknown. Holding the note to your chest, you recline onto the table.
*Clack-clang!*
The scalpel crashes to the ground, clattering across the tile. Your vision dims, and you become rapidly short of breath. You hear the voice of one of the doctors as he turns around and sees you lying supine on the table, “Who the hell is that!”
You sense the presence of another doctor who has rushed up to your body and read the note. You feel her checking for a pulse on your wrist, “Doesn’t matter, their pulse is weak. They don’t have much time.”
As the sound of the doctors hurrying about the O.R. grows faint, your vision goes black, and with it your consciousness leaves.
\------------
My medical expertise is virtually nonexistent, so please excuse any inaccuracies! | One full day. That’s the longest it’s ever lasted before today. Twenty-four hours of time being frozen before I realized that I was about to have a heart attack. It was the longest, most excruciating time in my life. Luckily, I finally recognized my nausea for what it was, a symptom. That was the only time I ever thought I could get stuck in time freeze. Until now.
I make a habit of facing my fears. After all, it’s not hard to get out of tight spot when time freezes anytime I’m about to die. Skydiving failures, motocross accidents, high-speed car crashes, I’ve survived it all. Recently, I even picked up cave exploration. The way I figure it, since I never get hungry while time is frozen, I can’t starve. If I can’t starve, I’ll always have enough time to find my way out of a cave, no matter how lost I am.
Risky situations, I’m used to. Even fatal health conditions I can handle and diagnose, as long as there’s a symptom. Today though, something I couldn’t have anticipated happened. I woke up at sunrise with a slight hangover from a night of light drinking, and the sun never crept over the horizon. It’s been frozen there for two weeks. To be more accurate, it feels like it’s been two weeks. It’s impossibly hard to estimate time when the sun doesn’t move. Honestly, at this point, I’d be willing to die just to escape this weird time distortion.
I’ve been searching high and low for the cause, starting with the obvious options. Once those were exhausted, I checked for the classic silent killers. Carbon monoxide, gas leaks, etc. I even looked toward the sky, thinking I might see a malfunctioning airplane flying towards my bedroom, but no such luck. Eventually, I started searching for global catastrophes. Nuclear war, meteors, supernovas, that sort of thing.
I’ve exhausted every man-made global catastrophe as an option. Even my snooping through government documents in the capital gave me nothing. Absolutely nothing. No flu outbreaks, no nuclear war, no aliens, nothing at all. You’d think we accomplished world peace or something. I have to assume it’s just me, otherwise well, otherwise it’s some galactic mess that I can’t possibly control. Damn it all. I can’t hardly think straight with this damn hangover.
Calm down. I have to calm down if I’m going to figure this out. Maybe I’ll take a break. A cool glass of water helped me figure out the whole heart attack situation, maybe it’ll help again. Why didn’t I think of that before? Okay, time for a refreshing drink.
Why… why is the water pouring out of my mouth? I can’t swallow, why can’t I swallow?! What the hell is going on with me?
I have to breathe. I have to breathe. Calm down, Joe, calm down. You’re upset. It’s been a long, rough morning. You have a headache, you’re angry anyway, and now you can’t swallow. It’s natural to freak out, but you have to stay calm right now if we’re gonna get out of this. I’ll just take a few deep breaths and calm down. It’s going to be fine, just breathe and think.
Let’s go all the way back to symptoms again. This headache. What if it isn’t a hangover? Why didn’t I think about that, I haven’t had a hangover in years! What else? I never get this irritable, maybe that’s something. And then there’s the swallowing thing. There’s a name for that, hydrophobia, I think. What could cause that? The only thing I can think of is rabies, but that makes no sense. No one gets rabies and I would remember getting bit. Wait a minute… that cave I explored was full of bats, and you can’t always feel bat bites.
Damn it.
***
I'd be very grateful for any feedback.
Also, if you enjoyed this, feel free to check out the rest of my writing at /r/Floonatic | 2019-09-15T11:03:30 | 2019-09-15T09:46:11 | 139 | 61 |
[WP] In the future, when totalitarian governments are the norm, every newborn is injected with a syrum known to the people as FEAR. This syrum shuts down the "fight" part of your brain, leaving you only with "flight." For one child, FEAR did not take affect... | “Why do we run from the Great Ones, again, mother?”
“I don’t know why, honey.”
“But there has to be a reason.”
“Why do we eat? Why do we sleep? There are just things we have to do. For our survival.”
“So this is all there is? Moving around from camp to camp, always watching the lights of the Capital, dreaming but never able to see with our own eyes?”
“These are dangerous thoughts to be thinking, little one. Why don’t we go back to sleep?”
Lara stood at the edge of the woods, watching the huge Great One in the distance, its red eyes patrolling the land and seeing everything. In a few weeks, it would reach their camp, and they had to be gone by then.
“Why can’t we stay here, mother? The river is nice and cool, but not too cold, there is a lot to hunt, and at night the winds blow lightly.”
“You know why, honey.”
“Where are we going after?”
“The Elders say we must cross the Empty Desert…”
\-
*“What will you name her?” Ull asked his wife.*
*“I don’t know yet,” Rhi said.*
*“That can’t be true. I know you have a name. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”*
*Ull scratched the baby’s chest gently, and heard her giggle.*
*“I want her to be brave, to think for herself, to love and to protect us,” Rhi said, almost absentmindedly.*
*“To protect us? We have to protect her, Rhi. You know tomorrow, you will have to register her at a Station. She will need to get her shots.”*
*“I know. But part of me wishes…nevermind, you’re right.”*
*But as Rhi looked down at her great hope, her baby, she knew Ull was not right.*
*“They tell stories, at least, of one who is brave, who thinks for herself, and who loves and protects those she loves. A great adventurer. At least, I will name her that.”*
*“What?”*
*“Lara.”*
*-*
Lara watched her mother sleep, and her heart ached terribly. She closed her eyes, and kissed her on the forehead.
“I will see you again,” she said softly, not knowing if she fully believed it herself.
She sat there for one second longer, and before the pain became too great, turned to go.
In front of her, the great lights of the Capital shone, even over the hulking form of the huge robots defending it.
“Father, I’m coming,” Lara said. And she set off for the unknown, for the place where fear was no longer her god.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | When I was young, I saved a book from the pyre. It had a sleek cover and a smooth gloss coated the pages and the pages were filled with little blue notes in the margins. When I read it—and I read it only at night, when I could be sure that no one would catch me with that volume, *The World of Psychology*—I learned the body has two primary responses to fear: fight or flight.
Frankly, that was bullshit. I’d seen enough of the latter. I’d heard tales of the runners, the ones who packed their things at night and left and were never heard from or of again. I’d never seen the former. What I *had* seen was much worse.
I watched everyone freeze.
Not push back. Not run away. I saw them all, just standing there, frozen in their spots, numbly chanting along to whatever the party told them to chant.
Once, when I was barely twelve, I watched a soldier drag the Wilson girl next door out of their house. She couldn’t have been more than five years my senior. Muddy blonde hair that her mother would plait. I’d seen that girl wearing pants, once, when she climbed out of the window and shimmed down the side of their house. I’d heard Noah say she liked to kiss other girls. She liked to read and to think and she’d made the mistake of telling everyone she was gonna run.
That morning—it was a Sunday, cause everyone was home, everyone in every house on the street had their nose pressed against the glass or peered from their poarch—the soldier dragged the Wilson girl by her braid into the street. People walking by stopped. A family pulled their car over. One solider. One girl. Fifty of us—and that was being conservative—had our eyes fixed on the scene.
Mrs. Wilson sobbed into her husband’s lappels. He cleared his throat.
I would like to say the Wilson girl fought back something fierce. I’d like to say she kneed the soldier in the groin, or gouged his eye, or spat on his cheek.
The Wilson girl made a small noise. Like a hurt animal. She knelt on the pavement. Still. Eyes scrunched closed. Like she was trying to disappear.
The soldier pressed the rifle to the girl’s temple and decorated the muddy spring snow with her brains.
We all stood there. Watched it. Fifty of us, one of him, and she still died.
If I’d run out into the street, maybe I could’ve pulled her along too. Away from there. But running took more guts than any of us had.
They called it FEAR. We’d heard rumours for ages. I’m sure the party wanted us to hear the rumours. A simple vaccine—injected shortly after birth. Kneecapped your body’s natural response to fear, they said. Stopped you from even thinking of fighting as a viable choice.
It might’ve worked, once. Back in the early days, when the people swore freedom or death and got what they’d asked for.
But here’s the thing—it doesn’t work. Not anymore. It’s a fucking placebo. We all freeze. Stand there. Do nothing. And the next person does nothing and so does the next and the next the next.
I’m nothing special. I’m a stupid kid, who stole a book ‘cause it was shiny and looked neat. But what else do we got?
---
/r/liswrites | 2019-11-05T12:40:40 | 2019-11-05T12:25:40 | 174 | 80 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day. | David stared at the ice sculpture that was now his alarm clock with a mix of horror and delight. On the one hand, gaining powers always lead to a boost in ones career and with the recent rise in super hero movies he had hit the jackpot. Of course on the other hand, he had just had a major meet and greet at a film festival yesterday and considering that powers waited until the day after one met their soulmate to manifest... David had his work cut out for him.
He jumped out of bed and sighed as he grabbed his phone to call his new agent. his foot tapped impatiently as it rang.
“Mr. Heart, why are you calling so early?”
“Hey Lucy, I’m sorry about this but I need you to get everyone you can together to track down each individual that I met yesterday.”
Lucy sighs through the phone “why do need me to do something so ludicrous?”
“I have super powers.”
“... Yes sir, But first I need to tell y-“
David interrupted her quickly “yeah, I know it’ll be almost impossible and but I believe in you, meet me in the hotel lobby in three hours.”
David hung up before she could reply and noticed that his anxiety had apparently been slowly turning his current hotel room into an ice box.
His breath hung in the air and a light frost covered nearly every surface as he laughed. He could see the head lines now, “hot blooded action star gains a COOL new power” go figure.
A few hours later and after a battle of wills with an icy door knob with no grip, Dave finally greeted his agent in the lobby.
“Please tell me you have good news.”
The always business ready blond woman shrugged as she eyed her clip board. “Mr. Heart, there are a few ways of trying to contact everyone from yesterday but most are highly susceptible to con artists who will try to playoff a non-physical power like telepathy just to get your money”
David scoffed “They can try, everyone knows that a couples powers have to relate with each other some how. Hey, didn’t some professor on the news the other day say that they represent the personality of the other partner?”
Lucy nodded slowly “Yes sir, I remember you pointing it out yesterday when you saw it. An energetic person might give their partner super speed, while a shy person would grant invisibility.. by the way, what is your power?”
David Laughed “Ha, now you ask me!” He gave her an enthusiastic round of jazz hands as snow sprinkled down from his fingers. “I think it’s some form of ice power considering my room is a freezer now”
Lucy arches an eyebrow and nodded as the few people in the lobby began to turn their attention to the cool action hero “I see, well that will make things easier.”
“Yeah? Cool, I hope you’re search goes well, I still need breakfast.”
Lucy seemed ready to say something when reporters burst through the door with microphones wielded like daggers.
“Mr. Heart! Is it true you’ve developed powers?!”
“Who’s the lucky woman Heart? Or is it a man!?”
The reporters clamored about each other before a wall of muscle suddenly manifested in the form of Benny, Dave’s body guard. “Please keep all inquiries for Mr.Heart for later during his appearance in next weeks comic con in San Francisco” he requests In a deep rumbling voice
The journalists grumbled as David took his chance and booked it to the nearest cafe.
A few weeks later the celebrity world was in a mad dash to find the the “Cinderella” who had yet to make an appearance. As Lucy had suspected, a there were several attempts at hoaxes but in the end David had yet to find his mystery one.
Lucy cast an even gaze over the scene as Benny escorted her to the back of David’s mansion. Apparently the adrenaline junky action hero was getting impatient as each room he had entered yesterday evening had met a similar fate. Pillars of ice impaled the ceiling and frost scarred every surface.
Lucy rolled her eyes impassively “you know Benny, if our dear Mr. Heart had the temperament, I’d like to think that he’d be a very successful ice sculpture.”
Benny chuckled “I don’t see it but if any one can keep that hot head calm enough for it, it’s you. Speaking of hot, is that burnt egg I smell?”
Lucy nodded “yes, unfortunately cooking remains a talent that evades me. I can never keep the temperature quite right”
Benny snorted in amusement as they reached David. And the star had looked better.
The back yard had once consisted of a beautiful garden and a large pool... now, in the bright summer day, shone a tundra of ice that glittered yet refused to melt as a frosty mist emanated from its creator who sat on in the middle of the pools frozen surface.
Lucy rubbed her the bridge of her nose tiredly. It had been a full month now and David was losing his mind. She had tried very hard to subtly convince him that his fated one could be right around the corner but this self destructive behavior had to stop.
Smoke poured from her hands as her hair lit aflame and flickered brilliantly. Her skin cracked and flaked as she became a beacons of fire.
The heat whipped through David’s self imposed isolation and he drearily opened his eyes to the most beautiful woman he had ever met, burning like the sun.
“Lucy, is that you?”
Instead of answering, she strode over to the ice man and pulled him up by his frozen lapel.
“You’re an idiot. Do you seriously not remember the first time we met?”
David couldn’t help but stare slack jawed at his agent “wait wasn’t that around a month agOH MY FUCKING DAMNIT! Literally the day of the festival, you replaced Bill cause he had to attend rehab!”
“Correct, now I don’t know what’s to like about a love sick hot head who can’t see what’s right under his nose but at least you’re funny. Now pull yourself together.” Her eyes stared at him like burning coal but David just smiled as his hands drew steam from her shoulders.
“Yeah, I can’t see what’s to like about a total ice queen who couldn’t tell me upfront that they were what I was looking for, but at least you’ve always had my back.”
In the background Benny smiled and teleported away to give them some privacy. It had been nearly the same way when he and his husband had met at one of David’s autographs signings. He also wondered how long that pool wold stay frozen with Lucy there |
Typically superpowers come in tandem with your partner, which is why when I saw her (green eyes, rainbow hair and angelic wings) I knew she was the one. I do not remember her at all, but then again yesterday's meet and greet was hectic, I don't do many of those but this one was for charity I was only able to convince my agent because she loves a good publicity stunt but for me it was different, cancer had taken Jill (gosh it has been 5 years already?) I still remember her smiling telling me to find somebody to keep me grounded I guess she was wrong, I just needed someone to fly with me.
\-I'm so exited to meet you again! I'm June- she used her wings and flew to me, I still have no idea how to control my power yet, I woke up floating 3 days ago and I haven't been able to touch the floor since, the reporters love it ("Love makes him float", "Floater boy!" And "we all float up here" are just some headlines)
\-Jack- I smile at her and reach out my hand she surprises me with a hug, I guess my personal boundaries should not apply to my soulmate but it stills feels weird, she lets go and lands then turns to the people with her
\-My mom Jacklyn and Javier my dad -she introduces - and of course my brother Juan- she hugs him, he needs it he looks extremely nervous- we're twins
\-Jack- my agent says - they were the winners of a radio contest which is why it took so much time to find them, they were not registered in our lists-
\-oh- it's all I manage to say, this whole thing has been annoying I mean, waking up floating after shaking the hands of hundreds of people and knowing one of them must be your one true love (Suck it Styles, you can´t buy this kind publicity)- is one thing but having to appear on Corden (only Britt in America I trust, John Oliver knows what he did) and play a stupid game of 3 questions to see if there's a connection ugh... I was so over it, thankfully they found her -so... you like having wings?- its all I manage, June looks entertained her brother chuckles, it was a stupid question.
June tosses her rainbow hair, picks at her wings - well not sure, I'll have to alter all my clothes for them to fit but flying is fun I always wanted to fly. I'm the daring one of the twins- Juan gives her a look, must be one of those full of twin meaning look as she laughs when she catches it- and everything has been quite hectic meeting you was the last thing in the tour I didn't even knew you were looking for us until yesterday I though -she stops and blushes- it was just surprising, honestly I'm not that big of a fan, Juan was the one who entered the contest, he knows everything about you I've quizzed him- this time no one has to be a twin to catch the "I´ll kill you later look" from Juan -But I was happy... am Happy- she smiles at me she doesn't seem happy-
\-Well, that makes two of us- I hope I was able to convey more than her, it just so odd I can float and she has wings and we're supposed to just be in love? Jill told me that when she met Gus she didn't even questioned she felt the warm of his hands on her and she didn't need any powers to understand that they belonged and I was waiting I don't know for something, anything. I never though I'd feel so distant from it all, maybe people are right I am a mess, never stopping, never caring much, I don't even know my manager's full name! I just been trying to prove to the world that I am someone, maybe I just need to spend time with her, maybe we can find out what things we have in common with time but who knows when that will happen I already have press conferences planned to introduce her and I leave to film in a couple of days... maybe she can come? I wish things would be easier.
\-JACK!- I turn to my manager who seems in some sort of crisis
\-inner voice- I reprimand her
\-Jack, you've been out of it for a minute and we have a problem- She turns the the TV, E! is showing a video taken from a cellphone, a headline in big letters across it "Live, Is Jack really the one?" the video shows a guy being escorted by security from outside our hotel, he's screaming at the camera something I can't make up, but I see the colors draining from June's face, just what is going on- Lady have you been honest wit us?- says my manager, I am at a complete lost
\-I, uh... yes! I... he never said anything- June keeps looking at the feed, my manager tosses me an Ipad, I catch it on the second try (I swear i'm buying weighted shoes as soon as I can) I see the same guy but this time the photo is from a different angle and I see them he has wings... rainbow wings-
\-Wha?- is all I manage, but June is one the move she is opening the windows screaming to the small crowd below, I swim trough the air to the other window I see the guy, even from up here I can see his face light up
\-He is the guy who handled our visit from the radio- explains Juan, everyone looks at him except for June who is climbing out of the window in a fit of giggles- Junie shook his hands before leaving, she wanted... hoped he was the one but when she woke up with wings and he didn't responded to her text she believed it had to be you, with your floating and all- I feel the cold breeze and hear the flap of wings and realized she jumped out, I see her reuniting with him mid air, its all so cute I want to vomit. I turn to my manager but she is already leaving to room to talk to the press I assume, the twins parents ran out as well saying something about checking on June, Juan is just looking at her sister trough the window he looks so happy oddly it makes me feel happy.
\-Sorry, I'll be leaving too- he says after a minute and realizing it's just us- it was nice knowing you-
\-I though you already knew me, with all of those quizzes and all-
\-I won a trip to New York for knowing you're allergic to Hummus, so I wont apologize for being a fanboy- Juan smiles, he offers me his hand - thank you but having us, sorry it didn't work-
\-it's ok- I take his hand and I immediately fall to the floor no longer weightless, not sure what to do but knowing full well what it means because even on the fall I felt it, warmth- say... did you know I'm bi?- he smiles oddly it makes me smile too.
​
"Sorry for any grammar mistakes. English is not my native language" | 2020-07-29T08:56:42 | 2020-07-29T08:55:17 | 78 | 12 |
[WP] Priests came to your home and performed an exorcism on your mother. After it was over you learned the terrible truth. The demon is the one who raised and loved you. And the possessed woman cared nothing for you. You now search for your true Mother. | *Mama hums as she dances through the house. I always thought humans were supposed to have red eyes.*
"Cast out! Cast out and flee this body!"
I cried as I watched her scream, her body bend, her face contort. I didn't understand how the woman I'd known so long could be changed overnight. But it was the shift in her eyes, from ruby red to a murky brown, that had urged me to call on the priests who were going door to door.
*"Save me, Patience. Free me." Her gurgly gasp rattles from her throat as I pen the letter. She'd never called me anything but Patty before.*
A black column of smoke billowed from the house and the priests usher me out. I know nothing more of what transpired within the building that day, but when I walk back in, I'm treated, not to the warm glowing red eyes I'd always known, but cold cold brown.
"Patience," the woman whispers. "You did this to me."
"Mama?" I asked. "I helped you, right?"
The words felt foreign in my mouth. Her eyes can't make contact with mine.
"I signed you away." Her voice is bitter and cold. "To a monster most foul. I signed away my firstborn daughter to get revenge on the sister that stole my man. I never expected that beast to take me away too."
*'You were a gift,' Mama says. 'A gift I received from powers beyond what you can comprehend.' I never knew what she meant when she said 'neither of us should be here, but I tweaked the rules for you, Patty.'*
The priests, afterward, told me that my mother, the heretical Sarah Blake, had indeed struck up a deal with a demon, never knowing that the monster would possess her instead of simply take me.
I left the next morning. Fifteen isn't quite so young to strike out on your own but I couldn't continue to look into those hard brown eyes. One day, many years ago, perhaps those eyes were capable of love. I had my doubts. After all, my father left her for her sister for a reason.
I don't want to know what happened to the two, but I figure when I find Mama, I can ask. For I now leave for the world of the red, the place of harrowings, the land between cracks.
I descend now.
I know the way for we were taught young to avoid it by pastor, governer, and teacher. But between lullabies and good mornings, I learned the other side of the stories.
*'A yellow fox chases a two-tailed rat down the road. Where they stop, no one knows. Round and round and round they go. The man with the antlers beckons them home.*
*Slip once around the craggy cliff. Slip once inside to see the rift. Climb down climb down, but do not slip. Lest you fall too far and fall adrift.*
*Then forward past wood, like crone and maid. Forward on, forward on to ebony glade. Tis here you'll find the path unpaved. Tis here you'll find the door of jade.'*
Find it I did. I knocked thrice, like the poems told us not to. Then I turned and waited for the sound of a creakless sigh.
I knew it opened before I turned for I felt the familiar warmth that surrounded me when Mama hugged my frigid body after a winter evening out too late. It was the warmth of her fire, the one that smelt like brimstone, that chased away any friend I brought home.
A shiver of misgiving tugged at my heart. Did I dare enter the place of briars?
*Mama sings as she combs thorns from my hair. 'Dear Patty,' she murmurs, 'how did I raise such a clumsy girl?'*
*I always thought laughter should sound like music.*
Down the path I looked. Somewhere in the distance, I could still see the light of day and for one moment I considered going. Leaving the underground fen, living in the house with the woman whose body my mother had possessed so many years. Living under her roof, begging for scraps, isolated already from my peers who thought me odd for my sulfuric odor and ashen hair.
Would anyone truly choose that life? It might be easy, but so lonely.
*Come down, come down, do not shudder.*
*Come down, come down, come free your mother.*
Then I turned towards the jade door, ready for the journey of a lifetime.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | Arthur closed the wooden door behind him softly. The meeting didn't go quite in the direction he wanted. The priest, twisting a rosemary absentmindedly in his hand, reassured him repeatedly that the evil demon was gone. Banished. Sent to lands unknown to mortal minds. That his mother was now in full control of her body and mind, with no demonly influence, praise be to God. The priest nodded his head with a bit of pride. "When I exorcise a demon, it is no longer a problem."
*But*, Arthur had thought, *that is the problem.*
He walked quickly home, side stepping manure and giving a wide berth to the bustling of bodies. His fellow humans made him uneasy. The streets were noisy, despite the haze that seemed to cling to the city's arteries.
He entered his house, shrugging his jacket off. "Arthur?" A voice called out, and a face popped around a corner, blonde curls cupping thin cheeks. His mother's face, though there was a sweetness in the corners of her eyes he wasn't comfortable with. That slight crinkle of crow's feet from gentle smiles.
"Hello", Arthur dutifully replied back. He wasn't quite certain how to interact with the sensitive soul that now dominated this body. For the thirteen years that Arthur was alive, he was more accustomed to the other, albeit more erratic, soul. It was disconcerting finishing a meal without his mother vomiting blood or tucking him to bed without at least one good 360° head spin.
The woman's smile grew, and she took his coat. Her sweet voice made Arthur slightly grimace. "Where did you get off to? I thought you only worked at the mill in the mornings."
"I went to the priest."
She froze, and then glanced at him with curiosity. "Oh? The one who saved me?"
"The very one."
"Whatever for?"
Arthur awkwardly shrugged, "I wanted to know if the demon was gone for good."
Fondness flashed across her face, thinking the young boy was worried about her. He wasn't one for showing emotion. "What did he say?"
"It is."
"Well, that's reassuring to hear! Thank you for checking on my well being. I know it was a scary for you growing up without a real mother. You did so well, so strong, but don't worry no more. I am safe now. And you are safe now." She beamed. "Do you want any bread before supper? I made a fresh loaf."
Arthur hesitated, but nodded his head. He did have to say, this new soul was a much better cook. The demon that used to reside within the body did have a bad habit of causing food to explode into spiders or worms. He took the chunk of earthy bread (with a small dollop of precious jam, placed with love) up to his small room nestled in the attic.
He rummaged through his trunk, until he found the book hidden within one of his shirts. The boy flipped the pages open, gnawing on the bread, looking for an answer. Things weren't going to plan. The demonic writing growled from the book, leather smelling like brimstone. It was the only thing that remained from his mother. His *real* mother. Not that... friendly lady that toddled downstairs that took his jacket and looked at him lovingly. She was useless, aside from making delicious bread. He begrudgingly licked a bit of jam off his finger, and flipped to another page, skimming through notes on famous and/or powerful demons.
There *was* a map to hell in the book, but Arthur was uncertain if his mother was actually banished to hell. It looked like there were multiple realms, and the local priest seemed reluctant in actually naming a specific location. The priest did tell him one useful thing though. He mentioned, with his slightly too thick reassurance, that he studied the way of Saint Hermes, a powerful exorcist that roamed Rome back in the day, removing demons left and right from women and children like he had nothing else useful to do with his time. Damn it all, priests were annoying.
*I am going to have learn more about this stupid saint*, Arthur thought grimly, a finger trailing through the names of demons, *It's the only lead I have to my mother.*"
He took another despondent bite, and paused on a delightfully unspeakable name that no human tongue could pronounce. Written quaintly, it detailed the atrocities and evil doings of the demon, who Arthur named Snappy for brevity sake. The excerpt ended with an useful note "Banished by Hermes of Rome for removing the heads of all chickens and bringing worry to the town of the devout."
The boy sighed, as Snappy didn't seem like the creative sort. The dumber demons had a hard time seeing beyond human pranks, and they had a proclivity for speaking in riddles as they felt it gave them a certain gravitas. But this demon looked like Arthur's best bet for finding what was taken from him by that meddling priest. He needed his mother. He loved her, despite her faults and speaking in the million voices of the damned. The demon cared and nurtured him all these years. And besides, having a mother that supported your quest for the destruction of mankind was a rarity these days.
He needed to find her. | 2020-11-11T21:43:20 | 2020-11-11T21:35:47 | 157 | 99 |
[WP] Years of being a graveyardkeeper next to a necromancer cult, you've grown adept at slaying reanimated corpses, too adept. the locals have started thinking you're a paladin. Just because you kill undead... and suddenly can perform miracles, and can sense evil intent, doesn't make you a paladin. | I walked into an empty coffee shop at 10:00 PM.
I saw a cute barista gaze at me before I opened the glass door. She turned her back at my and adjusted her outfit.
“I’ll have an extra large black coffee,” I said. It was going to be another long night at the graveyard.
The barista faced me. She’d unbutton the top of her blouse making it hard to maintain eye contact.
“No need. It’s on the house,” she said with a smirk.
Goddammit. I hate it when this happens. I took out my wallet and withdrew two dollars and placed it on the counter top.
“It’s okay. I can afford it,” I told her.
She didn’t ring up the register. Instead, she poured me the extra large coffee and served to me with a cookie on the side. I pocketed my money, took the coffee and cookie and headed towards the exit.
“Can I ask you something?” The barista said right before I opened the door.
“Sure.”
“Did I just make you feel uncomfortable? I didn’t mean too. I just started this job and wanted to show how you’re appreciated around here. Please don’t tell my boss.”
I sighed and looked at her.
“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. And no, I will not mention this to your manager, but I’m getting kinda fed up with the misconception of who I am.”
She cocked her head. “Aren’t you the one who kills the zombies?”
“Well, zombies are already dead so killing them makes the whole thing redundant. But sure — I am the one who prevents a horde of undead beings from storming the city.”
“That’s what I thought. So how did I misconceive who you are?”
I walked back towards her and placed my food and drink on the counter.
“Because that’s what I do, but who do you think I am?" I asked gently.
“A modern paladin,” she whispered. “They’re the ones who smite the work of necromancers. Paladins are smart, bold, a master of combat. They’re usually as wealthy as a physician, and easy on the eyes.” She sounded like she was explaining an ideal future spouse.
“Right you are, but I am none of those things.” I combed back my salt and pepper hair to show a receding line. I lifted the edge of my lips and revealed a row of black and missing teeth.
I continued, “I’m hideous looking — someone who’s pale skin would turn red the moment it felt the exposed sun. I am not smart, but I can dig a 6 foot hole quicker than anyone you know. I am not wealthy; I live in a shack outside the memorial center’s lawn. And I cannot wield any weapon. Miss, I’m nothing more than a grave keeper.”
She gazed at me as if she was a child who found out Santa wasn’t real.
“But then, how do you slay the undead?” she said.
“I cram a shovel through their neck,” I said. “Usually you can hear a corpse scratching on their coffin — sounds like a mouse scampering in an attic — about an hour they dig themselves through the dirt. All I do is wait for them to show their rotting faces, and when I see them, I put the shovel’s blade through their esophagus.”
The barista winced and gave a disapproving look.
“Their head pops off without effort. Sometimes — if I get bored— I’ll let one pull itself out of its hole and meander around the yard. That allows me a little creativity with my kill. I typically go for their legs first, crippling the son of a bitch. They turn their eyeless gaze upon me before I —“
“You can stop,” the barista said. She didn’t appear to be interested with anything else I had to say. She put her hair up and buttoned up her blouse.
“Uh, are you sure? Some of the games I play with them are quite funny. Like one time —“
“Please. No more,” she said and backed away from the register.
I picked up my coffee and cookie, turned around, and walked toward the door.
“Hey!” the barista called out.
“You need to pay for that!” | Somewhere along the line Sarah had learned a few things about the alternative uses of a shovel. First, it could serve as an impromptu pole-arm or perhaps a spear if she broke the blade off. Second, it was as trusty a club as any invented this side of the Great Rift, capable of putting the nearby cultists to sleep when they decided to get a little too fresh. And third, lastly and most importantly, the curvature of the blade sent zombie heads positively *flying*(!) on nights like tonight.
There was one right now, sailing off into the distance with a meaty ***thunk*** as her battered old shovel separated its cavernous skull from its rotting shoulders. And another, and another. Somewhere in the distant village Sarah could imagine a rain too familiar heads splashing into water troughs and front yards while she laid about herself with wild abandon, her high pitched giggling echoing off the walls of nearby tombs and monuments.
The cultist who had tried his luck tonight had fallen next to a stately oak, her favorite reading tree in fact. The old man stared up at her, terror plain on his wizened features, as the one girl wrecking crew came steadily towards him, cutting through his summons like wheat.
“Its impossible!” he cried, turning to try to climb the tree as she reached him. “The villagers speak truly, you’re a paladin, you must be! You must-”
***thunk!***
The necromancer cultist fell spread eagled at Sarah’s feet, blood seeping from the love tap her shovel had given him.
“Mercy!” he screamed.
***thunk!***
Sarah shook her head in frustration as she stared down at the unconscious man. She almost missed the days when these fights had been a challenge. At least then they were a distraction from the sad little life in this graveyard her indenture had tied her to.
Looking about herself the situation felt no better. There must have been fifteen bodies scattered around the yard, empty graves pockmarked through the darkness like hazards in an obstacle course. Sarah hadn’t even finished dinner tonight before she had sensed this necromancer’s magic and come to look. She traipsed back to her small shack in defeat, a mountain of work left for the next day and nothing more than a cold stew for comfort.
As she crossed the one last small hillock before home Sarah gasped, her grip tightening once more around her shovel’s handle. In her shack’s single window a lantern burned brightly. It wasn’t hers, she knew that immediately. On full moon nights such as this Sara never lit hers, she was too poor to spare the fuel unnecessarily.
That meant there was someone in there, and as she closed her eyes, reaching out with a sense that she should never even have had Sarah could feel it, could feel him. He was evil, there no doubt of that, but the flavor of his was different than any of the cultists she had met before. Their petty desires were written large across their souls, and their brand of evil diffused itself through the night sky like a scent. Sarah could catch that on the wind without any focus at all.
The man who waited in her home that night was different. If the cultists were the scent of smoke this man was the flame itself, and his evil burned bright and intense, giving off no waste to the outside world. In her mind Sarah imagined a coruscating aura of spark and flame wrapped around a human body.
She paused at the top of that little a long time, staring down at her home and wondering how much of its contents she could live without, before she heard the voice.
“Caw- he awaits you.” Sarah whipped quickly around to the small, shrill voice, her long red hair a cascade in the moonlight as she spotted it. A single crow standing on the ground mere feet away, one massive cyclopean eye in the center of its head.
“Caw, caw-! My master bids you enter.” It said, head bobbing at her as if in respect.
“Who…what are you?” Sarah whispered, all her earlier bluster knocked out of her with the cultists consciousness and the bird’s strangeness.
“All will be made clear,” it croaked. “Please, go. My master is not patient.”
She went, propelled down towards the shack by a force that felt not her own, the crow’s single eye following her down the slope in unison with its harsh calls. At the door Sarah braced herself, holding the bloodstained shovel across her body, blade at the ready. The door opened on its own before she had even reached out a hand.
[\----part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l9dyug/wp_years_of_being_a_graveyardkeeper_next_to_a/glhztgz?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2021-01-31T09:49:35 | 2021-01-31T09:37:27 | 279 | 158 |
[WP] Assassinating Earth's planetary delegate turned out much harder than expected. So far, the target has always detected all hitmen sent and alerted his security. This ability of "hearing" the humans possess is quite peculiar. | *You wanted to see me, sir?*
*Has the prisoner divulged how their compatriots detected our forces?*
*Sir, they at first seemed unable to communicate. They flapped their mouth—I think they may have expected food.*
*Hmph*
*Eventually they wrote, inquiring whether I was* "Deaf."
"Deaf?"
*I didn't know either, sir. Upon further questioning they returned and wrote that it meant the absence of* "Hearing."
*This is nonsense.*
*I know that, sir. They kept pointing at the side of their head, staring at me.*
*So either they are confounding you or they are mad. Find another, this one won't help.*
*Of course. And the prisoner?*
*End them. Their existence seems painful.*
*Of course, sir.*
I put away my pad and walked from the room. It was a shame, none of these humans seemed to be capable of complex thought. We merely had to figure out their secret. | I stood atop the sand dunes of Ish'tak and allowed the old sun to bath me in the hues of its light. I felt the scorned iron wind break against the exposed scales where feathers once were; most had been lost by age or battle. This was the ancient tradition, our way, a millenia ago our kind would bathe in the sun of our home planet allowing the scales beneath to harden before going into battle. It was a practice lost amongst my people, if only because my people had become lost. Honor, duty, swearing only fealty to the blood we spill, these things too my kind had forgotten.
Had we another thousand years alone, we would have had been the ones to command the universe. Instead we met our end at the hands of the Ghoshun, a malignant and maligned race that crawled from the depths of the home planets ocean some eons ago. It is our word for them, not theirs. They have no sense for language, only patterns to invoke emotions. We saw our senses as gifts, they saw them as profane. Had it not been for our ability to shed blood so easily, our graves would have had long been buried and forgotten under the green star of our home. Yet now we are their weapon, a honed blade sent to kill where they cannot. This is why I'm here.
They see humanity as a pox - I see them as an inevitability, but I am bound by honor. This human will die tonight, but when they see his blood, when they smell the iron, more will come.
\--
Had an idea, tried to run with it - got kind of lost in writing it, I might try to flesh it out a bit more later on though as I like this story. | 2021-03-18T12:39:29 | 2021-03-18T11:41:51 | 126 | 69 |
[WP] You’re a high school student who’s enduring the usual lecture about hell and its denizens during Religious Ed. What has become blatantly clear is this blowhard has never set foot in the fiery realm. You were born there, and some of your best friends are demons. Take Max sitting beside you. | I looked at Max, his face buried on the book.
"Did he get anything right?"
He looked up at me
"Is that a serious question? He's talking about demons living in Hell. He doesn't even understand the difference between devils and demon. Might as well be talking about dolphins living on mountains."
I barely contained a smile, the amount of errors from mister Fiennes made Max cringe at every sentence.
"You, in the back. Do you think burning in Hell forever is funny?"
The class turned to look at me.
"I think i'd be sent to the swaps of Minauros rather than the more fiery regions. It fits my personality more."
There were a few giggles from his classmates. Mister Fiennes scoffed.
"Typical. You read too many comics book and videogames if you think there's a swamp in Hell."
I contained my laughter. Minauros was my favourite place in there. Sure, there were bugs the size of your average bear, but once you got used to them you learned how to avoid then. Plus, the smell was extremly pleasant. Or maybe I was just weird for liking it.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. I packed my things and headed out.
"You're free this afternoon? I got a new fishing rod and wanted to go to a new spot on the Styx"
"Sorry Max, my dad wants my help on the farm. Says it's about time I start to learn his job for when i take over."
"Sick. Can I come too? I'm a bit short on lures..."
I nodded, gesturing him to follow. We hid under a bridge, looking for a circle Max drew a couple weeks ago. We touched it and were transported to the familiar scent of Minauros, a towering figure waiting for us, arm crossed. Max jumped up with a salute.
"Good morning, ser Mammon of the third circle."
I nodded.
"Hi, dad." | Al thought the preacher in the polka dot jersey would match his room background.
"And that, class, is why Greed is the worst of all the sins" finished the man who had just returned from a trip to Hawaii. Mr Karpetian looked around and his eyes settled on his favourite target. "Al", he said in his squeaky voice, "why don't you tell us about your thoughts on greed and how you did not donate a single cent of your pocket money to the church fund". The blowhard had spunk, talking about the church fund as if he hadn't spent a couple thousand of it to supposedly 'convert' the Hawaiians. Al stood up, but remained silent.
Max snickered, and for good reason. After all, here was Al-Shaytan, the heir to the Devil himself, terrified of speaking in front of humans. Al would give it to the little demon real good afterwards. For now, he stood up shakily and mumbled something along the lines of "Mmhmm ?" Karpetian threw his head back and laughed, and left the class.
The moment they were alone in the washroom, Al wedgied Max. Max, resilient as ever, ran to the corner of the bathroom, sat down and started crying. "Don't cry you overgrown pansy, use that huge head of yours to tell me how to take care of Karpetian", Al roared. It felt good to use his demon voice again. Max morphed into his demon form and stuttered "Isn't it o-obvious, Al ? Karpet-Man makes fun of you on his turf, so you do the same to him on yours."
"That's a mighty good idea," Al said. "I'm pretty sure he's never been to hell, given the way he talks about it. I mean, flames, seriously ? Every little demon know that Cerebrus hates flames. How did the rhyme go again ?"
Max sang out of tune
" O little demon, sleep at night, watch the damned put up a fight
They cant harm him, not matter what may transpire
Unless of course they fight with fire"
"Stop, I would rather listen to goats bleating than that. What you said has given me an idea. Say, how do you think the little man would look spreadeagled across the bone chandelier".
"Which one", Max inquired, "the one in the dining hall, or the one you stole and installed in your bedroom "? "The latter, knucklehead", came the swift reply, accompanied by another wedgie.
Max smiled. Very good. The 'little man' , who was actually a freaking 6 foot 5, would look very good indeed. | 2021-04-17T10:29:41 | 2021-04-17T07:37:00 | 41 | 26 |
[WP] "Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry." "Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" "No." | "Any other symptoms?" The doctor asked. "A change in wardrobe?"
"Oh, yes! He's suddenly had an obsession with belts. Lots of them! Not just around his waist, either!" Susan said in a half-panic.
"Mhmm... can you tell me anything about his father?"
Susan looked at the ground, sheepishly. "No, not much... He left shortly after \[Insert Name\] was born -"
"I'm sorry, your child's name is '\[Insert Name\]'?"
"Yes. His father insisted it was a traditional name within his culture... Everyone just calls him 'Hero' instead..."
The doctor paused and took a deep breath. This was likely to be the worst case of **protagonitis** he had ever seen. He hoped whatever information he could gather from the mother would help the child in his - undoubtedly - pre-destined travels.
Gathering himself, the doctor continued. "Do you have any other children?"
Susan blushed, answering haltingly. "... Well... yes. My eldest son. \[Insert Name\]'s half-brother. Um... \[Insert Name\] doesn't know..."
The doctor tried to keep his expression neutral, but struggled. "Ma'am... I'll be honest with you; I don't think it is possible to foster a more fertile ground for a severe case of protagonitis. Does he have any friends that he may have spread it to?"
"Well, he has a couple close friends... one of them is good with tools and machines... oh, there is the haughty wizard's apprentice, but I don't know if they are friends anymore after the school tournament. Oh! And he has this cute, spritely girl that I think he is interested in... but it's hard to tell. She is definitely infatuated with him..."
The doctor blanched. "Nurse!" he called, and stepped toward the door. The flustered nurse appeared in the hallway. "Please bring me the fireproof safe, and... start watching the sky for... anything unusual.
"Is something wrong?" Susan asked, alarmed by the doctor's sudden change in tone.
"I... think we need to take immediate steps to protect... well... everyone else in the village." The nurse returned with a small box; red with gold filigree on the edges. The doctor placed his notes, 1000g, and his favorite leather gloves in the box, and set it in the corner of the room. "Where is your son now?"
"Oh, he went out to the outskirts of town with his friends to gather herbs-"
Susan was cut off as the room rapidly darkened. The nurse ran to the window, and screamed. "DOCTOR!! The Empire is here!! Their airships are surrounding the town!"
The doctor sighed, and resigned himself to his fate; a background character in this child's tragic background story. | **TW: Knife Violence**
He's a kid.
All it took to confirm the diagnosis was a swirl of stiff, pink spikes that appeared in the center of his otherwise fluffy black hair the moment he turned 12. My son was special. "Gifted," some might call it. He was a Protagonist.
He's just a kid.
The Hero's Boarding Academy letter came in the mail today. On the front was a group of multicolored teens giving thumbs up signs to the camera. It was a dangerous school. Many students didn't make it out alive. Still, he'd be required to travel there for his own safety. The professors at the Academy were the only ones who knew how to teach young Protagonists to hone their powers.
Just a kid. Not even a teenager. Not until the end of next month. He's a child. A boy. Still my precious baby boy, after all these years.
The mysterious powers that govern all life on earth dictated that Protagonists followed what was known as an "Arc." No Protagonist was allowed to be close to their family. They had to become "detached" to all their loved ones so that they could leave home without having any ties to cut.
The doctor said that I would likely succumb to a mysterious illness and pass by the end of the next week in order to sever our bond. Already I felt weakness in my chest and dizziness in my forehead.
But I knew that death was not the only way to break a bond.
I gripped the butcher knife in clammy hands as I climbed the staircase. Moonlight from the window flooded the hallway as I tiptoed towards my son's room. A black cape shrouded my body, steely black gauntlets covered my wrists, and my legs were covered long black boots up to my thighs. The only part of my usual wear that remained was a thick religious veil around my head, and even that was a matching shade of midnight black.
I closed my eyes and inhaled. For every Protagonist, there was an opposing Villain. And, if I had to become that Villain to survive, then so be it.
I entered his bedroom. Some things had changed after he'd entered middle school. Some things had not. There was still a poster of his favorite childhood superhero on the wall, yellowed and faded after almost a decade of hanging too close to his window. For just a moment, I wondered if my son had what it took to get his own poster someday.
No more sentimentality. Back to the task at hand.
The end of my high-heel scraped across the hardwood floor, just loud enough to wake my son from a deep sleep.
"M...mom? What are you d-doing?" he half mumbled, half stammered as he noticed the glint of a knife hovering above his neck.
"Time to die," I hissed, using my free hand to remove the veil from my head, revealing a shock of short, blood red hair. "There is only room for one Protagonist in this family."
"Nooooooo!" the boy cried. A blast of magical energy radiated out of his body and sent me flying into a wall. I lowered my head to hide my smile. Already he was more powerful than me.
As I floated upwards and watched the kid ready himself into a battle position, I reminded myself of my deepest promise.
*Don't lay a finger on him. Only make him believe that you will.*
r/OctOpusTales | 2021-05-11T07:47:55 | 2021-05-11T06:23:50 | 85 | 49 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 5,663 | 392 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up. | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 392 | 172 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 392 | 45 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Next.”
*SHITshitshitshitshitshit, FUCK! How the hell am I supposed to get out of this if they can even speed up time?!*
“Next!”
*Maybe I can try and tie it to my will? No, they’ll just torture me until I want death. Maybe some kind of paradox?*
“NEXT!”
A hand roughly grabbed me by my arm and yanked me forward. Panicking and lost in thought as I was, I stumbled and nearly fell on my face as I passed through the magic cylinder in front of me.
“Name?”
I looked up, trying to locate the source of the voice, but swirling runes and glowing, ambient energy blocked my sight while throwing the voice, making it sound as though it were all around me.. It was like I was in a universe all on my own, and God himself was bearing the full force of his judgement on me.
“Oh for the love o-NAME?!”
I jumped as the bureaucrat-God’s voice boomed in the entire column, my silence was clearly irritating him. “Oh, u-um, Erin Heckland.” The sound of rustling paper echoed all around me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch the magic walls. Completely solid. No forcing my way out then, although that possibility had been exhausted long ago.
“Here we are, Miss Heckland. My my, that’s quite a long list. Alright, how do you want to die.”
“Well, I was planning on old age-“ the runes began glowing brighter, “BUT NOT ANYMORE!” I shout-finished. The runes dimmed. Shakily, I took a deep breath and continued, “so could I please have a minute?”
“Ugh, very well, but you get one minute exactly. If you don’t start talking by then, you will be hung.”
I blinked as an hourglass appeared in front of me, the sand rapidly draining my remaining time on Earth away. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t hurt anyone, I had just found knowledge that the government didn’t want me to have. Some of it I didn’t even know was illegal until I got arrested! It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t just.
It wasn’t…wait!
As the sand grains nearly finished draining, a huge grin split my face. “Oh here we go,” the drone began, “what hair-brained idea have you come up with to avoid death?”
“Not avoid it,” I confidently replied, “but stop it. If I’m going to die, I am taking this whole cursed process with me!”
The runes began to glow. | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:30:49 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] You can make a lie become truth, but only one lie at a time, once it is a lie again everyone involved will know immediately. You’re on your deathbed, holding one lie as truth for decades. You know hell will break loose once you die and the lie becomes a lie, and everybody will know. | [poem]
I hacked and coughed, my heart felt weak,
My death at last, and secrets leak'd.
Among the glass, below the peak-
Come closer child, if it you seek.
This city here, I've watched it grow,
Through villains you will never know.
My inky cowl, that shrouds my face-
My gadgets, cars, and secret base-
My hidden origin in space!
Are not enough to save this place.
So take my mantle, take my ray,
Maybe you will see the way-
Now! At once! without delay!
Allay your fears
Today's your day. | I think they would understand why I did it. The truth is terrifying at first, but ultimately has no immediate impact, and will not for some time. But it will still change everything. Except, it did not have to, at least, not yet, and that was the reason why I did it. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I just wanted to live out my life in the world as I had known it for my first several decades of existence. But here, now, at the end of my life, knowing what I am about to unleash, I feel guilty, because I am leaving everyone else to deal with it, and I robbed them of years to deal with it, to plan for it, to come to terms with the truth of our reality. They will have that time now, and maybe they will handle it far better than I. Maybe all I accomplished was sentencing myself to live with a sense of futility for decades until my death, as I held back the truth like a dam holding back a flood. I will not be here to see, but knowing what I know of humanity, I cannot help but be terrified that the truth will tear the world apart, the truth that we are very clearly not alone in the universe. Not by a long shot. | 2022-11-18T07:13:46 | 2022-11-18T05:25:43 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Cats and Dogs see us as immortal and unchanging, simply because we can easily survive to be forty years old, while they struggle to survive twenty. | They baffle me, to be honest, these things. These giants, who feed us and love us. They’re so warm and adoring most of the time. But sometimes, they’re so uncaring and cruel. During the loud months especially, they seem angered by my pain. I suppose it’s hard for them to care much about my kind. They are huge and wonderful and we’re so small in comparison. Its days like these that I envy them. They don’t have to face death or pain or the ticking clock of time. They are ageless and unchanging. They don’t have to concern themselves with such matters. Maybe that’s why they take us in. They look after us, pitying us, hoping to make our short time with them special. Or maybe they just want the company.
It was a peaceful night when my best friend died. Max was the best dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He practically raised me, after Mum and Dad got taken away. The bed feels empty without him. The garden feels empty without him. I feel empty without him. The giants buried him in the soft ground, down the back of the garden. I heard them say his name, amongst the muffled sounds they make so often. I looked at the smaller giant, and saw tears rolling down their eyes. It glanced down at me and I could tell, in that moment, she was feeling the same emptiness that I felt. Perhaps the giants are not as big as I had thought.
| *The small ape rattled the cage door unexpectedly.*
I was born in filth, many brothers and sisters expired within days. My mother a heaving mound of flesh, father pacing the small room, back and forth, back and forth.
I will never forget the excitement and terror that coursed through my veins as our canine prison was liberated by the black furs. The shock was too much for my mother and she passed en route to the 'pet shelter', as the apes called it.
*I went home with him and his ape father later that day.*
After the green furs cleaned and washed me, it was only a matter of time until I was taken, or so I thought. My remaining siblings were taken, one by one.
I waited, and father died, and they did him the service of a burial. Being serviced in the same capacity as these beings was considered a great honour.
My father, although weak and exhausted before his passing, had told me stories passed down through generations, stories of smart apes and strange apes and all kinds in-between. He told me tales of their devices, their longevity and prowess with tree-climbing and cat-taming. He died before telling me why we stood by them all this time.
*They let me get used to my new home, a large property backing into a forest. The 'boy' and I ran, ran until he was a 'man' and I was an old, tired Doberman.*
I was continually sent back to that shelter for being a 'bad dog', and I came to understand whatever the apes considered the right behaviour was dependent on the home. It wasn't until the boy and his father came that I was accepted as what I am. I loved the boy.
*We were in the city, just walking back to the rumbler when I heard it. I tried to warn the boy but there wasn't time. The lights in his eyes and I pushed him out of the way and it slams into me and oh my this hurts and my legs are twitching and useless and he's crying and I'm bleeding and he holds me and I'm gone.* | 2014-01-25T14:18:59 | 2014-01-25T12:28:36 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] A nightclub in 2035 is hosting "2010's night". | Kyle still couldn't understand '10s night.
The feathers, the weird shirts with prisms and cats that the girls wore, the music made up of nothing more then a collection of beeps and womps.
Styles and tastes he wouldn't find other than in his parents Highschool yearbooks.
A clear regular walked up while he was at the bar, her hair held back by a headband covered in plastic flowers, giant piercings stretching the size of her earlobes to gross proportions.
He mustered his courage:
"That's some pretty swag clothes"
He said, confused by the weird slang.
She smiled and turned to him,
"Thanks! It was my moms: apparently they used to buy it USED! How crazy right?"
Kyle laughed,
"It's weird the stuff people used to do"
He saw his chance,
"You wanna go grind on the dance floor? You only live once."
Perfect: his dad had told him about that last line. It looked like she loved it.
As he danced with her, he couldn't help but laugh at how crazy all this was: he couldn't imagine what people would think about how he was in 30 years. | Paul hurriedly re-buttoned himself, fussing with the arms of his vibrant white shirt and trying desperately to fasten them in place properly this time.
"I don't like this man, I can't dance in this." he whimpered, his sweaty grip on his shirt slipping again as his hands fumbled about and he shuffled awkwardly.
"You don't need to like it, you need to roll with it. The joke only works if we both pitch in, or else I will look like an idiot." Danny spat back, his own simple timeless suit sleek - if plump around the middle - and juxtaposed against a set of thick rimmed 2**0**1**0** glasses held in place with equal parts glue and determination.
"Why do we have to do the joke?" Paul asked, the hurt catching in his voice a little more than manliness decreed it should. "Besides, its offensive."
"It's offensive against fucking *everyone*, that means it goes right back around to being funny to everyone."
"It's only offensive against North Americans."
"Which we are, so we can do what we want. It'll be funny, man!"
Danny turned to Paul as he spoke, a noise like a *riiiiiiiip* following him the entire way. His tentacles slithered and slipped from their felt bindings. He writhed and slithered along himself, his body pouring slowly out of small tears until a seam finally burst and Danny poured out of his Pre-Mute clothes, landing on the carpet with a heavy plop.
"For fuck sake, Paul." he moaned, stretching himself out as his body's mucus sank into the plush carpet "Just fucking go with it. I swear man, we're going as Americans before the chemtrails hit. It'll be funny." | 2014-04-03T09:45:36 | 2014-04-03T09:40:20 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] The production of meat for human consumption has been fully automated for decades. The largest factory has suddenly stopped producing. You are the technician assigned to troubleshoot, and are the first person to enter the plant in over 20 years. | Thirty years of studying, practicing, training for every contingency... all culminating in this one moment. Without the production, people will go hungry. The carefully calculated balance of society would be disrupted. Leading sociologists expected riots in the case of a failure in the next twenty four hours. Complete anarchy in the surrounding megacity, with a population of fifty-eight million if I don't succeed in a week.
Sparing a glance behind me, the team were waving. Some of them were hugging. It was very emotional. Humanity hasn't done any work for survival in over a century, as manufacturing ensured luxury for everyone. For the first time in thirty years, someone will have to do something with an impact on the outside world out of necessity.
The airlock closed behind me. I was passed through a rigorous cleansing cycle, everything from UV rays, chemical showers, complete drying and complete antibiotic immersion. Not one germ would be allowed to enter the compound and risk the health of so many. A bio-suit was waiting for me, putting me in my own self-contained environment. When I emerged inside the factory, I saw it.
The control unit. The pinnacle of human technology. A five inch cube, attached to the power outlet and into a wall via a USB 9.2 cable. I pulled the plug, and the blinking blue light on it went off. I plugged it back in. The blue light was steady. A green light turned on.
We were saved. | First I think I should give you a quick rundown of how meat production works, for the uninitiated. There’s loads of chemicals, and these get mixed together. This mixture includes cells from whatever meat you’re making, as well as other chemicals that promote meat growth. This is then put into huge thin trays, about 6 inches deep and several feet long and wide, until it becomes meat. It’s then taken out of the trays, and put through processors, where it’s cut into a more manageable size, is sprayed at the end to ensure that it’s clean and doesn’t spoil. And the entire process is automated. In the entire facility there’s 5 staff members. Three of them are security guards. All of them work from a small building outside the actual factory. So when I was called to fix the problem, I would be the first person to enter the factory since they’d given a foreign president a tour 22 years ago.
Note how the meat isn’t processed until the very end. This means that when the entire factory suddenly stops working, 10,000 tonnes of meat starts to rot, and in a hot summer, it rots hard. The stench was unbelievable, and I could smell it from the moment I went in the gate. I nearly fainted when I opened the door, and I’ve been working in meat production facilities for 14 years. These places don’t smell good at the best of times, last Tuesday was downright inhumane.
I was told to troubleshoot. I was to go in, walk around for an hour or so, fiddle with some buttons, take a lot of pictures, and come back out so the full technician team could go over the situation. When I got in there, I realised fiddling with buttons wouldn’t help. They said there’d be about 10,000 tonnes of meat, at various stages of production, rotting away. They didn’t say there’d be 204 dead bodies as well. Turns out that leaving the factory floor unchecked for 22 years was a mistake. | 2014-11-14T04:22:50 | 2014-11-14T04:17:40 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
| *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T12:36:19 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 2,259 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | You want an interview ? Fine, but you're buying the coffee. I'm getting kind of sick of this god-damned urban legend. I DON'T have superpowers, no-one has superpowers. There are just a bunch of crazy people who think they have powers, who for some reason have decided that I'm some fucked up version of their messiah.
**You don't believe super-powered people exist ?**
No. I've never seen one. I've seen the doctored footage from the media. I've seen a lot of crazy people who thought they had powers. I don't know why they gravitate to me of all people. I'm just a regular guy. I put in my hours in the office, then at the gym.
**So you haven't heard about the ranking system ?**
Oh, I've heard of their ranking system all right. That's all I ever hear. What baffles me is why they chose me to be their number one, their highest rank. That the only way for people to rise in rank and become more powerful is to kill them. Does that sound sane to you ?
Then one day, some poor bastard commits suicide near me, and suddenly, they decide that I'm the number one on their hitlist.
**You are referring to the death of the Human Jet as suicide?**
Man faceplants on the ground from a hundred feet, that's suicide. It doesn't matter that he said "Up Up and Away" before he jumped off that building. That was suicide.
**The Human Jet was one of our greatest heroes, with documented evidence of his powers..**
Blah Blah Blah. I've heard that all before. I was there, I saw him hit the ground. Where the hell do you people in the media get off encouraging these people. They are a danger to themselves. Surely you must have learned your lesson after Inferno Man.
**Inferno Man was a criminal, whose control over fire rendered him a threat to the world...**
Bullshit. Let me tell you what happened when I met this so called inferno man. I was just hanging out in a cafe not far from here, when this asshole shows up in a stupid costume. He bursts in, and gives this long speech about how he's going to kill me and burn everything down.
Then nothing happened. He stood there for like five minutes, straining, and glaring at me. I don't know what I did, I just wanted my cup 'o' joe. Then he leaves, and I thought "That was weird, I'm glad it's over".
Then he comes back, with a barrel of gasoline. Who the fuck would sell him gasoline. that's beside the point. The point is that the fucker doused himself in the stuff, and then pulled out a lighter and set himself on fire. Right in front of me. Hearing him scream almost put me off my coffee.
**Yes, quite a lot of superpowered villains have died under similar mysterious circumstances in your presence**
If by superpowered people, you mean insane people, then yes. The numbers of clowns in capes who drop out of the sky near me is so bloody annoying. Not to mention the scrawny fucks who just straight up try to pick fights with me.
Oh god, there was one which was genuinely funny.
This guy came up to me with this long speech about how he is one with nature, and that he will use all of his power to destroy me. I don't know why these guys always gotta speech at me. When I punch someone, I punch'em, I don't tell 'em my life story.
He had this tiger with him. Big fucking cat. He told the tiger to get me. Moment the muzzle was off, it savaged him. I fucking split my sides.
**So you don't think you have any superpowers at all ?**
Course not. Like I said *nobody* has superpowers. At least not that I've seen, not when they're around me. | Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T13:36:09 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 996 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship? | *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 451 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship? | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 451 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please." | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 164 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please." | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 164 | 18 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | It's always the high-numbered ones that think they have a shot. Some up and coming punk that thinks that this is their once in a lifetime chance to take down #1... as if they can just skip all of the other ranks and become a superstar. They never really consider how I GOT to be number one. I've fought fire powers, ice powers, lightning powers, one guy that had some special affinity toward guns, another that could teleport. There were a couple of psychics that were trippy for awhile, but everyone's power all comes from the same place.
This latest one was barely a teenager. It's a shame how this will have to end. I don't like killing, but I've started to accept that it's a necessary part of how the world is. That scares me a little, but it's better than being dead. The kid in front of me looks like he joined a street gang before he got his powers. He's got a fireball hovering above each hand but he hasn't made a move yet. I guess that my number is scaring him, making him size me up before he makes a move. Smart.
"So what's your deal? I don't see nothin'! You're the invincible number one! Show me what you got!"
The kid doesn't even know my name... probably doesn't care. I take a quarter out of my pocket and hold out my hand. The coin rises a few inches off of my palm and the punk gets ready to dodge, or block, or he's not sure which.
"My power's not much, just basic telekinesis. I can barely lift my own body weight without getting tired. The real strength is all in what I know."
"You going to throw that at me? Some kinda psychic railgun?!" I can hear and edge in the kid's voice. He looks like he's ready to make his move. Subtle changes in his stance give it away. I laugh as the coin drops back into my palm and I pocket it.
As he starts to charge at me, I swing my hand at the air in front of me. At the same moment, a wave of air slaps his cheek from the side, then again as it wave my hand the other way and hit his other cheek. I'm amused as his fireballs dissipate, I guess that he needed to concentrate to maintain them. He doesn't know it yet but that was a warning shot.
"You really should go home kid. Last chance, I'm letting you go."
I'm honestly hoping that he takes this chance, but I see the flames starting to encircle his forearms now. Are his hands the only things he can use this fire with? He might even be interesting if he backs off and explores his powers a little more.
The kid glares at me. "Or what?! You'll go Darth Vader on me? I'll roast you alive before you ca-"
A look of surprise comes over the kid's face now. While he was talking, I had raised a hand and had cut him off mid-word. He'd suddenly forgotten not only what he was going to say, but how to say it. The surprise turned to terror as his body suddenly stopped responding. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, so it was obvious when his legs stopped working and he collapsed to the ground.
I looked down at his terrified face, we both knew what was coming next. Just like he couldn't heal burns, I couldn't undo what I'd done, at least not without being able to see it and that required an operating room.
"I'll make it quick, kid. Like I said, the real power is in what I know." I said softly, as I reached out into the maze of neurons and blood vessels underneath his skull, and blindly tugged at a few delicate strands.
EDIT: Thanks, OP, for the special mention. I'm glad that people like the story. :) | Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T18:29:42 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The human smiled playfully. "So if I understand you correctly. You will give us this FTL technology in exchange for our aid. All you ask of us is to cleanse your world of this Ashvell species, and remove this substance from your waters?"
"That is all," I said with a hoarse voice. We hadn't done much research on these creatures. All we knew was that they had yet to fly further than their own moon and that they may be our salvation. I stepped back as the human walked by me. He walked carelessly, holding the vial that contained the substance that could destroy my species.
Water. Yes, we thought it was water. The clear liquid that granted our planet the ability to sustain life. The Ashvell gave it to us as a simple offering, one of peace and prosperity. We had no reason to suspect the Ashvell of foul play. Would you? We had been on neighboring planets for thousands of years.
Cast Ozon had started to puke green bile moments after he had swallowed the substance. His elongated neck had melted within mere seconds. Our dear leader had died whilst still holding onto the glass. Before anyone had been able to react, the Ashvell had started their offense. Enormous cannons had sprayed our lands, our homes and our people with the poisonous substance. We thought it was merely water. The Ashvell knew it was not.
"You should not keep this substance in an unprotected vial," I said. Humans in white coats eyed me as I followed the human leader up a flight of stairs.
We entered what I assumed to be a living space. Why else would there be a sleeping platform in the center of the room? The human sat down and placed his legs on the sleeping platform, leaning backwards.
"What is your answer? We haven't much time! The Ashvell kill our younglings by the hundreds for every second I do not return."
"Has the United Nations made a decision?" The human spoke to the mirrored wall on the other side of room.
A face appeared on the wall. The human in the wall cocked an eyebrow. His gaze lingered on me. "You say that this liquid is poisonous to your species?"
A shiver ran down my spine. "Yes, it is. None of the species in our solar system are able to survive direct contact with this substance. We beg of you, please save us."
"And simply attaching the technology you wish to donate to us will enable faster than light travel for the vehicle it is applied to?"
"Yes."
The face disappeared and I could once again see my own reflection in the mirror. I turned to the human beside me. He was sniffing the substance, twirling the vial around as he did.
Then he drank it.
I stood there in disbelief. The human drank the most poisonous substance known to my people. I jumped back, afraid that his body would explode. A mere drop still in his throat could splash out at any second. A mere drop was enough to kill me outright.
Nothing happened.
The human smacked his lips and winked at me. "Twelve percent."
Behind me, I heard the oh so familiar booming of FTL-engines. The humans had accepted our offer. | May our children forgive us; for we choose servitude over annihilation. Is it not better to be second among equals, lower only to them and above the rest? Is it not better to watch the fleet of those who would enslave you burn, to watch their planets fall and their cities crumble than to see your people massacred, your holy places desecrated, your world die. We may be giving up our freedom but at least we will survive right? Yes, we will lose our beloved council, we will see Kartaloon fill will races from around the Dominion, we will cede territory to others and be forced to do trade with lesser species but we will survive. My brothers and sisters do you not wish to see the Targracians suffer for all that they have done to us, for what they did to the outer colonies for Impac, Tonar and Harkathia how many billions of us have they extinguished how many worlds have they made dim. Only the scourge of the Humans of the Dominion of Canada can lay restitution for the sins and atrocities that they have befallen upon us.
The Humans will be our ultimate weapon against Targracia, her people will weep for a million cycles, her Gods will be made to bow before the shadows and their hand, the Humans, her cities will empty and their people will know what it truly means to suffer, to suffer without hope, without mercy, to suffer at the hands of humans. Remember your history what they did to their own kind the atrocities committed against the cities of New York, Sao Paolo, Beijing, Tokyo now imagine what they would do to the Targracians a species that may pose a threat to them, even if only an imagined one. Yes my brothers and sisters we may lose autonomy but how many are truly left free in this galaxy if we do not capitulate to the Humans than to who? Should we be as the Par Madi a dead race only to be remembered in the annals of history; a lesson for those to come the consequences of those to prideful to bend to those more powerful than themselves, is it not better to bend to the Devil we know than the one we don't?
By joining the Canadian Dominion we will be given access to technologies millenia beyond our current level we will have access to their space-time gateways, our children will see parts of the galaxy that our grandfathers could only dream of. We will be able to spread far and wide to the point that even if Kartaloon should fall our people never will. As second among equals we will never know subjugation of a conquered people, only Humans themselves will be above us, and in the vastness of their territories we will barely even notice them, true our illustrious council will be disbanded and our people will be subjected to their "Democracy" but they will also be protected by their "Charter of rights and freedoms". We will be given technology to build a fleet of star ships that would be able to explore the Galaxy and protect our people, and still be backed up by the Canadian Star Fleet, we will be given voice in the Galactic Council, I have seen it myself their base inside of Sol, the base inside the heart of their sun where the representatives of the second species work together, where the Therelians and the Ic Ba Moor once bitter rivals exist together in peace.
Truth be told we have little choice in the matter, capitulation to the Humans is the only choice we have. I stand before you not to ask for your acceptance in this matter but to ask for your forgiveness for the deal has been made, by this time tomorrow the siege will be over, within an hour the full Canadian armed forces will enter Kartaloonian space and engage in battle with the Targracians. A Governor class space station will orbit between us and our third moon Today is the last day that Kartaloon exists as a free and independent world, but we still have a tomorrow and for that I will not apologize. | 2014-12-26T12:23:02 | 2014-12-26T10:50:07 | 70 | 10 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | "They shall have nothing." Was our Arbiter's words.
"They shall have nothing." Was the chant used by his followers to justify themselves.
"They shall have nothing." Was the truest statement uttered in the fifteen years of war.
The Hexams had won the war for all intents and purposes. All that remained was to capture our home of Glonia, and then our Confederacy of Peaceful Glonian Systems would be at an end. Our great civilization based on Science and Democracy would cease to exist.
So, rather than see our Confederacy annexed into the Hexam Dominion and given to some barbaric governor, our Arbiter and his followers decided "They shall have nothing."
Humans were the finest mercenaries in the Galaxy. They were highly intelligent, resourceful, and determined. It was hard to find a more staunch ally or fierce enemy than a human. It wasn't uncommon for various systems to hire human mercenary companies to tame a wild planet or to guard their space stations.
What the Arbiter wanted to do was much, much worse. Humans had been contained within their own system since shortly after their existence was made known to the other civilizations of The Galaxy. The Arbiter wanted to unleash them. Unleash them on a global scale, more than justtaking a few human mercenaries on board a ship, he *gave* the humans those ships, freeing them to spread like vermin across the galaxy.
The largest human faction on Earth (a polluted, over populated carbon based terrestrial planet), agreed to militarize and attack the Hexams on a scale never before seen, in exchange for this new technology. Nearly ten million human warriors (Of the Jarhead Clan, mostly) would destroy the Hexams entirely.
The only problem? "They shall have nothing." This was a scorched land tactic. Nothing could save our Confederacy. The Arbiter and his followers only wished to ensure that the Hexams were destroyed as much as we were. A queer sort of revenge. Give the humans free access to the galaxy, and it was only a matter of time before they ruled it all, polluted it all, and overpopulated it all.
I can only pray that the Great Forebears intervene and send the humans back to their world in ruins as they did so long ago. Maybe this time they won't repopulate and rediscover their desire to destroy and the technology to carry it out. | 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T11:03:12 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased. | The first sensation of weightlessness hits you and you realize you're out there, you've slipped the surly bonds. The tedious waiting, confined straps, and uncomfortable variations from hot to cold that occupied your life for the past eight hours slips away when you realize you're weightless. You unlatch, unbuckle and float.
I keyed the com and relayed the first message from our tin can to the ground with the gravitas of Armstrong on the moon, "We did it. We're back out here." I'll admit, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the cheers.
There were ten people in a little shack just this side of nowhere in the middle of Nevada risking their lives even being in the same room as that equipment. At ground control you didn't have many moments that weren't undercut with a justified paranoia. And over the com I'd just gotten the pleasure of hearing one.
I turned to Eisel and Grissom - Claptrap and Condor as they're known over com - give them the thumbs up. Grissom has already floated over to one of our little round windows. He doesn't see me. He doesn't see anything except that curved horizon. Eisel returns the thumbs up as she runs through a checklist. I know what the switches she's flipping do but at that moment I could barely remember my name over the thousand thoughts coming through my head. Each one flying through my mind at 28,000 kph.
Ten years ago I'd been a test pilot baed out of Colorado Springs when the edict came down. Space was over - too expensive, too useless, too impractical. There was a cavalcade of bullshit reasons given that stretched higher than Mt. Elbert and stunk just as bad. I didn't go through the Naval Academy, and salute every jackass with a different insignia on their collar than mine just to test planes. I did it to go out there, or up here. I didn't want to just fly. I wanted to break out completely. They shut off that dream like they were turning off the bedroom light to go to sleep.
The offer came down in hushed tones. You learned quick that speaking out for space was a quick ticket to the civilian life. My civilian life was flying crop dusters. This scrambled eggs I'd known for a bit back in Pensacola stopped by the hanger with a six pack one day four years ago. By the time he left I was in a world of shit. By that time the government had made it known that talking about space wasn't going to fly. First they said it in speeches. Then they said it by putting a few rounds of 5.56 through two college kids marching in front of the White House - for security purposes. When two UCal kids holding signs and going for their PhD in physics became a threat to national security I knew the whole fucking world had gone sideways.
China, Russia, Europe, even Australia fell in line. So when that Commander friend of mine slid a piece of paper with a set of coordinates on it I knew I was going. Security was tight and our equipment was outdated. The entire show was like some community theatre production of Our Town compared to what I'd been used to. We made it work though and we returned.
The first hint of just how badly we'd fucked up came from Eisel. She didn't look up from her console when she said, "Captain, we have multiple system failure."
This was not to be unexpected. No one seriously thought we'd get this far and no one really believed we were coming back alive. "What's the problem claptrap?" I asked.
That's when the whole can shut down - lights, air filters, display panels. It was almost humorous when Eisel said, "We've lost all power."
Then Grissom over at the window said, "Guys, you got to take a look at this."
What that poor man saw was some kind of death ship kilometers wide, black, and unreflective. A most unusual trapezoid shape. It had no concern for aerodynamics. It was not made to land on planets.
Our speakers came alive. Just the speakers, powered by some unimaginable force.
"I see you have chosen to leave your atmosphere in breach of our previous agreement. You are completely uncontrollable. The great speakers have had their day. We are the great destroyers."
With that a red beam of plasma flooded from the bowels of that dark monolith. It struck the Indian Ocean and Grissom immediately went mad.
In burnt over the earth a thin red edge demarcating the blue and green from the absolute black that spread from the impact. We pressed our faces agains the port holes and watched. The red edge disappeared over the horizon leaving just an outlined black sphere that began to crumble away in shards from the molten core. It was only then that I realized the enormity of what I had seen, when at least an eighth of the southern hemisphere started gliding off like a glacier falling into the ocean.
The monolith trapezoid blinked out of existence. It's work was finished. The glowing core of Earth began to fade. That's when Grissom went for the emergency latch. I believe he wanted to save them all somehow, reach out and put the pieces back together. In the scuffle I snapped his neck to keep him from killing us.
Now I'm not sure why I didn't let him. Eisel has gone on, asleep and soon to die from the lack of oxygen. A piece of our former home, black and dead, floated in front of the sun an hour ago. I am dark and cold and dying. I am the last monument to man before we slip forever into the abyss.
| (Part 1)
Everything had worked out so far. Six and a half years of planning, hiding, in secret, risking arrest (or worse) every time we made that long drive through the dust to town to pick up a new package or a new recruit.
At first, it was only Leanne and I - both enthusiasts, educated, but never eligible for any private or government program - her because of her eyesight and me because of my limp. A direct result of my parent's selfish and misinformed behavior (they had no regard for vaccines or modern medicine), an easily prevent infection instead nearly killed me. Ironically, it probably made me who I am today - I rebelled and studied science, astronomy, physics, went to school and got my Ph.D.
After the space programs shut down, with no warning or reasoning (most people bought that budget cuts, financial reasons were to blame), we didn't know what to think. It had always been our dream to be tourists one day, to fly above the earth, to float effortlessly, plunging towards the earth and yet pulling away at the same time. So we decided that we would take it upon ourselves.
It wasn't easy, of course, but the technology was there. 3D printing made working in private a lot easier, and what parts we did need to outsource we managed to order under the guise of other projects - greenhouses, amateur rocketry, battery research. That was how we met Philip, or Rusty as he preferred to be called. At first we were weary to trust anyone else, but over time his help became invaluable. Assembling parts, testing, and of course, the major skill we lacked - actually piloting the damn thing.
Now we were finally there, Day 0, launch day, and I was terrified. I looked over at Leanne, the reflection of my helmet (customized diving gear - tested in our make shift vacuum chamber, but now seeming about as sturdy as a fish bowl).
"Are we really doing this?" I asked out of no where, doubt suddenly filling my mind.
"We're ready, Tom," she said cooly, eyes still locked on the instrument panel. "We've been ready."
"Main engine check complete, all systems are powered and test okay." Rusty intoned, his voice unwavering. "We got this, Tom - we're going to bring this back for everyone."
I knew there was no turning back once we were underway, everything would be revealed - the launch would be plain as day to anyone with 300 miles, and would no doubt set off every government radar and seismograph on the eastern seaboard. We'd talked about it before, of course - the real reasons that all the programs had been shutdown, even the Chinese, who were in the process of racing us to Mars. But there was only one way to know for sure, only one way to find out.
"Main thruster sequence is initiated. Docking clamps released. Primary ignition sequence in 10..." Rusty rattled off the numbers matter of fact, as if he'd done it a thousand times before, and not just in simulations.
Slowly the enormous rumble rising up from beneath us penetrated the cabin, shaking everything and blurring my vision for a moment. I shook my head; this is it, I thought, everything you've been working for.
"7..."
Rusty was all business, hands on the controls, focused and steady. Leanne looked back and forth at me but kept her eyes on the gauges, reading fuel, electrical status; everything was working exactly as designed. I had the least to do, primarily being tasked with orbital calculations, trajectories, everything now entered into the computer and locked in, calculated on the fly faster than any human mind could adjust.
"4... 3... "
Suddenly everything began to shake a thousand times harder than before and I felt an enormous force pressing me into my seat.
"1.... liftoff..."
I was suddenly aware of the wide blue sky as we left the underground silo and accelerated upwards. Within seconds we were above the wide desert. Everything was a blur, but looking to the edge of the capsule I was sure I could see a cloud of dust in the distance, streaking through the desert, pale beige trucks racing through the dirt towards the launch site. My panic started to rise again - what if they sent jets, missiles, anti-ICBM laser defenses, blew us out of the sky?
Before I could panic, the desert was fading, and I could see the outline of the country, the whole continent, starting to form beneath us. My panic dropped away and was replaced by awe - the sight I never thought I would live to see. I swallowed and managed to find my voice, trying to keep it as steady as Rusty.
"This is it... " I whispered, before speaking up, "orbital trajectory looks good, we are on target to enter low earth orbit in T minus 18 minutes."
"Still a long way to go." Leanne smiled for the first time as we started to take in the reality of what was happening. The first human beings to leave the surface of the planet for almost a decade; it was no trip to Mars or even the Moon, but it was a start, and proof that it could be done, governments be damned. We settled back, the rest of the trip was essentially on auto pilot - a full orbit around the earth, for everyone to see, then a rapid reentry and a splashdown, hopefully somewhere in the southern hemisphere, where we had friends waiting to retrieve us. After that, we'd have to go into hiding, of course; the capsule would be sunk and the launch site was already in ashes below us, this was a one time trip - but maybe, just maybe, we'd pave the way for others like us, show people that--
Suddenly an alarm started to blare, a klaxon sound that I couldn't recall ever hearing before. I looked over at Leanne and then turned to Rusty, who's usual calm demeanor had changed to a mixture of confusion and - anger? I scanned across all the instruments, trying to make sense of what was happening. Everything read out okay - fuel mixture, acceleration, altitude, all systems looked green. Leanne spoke first.
"Rusty, what the hell is that thing?" | 2014-12-28T09:27:30 | 2014-12-28T07:45:33 | 434 | 15 |
[WP] You're midway into your flight when you, feeling bored, decided to surf the Internet. You read breaking news about another plane disappearance. You're on that flight. | At first, I didn't know what I was reading. Three times through, I tapped the man sitting on my left, pushing my iPad onto his tray table. My hand was shaking.
He glanced over it and then took a sip of his drink. "Guess they're already getting started."
"What?"
A flight attendant walked by and I jumped up, grabbing at her elbow.
"M'am, I'm going to need you to sit down," she told me, pulling her arm back.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"M'am, just please take your seat. The captain has not turned off the seat belt sign."
"Why is there a bulletin about this plane."
She pursed her lips. "M'am, I'm not going to ask you again."
My seat mate gave me a gentle tug. "Now, don't be getting cold feet on us, now," he said, pulling me back down. "You knew about this when you signed up."
"Signed up for what?"
"For the island." | Had I not seen the article, I doubt Jess and I would have had any idea.
I had dozed off. My neck sore, I took a swig of water and pulled out my phone. That's when I saw the article about the missing plane: our plane.
"I don't want to freak you out," I said to Jess, "but look at this."
I handed her my phone and watched her expression. As she read, her eyes flickering back-and-forth across the screen, her mouth fell agape. "But...isn't that?" She looked at me.
"Yeah."
She grabbed my hand, breathing heavily. I could tell her heart was racing. "What does that mean?" She asked.
"I'm not sure," I said.
We said nothing for a while.
Eventually, I got up and walked down the aisle to the bathroom. I closed the folding bathroom door and ran the sink. I splashed water on my face. In the closeness of the bathroom, I could hear the hum of the plane's engine, loud and steady. Was any of this real? I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to believe any more.
There was a knock at the door.
"Sir? Excuse me, sir? We're going to have to ask you to sit down, sir. The plane will be landing soon."
I opened the door to see the smiling face of a flight attendant. She gestured up the aisle and towards my seat.
"Flight attendant says we're landing soon," I whispered to Jess.
She gave me a strange look. "Already?"
Together we looked down at the earth: green, brown, desolate, sparsely covered by clouds. | 2015-04-07T18:37:52 | 2015-04-07T17:46:16 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | 24/f/pittsburgh
Had a crazy fun time 2 weeks w/ some guy I barely knew- he was really into biting. At first I was mad and I got kinda sick but now I'M FEELING really bitey- like I just wanna tear up some flesh?
Hit me up if you wanna try it out- I'll be at the monroeville mall at 2am, back parking lot - lets get a mob together! | *Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead. | 2015-04-29T10:05:24 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 57 | 15 |
[WP] Einstein: "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." Write a battle scene from World War IV. | "Sir."
"Yes. Out with it."
"LADAR reports probable launch 4.1 seconds past. 31 sticks, 15 stones sir."
"Trajectory?"
"Looks to be a miss sir."
"Proper terminology on this deck."
"Yes sir."
"You have them on radar yet?"
"Yes sir, that is the stones- on the asteroids class Delta mostly, with a few Echos and one Fox Trot."
"Must have run out of the bigger boys."
"Yes sir. No contact with the tungsten rods sir. The Thirty-Second is reporting a firing solution of orbital battery six's next swing around, requesting power for the coils."
"Hold off on that, I need the trajectory of the kinetic rods."
"Looks to be whats left of the population center sir."
"Power down and wish the Thirty-Second luck." | A man sat alone unable to sleep. There was only a single bare bulb illuminating the room, flickering erratically as the man stared and mused that it may be the last in the world.
But what kept him awake wasn't that but the screaming. The screaming of the tortured metal that held the winds at bay, the screaming of the atomic dust whistling in through the cracks, and the screaming of those who had died.
There were only three other objects in the room with him. A pistol, a wooden crate smashed open and laying empty, and a small pile of black dust no larger than the head of a pin.
The man hardly even flinched when the other arrived between the flickers of light as if having materialised from the ether. The other was also a man though his form was largely hidden beneath a heavy cloak. A crude club fashioned from the leg of a chair was brandished in hand.
The man finally stood matching his height to the intruders as he pried a loose brick from the wall.
The other spoke first.
"Where are the rest of you?"
"Its just me."
"Bullshit."
"Rest of them died three months ago."
"...you attacked us two months ago."
"No it was three and I owe you for that."
"Where's the food and water?"
"You guys have it all or should I say you?"
"..."
The man gaffawed.
"So this is what it comes down to."
He tossed the brick from hand to hand and lifted his chin to gesture at his opponent.
"A stick and a stone."
| 2015-07-18T18:06:02 | 2015-07-18T11:06:48 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] We're always told that ending a story with "...and then they/he/she woke up" is an unimaginative way to end things. Tell a story where this ending makes it better. | A wonderful walk in the park with my wife.
*beep*
The crisp breeze caressing my skin.
*beep*
Her laughter echoing across the field.
*beep*
The color of her dress.
*beep*
A hug, a kiss.
*beep*
Romantic candlelit dinner.
*beep*
A long drive home.
*beep*
A soothing song on the radio.
*beep*
Her hand dancing with mine.
*beep*
Heavy eyelids.
*beep*
A trucker who's been driving since 4 am.
*beep*
The car lurching across the line.
*beep*
The horn from the trucker, too late.
*beep*
A blinding light.
*beep*
The screams of metal on metal.
*beep*
Sharp, wet.
*beep*
Is she okay?
*beep*
Oh god, am I?
*beep*
Shouts, sirens.
*beep*
Darkness.
*beep*
Yelling, running, florescent lights.
*beep*
Hours of surgery.
*beep*
Exhausted doctors.
*beep*
A breath of air.
*beep*
A sharp kick.
*beep*
The man wakes up.
*beep* | It goes beyond the reach of humans to understand the consciousness of the planets. They are alive in a way that most humans can't fully comprehend because they are the sum of all their parts, they are a hive whereas their inhabitants are plugged into the consciousness - the planet is us and we are the planet.
This story is about a lonely being named Earth. Just like all the other planets she has a point of origin, she came from an incomprehensible chance event and spent the beginning of her young existence as we all do. Learning, growing and becoming herself.
She was not alone. She was surrounded by others like her and her rocky exterior was growing, shifting and changing. As the years continued to pass Earth became more and more complex, gaining attributes different from any of her fellow planets.
Unfortunately, while Earth was in her adolescent years great catastrophe struck the poor young planet. She was focusing internally on growth, forging the crust and shell that would protect her soft, liquid core from any external dangers. Amidst this hard work she lost touch with her surroundings and a large meteor smashed into the young planet with such force her consciousness was completely rattled.
She slipped and strayed away from consciousness and eventually lost control of herself. Earth was dormant.
An unconscious planet is like a tumbleweed blowing through the desert gathering dust. It's been almost 200'000 years and Earth remains dormant. Her hard outer shell has become infested with parasites and inhabitants that scar and mutilate her in her sleep. They dig into her skin, pump out her blood and destroy her centuries of hard work in a blink of an eye. Her once rich oceans are becoming toxic waste dumps, her strong thick forests are all but gone and her protective atmosphere is compromised. While she sleeps she is being dissolved from the outside in.
Though this is a sad story of a planet that has lost its consciousness and become infested with parasites there is still hope for young Earth. After a few years of unjustifiably harsh weather and unexplained natural phenomenons Earth has awoken and she's ready to get good again.
| 2016-05-15T11:55:03 | 2016-05-15T11:40:09 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] Each morning, every human on Earth must pray their Reasons for not dying that day to the God of Death. If the Reasons are sufficient, that person will go on living, potentially forever. However, you are the longest living human by far, and people now hunt you in order to hear your Reasons. | "That's it?"
The lead hunter looked a bit like he'd walked into a public restroom with a great and immediate purpose only to find that every surface was visibly damp and the whole place smelled of eggs, popcorn, and diaper cream. That is to say, he was having a hard time believing that life could be so cruel.
"Am I truly the only one who's been praying that?" I replied.
The secondary hunter scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I mean I've *thought* about it, but it didn't seem a good enough Reason, did it?"
I shrugged. "My mum always said to be honest in these things. *Son*, she said, *what's the use in living on lies?*"
"What's that supposed to mean?" said the lead hunter. "You sayin' my mother and father didn't have honest reasons? And what about my boy? He was only 89! *89*!"
I put up my hands. "Not sayin' any such thing. Just tellin' you true. That's been my Reason. All these years. Didn't know it'd work this long. Then again, didn't think I'd be waitin' this long either."
The lead hunter's shoulders sagged. "It's just...it's a little underwhelming."
"Plus," said the secondary hunter. "Plus, I mean, that's not going to be true forever...is it?"
"Not sure," I replied. "As far as I'm concerned, it's a bit of a curse at this point. All this waitin'....all this extra livin'...I was ready to die *decades* ago. Maybe even centuries. But they keep sayin'...*It's comin'. You wait. It's comin'.* So I keep waitin'. And every morning I say to the big man downstairs, I say, *Hold on, just one more day, alright? I got a feelin' today's the day.* And...well, you see."
The hunters let that hang in the air for a moment. "I guess there's nothing we can do about it," said the lead hunter, picking up his rifle and blast shield. "Let's head back and make our report."
The secondary hunter followed suit, nodding to me as he gathered his gear. "Between you and me," he whispered, "I don't even remember if I like those *Half-Life* games."
"Me neither," I replied. "But I figured I've already wasted a couple hundred years waiting on *Episode 3*, so what's the harm in waiting a few more?"
He smiled politely in reply and soon both men had disappeared across the horizon. | “What are you going to do, kill me?”
A tired young man cresting the hill paused for a moment, smiling at my words.
“I’ve been following you for four-and-a half months; I had time to contemplate the problem,” began the young man, leaning on a spear that appeared in good condition despite its apparent recent service as a walking stick. “If Death (Blessed be His Name) rejects you from his presence, I can hardly force you to share your Reasons.”
I smiled. They usually had time to think. It was one of the reasons I kept moving, otherwise the real idiots caught up and, well . . . tried to kill an invulnerable man so he would teach them the secret to immortality. Little shits.
Still, this one was, at least, vaguely amusing. “It’s a problem really. If I tell you, if I tell anyone,” I explained, “they might share the secret, then everyone might start using it. Of course, I don’t know if that would even matter; if He’d thank me for saving Him time in his appointed tasks, or if He’d be pissed I ruined his little game. And even then, don’t know if Death gets bored, but really, why should I take the risk for you people?”
The young man looked taken aback. “I didn’t know what to you’d be like,” he said conversationally. “I didn’t really expect you to be an arrogant bastard though. Isn’t immortality supposed to give you serenity and enlightenment or something?”
“Bah,” I responded. “Maybe with some gods it does. Death’s a stingy prick, apparently.”
Blinking, the young man—a soldier perhaps?—loped forward. “I . . . didn’t expect you to be so . . .” he fumbled for words.
“Dickish?” I offered. He seemed to agree. “Yeah, it turns out there’s no need for manners when I literally can’t die.”
“I considered torture, you know,” he ventured.
“The smarter ones get around to it eventually,” I agreed. “It’s been tried before. I’ve been whipped, beaten, hanged, stabbed, even killed once I think. I’m a little fuzzy about a few days in there. Some idiots got creative with some spikes and a tree.”
The young man shuffled closer, his eyes catching—only for a moment, to his credit—on my scars. I don’t blame him—my body was littered with wounds. From my hands to my toes.
“A few times I even broke. I told them my Reason.” I shrugged. “It hasn’t ever seemed to help anyone.”
“So . . .” he paused, a rueful grin blooming across his face, “you going to tell Me?”
I turned and began walking away, reveling as disappointment eroded his good cheer. “I used to make up the same desperate reasons you all do every morning. But one day I woke up and decided That Bastard isn’t worth it. And that day I decided if he wants me today, then screw it. And every day since then I’ve woken and told that Divine Dick one thing: . . .”
The young man seemed to pause, hopeful, even as I walked away. And, realizing that he was a screwball anyway, I turned and told him,
“I Am.”
| 2016-07-05T19:37:32 | 2016-07-05T19:36:27 | 37 | 20 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay agrees to star in "Primitive Cooking Nightmares", in which contestants are thrown into the wild and must survive long enough to cook something that Ramsay approves of. | When the new show was announced, thousands applied for their opportunity to fend for themselves in the wilderness and produce a dish for the legendary Gordon Ramsay. Three hundred were selected, the producers hedging their bets that with a large enough group some would survive long enough to actually cook something.
Over the course of the first three months, 247 of these initial contestants had either taken ill and left, or perished. The remaining chefs turned on each other, deciding that it's far easier to kill and claim victory by default.
But one man could not be stopped.
Silent, and clad only in a pair of purple shorts, while the others quarreled amongst themselves, he worked tirelessly. Another chef stumbled across his encampment and attempted to "take care" of him.
He stumbled around the small camp trying to find the man, hunting through his small hut and was surprised by the hand-made clay oven smoldering gently behind the shack. A branch broke nearby and the chef was startled out of his reverie, and turned.
He fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from the back of his neck.
The man in the purple shorts emerged from the trees, several birds strung together and slung over his shoulders. He set his bow and game inside his shack, and set to methodically disassembling the man who had found him. He burned all of the remains but for a few large bones that he turned into handles for a clay cook-pot.
No other chef managed to locate him, and come the day of judgment, he approached the judging table along with the other four chefs who survived.
The others produced salads in rough-hewn wooden bowls and one even had some meat, barely cooked, on a small bark slab.
The man in the purple shorts, ever silent, came to the table and placed down a large ceramic dish. Within was a sandwich, a small toothpick stuck through it. Lettuce, tomato, cheese, and some kind of meat; still warm and gently grilled.
| The contestants were gathered in an opening in the forest, they'd been scouring the woods for dried leaves and kindling to start their fires. One poor soul was trying to build a fire, but his hands were shaking so much, he just ended up knocking over all hi wood. The bloke next to him was looking happy with himself, he'd spent the last two hours trying to get a spark from two bits of wood, finally the grass had started to smoke.
"Fuck me, it's like being in the 80's again" The mighty Gordon Ramsay, burst out of this bush, machete in hand, hacking away at the undergrowth. He was top to bottom in safari cargoes complete with military boots. Sliding the machete gracefully under his armpit, he stalked the forest clearing like a drill sergeant. took one look at this guys smoking fire and proceeded to punt it into the wild.
"You couldn't cook an insect's penis over that fire" he skipped anger and just went straight to pity. "YOU DICK!"
"Does ANYBODY have anything i can eat yet?"
This wimp of a man had held out some sort of dessert on a leaf.
"What the fuck is that?" Disappointment clung to every syllable.
"I..I..It's.. Rainforest sorbet, w..w..with a lemon zest garnish a..and gooseberries to taste."
"What? never mind just give me that." Gordon dissects the sorbet with his machete.
"Okay...yes...This doesn't look like total shit. I hope this is good for your sake." He says as the sorbet drips down his machete and into his mouth. He closes his eyes and swallows, the poor contestant would have pissed himself if he had any left. Then Gordon opened his eyes, a big smile on his face.
"My god, someone can actually fucking cook. How did you achieve the flavoring for the sorbet?"
"Well this dish was heavily inspired by Bear Grylls"
Gordon's face drops. It starts slow at first, a minor wretch, like a stifled hiccup. Then it starts building, the urine ice cream in his throat... and a rage that Satan could not hope to contain. For when Gordon had been made a fool of, it was not only that one person that would suffer. They all had to pay for witnessing it.
When Gordon next opened his eyes, the clearing in the forest was a blood bath. Only one remained.
Then came over the tanoid "After a shock 12 person eviction, WE HAVE A WINNER..... MR GORDON RAMSAY!" | 2016-09-18T07:02:13 | 2016-09-18T06:00:36 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | Andrew was on the ground, he felt intense fear for the first time in his life, he looked up to the sky as the dragons were demolishing everything.
No, this can't be happening, he thought. He spent the past week preparing for the defense of camelot. Bringing each day modern technology weapons, even the infamous nuclear bomb.
Death was close, he could feel it down to his very bones.
He started weeping and crying upon realizing how vein his efforts were.
Is that all what modern technology could do? Is that how powerless he was compared to magic?
Solving this crisis should have been easy, as he started to recall his first meeting with Merlin
Nothing can resist human intelligence as he used to boast in front of Merlin, telling him how humanity has now been conquering space
Alas, all of this was vain, Andrew was so convinced that this was the past, that he knew what the future was holding. But this wasn't the past.
Multiverse, he knew this world from the comic he used to read when he was young, but this was a complete different universe.
Everything was there to hint him about this eventual turn of event. Different maps, different fauna and flora.
Idiot was all what was on his mind, he was an idiot.
Sonja, Alicia, Erina, those were the names of the girl he used to spend his nights with, thinking that these beautiful women were about to know fate worse than death made him realize the gravity of his own idiocy.
Jumping in front of his was a hideous creature that could kill you with one chop if his razor sharp hands were to touch him.
Oh, finally this is how I die!
However it seems that fate still hadn't abandoned him as Merlin and Arthur appeared just behind him to slay the beast and save him
Not now Andrew, Merlin said. You still have one thing you can bring from your time!
Can such a thing really exist at this point? Nuclear weapons were inefficient, what could I bring back?
Everything you brought was an object, Merlin said, you could try bringing someone!
Now that he thinks of it, that was true! There is still hope! He could call upon the greatest hero of mankind to slay those beasts!
Andrew stood up, forgetting his pain, fueled by a new emotion of hope! He knew what to do, who to call! It was so simple! "MERLIN! I want you to call upon this person!" (Read every first letter of each paragraph)
| "So an army is coming, the castle will fall and everyone inside will be killed. And I have 7 days and 7 items smaller than this box to stop this? Any items at all?"
"Yes lord."
"Stop calling me that, I am no one's lord, just call me Jack. To stop an unstoppable army. With seven items and seven days...let me think."
Smallpox would be too slow, and likely kill everyone. Smallpox and some vaccine? Still too slow. An Abrams is too big. A handgun? Couldn't even get enough rounds to finish an army. Turn the tide maybe but not a guaranteed victory. A box of C4? Could do some real damage but again no way to ensure a total victory. Sarin? Would need to trap the army in an enclosed space or have a delivery vehicle. Trapping a whole army sounds unlikely. Maybe if we can get the whole army in the courtyard while everyone else evacuated? Let's call that plan B. Delivery? I bet a small drone would fit in that magic box. Crop dusting an army? That may just work. Maybe two drones just in case they knock one down. Ok two drones 3? Canisters of sarin. Oh sarin rated gas mask. That one will be important.
That's six items. Leaves one wildcard incase the plan goes awry?
---------------------------------------------------
The first drone worked too well. I think it ran empty before they took it down and their whole western flank now lay motionless. The second one they caught with a net. Still did some serious damage but not enough to stop the assault.
---------------------------------------------------
Well they sure know what they are doing. The gate has been breached and they are coming in now. Merlin is evacuating as many as he can but we still have many defenders buying as much time as they can.
Well they did say the castle would fall. And everyone inside would be killed. Patience Jack make sure they all come in then fufill the fuck out of that prophecy.
--------------------------------------------------
Who the hell is that! There are now four people left alive in the castle. Me, some king looking dude, another one who looks like he and Merlin shop at the same clothes store, and some asshole wearing a hells angels biker jacket waving around a sawed off shotgun. Oh and all three were wearing gas masks. Shit. Guess it's wildcard time.
The grenades seemed like a good plan. They achieved their primary objective perfectly. Biker dude got one wild shot off before being rent by shrapnel. Gas mask wizard was bleeding profusely and Fancy armor was no longer wearing a mask. And Jack? Here I was staring at the tiny gash in my own mask probably a stray piece of shrapnel from my own grenade. Something on my cheek was stinging and it was becoming hard to breathe.
"...eveyone in the castle will be killed..."
Fucking prophecies... | 2016-11-28T06:29:21 | 2016-11-28T04:27:18 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | Andrew was on the ground, he felt intense fear for the first time in his life, he looked up to the sky as the dragons were demolishing everything.
No, this can't be happening, he thought. He spent the past week preparing for the defense of camelot. Bringing each day modern technology weapons, even the infamous nuclear bomb.
Death was close, he could feel it down to his very bones.
He started weeping and crying upon realizing how vein his efforts were.
Is that all what modern technology could do? Is that how powerless he was compared to magic?
Solving this crisis should have been easy, as he started to recall his first meeting with Merlin
Nothing can resist human intelligence as he used to boast in front of Merlin, telling him how humanity has now been conquering space
Alas, all of this was vain, Andrew was so convinced that this was the past, that he knew what the future was holding. But this wasn't the past.
Multiverse, he knew this world from the comic he used to read when he was young, but this was a complete different universe.
Everything was there to hint him about this eventual turn of event. Different maps, different fauna and flora.
Idiot was all what was on his mind, he was an idiot.
Sonja, Alicia, Erina, those were the names of the girl he used to spend his nights with, thinking that these beautiful women were about to know fate worse than death made him realize the gravity of his own idiocy.
Jumping in front of his was a hideous creature that could kill you with one chop if his razor sharp hands were to touch him.
Oh, finally this is how I die!
However it seems that fate still hadn't abandoned him as Merlin and Arthur appeared just behind him to slay the beast and save him
Not now Andrew, Merlin said. You still have one thing you can bring from your time!
Can such a thing really exist at this point? Nuclear weapons were inefficient, what could I bring back?
Everything you brought was an object, Merlin said, you could try bringing someone!
Now that he thinks of it, that was true! There is still hope! He could call upon the greatest hero of mankind to slay those beasts!
Andrew stood up, forgetting his pain, fueled by a new emotion of hope! He knew what to do, who to call! It was so simple! "MERLIN! I want you to call upon this person!" (Read every first letter of each paragraph)
| King Arthur gives the ok. Merlin begins the ritual of summoning someone from the future. All of a sudden a big flash appears. Out of the light comes an orange faced man. Immediately the man looks at the castle walls and says "I could build better, I bet you didn't even make the other side pay for it, Sad!"
This is the man merlin picked? The knights begin to howl. Why would merlin pick this 70 year old man to help. Not only that but he is insulting the finest castle in the land. Arthur orders his knights to silence and introduces himself. The orange face man smiles and goes to shake his hand. A Knight stands up and puts his sword to the man's throat "you must bow and kiss the hand of the king!" the orange man replies "we will not bow to anyone we will be treated with the respect we deserve" the knights look around in confusion. Arthur's most trusted Knight stands up "surely this man is crazy, he has no respect for this court." Arthur just motions for the Knight to sit. Outside the peasants are eagerly waiting to meet the newcomer. After hours go by the doors open and orange man is stand by Arthur's side. He steps up and begins to address the crowd in his newly sewn red hat, "it seems to me that you have a radical druid terrorism problem, believe me I have a plan. It's the best plan." Half three crowd cheers and the other half are filled with more worry than before. Days go by and the orange man has summoned nothing of use. First the hat, a flag of a different kingdom, a bottle of "diet coke," and yesterday he summoned these rectangular magic rocks. He even gave many to the opposing army. Merlin said they are used for communication. However all we have seen is insults. He even insulted the king. "Arthur refuses to recognize the problem, No More. We will win. Believe me"
The last few days go by. The kingdom is divided on if this man will be able to defeat the army. Finally the last day is here. The man has one more object he can summon. The kingdom waits in anticipation. The familiar box comes out and he pulls out another box. The box is red with yellow arches on it. The man opens it and proceeds to eat the contents.
Surely everyone is doomed. As the look for the approaching army... They see nothing. How could this be? The man did absolutely nothing. Merlin goes to his crystal ball and sees the army just staring at the rectangular tablets... It's over. The army was no longer interested in war. They were just staring as if they were under a spell. Merlin announces the news and the crowd... Does nothing. They also seem to be under the spell. King Arthur calls for his head! Him and his knights approach the Orange mans quarters and find it empty. They see a note. It's just filled with the same reteric as before. Merlin busts in the room and screams that the man stole his time travel charm. They knew he was gone. As they inspect the note they see its signed Donald J. ~~Tr~~Drumpf | 2016-11-28T06:29:21 | 2016-11-28T05:03:10 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Due to your careful planning, your family has successfully survived the nuclear apocalypse. There's just one thing you didn't prepare for. Ghosts. An entire planet of fucking ghosts. | If you should ever find yourself in a similar situation - that is, if you should ever find yourself living in a post-nuclear wasteland littered from sea to glowing sea with the ghosts of a quarter million lucky former inhabitants - take this as a handy guide to life.
1)**Be upfront with your children.** Beth and I made the mistake of telling Will and Samantha that everyone who hadn't made it into the bunker had simply gone to Heaven. Prior to leaving the bunker for good, we reminded them both that everyone was in Heaven and to not sweat any excessively high corpse piles we may come across. We were very keen on this - not because we're especially religious, but because... well... it just seemed easiest.
So once we were out of the bunker and surrounded on all sides by the chatty spirits of the dead - *none* of whom, it needs to be said, died peacefully in their sleep - the jig was up. It's one thing to be haunted by literally an entire country of people; it's another thing entirely to have your children side-eyeing you with growing distrust throughout the whole ordeal. Selling them on the nutritional value of canned green beans has certainly not gotten any easier.
2)**Don't negotiate with the dead.** The dead are a *desperately* pathetic lot, always sniffling and sniveling over some or other insignificant thing they failed to accomplish in life. As such, there's little the dead enjoy more than roping us poor living folk into various quests and tasks, designed (allegedly) to set their spirits at ease.
This is horseshit. The dead are dead. Nothing gets particularly better or worse once you're dead. Additionally, there's almost nothing of any tangible value that a dead person can offer you, besides perhaps buggering the fuck off. Unfortunately, most of our departed neighbors have realized this and swung around to straight up blackmail, threatening to "haunt" us into compliance. For ghosts, "haunt" is simply another word for "annoy". Do yourself a favor, and don't make it a habit to help the dead in any way. They are not especially appreciative (being dead) and there will always be another favor that follows. Stay out of it.
3)**Find all the sleeping pills first.** The dead cannot touch you. They cannot hurt you. They can, however, annoy and pester you, and they will do this most often at night, when you are trying to sleep. They will "Wooooooo" and they will moan and they will rattle chains (which signifies absolutely nothing, but is an unbelievable pain in the ass to hear at two in the morning), all in an effort to break your spirit and spare them their boredom.
Do not play their games. Ignore the dead during daylight hours by distracting yourself with manual labor. At night, pill up. Do not give them the satisfaction of your anger or fear. Sleep, snore, and dream. That is the perfect revenge.
4)**Possessions are rare, but deeply, deeply obnoxious.** Ghosts, for whatever reason, seem to prefer possessing children. Possibly because children are innocent, but also possibly because they are stupid and rarely wash their hands.
Instruct your children to avoid befriending ghosts at all costs, especially *child* ghosts. These are the worst. Child ghosts possess the innate horribleness of children mixed with the otherworldly shitheadedness of ghosts. They are truly the worst of all worlds. They *will* attempt to take over your child's body and your child will hardly try to stop them at all. I suggest letting the possession stay in place for at least a month, just to show your child a thing or two. Also, it helps to remind child ghosts about the taste of canned green beans. Eventually things will sort themselves out, but it will be unbearable until then.
The rest you will need to figure out for yourself. Less crucial details - such as finding clean water, testing air quality, and preventing radiation poisoning - are obvious enough and not worth mentioning here. The important bit is the ghosts. They are the worst. But never let them know how much you hate them. Be patient. Be kind. Be bland. But above all, *always* be willing to sacrifice a family member if things start turning south. It's a cruel world, after all. Eventually we'll all be ghosts. | A bucket of powder and some faded white clothing was all it took for us to infiltrate their society. Dad and I played the part, while Mum watched from the rooftop windows of the council building with her vacuum in hand. We’d been trying to make contact with the ghosts ever since everyone in the world died – besides us. But whenever we spotted them – and there were millions – they ran like we had been struck with the plague. Today, we would give them no option but cooperation.
I stopped in the middle of the crowd, making sure not to touch any of the nearby ghosts and alert them to my ‘humanness’. They seemed to be self-conscious of their personal bubbles, which worked out perfectly.
There were at ten thousand ghosts in the council room, all stark white and whispy looking, with the set of clothes they died in still on and the murder weapon stuck inside those who had been killed. The ghost in front of me was a young man with a cleaver stuck in his neck. He craned back to see me staring at him and smiled. “Ex-wife. . . well, not until I died that is.”
I nodded, and quickly looked back to the stage, lest he start asking questions and force me to come up with something unreasonable on the spot.
“And you?” he asked.
Dammit.
“Jumped from the twentieth floor, turns out I wasn’t an angel after all.”
He frowned and turned back to the stage. Turns out his sense of humor was about as bad as his demeanor. I gave a quick check to my right and left and then spotted Dad about eight or nine ghosts away, and Mum hiding near the window above him. I wouldn’t have noticed her unless I was looking for the edge of the vacuum pipe, which she stuck out where the window began.
“Ghosts and Ghostsmen,” a voice said from the front of the room.
We all snapped our attention to the stage where an elderly man with a long white coat, glasses, and a well groomed beard paced the stage. Upon second glance I felt like I recognised him from somewhere.
“Kernel Sanders,” someone muttered from behind.
Sheesh, I figured he’d be a ghost long before the apocalypse happened.
Kernel Sanders continued, “It’s been brought to my attention that there are three humans still roaming planet earth and that they haven’t assimilated and become one of us. How they survived the explosion, is beyond me. However, that is not important now, what is important is that they still exist in our world.”
The various ghosts around the room nodded and shot furious glances at their counterparts. I played the part, nodding at the ghosts next to me, who were a little more passive than the rest.
“What do you propose we do, Kernel?” a ghost asked from the back of the room.
The Kernel paused, with both hands on his walking stick –which was also ghost-like, somehow. “They’re a direct threat to the Kernel Freedom Cooperation and are using tactics that I’m not yet aware of. If they had eaten my chicken they should have transformed, just like we did.”
My heart thudded. So the Kernel was behind the apocalypse all along. I shot Dad a look, but his gaze was glued to the front of the room and a little bit of red was showing at the bottom of his neck. Red neck was a tell-tale sign that he was furious.
“Our only option is to eliminate them,” the Kernel said, “we cannot move into KFC stage two until they are gone. That was the whole point of the project, and the only way we get our freedom.”
A hand shot up.
The Kernel shook his head. “No questions as of yet, let us deal with this obstacle first.”
Dad was looking straight at me this time, his eyes filled with worry. He inclined his head toward the back of the room, as if to say: *let’s go*.
It was at that moment that a ghost in a police outfit floated onto the stage and whispered something to the Kernel. The old man scanned the crowd in panic. “The humans are here, they’re amongst us right now.”
I stepped back as my breath caught in my throat. A white veil surrounded me, which was actually my body half way inside the ghost of a large woman. She screamed. “There they are!” the Kernel yelled.
Every figure in the room turned to me. I couldn’t move, despite my muscles willing me to run through them and get the hell outta there. A window smashed and the eyes in the room turned toward the noise. It was enough to slam me back into reality.
My mum grinned. “You think you can take us out?” She flicked the switch of the vacuum on.
I punched the air. “Hell yeah, Mum!” They would be running for the hills when she was done.
The ghosts turned toward us, unphased by our outburst. Kernel Sanders frowned until his eyes became black specs amongst his body of white. “Get them!”
| 2016-11-29T19:01:56 | 2016-11-29T17:56:26 | 516 | 31 |
[WP] Your SO is immortal and you reincarnate with memories intact. However, you have never told this to your SO. They finally catch on. | Forgive up front if formatting is bad, am on mobile.
Sitting in the passenger seat was not always this awkward, was it? It felt like hours when only a few minutes had passed. She wasn't normally this quiet, the ride into Vegas was usually filled with nonsensical small talk, reminiscing on previous trips, and the occasional "How are we going to spend our millions" when we win. We were in Vegas every summer for our Anniversary since 1980, and before that it was Paris for a good century or so. What could the...shit.
This time around, we met and wed in Vegas in 1979. I was 19, was just finishing up my semester and instead of hitting the beach for spring break, I opted to blow off my steam on the strip. She was magnificent. A stunning sight to see, but even more than the list time I laid eyes on her. She had brown hair for the first time in a century, I always loved her hair brown. Maybe she caught on when on my death bed I told her how much I loved her as a brunette. Maybe it was just the flavor of the month, who knows. We wed the week of spring break, I dropped out of school, took a job with my father and we settled down together.
Last night while packing, I mentioned something, it just kind of came out. "I hope we stop at the Eifel Tower this year. Last time we were in Paris we missed out because of the weather." Her response wasn't anything out of the ordinary, simply "Absolutely babe, we should make that our first stop!"
We pulled off the highway at a deserted rest stop. She turned off the car, sighed, looked my way and without hesitation pulled out a gun and put it to my head.
"Who the hell are you and what do you know about Paris? How did you know that the last time I was in Paris that I didn't get to go to the Eifel Tower? How do you know how I got the scar on my back? I never told YOU that. I only ever told Mic... "
I stopped her right there. I've known you since before Washington was president. I was there with you when the wall came down. I was there with you when we hid in storm drains for stealing a loaf of bread. I've loved you your whole life, and every life I've lived. I will for eternity.
| I was 7, and I had developed a crush on my kindergarten teacher, Miss Minnie Tucker. She was 30 at the time, but the stigma of the age gap hadn't been nurtured into me yet and I had already begun fantasizing about her daily. I was soft in a romantic way, but got by with my charm.
She started occurring in my dreams that same year, first appearing in the peripheries of my dream eyes and quickly disappearing. Later, she would take on main roles, but randomly assigned ones it seemed. She would be a scientist, or a police officer, once she was even homeless. I was 11 when I began recalling things she would do or say in my dreams.
I dreamed once she was folding my laundry, on my parents' bed. Except it wasn't their bed, and the room was completely different. My 11 year old brain assumed the minor details. Miss Tucker was folding what I thought were my clothes when she stopped and began sobbing into a large shirt.
A soft, grown voice filled the room, "Honey, I'm dying. Yes. But you have to know by now, I'm already walking around somewhere out there. And I'm going to find you. I always do. I probably already have..." The voice pined to sound comforting, but came off weak, raspy.
She cried louder, almost in spite and rose up, yelling. My dream self couldn't hear the words, but felt all the empathy that comes with knowing she was right. My dream eyes shut and opened again to an entirely different setting. White walls and bright lamps lit up and cast shadows on screens and machines around my kindergarten teacher. She even had on a dress she wore all the time at school.
It was June when the memory of that one came to me in the middle of class. I thought it was weird that I still thought of her that way, manufacturing a life together in my head. Miss Tucker still taught in Room 402 with the kindergarten class. She was still kind and had a youthful charm about her, and treated me as well as she did all her students. I left for middle school, never telling her about these dreams or admitting anything about my odd undying crush.
I overheard some parents talking about her once during dismissal. It sounded like seedy gossip, the way they commented on the situation, especially the groom. She was having a wedding, Miss Tucker was marrying a man who was dying of something I didn't fully hear. Why would she do that? The parents talking had their ideas, and one of them called her a Goal Digger.
Sure enough, her wedding was the same day as my class's farewell ceremony that July. I haven't seen or heard of her since elementary school, but the dreams never stopped. Of course she never aged in my dreams, and to this day looks in dreams the same as in my kindergarten yearbook.
Somewhere deep down there's an urge to like her memory, and I still compare girls to her subconsciously. In fact, I wouldn't be entirely against running into Miss Tucker sometime. | 2017-02-20T22:51:42 | 2017-02-20T22:44:11 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | My family had already settled down long before noon. In fact, they had settled at 10:30, after a few minutes of playful shoving to get a good seat.
They were all good people. Very good people. Mom had ***NURSE*** in calligraphy print, Dad had ***PRIEST*** in bold. Uncle Paul had ***SCHOLAR***, his wife had ***CAREGIVER***, my sister has ***ACTIVIST.*** well, hers was a bit annoying at times.
I had been quite reserved my whole life, more on the artistic side. Fashioning rings, painting, sketching, the whole works. I fully expected to be ***ARTIST*** or ***VISIONARY***. Everyone did, in fact. Mom had gotten me a cake with "Congratulations, our favorite artist!" in neon blue frosting.
Noon ticked by.
Nothing appeared.
12:01.
12:01:15, my arm starts to burn. My whole right forearm feels like it's being held over a fire.
12:01:30, dark red letters are beginning, starting at the elbow. It's taking all my strength to not fall to the floor in pain.
12:01:45, ***H-I-T-M-A-N***
12:02. No one has moved.
12:05, everyone is saying their goodbyes.
12:10. Everyone is gone. It's only me sitting in the living room, staring at ***HITMAN*** in red lettering, extending from my elbow to my wrist. | The words flashed red, the letters engraving themselves into my skin. I read them again, still uncomprehending. What kind of purpose was *that?*
I tried to get up, to run away, to try make sense of things - but my father held me firmly down by the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Son, your mother and I are very proud of you," he said, beaming from ear to ear. My family and friends all gazed at me, everyone single one looking proud and exultant. What the hell was happening?
"I don't understand!" I shouted, meeting everyone's gaze. Nothing made sense anymore.
"Oh, honey, he doesn't get it," my mother said, looking at my dad with a flutter. He smiled back at her.
"Son, those two words don't mean what you think they do," he said to me, grinning.
I looked back at the words, staring at them, the red glow casting a dancing shadow all around us:
*END LIFE*
"They *don't?*" I asked, confused. "It doesn't mean I should kill myself?"
"Of course not," he replied, chuckling, wiping a tear from his eye. "It doesn't mean *your* life!"
Everyone laughed but me. "I still don't get it," I said, feeling completely lost.
He pointed upwards. "Up *there*, silly!"
I followed his gaze, and after a minute, it dawned on me. Suddenly, everything made sense.
"Oh, Christ, sorry dad," I said, embarrassed. "I get it now!"
He wagged his finger at me. "Remember, what do we say instead of 'Christ'?" he asked with a wink.
I looked up, smiling. The words flashed in the darkness, and I felt power course through my veins.
"*Anti-Christ*," I said, and the legions of hell cheered.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2017-03-15T21:33:32 | 2017-03-15T17:51:32 | 502 | 256 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | I sat on the couch, scraping up the last remnants of my birthday cake.
"It's almost time!" My mom shouted
I glanced at the clock: 11:59
My brother Jeremy launched a nuclear clock app and swiped it to the TV. Everyone crowded around and I held up my arm so they could see. At 11:59:50 they started counting down. "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!"
As the countdown finished I began to feel a slight burning sensation. I watched as the word began to fade in, as if pushed forward from beneath my skin.
"Run."
Everyone cheered, I had always been an athletic person, mom had even joked that my word would be "Olympian" on multiple occasions. As the cheers began to fall off, my arm began to burn again, more than before. I grimaced and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dead silent. I glanced up at my mom and saw the look of horror in her eyes. I looked down, bringing my still tender arm back up so I could read it.
"Run. Now."
Then the gunfire started. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T22:53:41 | 427 | 271 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew.
My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one isn't too far off.
As the clock struck 11:59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me.
The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited.
In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me.
*send^nudes*
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T22:14:11 | 427 | 193 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I sat on the couch, scraping up the last remnants of my birthday cake.
"It's almost time!" My mom shouted
I glanced at the clock: 11:59
My brother Jeremy launched a nuclear clock app and swiped it to the TV. Everyone crowded around and I held up my arm so they could see. At 11:59:50 they started counting down. "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!"
As the countdown finished I began to feel a slight burning sensation. I watched as the word began to fade in, as if pushed forward from beneath my skin.
"Run."
Everyone cheered, I had always been an athletic person, mom had even joked that my word would be "Olympian" on multiple occasions. As the cheers began to fall off, my arm began to burn again, more than before. I grimaced and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dead silent. I glanced up at my mom and saw the look of horror in her eyes. I looked down, bringing my still tender arm back up so I could read it.
"Run. Now."
Then the gunfire started. | "Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out. | 2017-03-15T22:53:41 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 271 | 39 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
| I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-16T04:22:00 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Conviction parties were tradition, so friends and family could come and see as your life was essentially laid out for you. Sometimes the word was a good one. Other times it was more dubious. But nothing was ever set in stone.
Every person's Conviction meant something to them. It meant something to the people they met and the things they would do. There were so many meanings you could give to your Conviction. Of course seeing your conviction at 18 shaped a lot of your life and the decisions you made and interpreted it.
Those born on the 29th of February, however, sometimes never saw a word appear on their skin. Of course they had to fit into the system somehow. Paperwork identified them by the number of years they'd been alive, but the Conviction line always left empty.
Leapers didn't have to follow a set path though. Scientists would be enrolled in college almost immediately after their Conviction parties. Athletes would be drafted into sports training programs. Leapers had freedom of choice, as well as the burden of it. Some places wouldn't even consider hiring without a Conviction, as they thought it meant you weren't dedicated to anything.
But it did allow they to follow whatever path they chose, even changing careers as they pleased.
And for those who made it long enough to see their 18th birthday roll around always celebrated together, telling old stories related to their new words.
But by far the most common words for Leapers to receive was
Freedom.
(edit: formatting) | As long as anyone can remember you're future was decided on the 12th hour of your 18th birthday. No one knew what caused it to happen or when it started but the word you got decided everything from social class to tax bracket for you. In my family it was a 3 day celebration of the crossing over from child to adult and it was taken very seriously. And today was my big day so for the past few days my uncles, aunts, and cousins had been flying in for the last week.
At 11:55 the family moved into the living room, I sat on a chair in the middle of the room while my family sat in a crescent moon infront of me so everyone could see. Unlike most families mine didn't fit a pattern, my oldest uncle got CHEF, my 2nd uncle got COLLECTOR (his passion was baseball cards and always seemed to find the good ones), and my Mother got NURSE while my father got CARPENTER. I was worried because I didn't feel like I had a passion for anything that would influence my path in life, I often felt lost.
The four minutes from 11:55 to 11:59 felt like hours as I sat there with my arm extended out for my family to see. Thoughts kept racing threw my mind, would i take after my parents, would i take after my uncles, would I start a new branch? Would I advance I advance to the high class lifestyle, would I fall to poverty, or would I stay the same? I never liked hard work that caused calluses and I liked Interpersonal work that stressed out your emotions even less. I simply had no idea what I even wanted to do or be in life.
As the clock struck 12 my arm started to feel like it was on fire. I looked down and and the word REAPER slowly burned into view letter by letter. When the final R came into the view it almost seemed like all the color of the world had been was away, everything besides the red cords threads connecting me to everyone in the room. Finally after the few moments the threads faded away and the color came back. All my family and I could do for the next few hours was silently stare at the word on my arm.
| 2017-03-16T05:01:30 | 2017-03-16T04:12:27 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Conviction parties were tradition, so friends and family could come and see as your life was essentially laid out for you. Sometimes the word was a good one. Other times it was more dubious. But nothing was ever set in stone.
Every person's Conviction meant something to them. It meant something to the people they met and the things they would do. There were so many meanings you could give to your Conviction. Of course seeing your conviction at 18 shaped a lot of your life and the decisions you made and interpreted it.
Those born on the 29th of February, however, sometimes never saw a word appear on their skin. Of course they had to fit into the system somehow. Paperwork identified them by the number of years they'd been alive, but the Conviction line always left empty.
Leapers didn't have to follow a set path though. Scientists would be enrolled in college almost immediately after their Conviction parties. Athletes would be drafted into sports training programs. Leapers had freedom of choice, as well as the burden of it. Some places wouldn't even consider hiring without a Conviction, as they thought it meant you weren't dedicated to anything.
But it did allow they to follow whatever path they chose, even changing careers as they pleased.
And for those who made it long enough to see their 18th birthday roll around always celebrated together, telling old stories related to their new words.
But by far the most common words for Leapers to receive was
Freedom.
(edit: formatting) | I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T05:01:30 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Urban environments present challenges for all life. Unlike squirrels and refuse bears, not all creatures here spend their time scavenging.
A male human. This adolescent has mastered the skills required for daily life, and now that the weather has turned favorable, he's set his sights on a more difficult task. Groomed to perfection...or at least looking better than other members of his social clan...the male has just one goal in mind -- to find a mate. Competition is fierce this time of year. Human mating rituals can be exceptionally complex, and many pairings are quickly abandoned in favor of more enticing prospects.
Daily socialization among members of this age group is practically mandatory, but a complex social structure combined with adult supervision leaves little time for personal endeavors.
The male must act quickly to succeed.
A bell sounds, cuing one of the most breathtaking spectacles in the entirety of urban life -- the passing period.
Several times each day, hundreds of adolescent humans simultaneously stop what they're doing and rush into common areas, visiting temporary nests to deposit and collect needed supplies before continuing with their daily activities. This provides a unique and frenzied opportunity for members of different social clans to interact, and thus, to search for a mate.
There's no time to waste. Quickly, the male must organize his nest in a way that a female may find attractive. He places each object with great care, adorning empty spaces with bits of paper and colored string. Everything must be perfect, and time is at a premium.
There. With his nest and appearance up to spec, he turns his gaze towards the sea of potential mates -- and potential enemies.
Across the hall two members of another clan are standing off over the same dilemma -- they are competing for the same mate. The males exchange witty vocalizations in order to disparage each other, but to no avail. This dispute will undoubtedly end in bloodshed.
At the last second, an adult notices the conflict and casually sends each male on his way. Their mating difficulties will have to wait.
Meanwhile, our male has been watching the stream of prospects. Jessica...not ideal. Sarah...possibly. Becky...
The male quickly averts his eyes until Becky has passed, along with most of the other males. Life can be cruel. Everyone knows about Becky's abortion, and until she can do something to improve her social standings, she will be shunned by the group.
Finally -- Amanda. Our male has been watching this female for some time and has spent countless hours practicing to mate with her. Perhaps today? Yes! Today will be the day to mate with Amanda.
The male approaches using a practiced but awkward strut. In his bravest tone, the male asks,
"H...hey Amanda. What's up? I was wondering if you would maybe want to g..."
The male jumps, startled, as the bell sounds again signalling the end of the passing period. Amanda, having not heard anything the male said, shuts her nest and scurries down the hallway towards biology. He has failed. Perhaps he wasn't fast enough today. The male resigns himself to further practice on his own, and will have to try to mate with Amanda again tomorrow. | And here we see the first of several stages of mating rituals in the humans.
The first is often the most unsuccesful in creating long term relations, yet mostly serves as practice for future, more significant rituals. Perhaps ironically, this first mating ritual is more complicated than any of the others, often occurring at the age of 16.
Ah. Here we see a lone male approach a female. It is often the male that begins the ritual, despite both parties equally capable of feeling emotion, and this one knows his trade. He stands up straight, walking with a confident swagger a slight smile playing across his lips. It is a delicate balance, the beginning of this ritual, and the most crucial - for if the initial approach fails, the ritual stops before it can even be started.
Nevertheless, this quite adept male approaches the female in his buttoned down shirt and well groomed hair, putting him miles ahead of the rest of his unshaved, ungroomed pack. He has been watching the female for a while now, has even conversed with her, and knows when she is normally without her pack, for normally females of this age travel together in order to further intimidate males, such that only the most confident may dare approach, naturally making mates of a higher quality.
The approach is something to marvel at, truly. Light on his feet, but no so light as to be malicious he walks up behind her taps the female on the shoulder. She whirls around, her mouth an O of surprise. The male apologizes, insisting he didn’t mean to startle her, and the female smiles, understanding. The two talk for a bit of casual, superficial things. This is the most important part of the dance, the feigning disinterest. They both know there is only one reason the male would seek out the female in such a fashion, yet they do not bring it up. They talk of sports, of class, of other males and females. In fact, the male says goodbye and turns to leave. Now the female frowns, confused, but at the last moment the male asks the question. Done in such a way as it were an afterthought, that he had not initiated the whole conversation with that in mind.
The female smiles and, nonchalantly, says why not, as if she were merely not opposed to the idea when in reality she is delighted.
Both walk away, jubilant, blissfully unaware of the other’s desire.
***
However, this is an ideal ritual, where the approach, the evasion, the time, the look are all executed with almost utmost perfection.
But most such rituals are doomed to failure due to mishaps, often on the male side. Recall, that it is the male who propositions, and thus he has more room for mistakes.
Let’s take another male. Already we see the differences from the first. His hands are rubbing together in nervousness, his skin is oily, his air unkempt. And perhaps worst of all he has worn an attire known as Cargo Shorts. Utter abominations sure to repel not only females, but male compatriots.
He approaches the female in the height of her power, surrounded by her pack members. He walks, lumbering as he does, so the entire pack stares at him for 30 seconds are so until he finally reaches them.
His face red he does not banter or feign disinterest, no, he just asks the question. The female smiles and opens her mouth to answer, but before she can her pack howls in laughter. The female freezes, and after a moment’s hesitation,forces herself to chuckle. The pack’s wishes must be respected.
The male, dejected, sulks away.
| 2017-04-04T07:07:46 | 2017-04-04T06:32:12 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] You are a freelance god. The customer demands you to create a world in six days only. | It was only the second day, and already the fifth time Amel had seen his client. The god was bent over a sapling that looked nearly like a baobab tree, except its narrow little trunk was a deep purple that would mature into bright fuchsia.
"Is that, um, the final color scheme you chose?"
Amel rocked back on his heels and sighed, wiping his filthy hands off on his apron. "You wanted purple birds."
"Yes," his client said, uncertainly. She went by the name Sariel and claimed the mortals on her home planet worshiped her as the rosy kiss of dawn, the cool cloak of twilight. She was one of those trust fund gods, the kind whose parents are so obscenely powerful and successful she can spend her whole existence wading in the comfortable shadow of their myth. Or at least she was the kind of god contented with buying a pre-made universe. Suffice to say, she was no Athena. Amel was happy for the money but baffled by the appeal of his work. "I did not say purple trees."
"And what color would you prefer?"
Sariel gathered herself up, the faint edge of her aura turning red with rage. Amel rolled his eyes, wondering why she bothered showing it off if she wasn't good at maintaining her emotions. "*Not purple*, obviously."
Amel scoffed, laughing despite himself. "If I give you purple birds and absolutely-not-purple trees, your birds will be fucking *dead*, ma'am."
"Excuse you!"
The young god rose to his feet, throwing the rejected sapling to the ground. He smeared the sweat angrily from his forehead. "First you give me this unreasonable six-day time limit for an entire planet--"
"For which you were *generously* paid," Sariel snapped.
"--for the most under-considered, under-developed project I have *ever* encountered--"
"Then you don't have to take it! You can consider yourself fired right now. Would you like that?"
The heat of frustration and humiliation pricked hot along the back of his neck. Amel could feel his teeth sharpening, his hold over his unthreatening, bipedal form waning. He forced himself to breathe deep, to not say everything he was thinking. To not slip out of his skin. (He dreaded the negative feedback: *architect had a nervous breakdown because I don't understand basic biological camouflage, and then he yelled at me, turned into a giant flying snake, and ran home, probably to his mum*.)
"Well, yes, obviously." Her smirk wavered. This was not the response she was expecting. "I'd be frankly delighted. I beg you for a reason to quit this nonsense." Amel stripped off his apron and threw his shovel to the ground, surveying the hundreds of tiny baobabs he had already planted.
"Fine. I'll find someone who can make what I actually *want.*"
Amel turned on her, his eyes flashing and terrible. "I *can* make anything. I *choose* not to make disaster projects for idiot clients who think ecology is all aesthetics. I *choose* not to create a new magnificent species for some spoiled idiot child of a god to drive into extinction with her inanity and absolute bird-shit grasp of natural law." He dug around in the coin pouch at his hip to give her two-thirds of her money back and threw it in the two-day-old dust at their feet. "Your damn birds will be replaced by whatever other animal I make who happens to match the trees better."
Sariel's lips were quivering in fury. Her skin had gone ashen grey, like a furious mountain, steaming ash, ready to burst. She started, "Then don't make any other animals."
"You fired me," Amel reminded her. He divested his apron and put back on his winged sandals, appraising the sky. It was a windless day, and he had not even really gotten around to sculpting the clouds. It should be an easy exit from the atmosphere. "I'm not making you *shit.*"
Then Amel went wheeling into the air, his immortal client spewing curses and screams that fell away into nothing as Amel climbed up and up and up, into a perfect, newborn blue.
***
/r/shoringupfragments | Close your eyes and imagine heaven. Your heaven. Not the ideal biblical castle in the sky that you were told about as a kid. Not the world where all of your friends and family gather to love you for eternity. Cover your eyes and really think, what is the perfect world? Think, what kind of place could I go and truly never wish to leave? Not vacation perfection that gets old after a week.
That’s never what they ask for.
People just assume that being God equates to effortless creation of perfection. They just figure, with their little mortal bodies and grand unoriginal ideas, that a simple snap of God-fingers is all it takes to build out their large-scale science experiments. It’s not like I put an advertisement in the paper saying: Freelance dream-crafter. Come escape from this shitty world. Come tell me your life, your problems. Come beg to be saved from the perdition that is your mortal life. Be risen. Lifted to the status of demi-God and gifted your own little alien ant farm. Instructions not included.
Not the kind of thing you buy your little perfect grandson for Christmas. Not the kind of thing you can get with money.
He said to me, I need it done in six days.
Six days to create a world. To build skies and oceans, to craft perfection. His perfect little heaven on Earth to watch over for all of eternity. His own pretty little people to toy with and walk amongst, to smite and praise. Not the kind of thing you can do in six days.
He said to me, I killed them all. Your price was sixteen souls and I gave you twenty-eight. He said, I went above and beyond and I’ve only got six days. Seven really, but he said he needed the padding, just in case. He said, you’re a God, this shouldn’t be that hard for you. Just snap your God-fingers and erect my Heaven. A paragon of beauty and balance. Not a world that’s powered by hate and violence. Not an ecosystem that thrives on destruction.
I took my twenty-eight souls and snapped my God-fingers but the sky just isn’t blue enough. The sea, it’s not that bath-water crystal clear he demanded and the creatures, they can’t all exist harmoniously.
Even twenty-eight souls isn’t enough.
I told him, there’s no such thing as perfect. Not the perfect that stops rape and murder. Not the perfect where even the broccoli and carrots can exist unpicked and happy. Even the happiest carrot will rot in the ground. But he tapped his wrist, like there was a watch there, and I could almost hear the non-existent click of fingernail to watch face glass, and said five more days.
A contract is a contract and I can’t break mine. There are terms to my powers.
So I told him that something needs to budge. Something will get eaten, stepped on, killed. Something will be the lowest of the low and something else will triumph over all. That’s just how this works. I asked him, what is it that you really want here? Is it women? Men? I’m not a judging God. Is it animals? I asked him, can you just tell me what you really want? Not what you want the world to think you want. Everyone wants world peace when they're being watched and listened. Everyone wants to solve world hunger. Not what you want when people can hear what you’re saying. What you want the way you search Google on incognito mode.
He said, I’m dying in four days. Better hurry up.
I only have one day left and the sky is just the right colour blue. The sea is so clear and just the right depth that there isn’t a place in the world too deep or murky to witness the perfect ivory sand where the multi-coloured shells of tiny tranquil crustaceans lay scattered. The fish, they swim forever, never growing or eating or breeding or dying. Nothing changes. Like the Smithsonian version of earth but alive. Everything is as it should be and nothing will ever be different. Nothing will ever evolve. Nothing is really alive. Not alive like you are. Not alive like things that have lives. Just breathing and moving.
He tells me, on the last day, that he doesn’t need any people.
There are unicorns and giant butterflies. There are waterfalls and rainbows. But there aren’t any people.
On the last day, he says, I just need one person. He says, I gave you her soul. To make her happy, I gave you the souls of her friends. That’s all that I need on my world, he says. He’s dying and he just wants a perfect world for his daughter. Not the kind of world that rapes and murders. Not the kind of world with bullies and overpriced school lunches.
Standing with the newly lifted demi-God of this perfect museum world, I say, I ate the souls.
| 2017-08-01T05:42:06 | 2017-08-01T05:14:44 | 112 | 49 |
[WP] You always thought your Facebook friend egregiously misused the word "literally". Turns out his life is just really weird. | *this is my first time writing, so please be gentle, also typing on phone*
---
I checked Facebook for the third time today, Lachlan had posted another status:
> Just got back from the comedy show, literally dying 😂. Never met a funnier man!
Me and Lachlan knew each other from high school, we never really caught up but he was always really nice. After graduation everyone quickly spread out, with Facebook the only thing seemingly keeping anyone is touch.
A loud shrill noise snapped me out of my reverie, I quickly got up and took the kettle off the stove and turned off the gas. As I made myself a cup of tea I looked out the window, there were rain drops on the glass and a deep grey fog hung over the city. In the distance I could hear a few sirens.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, I pottered around the house, enjoying my precious weekly free time.
I ended up staying up late, caught binging Netflix and eating too much chocolate.
I woke up quite late, as I lay on the couch were I had fallen asleep I checked Facebook again, amidst the ads and funny vids there was another post from Lachlan. I debated unfollowing him as I read it:
> Waiting in line at the bank, had 3 people push in front of me! Literally about to leave this planet, so done.
I let out a small giggle, the absurd idea of just upping and leaving the planet over something so petty was an entertaining thought. I never really travelled as a kid, and work prevented any as an adult, so anywhere past Sydney seemed might as well have been another planet.
As I resumed scrolling I got an alert, the sound almost shocking, it was rare I got any interactions on Facebook. I checked it and saw that Lachlan had just posted again, tagging me this time. We hadn't talked in almost 2 years, which even furthered my puzzlement.
I clicked the link.
The page seemed to take an agonisingly long time to load, my curiosity enhancing my already intense dissatisfaction with Australian internet.
The page loaded, revealing Lachlan's sparse profile. My eyes grazed over the friends section, 1 friend, I did a double take. "There's no way he only has one friend!" I muttered aloud in surprise, my eyes travelled down to the post:
> Get packing @Jack
I sat there, staring at that post for longer than I would care to admit before I started wondering about what he was saying in all his other posts, him literally dying, him literally wanting to leave the planet... They all felt like such common sayings, the word "literally" seemingly ubiquitous online, hyperbole so common. But it felt so odd that Lachlan would ever use such language, he always seemed to use such exact and measured grammar in his messages and notes.
I quickly started to doubt myself, but before I could think further I was suddenly distracted by the kettle going off again, I got up to take it off the boil.
I looked out the window, the same grey drizzle adorned the skyline, the streets slick with the second day of rain.
I was startled by a sudden noise, a car screeched around the corner, suddenly coming to an abrupt stop just outside.
A car door opened then quickly slammed.
There was a loud knock, then another, and another, 3 more followed before I could even make it out of the kitchen.
I quickly opened the door, Lachlan was standing there.
"Packed yet?" he said, irritatingly calm.
"uh, not yet" I stammered, unsure why I was going along with it, my brain screaming at me to ask what the hell was happening.
"Where were we going again?"
"Didn't you see my statuses?" he replied, a bit more urgent now.
"Well, I skimmed them"
"Good, grab your bag then, because we are literally running out of time!"
---
I was hesitant to post this, as it's almost 1am and I barely proofread it, hopefully you enjoyed it <3
Edit:Woah! Thank you everyove for the kind words, I'll look at making a part 2 :) | "No, I'm serious. She *literally* just jumped out of the bushes, yanked down her pants, jumped on a bench and --"
I held up a hand in front of him. "*Whoa*, hand on. Imma cut you off right there. There's children around this time of day, you know?"
She looked around confused. The coffee shop was deserted but for the two of us and the regular guy working the counter. "Where?"
I thought fast, and nodded over at the counter guy, disinterestedly wiping the counter while he hummed "*Gimme Gimme Gimme*" to himself. "Over there. He looks like he has tender ears, yeah?"
She glanced over at him. "I suppose, yeah," she said, as Greg twirled and hit a high note. Inwardly, I sighed. Everyone thinks they're a star.
"Anyway," she continued, "I pushed her away, and hollered for the cops." She looked defensive as I raised an eyebrow. "Look, that *literally* happened. Here," she said, fumbling her phone from her bag, "I figured you might not believe me, so I got a picture of her." She held up her phone, and sure enough, I could see a figure running down the park path. Hmm.
"OK, so what do you want to do about it?" I asked.
"I already talked to the police," she said, and I nodded. So would I, first chance I got. What that woman had done was *way* out of line. "But that literally isn't even the craziest thing that happened to me this week."
"Oh? What else has been going on?"
"A couple of days ago, Mom finally told me that my parents' friend Stephen - the guy I've been calling Uncle Steve my whole life - is literally my uncle. He literally is! And that's not the worst of it!" Her throat caught as she bit back a sob. "He's also my father! And my dad's *OK* with it! Literally OK!" Her face twisted as she looked away for a second. "*And*...and-and-and he and Uncle Steve have been having an *affair!*" She wailed, as tars started rolling down her cheeks. "And that's not all!"
"Oh, please go *on*," I gestured.
"John comes home two days ago with the kids, only Tim isn't Tim - it's some *other* kid, literally! - but he says it's Tim! And Tim says he's Tim, and the neighbors say he's Tim, and the *school* says he's Tim and the whole *world* says he's Tim but *he isn't Tim!* He *looks* a bit like Tim, but he's *not* my *son!*", she wailed, beating her fist against her thigh. "Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, but I'm not!" She held up her phone again, and showed me a picture or herself and her kids from last year. "Is that Tim, or isn't it?" she demanded.
I looked to the photo, and then back to her. "Um...yes, actually. That *is* Tim," I said, as gently as I could.
"No! It! Isn't!" she screamed, hurling her phone at the poor guy manning the counter. I winced as it bounced off the side of his head, rocking him for a second. That was going to come out of the budget. Then forgot about him as I turned my attention back to her, rocking slowly in her chair, repeating through her tears, "And to top it off, I *swear* I had fucking *aliens* in my bedroom last night, standing around my bed talking about me!" She buried her head in her arms. "I'm *not* crazy. I'm *not* crazy. I'm **not** crazy..."
"Hey," I said, leaning forward and resting my hand on her shoulder, "Hey. It'll be OK. Give me a sec, OK? I have to use the washroom." I rose, and quickly went to the washroom at the back of the shop. Once there, I pulled out my phone and made a quick call.
Poor ratings or not, this story arc had to end. I argued hard for just leaving things the way they were or canceling it altogether in the first place - reality TV really was in the dumpster end of entertainment anyway - and giving the poor woman the truth, but who listens to the producer anymore?
Sighing, I stopped mid-dial, and let the phone drop to my side. Fuck it. I was *literally* too tired to deal with this any longer.
I sat on the toilet lid, and waited for the show security to find me.
| 2017-11-26T07:32:03 | 2017-11-26T07:22:10 | 418 | 89 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | The doctor's eyes looked grave behind his glasses' thick lenses, concerned. But there was something else there as well. Confusion? Fear?
"I just want you to know that it's nothing to be alarmed about, but there's uh, something strange with your son's mortality date projection," he said.
"It's probably nothing, just a computer glitch. Same thing with *all* the newborns from the past week or so. But until we get it sorted out I just wanted to let you know there's nothing to worry about."
The boy's mother had no patience for lies. In a calm, restrained voice that was somehow also menacing, she said slowly through clenched teeth,
"What is wrong with my son?"
"Well that's the thing, nothing. Nothing at all is wrong with him," said the doctor.
"It's just that his death date doesn't make any sense. None of them do. And until we figure out..."
"Legally you have to tell me *when*." she interrupted. She was starting to lose it. What were they keeping from her?
"Well that's what I was saying, it doesn't make any sense..." the doctor continued.
"WHEN!?" she cut him off again, louder this time.
"According to the computer? Twenty-five seven forty-three, April 9th, at 6:05 pm."
As she repeated the numbers to herself her anger was slowly replaced with confusion.
"Twenty-five seven forty-three. What's that mean?"
"That's the year," said the doctor bluntly.
"The year? I don't understand. What does that mean?" she said.
"It means, according to the mortality date projection computer, which *supposedly can never be wrong*..." he said the last part loudly over his shoulder to someone unseen.
"...your son, and the others, will live for some twenty-two thousand, four hundred and thirty years."
_________
She would not forget the events of that day. It was the last time she'd seen her baby boy. | The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post. | 2017-12-25T19:34:40 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 99 | 13 |
[WP] By chance, you end up on the jury for a crime you committed but someone else was arrested for. | “Do you have any connection to the defendant?” The public defender asked me that morning and I shook my head. “What is your view on drugs?”
“I don’t use them, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I responded. The galley chuckled, but it was not as though I could imagine saying anything else.
“Okay, we’ll keep Juror 7.”
At the time, I was annoyed that I was going to be on the jury. I had been hoping I would get to go home that day and never have to come back for jury duty. Having to sit for this case was probably going to take forever because it sounded like it was something related to a drug overdose after the leading questions from the public defender and the district attorney. Only when the jury was shown a photo of the deceased did I realize I was highly mistaken. I may not have known the defendant, but I knew the deceased quite well. I had met him on his last day. I had been sent to kill him, and I had been successful.
---
“As you can see based on the timeline, Mrs. Smith could not have possibly killed her husband. She was nowhere near the home during the time he was killed,” the public defender said. He was sweating considerably during his closing remarks, something that was not looking good for the jury that had already decided long ago that she had probably killed her husband by messing with his heart medications.
The closing remarks from the assistant district attorney were much more pointed. “Someone has to pay for the death of Mr. John Smith. His wife obviously was quite angry with him after she had discovered he was a philanderer. The neighbors had heard them arguing and had even seen her point a kitchen knife towards him. She knew about his heart condition, and she had her own heart medications that could kill him in the right doses. She swapped some of her medications for his, and then she just waited for his death. She did not even have to be at home at the time of his death.”
The jury was nodding as the ADA was speaking, something I was keenly aware of within the mess of this case. It had taken only a half day for us to get to this point, and I was glad that I would only miss one day of work with this silly case. I was just glad no one had possibly assumed that someone unknown to the deceased would have possibly killed him. It sure made sitting on the jury easier knowing that there was no way that the pressure could be placed on me. It just felt awful realizing that I was sentencing this woman to life in prison for a crime she did not commit. | The following scenario pops up in my mind upon reading your question:
Say, for example, the character (X) is a sociable person with a respectable career and healthy life. X has no love life, and his parents have passed. Others in his family have abandoned him. Why so, you may ask? It's because X has gambled away most of the family savings and is considered to be a degenerate. Therefore, he has no one he can hurt with his actions. He feels invincible. No one can stop him from gambling now.
During an evening session with his buddies, one of them manages to cross him. X is not pleased. He is drunk, and his rage builds. He wants to murder said buddy (Y).
Once the evening descends into night, while everyone sleeps peacefully, X, still drunk, staggers over to Y's house and stabs him with a knife of his own. No witnesses. X takes care to leave no evidence.
Investigations go as they do, and none of the evidence the police have gathered point to him. He is relieved, but upon being interviewed for a statement, he lies meticulously, thus clearing himself.
However, X is facing an inner battle, between guilt and satisfaction. He was never a man to take such an action. His parents had instilled in him values of purity, but no man is perfect. He cannot remember why he started gambling in the first place. Money troubles? An escape from a dead-end job? Whatever it was, he has flipped over to the other side. He is not religious and does not think he can find salvation.
An old gambling mate (Z) of X has been arrested for Y's murder. He feels remorseful, but also wants to escape because he is a coward. No coward would kill anyone because they pulled a long-lasting joke on him. But, in a strange turn of events, X has been asked to be a jury member for the trial.
On the day when X's morals are bound to be tested, he sees Z, his wrinkly face in tears. Z knows it was X, but there was no way he could prove it. Z looks at X but does not misbehave. Z glares and glares. X is not comfortable but does not do anything to arouse suspicion either. He remains seated.
What does he do? Does he vote against his imprisonment? Does he vote for it? He knows that most in the jury will vote for it. He could have some moral respite by voting against, but how much? Z will still go to prison for his crime. The guilt is eating him up. There is still emotion left in him.
Before the jury's verdicts are revealed before the court, X stands up and announces, much to everyone's shock, "It was I, your honour, who murdered Mr. Y in cold blood," and proceeds to narrate the entire incident.
A huge burden is lifted off his chest. X cries, and so does Z. A probe is ordered that finds X guilty. He is sentenced to life.
X may never be forgiven, but he finds peace in knowing that he prevented an innocent man from prison by paying for what he did. In his heart, that is a win and a source of solace and consolation. | 2018-02-24T05:11:40 | 2018-02-24T04:51:14 | 113 | 23 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes. | "Hi Jeff!"
I smiled and wave back at the security guard. Jim, if I recall correctly.
I saunteered into the large room, paying narry a glance at those armed with assault riffles and sidearms as they saluted me. Well, this was going according to plan.
"Well, fellas, do me a solid and open this girl for me, won't ya?"
And with that, the giant doors open in front of my eyes. I took a piece of paper I had prepared earlier, and threw it into the vault.
It was a few hours later when I turned on the television to the headlines "MAN WALKS INTO FORT KNOX".
Author Note: I got an idea for the same ability, except as a counter terrorist spy op. | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/idontworkherelady] [These are great! Not real stories but come on, if anything deserve a crossover on here its this.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IDontWorkHereLady/comments/96ttt1/these_are_great_not_real_stories_but_come_on_if/)
- [/r/u_grimlawd] [\[WP\] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_GrimLawd/comments/96ul9h/wp_no_matter_where_you_are_what_youre_dressed/)
- [/r/u_jodicki] [USAA](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_jodicki/comments/96u3zy/usaa/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2018-08-12T18:25:43 | 2018-08-12T17:05:21 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | To spite the devil even further, Dr. Jamos Wikheusen spent a very small fraction of his now limitless life spreading this "cure" to all humans, thereby eliminating all causes of natural death, and severely decreasing the number of newcomers arriving to hell.
Life on Earth, for a short while at least, became utopia. People reveled in a world where time no longer restrained a person's life. But after learning all that could be learned, tasting all that could be tasted, and seeing all of the world's beauty, man's thirst for newness, his desire for stimulation, led him down a path of self destruction. Perversion, suffering, pain, and sadism were all sought not as a way to find meaning in a now meaningless life, but as a way to simply feel alive.
Having lost the concept of morality, mankind brought hell itself to the world of the living. And those who wanted peace and quiet, an escape from hell on earth, would resort to ending their own lives. But with religion banished long ago, and with it, it's quaint ideas on gods and afterlife, humanity had long forgotten that damning eternal consequence of suicide.
In this way, the devil didn't win the soul of Dr. Jamos Wikheusen, but did win the souls of billions more. | (This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.)
At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive.
I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil.
I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it.
"You broke the deal," he said shortly.
I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around.
"I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money."
"I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter.
"Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me."
The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!"
"Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone.
"But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid."
"Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!"
The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil. | 2018-08-23T11:51:20 | 2018-08-23T10:40:20 | 67 | 28 |
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are. | When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.
There were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.
Fifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!
The grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.
And yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.
For a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.
Today was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.
I opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.
A lifetime supply of Oreos.
I guess this is my last one.
| The windswept waste calls out to me at night, weeping and howling like a hungry beast. The barren fields and empty streets eat the strongest of men down to the bone.
Little is as it once was. The gray sky, hurling its gastric acid over the countryside, twisting the trees and vegetation into nightmarish swamps. The slouching street lamps sprouting from cracked flowerbeds of tarmac. The ruined cities of a world flushed down the drain.
They say that time heals all wounds, but those prophets of the old knew little of the carcass we now call Earth. They knew nothing of the roaring trucks of the meat farmers and the shrieks of their shackled slaves. They knew nothing of the rabid men hiding in cellars, ready to spring out and tear into your flesh, happy to infect anyone with their disease. They knew nothing of the struggles and the temptation of death. They had no idea what it's like to salivate into a dry mouth at the mere thought the parcel in the back of my satchel.
With a deep breath, I rush out of my hiding spot. Crossing the street, covering my face from the corrosive rain, praying that the eyes of the city are gazing elsewhere. Zigzagging through a graveyard of rusting cars, jumping across the yawning fissures in the ground.
A sudden creak of metal sends a shiver down my back and my heart into overdrive. From under the skeleton of an old school bus, a chromium arm reaches out. Unharmed by the rain, it whips to and fro, trying to grasp anything, catching the shoulder band of my satchel.
"Wasn't it enough that you set this world on fire, huh?" I hiss at it through gritted teeth as we engage in a brief tug of war.
In the back of my mind, I know it's a lost cause. The satchel is as good as gone. My few possessions, lost.
Groaning, I let go of the band and reach into the satchel one last time as it skids across the ground, pulling out the parcel before everything disappears into the darkness below the bus.
With an aching shoulder and sweat dripping down my face, the shadow of the building on the other side of the street finally swallows me up. Covering my mouth, I force the coughing fit back down my throat again.
The bleak dawn climbs up over the horizon. My time is running out. Swallowing my breath, I tiptoe through the filth, my eyes searching through the corners.
There she is, curled up into a ball next to an old garbage container. Her dark hair covers her face, and for a moment I'm worried that she's dead. That she's finally given up. But then she sighs in her sleep and rolls over. The dark locks fall to the side, revealing her hollow cheeks, streaked by tears and lined by misery.
I tried to approach her once, but the world has dug its claws into her frail body and mind. She's scared of everything, and rightfully so. She was so young when the bombs fell. Far too young to live in this world.
Slowly, I pull out the parcel, and the intoxicating smell of chocolate fills the air. Even in her sleep, she reaches for it, takes it out of my hands. Our fingers almost touch... almost.
She hugs it to her small chest, just like a child would their favorite stuffed animal.
For a moment, I watch her sleep. The lines in her face smoothen themselves out. Her expression is peaceful, and that gives me peace. Knowing that her stomach will be full another day is what keeps me going.
I used to tell myself that it was my duty to deliver them to her -- she did win the golden ticket -- but over the years I've come to realize that I do it as much for me as I do it for her.
Seeing her thin lips curve into a tiny smile reminds me that there's still beauty left in this world. Her smile is the only thing that keeps me sane.
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel | 2019-01-04T10:08:48 | 2019-01-04T09:54:24 | 7,531 | 220 |
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are. | The windswept waste calls out to me at night, weeping and howling like a hungry beast. The barren fields and empty streets eat the strongest of men down to the bone.
Little is as it once was. The gray sky, hurling its gastric acid over the countryside, twisting the trees and vegetation into nightmarish swamps. The slouching street lamps sprouting from cracked flowerbeds of tarmac. The ruined cities of a world flushed down the drain.
They say that time heals all wounds, but those prophets of the old knew little of the carcass we now call Earth. They knew nothing of the roaring trucks of the meat farmers and the shrieks of their shackled slaves. They knew nothing of the rabid men hiding in cellars, ready to spring out and tear into your flesh, happy to infect anyone with their disease. They knew nothing of the struggles and the temptation of death. They had no idea what it's like to salivate into a dry mouth at the mere thought the parcel in the back of my satchel.
With a deep breath, I rush out of my hiding spot. Crossing the street, covering my face from the corrosive rain, praying that the eyes of the city are gazing elsewhere. Zigzagging through a graveyard of rusting cars, jumping across the yawning fissures in the ground.
A sudden creak of metal sends a shiver down my back and my heart into overdrive. From under the skeleton of an old school bus, a chromium arm reaches out. Unharmed by the rain, it whips to and fro, trying to grasp anything, catching the shoulder band of my satchel.
"Wasn't it enough that you set this world on fire, huh?" I hiss at it through gritted teeth as we engage in a brief tug of war.
In the back of my mind, I know it's a lost cause. The satchel is as good as gone. My few possessions, lost.
Groaning, I let go of the band and reach into the satchel one last time as it skids across the ground, pulling out the parcel before everything disappears into the darkness below the bus.
With an aching shoulder and sweat dripping down my face, the shadow of the building on the other side of the street finally swallows me up. Covering my mouth, I force the coughing fit back down my throat again.
The bleak dawn climbs up over the horizon. My time is running out. Swallowing my breath, I tiptoe through the filth, my eyes searching through the corners.
There she is, curled up into a ball next to an old garbage container. Her dark hair covers her face, and for a moment I'm worried that she's dead. That she's finally given up. But then she sighs in her sleep and rolls over. The dark locks fall to the side, revealing her hollow cheeks, streaked by tears and lined by misery.
I tried to approach her once, but the world has dug its claws into her frail body and mind. She's scared of everything, and rightfully so. She was so young when the bombs fell. Far too young to live in this world.
Slowly, I pull out the parcel, and the intoxicating smell of chocolate fills the air. Even in her sleep, she reaches for it, takes it out of my hands. Our fingers almost touch... almost.
She hugs it to her small chest, just like a child would their favorite stuffed animal.
For a moment, I watch her sleep. The lines in her face smoothen themselves out. Her expression is peaceful, and that gives me peace. Knowing that her stomach will be full another day is what keeps me going.
I used to tell myself that it was my duty to deliver them to her -- she did win the golden ticket -- but over the years I've come to realize that I do it as much for me as I do it for her.
Seeing her thin lips curve into a tiny smile reminds me that there's still beauty left in this world. Her smile is the only thing that keeps me sane.
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel | The hours pass slowly and are full of pain. My body grows weary with toil under the distant sun and amidst the red dust. But there is no rest for the slaves of the Corn King. We work the barren fields under the crack of the whip and the threat of worse–trying to force life out of something that long ago has died. My life was not always as terrible as it is now now. For I am old. I even remember the times before.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
Prior to serving the Corn King, I was a king myself. I held a small fiefdom to the north. It was nothing compared to the vast fertile tracts of the King, but it was free and happy. My people and I lived there fairly for many years. We farmed when we could and hunted when we could not. Some small part of our land had not been affected by the dark blight. But there was another reason I was king, another reason we were able to live as we did, a secret power that allowed me and my people to thrive in the wastelands.
&nbsp;
The young, those who do not remember the times before, called it manna, like in the old stories: food from the heavens, a miracle. The truth is more mundane but just as mysterious. As a child, before the blight, I ate many cookies, candies, and other sweet things. These were more common and easy to come by then than they are now. One day I bought a package of sweet cookie sandwiches called Oreos. I knew little then of the significance that day would hold and the importance of it to my future survival. For when I opened that package, I saw a slip of paper inside; I had won a lifetime supply of Oreos.
&nbsp;
After the darkness and the fall of the cities, the deliveries continued. No matter where I was, once a month, on the day of the new moon, a rider dressed all in black would find me. The rider would give me a box filled to the brim with packages of Oreos. At times they were Double Stuf. Sometimes Cakesters or Heads or Tails. One dark and evil day the entire box was Birthday Cake flavor. Those cookies and that rider allowed me to survive for years. They allowed me to found and feed a small town. I called it Fort Oreo.
&nbsp;
We lived on that manna and what little we could farm. We lived in peace with other peoples, trading and bartering. That is, until the Corn King came. They say he never has enough. He seeks new fields to farm and people to enslave. He was accompanied by many men and with fire, smoke, and the screams of children. I burned the last of our reserves; he may kill us all but he would never learn my secret. I then fled to the south. I was found by one of his scouts and played dumb. I was brought to one of their camps to work as a field slave. My former subjects were either killed or brought to other places. I saw no one whom I recognized.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
It is now on the mysterious delivery that I pin my hopes. The moon has been waning. The rider will come tonight.
&nbsp;
Night falls and I manage to escape escape from the bunkers. If I am found, they will–I do not like to think on it. I wait, the time passes, I begin to lose hope, but then–lo! The rider comes. I see a shadow in the distance, by the light of the stars, growing closer. The rider approaches me and holds out a box. For the first time in many years, I speak to him.
&nbsp;
I beg this strange hooded rider to deliver me from this place, just as he delivered so many boxes of Nabisco ® Oreo Cookies in the past. He looks at me from under his hood. His eyes gleam and he seems deep in thought.
Eventually he says, "you may accompany me and escape this present evil. But know that, if you do, many trials lie ahead. You will indeed change ere you return to the world of men. Whether it be for the better or the worse, I cannot say."
I tell the rider that I will come. Although I am old, I still have vigor in my limbs and my mind is strong. The Oreos provided me with strength and a strange vitality all my life.
&nbsp;
The figure then pulls back his hood and reveals a face. It is more wonderful and terrible than can be described in words. I turn my eyes and look elsewhere for many minutes before I can bear to look directly at him.
The figure speaks to me, "come, for there is much work to do."
| 2019-01-04T09:54:24 | 2019-01-04T09:32:32 | 220 | 80 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | God doesn't sound benevolent, nor does he come across as wise and all-knowing, his voice a deep baritone that soothes and comforts you. He just sounds detached, almost bored.
"Wait so, we're all ranked?"
"Yes," God says, stifling a yawn. "All seven billion and counting. Every few years I pick a few and catapult them to Godhood."
"So I'm not dead then?" I say, fighting to keep the rising panic from my voice. A second ago I was on my way to Walmart to pick up some cheap plastic furniture, then oncoming headlights flooded my vision and I heard the sound of screeching rubber and now I stand naked on a white plane that spreads in all directions, a disembodied voice speaking to me from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"You're definitely dead," God says. "You're as dead as they come. See?"
An image flashes in the empty space before me. My crumpled compact SUV's modern safety features were clearly not enough to withstand the oncoming freight-truck. What's left of me is splattered across the pavement, a paramedic covering their nose as they drape a tarp over the pieces of flesh and bone. A heavy-set man in a denim jacket sits on the curb, his head buried in his hands.
"Holy shit...," I whisper, the sheer absurd novelty of this moment making me feel almost high.
"So anyway, you're all ranked, and it turns out you've hit the number one spot," God says, materializing a few feet in front of me, naked but for a magnificent white beard that coils around him, it's tip touching the empty white floor.
"What? Me?," I say, pointing at my chest. "I'm first out of billions of us? That doesn't make any sense." My words come out in a garbled rush. "I'm kind to my dog and I hate my shitty job and I'm a single man living in suburbia, surrounded by happy American families."
God frowns, if you can even call it that. With a flourish of his wrists he produces an aged scroll with a long list of names, the words 'Global Human Prestige Ranking' scrawled in gold lettering across the top. "There you are," God says, pointing at the name at the top of the list.
It's my turn to frown, mostly in disbelief. Thomas Siddlesmith, 31, American. Four million two-hundred and forty-three prestige points. I'm a clear million above the next placed name, which appears to be Angela Merkel. "I don't understand," I say, looking down the list. "I'm basically anonymous."
God laughs and another image appears in which another me is talking to another - the same? - God.
"The last time you were here," God says, indicating at my other self standing there, hands on hips. "You told me that you wanted to be worshiped by all the Ants on the planet - for each of them to be born knowing of your benevolence, their tiny little brains expanded just enough to view you as a God King."
"What?" I say.
"Yeah. I don't know what came over you but it was genius," God says, a twinkle in his eyes. "Turns out there are a quadrillion of them." | God tapped the sign again. *No Existential Questions.* “How many times?”
“Apologies, I just-”
“I get it, I really do. But can you imagine if I gave you an answer? You’d freak. Trust me. I tried it once, and the world had to deal with David Blaine. I won’t make that mistake again. Now, would you fill out the form already? There’s a queue forming, you know.” God took another sip from a mug with the words *You Don’t Have to be a Deity to Work Here, But it Helps* emblazoned on its side and continued to type.
Daniel looked down at the form and squinted at the ludicrously small print. *Why the fuck is this print so small?* He thought. “We’re saving on paper,” said God. *Of course. He wrote my mind; it follows that he can probably read it too.* “Very good, Daniel. Now - the form.”
*Number of rebirths: 17. Points available: 34.* *Please choose carefully. Points are irredeemable. By signing, you consent to a MemoryWipe™ immediately after your appointment.*
This was all fairly standard stuff. Daniel was surprised to learn that this was his seventeenth time, but it could’ve been his 117th time and he’d be none the wiser. *MemoryWipe™* was mercilessly thorough.
“Don’t forget to turn over.” God had began to eat a biscuit, and small crumbs shot out of his mouth as he spoke and embedded themselves into the poster-covered walls of the small office. Daniel flipped the sheet, and found that a grid covered most of the page. At the top of the page, typed in black ink, a title: *PREVIOUS POINTS ALLOCATION.*
This was intriguing to Daniel. His past 16 incarnations had sat in this chair already. Each with nothing more than wiped memories, wiped hearts and blank minds. And yet, all of them *were him.* He wanted luck. Lots of luck. That’s what his advisor had urged, and that’s what he wanted most. It stood to reason that each of his previous selves had wanted exactly the same thing. His eyes scanned the table, finally fixing on *Luck - 0 points.* 0 points? *ZERO POINTS*? God had looked up from his computer, though he said nothing.
Daniel’s eyes continued to scan.
*LOVE - 0 points.*
*COMPASSION - 0 points.*
*HOPE - 0 points.*
His cheeks began to redden and his temples flared. Where *were* his points. His stare was frantic now, surging up and down the lines of the table like an electrical current on a wire grid. *MERCY - 0. GRATITUDE - 0. FISHING - 0.*
Then, in the bottom-right corner, he saw them.
*AIM - 77 Points.*
*STRENGTH - 89 Points.*
*SPEED - 79 Points.*
For the first time in his newest life, he felt his heart beat hard and fast. God placed his mug carefully on its coaster and clasped his hands together. Daniel’s attention remained fixed on the sheet of paper.
*BRUTALITY - 97 Points.*
*CYNICISM - 103 Points.*
*BLOODTHIRST - 109 Points.*
At last, Daniel looked up. God was looking back. Daniel didn’t need to ask, for God already knew his question. His heart felt like it was trying to work its way up his throat and out of his body. Then, God spoke. “The best assassins don’t need luck, Daniel.”
Daniel stared blankly at his maker. His maker stared back, and then held out a closed fist, unfurling it slowly in front of him.
“Biscuit?”
\*\*\*\*
**I have a subreddit - it's** r/StoriesAreFunRight **for those interested!** | 2019-01-24T07:34:56 | 2019-01-24T07:34:12 | 272 | 119 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all! | "You don't find it strange how no one knows how the humans got here? They show up on what were once uninhabitable worlds, and then offer themselves out as cheap labor?" Corl said while we landed our transport.
"No, not really. If anything I wonder why no one will hire them. From what I can see they are amazingly fast workers. I mean just look, the main buildings already done!" I countered.
"Ok, fine they build fast, but that doesn't look like your plans to me. The buildings are so short and the windows are just slits, and look at those doors. Why do you need a set of heavy steel doors?"
"Well, maybe that's just the architecture of their home. I like a little diversity. And look at the scans of the planet. They built most of the resort under ground! That will save on heating, and it will allow for more open air activities. "
We continued the rest of the way in silence. When we got to the gate into the resort, a gaurd scared us in and opens a set of gates. It's funny I don't remember asking for armed security.
"Mr. Basj, we have finished the primary structure, and have begun clearing secondary positions and will begin importing the heavy machinery soon" the young Forman replied
"Heavy machinery? For what exactly?" I asked confused.
"Sir you can't have a proper holdout without proper defences"
Holdout? What was he talking about. I quietly excused myself and went to my office. Once there I pulled out the contract and immediately relised what I had done.
1 request for 500 humans to help build and maintain my last resort.
They hadn't taken last resort to mean the last vacation getaway in my new chain of vacation spots. I'd hired human mercenaries to build me a fortified planet. Oh the stock holders won't be happy with me now.
| "I just don't understand why you're so broken up about this."
Zildjian paused from his pacing around our office and looked at me incredulously, his face twisted into a scowl.
"Oh, you don't understand, do you?" He spat. "The problem is that you hired humans!"
"So? They're incredibly cheap and our budget is tight. Honestly, I'm surprised more people don't hire those apes."
"Do you want to know why no one hires them?" Zildjian pointed at me. "It's because they mess everything up. They just gum up the works. It's like it's in their nature to be insufferable."
"Well, Earth Inc. has a no-refund policy. I can't-"
"Bloody hell! We should've just gotten some of those blue workers from planet Beta-2. Or an AI program."
"That would cost a fortune. We've only got a thousand or so credits left, remember? We spent the rest on the actual resort?"
Zildjian shook his head and sat down.
"Okay, we can give them a try." He reluctantly accepted. I grinned. "So when do they arrive?""Oh, they arrived today."
His eyes widened. He looked up at me, alarmed.
"You're kidding." He stood up. "Oh no. Where are they? We've got to check on them."
Zildjian walked briskly out of the door. I followed and led him to the construction site, where the humans were. He seemed repulsed by the sight of them.
''Sir!" One came down and shook my hand. I was taken aback. "We've been making good progress on the site."
I smiled at him and looked at Zildjian. We had nothing to worry about. In the distance, I saw some humans chatting, and the human talking to me seemed to notice.
"Sorry about that sir, our election's tomorrow and many people are still discussing it."
"Elections?" Zildjian asked.
"Yes. We're deciding whether the Pool group should secede from the union, and whether the Courtyard group should be allowed to form a coalition with the Roof and the Nature groups."
I frowned. Zildjian gave me a look.
"Also, we've been meaning to ask you - could we get better vacation days?" He beamed up at me, flashing his teeth.
I shot a confused look at Zildjian, who sighed deeply.
"Now do you see why they're so cheap?"
\---
[https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/) | 2019-01-26T09:15:03 | 2019-01-26T08:26:55 | 335 | 139 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all! | "What's the problem this time? I'm *trying* to relax here."
"Well, ma'am, four hundred of the humans are complaining that they didn't get paid. They're refusing to work."
"What? I handed them the payment on time, *plus* advance payment! What's the matter with them? Can't they count? I thought a minimal arithmetic skills were a hiring prerequisite!"
"It seems that the one human you gave the money to failed to distribute the money to the rest of them."
"......*why?* How could humans be that stupid?"
"Well, you see, they don't have a hivemind..."
"Yes, we figured that out on the first day when four hundred and ninety nine of them failed to do any work."
"No, well, it's worse than that. It appears a large portion of them don't even have any form of long-term strategic planning. The one that you gave the money to simply... left. With all of it."
"But... that's... what...? How the hell did they manage to develop spaceflight *before* developing the concept of fairness, cooperation, and trust? What kind of... how... that's impossible!"
"Some theories suggest that humans merely killed and took over another species' technology on their homeworld, but that's something for historians to investigate. In the meantime, ma'am, I would suggest giving each of the remaining humans their pay individually, and then firing them all. The GBLE will track down the wayward human in the meantime. Might I recommend hiring zorlans instead? Their tentacles are known to be especially supple, and they can multitask far better than any human."
"Cheap labour my fucking cloaca. Humans make me and my colony do *more* work at the resort than I normally do outside it. They wouldn't be worth it if they were free. Hire the damn zorlans." | "I just don't understand why you're so broken up about this."
Zildjian paused from his pacing around our office and looked at me incredulously, his face twisted into a scowl.
"Oh, you don't understand, do you?" He spat. "The problem is that you hired humans!"
"So? They're incredibly cheap and our budget is tight. Honestly, I'm surprised more people don't hire those apes."
"Do you want to know why no one hires them?" Zildjian pointed at me. "It's because they mess everything up. They just gum up the works. It's like it's in their nature to be insufferable."
"Well, Earth Inc. has a no-refund policy. I can't-"
"Bloody hell! We should've just gotten some of those blue workers from planet Beta-2. Or an AI program."
"That would cost a fortune. We've only got a thousand or so credits left, remember? We spent the rest on the actual resort?"
Zildjian shook his head and sat down.
"Okay, we can give them a try." He reluctantly accepted. I grinned. "So when do they arrive?""Oh, they arrived today."
His eyes widened. He looked up at me, alarmed.
"You're kidding." He stood up. "Oh no. Where are they? We've got to check on them."
Zildjian walked briskly out of the door. I followed and led him to the construction site, where the humans were. He seemed repulsed by the sight of them.
''Sir!" One came down and shook my hand. I was taken aback. "We've been making good progress on the site."
I smiled at him and looked at Zildjian. We had nothing to worry about. In the distance, I saw some humans chatting, and the human talking to me seemed to notice.
"Sorry about that sir, our election's tomorrow and many people are still discussing it."
"Elections?" Zildjian asked.
"Yes. We're deciding whether the Pool group should secede from the union, and whether the Courtyard group should be allowed to form a coalition with the Roof and the Nature groups."
I frowned. Zildjian gave me a look.
"Also, we've been meaning to ask you - could we get better vacation days?" He beamed up at me, flashing his teeth.
I shot a confused look at Zildjian, who sighed deeply.
"Now do you see why they're so cheap?"
\---
[https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/) | 2019-01-26T09:18:05 | 2019-01-26T08:26:55 | 215 | 139 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| "God, I hope the listen."
The captain pulled out his journal and started writing. No one understood why he still used pen and paper but at this point no one cared.
"48 hours ago we landed in what we thought was a desolate planet. We were wrong, so very wrong. Minutes after setting out base camp the locals surrounded us. With no way to run or fight back we decided to surrender... In the end I believe it was for the best. What is happening to us right now reminds me very much of a TV Show I used to watch in my teenage years. Almost everything is the same except we don't d--"
"Captain!" Jackson yelled after coming out from one of the caves "it's your turn for Snu-Snu!"
| Red flashing lights and the sound of the allarm sirens echoes in the suffocating corridors of the Habitat Alpha-03. In the shadows an intestineless body blocks my path.
"You are going to make it, you can do this, I know you can"
Splatted blood trickling on the floor.
I gently move the corpse, that falls loudly at my feet.
"Damn John, I told you that you shouldn't have taken that *thing* inside the habitat."
Nasty, screeching noises form afar.
The communication center was closer every step. The allarm stopped suddenly, and the flickering lights of the tunnels went on once again.
A neon sign **Communication Center**
"I did it!"
The happiness quickly turned into fear.
Steps.
Not mine.
Not human.
A cabinet became the only barrier between me and the corridor.
The computer was still working.
"Wonderful"
My hands surf on the keyboard. Something is banging his head (I think) against the metallic door.
> We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.
Another door was present in the room, of course. I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I wasn't sure of that. From there, the shuttle bay was barely two hundred meters away.
"You can do this, that door is going to last enough"
I take a step in the silent hallway, hoping to make it to the hangar. | 2019-01-31T10:04:12 | 2019-01-31T05:21:38 | 116 | 53 |
[WP] You find the "lizard people rule the world" conspiracy to be absolutely inane. After all, you're one of them and you ain't running shit. | *Take over the world, they said.*
*It will be a great deployment, they said.*
*Free rations and the easy life, they said.*
*THEY don’t know shit.*
I put the mop in the bucket again and glance down the hangar. Only five hundred feet to go.
When our High Council proposed invading Earth and undermining it from within – a truly Reptilian plan – I was completely on board and the first to volunteer. Unfortunately, where our planning was impeccable, our execution was catastrophic. Vraak was chosen at random to be our leader and the idiot has never been high on the IQ charts. When we landed, he chose the nearest habitable settlement to begin our infiltration.
The guy didn’t even do some basic research.
Before we know it, we’re stuck somewhere cold, which chills our blood and just makes us lethargic and moody all the time. Totally NOT motivating for taking over the world activities. We also chose a random corner of the world rather than somewhere central and powerful.
But the biggest flaw is definitely the fact that to take over the world from the inside, you need to first get INSIDE…
Unfortunately, we’re a bit of a backward species and don’t play well with others. We never learned teamwork and cooperation, so domineering and control is built into our DNA.
So, we shut ourselves off and decided to build a “take over the world” machine. Brilliant…
It’s an ok existence, I guess. The food is crap and the hours are lousy, and every once in a while we have to do a purge to prevent overcrowding, but it could be worse. Every few years our Leader has to shed one human body and take on another which an underling keeps warm for him. I could be THAT guy, whose time is up as soon as the Leader needs a new body.
Instead, I mop. Some days, like this one, I just give up and go for a stroll.
I walked out of the cold bunker to the crack of another cold dawn. The Dear Leader’s statue stared down at me. I spit on it as I passed.
Of all the nations we try to take over the world from, that genius chooses North Korea. | “I swear, Zucc is one of ‘em! I mean, just look at him?! And he has massive control over one of the biggest social media’s to date. All that data at their slimy fingertips. It’s too much!”
Fool. They know nothing. Perfect.
“What have you found?” Mizer calls from behind me.
“I’ve infiltrated their forums and discussion boards, Miz. They’re clueless. They think we like, take control of powerful humans, and use their bodies like second skins.”
“Really? Wow, science fiction on the brain, or what?!”
Mizer chuckled and took a swig of his coffee.
If only they really knew how we live our lives. Portraying ordinary people, poor to middle class, pets and safari animals, shedding our skins every hundred years.
You can’t control those monsters. The ancient ones tried, and they were slaughtered for it.
We have learned. Adapted. We refuse to be exposed and to be hunted. Never again.
So, we hide in plain sight, developing skins of our own imagination. We get by and live in peace.
Though, the talk now worries me. The highest up one of our people have appeared in recent years was Pallitive. And, sure, influence he may have from being adorned by his millions of YouTube fans, he has no real power. No government access or true hold in the matters of conquering the world.
“Well,” Miz stood and pecked me on the cheek with his female form, “I hope it stays that way. I’d hate to see our people drop down in numbers because of some internet trolls and conspiracy theorists.”
“Are you off to work at 5, babe?” I ask as he heads out the door.
“No, I need to work a little late tonight. My boss has been hounding me to finish the project I’ve been working on. He wants me to start the new account, so I definitely need to push through.”
I wave, tell him I love him as he locks the door behind him.
The baby monitor echos the morning cries of my daughter.
I’m coming little Ettie.
A ding sounds from my phone as I’m picking her up out of her crib.
“I KNOW” text. Anonymous.
Shit.
Why can’t we live and love as we please. I can’t handle protecting my kind from anymore pesky humans. Threatening, exposing, murdering.
Ding.
From Darretil:
“Ollaw! I need help! I think my neighbour has been snooping around. There’s signs of a break-in! Call me ASAP!”
Alright, little Ettie. Looks like you get to come to work with Daddy today!
Make sure not to topple the united governments in the process, you ferocious little baby beast, you!
Now where did I put the diaper bag? | 2019-02-06T08:22:29 | 2019-02-06T07:32:11 | 285 | 77 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | "Finally, it is complete. Now, nothing can ruin my plans!" I threw back my bead and laughed as I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it on the table.
"Our plans, you mean," Elizabeth said. I had kidnapped her last month, but we had hit it off. She came back and we had started dating in secret. She sighed. "Do you really need to do an evil laugh every time something goes right?" she asked. "It's a bit clichè."
"Sorry," I said, cringing. "Force of habit. It's taken 3 months for us to finally get a date without that idiot crashing through the roof-"
I was interrupted by a loud crash and a cloud of dust billowing down from the roof. "It's over, Mechanic!" Psy shouted. "Your evil plans will not succeed!" He turned to Elizabeth. "I have come to rescue this woman!"
I sighed. "Very well then." I stood up. "So, you have finally arrived, Psy!" I called out. "It's too late, though. I have already planted a bomb in City Hall! See?" I pulled a remote out if my pocket and pressed a button. A wall moved, revealing a screen showing a clock, ticking down from 7 minutes. I tilted my head. "That's just enough time for you to fly there, with only 2 minutes to diffuse it. So, what will you do?"
Psy growled at me. "You are a monster, and once I defeat you-"
"6 and a half minutes, Psy. The clock is ticking." I smiled. "You should be getting somewhere, shouldn't you?"
Psy flew out of the hole in the roof with a shout. Elizabeth looked at me. "Did you really plant a bomb in City Hall?"
I smiled. "Of a sort. The bomb is filled with a sealing foam, one that even Psy can't break out of. It's set to go off if it's tampered with in any way." I checked my watch. "That should give us about... 45 minutes, an hour, to finish our dinner." I smiled. "I love a good contingency plan. I poured us glasses of wine and lifted it. "To love, us, and evil." | 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:55:50 | 129 | 34 |
[WP] In the center of the village is a giant red button, with the sign "Press in Case of Emergency". Generations have passed, with each generation of elders assuring the village "This isn't a TRUE emergency." Battered, broken and alone, you crawl towards the button, desperation blazing in your eyes. | After a century of withstanding famine, violent coups, riots, and even natural disasters not once did the elders allow for anyone to push the large red button in the middle of the village square.
It's large button tempting anyone to press it as the sign on top said *Press in Case of Emergency.*
The elders though, were adamant that all the disasters we faced were not deadly enough for us to push the button.
And I trusted them believing that their wisdom would allow us to survive anything without the help of the button.
But then a mysterious plague came down on all of us wiping out 90 percent of the village's population.
Even the elders perished.
I wandered down the streets with a small child who I encountered foraging around in the forest.
I didn't even think of the button until I began to feel quite warm. A fever.
I thought the fever would go away in my denial but then I began to feel extremely weak.
I knew the minute I couldn't stand up that death would soon follow.
But if I died then who would take care of this infant that can barely mumble words.
So I grabbed the kid and made my way towards the button.
As I got near it, my body gave out and I was forced to craw towards it fueled with desperation and determination to get the help for this kid.
I managed to get near it and I used my arms to hold myself up and push the red button.
A large booming voice came down from the sky.
*Simulation Completed. Please standby and await for further instructions.*
I looked up and saw that the sky had began to turn black and that was the last thing I saw before passing out. | 800 years of withstanding all kinds of natural disasters, close calls with planetary destruction, plagues that wiped out half of the population, none of those compared to the monster we face.
This thing, this *beast*, is no deity. This is no God. It is a demon.
I run to the ancient monastery, and I demanded audience with the Elders Trion. The apprentice was apprehensive, but I could understand the qualms if there wasn't a *giant fucking squid monster* outside of our protective barrier.
The Trion consists of Elder Veritas, the guardian of truth; Elder Tempus, guardian of Time; and Elder Vita, guardian of Life. These titles were passed down through generations, and all of them said the exact same thing.
"No, it is not our time."
Even these guys.
I kneel down before them and begged "Please, elders, reconsider! This beast is an ancient being, one that I have no doubt we have faced before."
"If we have faced it before," began Elder Tempus, "then we shall be protected by our barrier again."
"But that's the problem, Elder Tempus." I retrieved a scroll from my knapsack and presented it to the Trion. "Our barrier didn't protect us last time."
"Regardless, we shall not activate *it.*"
"Then you are all fools!"
I leave the monastery and retreat to my quarters, the Secret Magistrate, at the centre of the village. Here, there is a large, red button. As things are now, if we do not use this, we would all be doomed.
\----------------------------------------------------
It's over. We're gonna die.
The village is in ashes, the Trion are dead, a population of 20,000 people reduced to 450 in mere seconds. The roars of the beast are loud, its tentacles reach for the Magistrate, but it is protected by Old Magic, it cannot be harmed in any way.
I am in my quarters, with the button, and god knows what it could do. I've heard stories of a killer worse than the beast we face now, unleashed and chained by my very village.
Battered, beaten, broken, I have no choice. I must press the button.
*Hail to the king.*
EDIT: changed "anyway" to "any way" because grammar. | 2019-08-19T22:36:16 | 2019-08-19T19:58:56 | 49 | 32 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | The other races of the Milky Way cared very little about the blip of a race. You see the galactic population was less unified than one might think. Many races didn't perceive time, speech or thought in the same way. But the one thing they did all understand was matter. Every being was made out of physical matter so that is how they spoke to one another. Beings would present physical embodiments of ideas or even pieces of a rudimentary written 'language' that incorporated a series of moving hieroglyphs.
Some species did gain thought and language and these beings warned the community that there may be something dangerous about the humans but the general community only accepted these physical languages so they looked at the small sampling of 'sign language' in the early days and then 'emojis and television' in the later days. There was ruckus about 30 central microgalactic elliptics (CME) back when a confusing blip occurred on the planet. It was so quick and incomprehensible everyone assumed it was the equivalent of an ant colony accidentally creating sparks when it tipped over a rock. The Lidrarians and Falcariots, the two dominant races that were bipedal humanoids and solid based, most closely resembled the human concept of language, thought and culture. They began to fear the humans but could do nothing about it. The human planet was located deep in Aurbor territory. The Aurbor were relatively peaceful but defensive gas based life forms. 5 CME (roughly 100 earth years) later when the humans mastered nuclear fusion and fission races such as the Aurbors found the sudden aggression from the warfaring Lidrarians and the wealthy Falcariots strange but thought little of it.
5 CME later the humans were all but forgotten about as a massive war broke out in the Milky Way Galaxy. During this time humanity learned many things. They conquered their solar system and mined all of its asteroids and planets for materials. They were getting closer to discovering faster than light travel and had made preliminary discoveries of possible other life from errant scans of Falcariot and Lidrarian ships. The humans began to study other life and 10 CME after the start of the war they understood what was happening and humanity united under a common rule. They knew that liquid, plasma and solid creatures existed and warred against each other but they did not yet understand gaseous beings such as the Aurbors. They just thought air was toxic to these beings and their arm of the Milky Way must have been especially noxious. 15 CME after the war had started a scientist studying the Northern Lights for particle research cracked the code. The Aurora Borealis wasn't a phenomenon, it was their rulers. The equivalent of night security guards watching the tiny race. When humans discovered this they did not let on and instead moved all their research facilities away.
20 CME after it started the galactic war was over, the Lidrarians and Falcariots had been driven into a neighboring galaxy. As everyone was letting their guard down humans mastered FTL and attacked the gaseous Aurbors. The gaseous race initially found the races attempts at usurpation laughable, they choked out their ships and found cracks in their ventilation systems. The kinetic weapons were useless and their laser technology might as well have been arrows against a tank. Then came the first nuclear warheads and the anomalous blip was suddenly understood with horror. But the humans did not stop there. They had developed ways to split electrons and neutrons and protons, the fundamental pieces of the atoms. Splitting a neutron would suck the fundamental life out of the Aurbors and soon they were extinct. Splitting a proton would turn the liquid races into solid, soulless statues. Splitting an electron would turn the dangerous plasma based life into supercharged bombs that would explode themselves, transferring the electron sickness from being to being like a chemical weapon. You see each race had learned to fight and speak through physicality. The way they fought and communicated was like the difference between a marker, a pencil or a pen on paper. But humanity was different... they tore the words they wrote into the paper itself. Cutting their message into the fabric of reality with every destructive, irradiated waste they left.
10 CME later they had conquered most of the Milky Way and set their sites on the neighboring galaxy ruled by the now allied Falcariots and Lidrarians. The two races studied the humans in their conquest and constructed safeguards. They could counter the splitting of any piece of the atom. They had created paper humanity couldn't cut... so humanity burnt their words into the paper. They went smaller and learned the impossible, they could split a quark. It was theoretical at best and they didn't know if it was practically possible. Actual tests were too dangerous so the first and only test was done when it was used on the Falcariots and Lidrarians. The destruction would make the humans a universally dominant power for eternity. You see, the splitting of a quark created an unstoppable tear in reality. The total destruction would fundamentally destroy existence and expand forever, like a fire that never stops spreading. But the laws of the universe meant that galaxies forever expanded out away from one another. The milky way always stayed a few light years ahead of the destruction but the Andromeda galaxy would forever be gone. Eventually when the universe's expansion cooled and slowed the wave of destruction would catch up to everyone. The humans had created a defined end to the universe. At the first intergalactic summit the humans burnt a message in hieroglyphics in the sky. The races that understood words translated it as follows.
"We are become granters of life, destroyer of universes." | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T05:08:25 | 431 | 52 |
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