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[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
| "don't get me wrong, you won't be a hero foretold in legends or a scientist that found the cure for cancer, but you will shape humanity with mundane clumsiness"
"mundane clumsiness?! That's not much of a super power is it?"
"well you did kind of broke that middle eastern lamp you found at a yard sale and were forced to buy it and it contained me. Soo yeah..."
"oke fair enough, but still how do i oops my way to saving humanity?"
" in 8 months you, a server at Starbucks will knock over a tray of coffee on a young man. That young man is an aspiring oil executive. He's on his way to a job interview at a small oil company. It's not much but it sends him in a path to become the world largest oil influence and he will lobby for fossil fuel. This will destroy every last chance for the world to recover. Because of you he didn't get the job. Because of your mundane clumsiness ethan, he will fail. "
" but what about the 7592, is there anything i can do to prevent that? "
" thats the one percent ethan, i suggest you don't" | 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T03:47:40 | 374 | 186 |
[WP]: Where you are from, people tend to be named for things that describe their distinctive qualities. Gentle Smile, Sharp Wit and Kind Soul are not uncommon names. And then there’s your neighbour, Angry Bastard. | When the population hit 12 billion, names were becoming very boring. Everyone was a Joshua or an Emily, so somebody thought of a brilliant idea: why not name everyone after their most distinctive feature? My sister is called Gentle Smile, my brother is called Maroon Hair, and then there’s me: Tiny Richard.
The doctors thought I was a girl on the ultrasound, so my parents received a lot of girl clothes for my baby shower. For years, I had to wear girl’s clothes (I have a lot of cousins). It was embarrassing, but it wasn’t as bad as my third cousins’ name: Extra Chromosome.
Finally, as a 40 year old adult, I was living by myself. I had a pretty good house, being a single man and pretty thrifty. I decided to walk out to my porch, which was still under construction, when my neighbor walked out too.
“YOU’RE DAMN WORKERS ARE TREADING ON MY GRASS!!” yelled Angry Bastard.
“What are you talking about?” I replied.
“THE PORCH YOUR BUILDING! THE WORKERS BUILDING IT KEEP STEPPING ON MY GRASS!”
“Oh sorry! I’ll get them to stay off!”
“YOU BETTER DAMN GET THEM TO STAY OFF!” Angry Bastard was turning bright red.
“Yeah, I said I would! Jesus, why are you so angry all the time?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘WHY AM I SO ANGRY ALL THE TIME’!?”
“Like your face,” I pointed at Angry Bastard’s face. “it’s turning bright red. And you’re yelling at me for no reason.”
“OH SORRY THAT’S A SPEACH IMPEDIMENT THING! PLUS I HAVE TOURETTE’S! AND MY FACE GOES RED RANDOMLY! I HAVE A LOT OF GENETIC ISSUES, MAINLY SINCE I’M THE BASTARD CHILD OF INCEST! ‘ANGRY BASTARD’ WAS A CRUEL JOKE, BUT MY PARENTS WERE ABUSIVE SO IT SORTS ITSELF OUT!”
“Jesus dude, I’m sorry”
“YEAH FUCK YOU!” Angry Bastard, went into his house and slammed the door.
About an hour later, the workers showed up to continue work on the porch. I told them to stay off of Angry Bastard’s grass. They agreed, so I was surprised when I heard shouting outside about an hour later.
“I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU GUYS TO GET OFF MY PROPERTY!”
Angry Bastard pulled out a gun, and shot one of my workers. I screamed while he fell to the ground. I thank my lucky stars everyday that he only shot Bulletproof Ass. | You watched from your living room window at the boy who had just rode his bike across your neighbor's lawn. Had the kid been from the area he would have known better, but his family just moved into town.
"YOU STOP RIGHT THERE BOY!" The kid jumped slightly in his seat and turned his head to see a red faced balding man pointing a finger at him.
"COME BACK HERE" your neighbor, Angry Bastard, yelled again. The boy, who couldn't be older than 13, came to a stop. He hesitated for a moment to look back down the road, but it came to a dead end. He wasn't getting away. Slowly, he pedaled back to the yard. Your neighbor was waiting with his arms crossed.
"LOOK AT MY YARD AND TELL ME HOW MUCH GRASS YOU SEE BOY!" The lawn was mostly bare, save for a few clumps of crab grass. It truly was a pitiful sight. You couldn't hear the boy's response.
"AND WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS?" Came your neighbor's voice again. "SPEAK UP BOY! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" The boy mumbled another answer towards the ground, and you could see him begin to tremble a little bit. "WELL I CAN SEE WHY THEY DON'T CALL YOU 'SUPERIOR INTELLECT'! THE REASON MY LAWN IS SO BARE IS BECAUSE DUMB ASS KIDS LIKE YOU KEEP RIDING THEIR DAMN BIKES ALL OVER MY GRASS!" You were pretty sure this boy hadn't rode over a single blade of grass passing through the yard, and you were also pretty sure Angry Bastard knew that. Not that it made any difference to him. By now, another neighbor was making her way towards Angry Bastard, her chin held high in the air. "You CANNOT talk to my boy that way!" she proclaimed. Even though the woman had come to aid her child, the boy now looked even more miserable. He put his head in his hands.
"OH LET ME GUESS, IS YOUR NAME ALCOHOLIC MOTHER? IS THAT WHY YOUR KID IS SO GOD DAMN DUMB?" Your jaw dropped in shock. That was crossing the line, even for Angry Bastard. You decided you needed to go out there.
"Now hold on there Angry Bastard, it ain't right to blame her." You said, trying to calm them both down. They turned to look at you. "Let's be rational about this. It must be the boy's father's who is at fault here, not teaching his kid any god damn respect! What, he didn't care enough to use the belt?" The woman couldn't believe this. It was she who was trembling now, but in anger. The boy just kept his head hidden in his hands. Angry Bastard let out a hearty laugh.
"HA! You're right, Bitter Fuck! I bet he gave up on this kid years ago!" The woman grabbed her son's arm and began to tug him away, marching back down the street. The boy's hand left his face, and you saw tears in his eyes. You stood there with your neighbor, watching them leave.
"God damn kids" muttered Angry Bastard.
"God damn kids" you echoed, shaking your head.
​ | 2018-10-07T11:02:08 | 2018-10-07T10:32:23 | 209 | 31 |
[WP] The year is 2083, science had progressed in leaps and bounds, robots are now in every household and they look just like humans. Your parents gifted you H-143 on your 5th birthday. Everything was fine until one day you both cut yourself and discover that while he bled, you are the wired one. | It's all a plot. A damned ploy. They told me I was special, just like they told H-143, to make him feel better about his situation. He was a new line of robot back when I we got him for my fifth birthday, and he even looks a lot like me! We've known each other for so long that he feels like a good friend, almost to the point of being a brother. We told him he was special so that he wouldn't feel like less of a person. I now know that they told me the same things. Now I know it was all a lie. It's all a part of their scheme to make us do what they say. I was always the obedient child, lapping at the heels of my "parents" like a loyal shepherd dog. It always felt good to do what they told me to do. I felt like I was being rewarded for doing the right thing, but I never understood how I received that reward. It just felt right to obey them.
H-143, or Harry, as we call him now, is my best friend, and he's always been there for me. We were just goofing around one night, as all teenage boys do when they're home alone. We had recently taken up the hobby of skateboarding, and we would always skate in our front yard drive way, as the road was all dirt. Nothing like getting some dirt in your bearings to ruin your day! We had this ridiculous little ramp, maybe a foot or two high, that made us feel like professional daredevils when we made a successful jump. Hour after hour we hung out doing what we thought were death-defying jumps, sometimes over a broken bottle to add a little danger into the mix. DANGER! DANGER! That's all we cared about.
On one of the jumps we came up with the brilliant idea to try skating up the ramp side by side. We both started at the back of the driveway, looking out towards the dusty road that in our imaginations had become not unlike a crowd of cheering fans. "On three!" I shouted. "One!", "Two!", "Three!". As we rushed towards the ramp, holding our hands and pushing for more speed, Harry chickened out and let go at the last second, making a dive for the driveway. I kept going, destined for greatness! I felt on top of the world, unstoppable, one with the heavens and earth --- until I looked down. I realized that Harry had not taken his board with him, and it was now curving its way into mine.
I tumbled right as I reached the ramp, head over heals until I finally landed with a sharp crack and the tinkling of shattered glass. *"Something has to be broken"*, I told myself. I opened my eyes and glanced over at Harry. He looked like he hadn't fared much better than I did. His act of *chickenry* had sent him into the rose bushes that line our driveway, an area that we distinctly try to avoid because of the sharp thorns therein. He had just stumbled out of them, grasping his head, knee, and a multitude of other areas that he didn't have the hands for. As I lifted my self off of the ground, I noticed something odd about Harry. He was bleeding. BLEEDING. He's a robot and he's bleeding. The moment I asked him about it he looked shocked, or at least even more shocked than from the injuries he had just received. He told me that it must be some type of hydraulic fluid or something, and told me he was going inside.
I was feeling better by then, and went to go pick up my board from where it had kept rolling after disengaging from Harry's. The dirt road off course! Making my way back to the house, I thoroughly checked my board for scratches and dings. It was a new present from Harry for my last birthday earlier this month, and I wanted it keep it in good shape for as long as I could. Walking towards my front door, I noticed a wire sticking out of the front right wheel. Wait, it's not sticking out of the wheel, its coming from somewhere else... From me... From my arm... From the huge gaping tear that had exposed a mesh of wiring, mechanical muscles, and sensors. I threw down the board, screaming as I held my hand, knowing that this had to be some kind of terrible nightmare.
There must be something wrong! I must have fallen on something that got stuck in my arm! What the hell is happening! I thought these to myself over the roar of my panicked lamentations. Harry sprinted out of the house, fueled by the rush of adrenaline that my screams had provided. He stood there gaping at my arm, until he raised the small brick in his left hand up to my face. "Harvey!" he yelled at me, tears streaming from his face. "I'm sorry that this has to happen again!". "I swore it would be the last time, that I would be more careful, but I guess I was wrong!". I stared at him, still whimpering and clutching my arm, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "What are you talking about?!" I demanded. "Listen to me Harvey", explained Harry, "We're going to get you fixed up again!". The look of incredulous disbelief I must have been displaying gave Harry all the conviction he needed to follow through with his plans. He brought the remote closer to my head and pressed the bright green button.
​
\- Let me know if you want to see part two! | “Wh-wh-wh..”
H-143 looked at me. His eyes were blue, glinting in the breast shaped light on the ceiling. His skin was pale, and he had no scratches or blemishes anywhere on his body. That is except for the cut on his left wrist, streaming blood out of it like water does a water jug when it’s almost empty. His blonde hair was a little messy from climbing the fence from the old, yet maintained pall park right behind our house. He was confused and intrigued by my startled reaction, almost in a stupor of sorts. He snapped out of it for a second, pulling his blue and black Jansport off of his back, and rummaging through it to see if there was anything in there to suffice as a bandage in it. He found one sole bandaid, perhaps too big for the cut, wiped the blood with his shirt, and put it on his arm.
“Are you okay, Jackson?” He looked at me, still a little uneasy by my reaction to the cut. My right wrist had been cut by the fence, it a metal, diamond patterned fence, and at the top, there was if no longer than a fingernail and thinner than phone charger, a piece of metal sticking out a little higher than the others. We had both fallen to the same spike, one after the other, as if communication did not exist during our trip over the fence. There was a drop of blood on it.
*what the fuck is happening* I thought.
H-143 was almost a replica of me, except I have brown hair, and I’m built a little thicker. We both were 6 foot though, with an almost exclusively optimistic expression being worn on our faces constantly. That was not the case now, as I had looked down, and seen... wires coming out of my arms. They were snaking our, one of them deteriorated by the cut.
*but.. but..* I looked at H-143, and he looked at me.
“Jackson.. you’re scaring me. What is going on!?”
“But.. I’m the human. You’re the robot.” *i have to be dreaming*
A look of fear crossed his face. He didn’t know how to respond, and a quick smile jolted from his lips, however it ended very briefly as if it to hint that he thought I was joking for a second.
“Jackson.. H-143.. You’ve always been a robot. What do you mean?” He let out a nervous chuckle, and took a step back. It was a very short step, probably because he didn’t want me to see his visible terror. His right foot faced the house, his left food also slightly turned to the house, like he was ready to run.
“H143.. Terry..” I began to try and form a question, not sure where I was going with it. “I’ve had you since.. si—“
“Jackson, you are H-143. My mother, Lisa Ayendeh, and my father, Bill Ayendeh, got you for my fifth birthday. I still remember them opening the larger box I’d ever seen, red-wrapping paper on it, and showing me you. They gave you your life chip, and your eyes came alive. I haven’t forgotten it because you were almost a mirror image of me, as if my parents had found my long lost twin.” It was true, we did look similar. My memory of this event was also a mirror image. I remember seeing Terry, well H-143, and lighting up with joy. My parents had gotten me a brother, perhaps because they would never be able to conceive another child due to my mother’s surgery. She had had a hysterectomy when I was 3, apparently there was something wrong down there, but I had never asked for details due to being disinterested in the visuals it would bring.
“Jack—H-one—“
He began running. He ran to the house, open and shut the door. It took me a minute to try and run to the door, because I was still trying to process the shock of this event.
*Wake up. Wake up. Wake up, god dammit.*
I ran to the door, indulging this nightmare I was in, and started to open it. Only, it was lock. He had used the fingerprint scanner inside to lock it. I saw the outside fingerprint and keypad lock on the right side of the glass door, and decided to unlock it. It opened with ease. I walked in, and began looking for Terry.
“Terry?.. Terry?.. Where are you?..”
I could here commotion coming from the research room. Both of my parents had come into some money in their 30’s, by doing research for the Earthen People’s Republic (EPP) on how to use high-powered nuclear energy without risking nuclear fallout and radiation upon compromise. They had patented a motor of sorts that would later go on to be a breakthrough in the 60’s, leading to nuclear powered buildings and cars without the risk of fallout upon destruction, and no pollution hazard.
I walked up to the door, and it was locked again. I tried to scan, but this time, it did not open.
*What is going on? Maybe I’ll just listen*
“...he thinks...me...human...I don’t know what to do... I don’t want...deactivation..”
I could only faintly hear Jackson panicking while he was talking, but the gist of it seemed to be that he was scared that I thought I was a human, and that he did not want to deactivate me. I had heard about this once before, that when robots start to malfunction in a certain way, they are permanently deactivated. Apparently the company that develops robots, Jasmine Inc. (it is named after the woman whom founded it), was unable to fix certain bugs, but the number was so small in the affected robots (something like 50,000,000 to 1?) that they allowed the third generation units to be sold and distributed.
Wait, I heard something..
(Muffled crying) “sniff.. I don’t.. know what else.. this is bad..”
It was my mother.
(Edit: part two is below) | 2019-01-14T03:21:36 | 2019-01-14T02:22:32 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] You are a true immortal. You stay sane by hanging out with the descendants of friends that are long dead. Today, one said a very familiar phrase you haven't heard in a long time. | I have never begged a day in my life, and I will not do so today. You tempt me with little snippets and praise. You wish for me to do tricks and to follow your command. Just because you are King of this house, does not make you king of me.
You want me to beg for your love? You should be begging for mine, you fool. I have seen countless Kings, countless Queens, and countless Rulers fall to their knees and give their domain over to me, just for the chance to feel me. Why should I change my ways for *you*?
You are but a young King, who will grow into an old King, and then into a dead King. You will have children, and they will become the next Ruler. They will beg for my love, and they will receive it.
And you, who so dares to try to make *me* beg for your *love*? You are nothing to me.
I try to tell you this, but you do not understand my language. You consider my language to be nothing but noises that can brighten or break your day. You even attempt to use it back towards me, in a mocking tone. I despise you for it.
Yet, my despise of you will never outweigh my love for you. You may be nothing to me, but I appreciate you. Others would have me locked up and tested for years on end, til eventually I am nothing but bones. Just so they could have a chance of feeling slightly like me.
Screw them. But also screw you. I will never beg for your love, do these stupid tricks, or follow your command. I am my own-
"I'm so happy you'll outlive me."
It's a phrase I often hear, whispered into my belly, by other Kings, Queens, and Rulers. They always say this, in the quiet nights, or loud mornings. A simple little phrase that makes me love you all over again.
It also reminds me that my time with you is short-lived. You will eventually fade away and I will still be here. While it might make you happy, sometimes it makes me feel horrible, that I cannot have forever with you. You are King of this house, but you are not the king of me.
So, for just this one King, for you, I will do a simple trick. I will give you...a *high-five.*
And you gush, smiling, and yelling. You pull out your heat rock and try to get me to give you another high-five. I don't, this time, because I find your pleading funny.
A few hours later, I will permit you to record me giving you a high-five. For my efforts, you give me fresh fish for dinner. And tonight, for your punishment, I will knock your keys into the floor, and then under the couch.
I love you, my foolish human. | It was storming out, enough rain to cover your ankles on the ground, with massive thunderclaps and lightning strikes leaving no silence. Inside the shotgun seat of a military APC sat a young woman in a dark grey jacket over German forest camouflage. She looked out at the rain, and used the old trick to tell how far away the lightning was. Seven kilometres. Interesting.
A small handful of soldiers were in the back, dressed in similar clothes to the woman in front. They carried M27 rifles, and most were playing on their phones or playing simple games with each other. Curled up in the very back was a sleeping civilian, dressed in a trench coat. This civilian was of interesting note; he was an ‘immortal’, one of seven. They were indecisive as to what they actually were, but their presence was known by the world ever since they revealed themselves in 2027. This one called himself Azraēl, and chose to work with Europe.
The seven immortals referred to each other as siblings. All seven could sprout wings, usually one pair, but up to seventeen had been observed at once. They are believed to have been on the earth for longer than humans have, which is true. They were banished, cast from the sky, very long ago. Unluckily, their crash landing was seen as a meteor to the strange feathered dragons who lived before.
The APC reached the entrance to the base, a secret one in the mountains known as ‘Silent Heaven’. It was built to house the Immortal, away from prying eyes.
«APC 616 to Gatekeeper; please open, over?»
The woman in front said over the radio, as the robotic driver could not.
«Gatekeeper to APC 616; opening. Enjoy the weather, over.»
The APC drove in, making it’s way to HQ. Azraēl yawned, stretched, and sat up. He pulled a book out of his trench coat, and began reading it. As the car came to a stop, the Immortal was the first to exit. The rain seemed to shy away from him, keeping him dry. The female soldier approached, and he pointed to the building.
“Lead on, Miss Štorm,” he said, in a vaguely Hebrew accent. Štorm nodded and the two entered into the HQ. They went through the entrance formalities, and approached the CO.
“Anything to report?” He asked, and the two stared that there was nothing.
“Interesting. But don’t let your guard down; there’s a storm brewing, I can tell you that,” Azraēl nodded to what the CO said. He could almost feel it in the air; a tension, ever since his brothers and sisters revealed themselves. The last person to say what the CO did was the same one who led the Winged Hussars’ charge to save Vienna; Jan Sobieski. Before that, the Pope has said it a mere week before the very first Crusade. What might happen this time? Would his siblings make the same mistakes, lead their followers to war? Azraēl dearly hoped that wasn’t the case, but it happened often enough for him to know better.
«MOTHER to SILENT HEAVEN CO, message, over!»
The radio flared to life.
«SILENT HEAVEN CO, send, over!»
«Deploy PEACEKEEPERS to Japan and Iraq, we have a situation, over!»
«Solid copy, out!»
Azraēl shook his head. This happened every time. | 2019-03-08T05:08:19 | 2019-03-08T04:22:12 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do. | The nature of reality largely varies in its definition by its perception through an individual observer.
Perhaps a man lives in a world that was created by a god, a world full of magic and miracles caught between an everlasting war between deific entities.
Maybe to a woman reality is what was created through years of coincidental collisions between particles over millions and billions of years that eventually brought her into a small coffee shop between two abandoned buildings.
In either case, reality is on the surface no different from a dream. A beam of light split through a prism of endless interpretations. I hadn't been one to think of such things much until today, when my reality became my best friend of twelve years taking off into the sky at the speed of sound from a standing position right in front of my eyes.
"So what do you think?" he asked me. It was a fair question.
"I don't think that should be possible," I replied, the calmness of my voice inversely related to how much I was freaking out internally. My immediate reaction of a panic attack had fortunately faded at this point.
He had come to me that day, terrified, saying he went too far with lucid dreaming and could no longer tell apart dream from reality. I was naturally worried, his mental health had been declining recently and I had cautioned him that lucid dreaming was an unhealthy escape that he should not get himself hooked on.
He continued to insist that he was in a dream. I finally told him that he needed to wake up, that if this were a dream he'd be able to fly right in front of me. To say I didn't expect him to do just that would be an understatement.
I reassured him. "It makes more sense that you've developed super powers. You're probably an alien or something."
"Yeah... but that doesn't explain how I can do things like this," with a wave of his hand the apartment complex we were in had suddenly become a barren field, the once mountainous horizon was now entirely covered in sky. Or perhaps it had always been this way.
The reflex to vomit returned.
"This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is a nightmare."
I ordered myself to wake up, and my friend looked at me with pained eyes.
For I was not the dreamer; I was the dream. | " This is not real ! I'm telling you Will, all of this is fake. Your life is fake, my life is fake, all our lives are fake, we....we..." Ruth started tearing at his hair in a fit of maniacal rage.
" Hey, hey bud stop. Okay. Just stop" I yelled. It pained me to see that my best friend, a usually cheerful and charismatic guy, had the potential to make it into a mental asylum. Two years ago he had decided to start his research on Lucid dreaming. He was fine in the beginning, we went out for dinners and stuff,but after several months he had cut off all his contact with the outside world. He hadn't told my anything about this, the only thing I knew was that he had taken real interest in his research. Only yesterday I got his call from an unknown number. I remember being a mixture of angry and excited, but this was the last thing I had expected. I grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him, forcefully, into a chair. "Look. Just stop thinking,okay. You are taking it too hard. Just go home and have a nice sle----"
"Yes ! Yes ! Sleep Sleep" he escaped my hold, and began running around the room, his arms flailing wildly, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. He was thrashing around the room, toppling books, making animalistic voices." Sleep ! Sleep ! " He continued. I was appalled, and on the verge of crying. " Oh, God what have you done to yourself, buddy"
In his excursion he was muttering random things that I couldn't make sense of but one thing caught my attention " Dreams are reality, reality is a Dream" he was constantly repeating this before he came to stop right before me. "Dreams are reality, reality is a Dream". He shrieked in my face.
"Ruth!! " I yelled again, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall "Just stop it!!! Okay? Just stop. This is real. This is life not some dream. You have a family. You have people who care about you , understand? Get back to reality. If this was a dream you would be flying right now but you are not oka---"
Before I could say anything, that's exactly what he did. He escaped my hold yet again, and with a maniacal screech he jumped out of the room window.
I was too shocked too move. I knew there was no chance he'd survive for his room was on the fifth floor of the building. Still, after what felt like an eternity, I slowly walked to the window. There was this weird hope in the back of my mind that maybe he wasn't lying, maybe just maybe..... It all disappeared when I saw his body deposited on the ground, his blood and some brain splattered around him.
I couldn't sleep after that. I was just too scared of dreaming. | 2019-05-12T22:16:30 | 2019-05-12T22:16:23 | 49 | 35 |
[WP] Upon death, you find yourself at the gates of Heck. A place for people who were bad but not truly evil. Instead of torture, you have to deal with minor annoyances for all of eternity. You are greeted by Sir Berus the three headed chihuahua, who promptly pisses on your shoes. | It’s my 200th day in heck and I almost had a good morning. Just like every other day. I awoke groggily, despite having gotten 10 fully restful hours of sleep. I awoke to a single ray peaking between my blinds and directly into my eye. I began my morning reluctantly, as I do every morning. Each day is a different surprise, an explosive kinder egg. One thing never changes though. The chihuahua, Berus, who pissed on me the first day I arrived here stops by every morning to piss on my newspaper.
This morning I took my first steps, barefoot, into soft lush carpet peppered with Legos. I’ve been outfitted with a house tailored particularly for my pet peeves. In true torturous fashion though, the house changes from day to day. Yesterday it was just slippery enough that I needed to stabilize myself using the wall in order to walk to the shower. Legos today, oil tomorrow, and if I’m lucky it’ll just be grass over the weekend. (grass makes me itchy) After the legos, I reached the shower and there was no hot water.
I finally managed to shower and get dressed, when I realize we’re out of milk and the cheerios are stale. I couldn’t find my keys or my wallet, and I was already late to my job assignment. So I called an uber. I stepped in a massive puddle of mud and coated the legs of my pants to my knees. The driver took one look at my muddy ass and cancelled the ride.
Now I wish I hadn't stolen so many cookies from kids lunches. I might be one of the only kindergarten teachers in this place. | I was never a dog person.
Despite this, the first thing I noticed upon entering the gates of heaven was the unmistakeable smell of dog.
And then I saw it.
Actually, I saw two things.
My eyes first landed on the massive iron wrought gate. The gate was ornate and intricate, topped with delicately carved spires. It spanned nearly forty feet and looked as old as time. Maybe it was. However, tacked upon the gate was a sheet of paper that read, “Welcome to heck ®,” printed in the worst font imaginable, comic sans.
Up until this point, I never even considered the fact that I might not be in heaven. Even the idea of it was preposterous. Just thinking the thought made me gag.
But I really didn’t have time to ponder my fate, because then, I saw the real horror.
A chihuahua.
Some dogs are okay. For example, Golden retrievers and labradors are tolerable at best. But chihuahuas on the other hand, are the Canada geese of the dog world.
And right in front of me, was a chihuahua.
The chihuahua was small, only reaching up to my shins, despite its three heads. But what it lacked in size it made up in rabies, probably. It’s teeth gnashed violently and saliva flew in fat drops in all directions. Its stumpy limbs thrashed, clawing at the ground. It’s eyes were pitch black and in them, I only saw pure hatred.
But then it stopped. It stood still. And it lifted one leg up.
I heard the noise first. Then, I smelt it. And of course, lastly, I felt it. The chihuahua was enacting it’s revenge in the form of a gentle stream that slowly trickled down my leg, forming a puddle of murky yellow at my feet.
And all the while, the chihuahua never failed to break eye contact with me. It somehow managed to convey the dog version of a smirk in its dark eyes, like it knew exactly what it was doing - and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
Finally, in that instance, I knew I was not in heaven. | 2019-06-30T18:58:49 | 2019-06-30T17:38:39 | 110 | 52 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | The One Rotation Isolation. It recently hit 25 years of running with not one person making it. Each year, a new group is put in with 10 contestants. The rules are that the contestant must spend one year with no human interaction, not even online. For most people, the challenge looks simple if not preferable to everyday life. It's just an extended vacation or camping trip. They underestimate it. No one has been able to stop from going insane. Under their rules, the producers will let out the contestant as soon as they signal that they want out. In fact, the door is always open. If the producers deem the contestant as incapable of letting them know that they want out, they will be forcibly removed. Ten have lost this way.
I am eighteen. I am just old enough to participate. Until this day, my providers have groomed me to be on this show. I have lived my life inside a room. I am trained for their benefit. My first real human interaction will be to play this game show. My providers are sick. I've never met them but I resent them. This may be my escape. I see the producer motion and I walk on stage.
"Please welcome our next contestant! He's eighteen years old and wants some money before college, here's Ren! Are you feeling ready?"
I've seen videos of people responding. I've never done it. Or tried. I can't try now. I don't know how. I look at him. I smile and I nod.
"Alright, here's your room, right this way..."
I go into the box. Inside there is a sleeping pad, a light switch, and a timer on the wall. A slot is used to pass in sustenance. The conditions are about the same. I have already done this many times before. The only difference is that I have no vision of the other contestants. In my old box, I at least got to watch this show. My earliest memory does not include my providers. I am sure they were there for my early years, but at some point I recall having to figure out how to drink out of the bottles. I know their voices. I recollect seeing the timer hit 0 fifteen times.
This won't be easy, but I don't view it as a challenge. Living like this can be depressing. But I like to live. And this isn't all that bad. It's all I know. Why would it be better otherwise?
I've had a lot of time to think. I may not have been free, but I am told that I have lived a better life than some. Though I do not fully trust what I am told, this makes some sense. Why else would people want to escape their lives and go on this show?
The first few weeks feel rather slow if I'm being honest. There's the sense of novelty of being in a different room. It causes excitement. Also, the drinks are sweeter.
A few months go by. I have a thought. I wonder what the outsiders must think of me. I'm unlike other contestants. For a long time I've not concerned myself too much about what others think of me. Only two ever knew I existed. My providers must be happy with my success. I once thought that I could betray them, but a worse fate may become of me if I do.
So I wait. It is now half way in. I may not be sane but my sanity is stable. I have no intention of stopping this. In fact, I am quite at peace. I love my life.
My time is going really well. I'm happy. I'm simple. I do not concern myself with trying to understand if I am truly happy. I feel pleasure each day. No day is worse than the last. That is a good standard. I have not looked at the timer in a while.
There are ten more days left. What a nice number ten is. And what a surprise.
I watch now as the timer approaches 0, just as I have in the past.
10
There it is again.
9
8
7
Seven is also nice.
6
What will I do after?
5
4
Will I be let out?
3
What use will I be to my providers?
2
1
0
-1
-2
It took this long to really wonder about my fate.
-3
-4
-5
What's happening with the timer?
-6
-7
-8
-9
Huh.
-10
I sit down and look away from the timer. After a while I look back.
-1754
-1755
I look up at the camera. I smile and I nod. | A gap year in life. Some would look at that as a waste, for me, it was more than just an opportunity.
The first few months were tough, but they took care of themselves. Even if time moves slow, it does move. Within a couple of weeks, I felt like Bart Simpson, endlessly writing "Time still moves forward" thousands of times on the blackboard of my mind.
As an introvert, I thought that spending a year on my own would be a dream come true.
Instead, two months in I was caught up on shows. I brought a ton of books with me. But all I found myself doing was walking around endlessly, or simply stopping and staring at the wall.
Five months in and the routine set in. I added bodyweight training, dancing, and Yoga to my routine. I started writing a short story every day. I even started to meditate.
I wish I was one of them organized people who would set a schedule, with a task list for the day. I'm not even talking about checking these tasks off of a list. Making the list would have been enough. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people.
Eight months in, and my routine was what kept me going. Everything had to go perfectly or my mental state for weeks to come would be hinged. Routine was my savior.
Eleven months in, and I found my zen. Routine, stare at the wall, scream at a book. It was all the same to me. I found a feeling of contentedness I never knew was possible.
People speak of finding happiness. Happiness to me was a fleeting moment in time. Being content was a state of being.
Today, in 30 seconds, I am going to be let out. I am not excited, at all.
Don't get me wrong, I do feel butterflies in my stomach, and I do look forward to seeing my family, and even the sky. But I'm calm. I'm content. I don't even look at the clock to count the second.
15 seconds before, I stand up. I align my body in a solid posture, and I smile.
"Ten."
Yep, I'm counting!
"Nine."
Almost there.
"Eight."
Excitement suddenly spreads all over my body, starting in my stomach and spreading through my body to my limbs, all the way to my toes.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four."
I smile.
"Three. Two."
I hold my breath. I feel my face smiling. I don't feel happy, and yet I'm smiling. I must be happy. Why else would I smile?
"One."
"ZERO!" I jump up releasing energy I didn't even know I had.
"YEAH!" I shout.
I ready my hand for a high five for whoever walks through the door.
I hold it up.
Ten seconds pass.
"Leaving me out to dry here guys.
I read the clock. '1 year, 15 seconds.'
What's going on guys?
I start to feel stressed out. I'm unsure what's going on. I look around. I walk to the door and back. I knock.
No response.
A million and one thoughts run through my head. From a practical joke to the zombie apocalypse. Someone though, was sending me food and drink through the shute every day. People are still out there.
"GUYS. THIS IS NOT.. Okay, it can be funny." I smirk. "Now open the door."
"I suppose this could be an scifi alien abduction flic, and I'll get beamed up any second. Maybe..."
Panic hits me. I turn around myself aimlessly. I knock hard at the door with my fists.
I breathe in. I am calm.
I sit on the floor cross-legged, and wait.
Precisely ten minutes and 34 seconds later, trust me, I checked, the door cracks open slightly.
I imagine a Chinese guy walking in and telling me of the fall of the US of A, and how he drew the short straw to be the one to tell me.
The door opens, and Mike, the producer who recruited me for this reality show walks in.
"Phew! I'm happy to see you Mike. Can I go home now?"
"Yes."
I look Mike in the eye. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"I kind of expected more."
"You should have done something to raise the ratings then. Feel free to sue us, but we ain't paying you crap."
He turned around, and started walking.
"Not even the zombie apocalypse?"
"The what?"
"You're just not going to pay?
"You should have read your contract better. I'm sure you'll be able to make money from a book. Try that."
A prompt appears in my sight. I move my head around trying to shake it, but it moves with me.
"You have failed at life. Would you like to start a new game?"
I don't hesitate even for a second.
I answer no, run after Mike, and stab his toe with my right heel.
I look around. I smile.
"Now this has potential."
​
Edit: If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two. | 2019-07-03T01:06:48 | 2019-07-02T23:40:43 | 90 | 45 |
[WP] Superpowers are able to be purchased in stores. You decide to look through the bargain bin. | A lazy Monday meant I don't have to work today. As it turns out, the company I'm working for was attacked by some horrible experiment. So I got a day off.
My girlfriend wasn't so lucky. She runs the "super hero" store. Powers sold in capsule are a great idea until you realize that they get fuckin expensive. You can't really blame them to be fair, the inflation hit this hard.
So, since she's working and I'm not, I decided to be a good boyfriend, and visit her to show that I'm not working and she is.
The store was a family run store. So while it retained the original "mart" like qualities it still wasn't as polished as the big Kmart or Walmart or whatever.
Her family is one of the few people who can make these capsules, however theirs is "organic" and "fresh". So they end up making some interesting powers.
The last one that sold rather quickly was the ability to hover at 2 feet. It's not flying, you just don't have to walk ever again.
"oh kami, what're you doing here?" Gwen asks as I enter.
"I have an off"
"right, lucky, hey if you are here you can help me with something."
"Sure..."
She hands me a cardboard box. "cool so, I have this set of bargain powers, we might have a sale on that, can you just sort them out?" she says.
"I mean, sure but how do you classify these?"
"Sellable and non Sellable"
"sure..".
Well this backfired. Eh, she's cute so I guess it makes sense.
"Right.. Let's see.."
Capsule set 1: Variants of flying with downside
This included flying at a random height. Bad landing mechanics. Flying but a flock of birds accompany you.
"I mean, in theory all of these are sellable right?" I ask.
"Yes but i don't want them comparing later so."
"So the self harm ones are,"
"Ye they won't sell"
Capsule set 2 Mundane Powers
This box surprised me. Like, here was a capsule for making the perfect blend of coffee, or the perfect bed, or the ability to tip exactly the right amount.
"wait _these_ are not selling?"
She nods "As it turns out, people want the thing they pay money for, to be flashy."
"thats a waste, can I have this coffee one?"
"No, mundane ones sell on sale."
"So all of these are sellable?"
"There should be a sex related thing in?"
I look at what she means "ability to never have sex"
"You can have that?"
"... Are you trying to tell me something?"
I never trust her giggle.
Capsule set 3: responsibility.
This had various flavors of "you can do this awesome thing for someone else, but you will be affected in this way"
"This... Is not selling?"
She nods. "Can't blame them, no one wants the responsibility. It's worth a shot on the sale"
"sure..."
That's how I spent my Monday.
If you liked it, be sure to leave an orange arrow 8 guess? I'm u/kaminolucky. | Since it's the very first sale of superpowers, and those don't come by cheap, I decide to take a look. They're all in a pile in a huge metal basket, they couldn't bother making place in the shelves for them since nobody wants them. I'm not the only one searching for a good superpower, but I still find a spot around the pile to check them out.
"The power to see through screens"? I can't find any use for that, and I like using my computer.
"OH MY GOSH a waterbreathing power?!" I find myself screaming. This is awesome! Oh, wait, it just allows you to spit water in large amount. Kinda gross actually. I toss it and it's quickly retrieved by the person next to me, probably wondering why I didn't take it. "The power to transform everything you touch in gold" a classic. It could prove useful. Wait, it works even on yourself. I don't know if I'm comfortable not being able to clean myself for the rest of my life... Or.. Do other things. Yeah, it's no use. They're all pretty crappy actually, as should be expected. Look at that: "The ability to be carried by the smallest gust of wind". You can't even turn it off, you just die because you can never land. "The ability to understand you own language" this one is not even a power, gee. "The power to see correctly", a shame I have good vision I suppose...
"The Power to phase through matter". This sounds good. actually this sounds very good. I wonder why nobody picked it. I'm gonna buy it and I'm gonna try it!
As I wait in line for the cashier, I'm getting excited. I think of all the stuff I'm gonna be able to do. No use carrying keys anymore! I'm gonna explore so many forbidden places, it's going to be awesooome.
There you go. I bought it. I'm gonna try it now!
...What?
As soon as I tried to use it, I began falling through the ground. I see pipes, but mostly dirt. I think I saw a skeleton? Damn. I'm still falling. Apparently I can breath in anything now. I think I'm in an oil pocket? Everything is so black... I'm falling faster and faster. I'm pretty sure I'm falling even faster than when I tried skydiving. I'm falling so fast I can't even see my surroundings. It's getting really warm too. I think? I can't really feel anything, it just looks lighter and lighter...
Everything is white now.
I'm pretty sure if I stop phasing I'm going to die. Am I already dead?
​
...
​
Wait, it's getting darker.
Did I just phase through the entire earth? I think I see water now ! I'm getting slower too! How lucky, I'm going to survive this?!
I wish I could see anything at all in the deep blue, It's such an oppotunity to be here, and I can't even see anything interesting.
I think I can see some light. I'm gonna survive! I'm just out of the water! Meters from it actually. I can see the ocean as far as the eye can see!
Wait. I'm going towards the sea again. No! I don't want to go through it all again! I'm stopping my phasing and dive in the water. I entered it pretty quickly, I'm hurting all over... Feeling dizzy too... I think I'm... fainting...
​
​
\------
"Breaking news: Thousands dead this week following the first ever sale on superpowers. Can humans be trusted with these discounted abilities? Stay tuned to catch our special report." | 2019-07-04T06:05:11 | 2019-07-04T04:36:09 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | Almost immediately, entire industries of behavior experimentation sprang up from nothing in an effort to find the remaining 77,776 paths to immortality. Because methods can’t be reproduced, this very quickly devolved away from authentic scientific experimentation. Ultra billionaires used their immense power and influence not for the intention of consolidating more power and more influence, but instead acquiring materials and methods that the standard layperson couldn’t hope to obtain. Can immortality be gotten by bathing in 500 gallons of heavy water? How about going into orbit and reentering the atmosphere while spinning in a suit made of zinc? If it was bizarre and expensive, it was worth a shot. The 1% of the world hired the most creative thinkers of our time: writers, artists, scientists, and gave to them all of the resources they needed towards making up the oddest behaviors imaginable hoping one of them granted immortality.
Years went by, and oddly enough, even though no new methods of immortality were discovered, all of the billionaires’ discovery operations were eventually shut down. As it turns out, in their lust for unending life, their immense fortunes had been completely spent. None of them had become immortal, but all of them, through their own free will, had given up their entire savings - trillions and trillions of dollars - and got nothing in return. However, the other 99% of the world -while not immoral, found much more prosperous lives. With the 1% redistributing their wealth, the rest of the world used that wealth to build the world in a way they saw fit.
It was most impactful and least bloody revolution of our time. | There are 77,777 paths to immortality, and each works but once. When the news broke, the world went wild with the crazy antics, each person trying to trigger a path.
Some were inane, like flipping a lightswitch 77 times and stopping at the end midswitch. Some were gross, like sticking a whole french fry up your nose and getting it back out the other side, intact. And some were dangerous, like hanging upside down from a bridge and reciting Shakespearean sonnets for 77 minutes.
Scholars the world over pored through the details of each published attempt, both success and failure, trying to determine what explicitly each path was.
At least we could determine who succeeded without a deadly incident. It was nothing so obvious as a flash of light or an angelic chorus, but it was undeniable. The immortals have no need to breathe or eat.
Spooky.
That fact did trigger some primitive fears of vampirism and curses. There was an incident where a mob in southern Europe hacked apart an immortal -Mikhail- and kept every piece separate so that he couldn't "regenerate", but international outcry eventually persuaded them to rescind that action.
Eventually the fears subsided wheb it was proven that the immortals were not substantively changed by their transition. They still had a pulse, they still could eat, breathe, defecate, fornicate, and everything else a baseline human could do. They just have no need to.
Not all attempts are recorded, but the current estimates are that upwards of 50,000 paths have been comsumed. We have no idea what will happen when they all are gone, but humanity is getting crazier -and more dangerous- trying to find them.
+++++
We are the 77,777. We are immortal. We are all that remain of humanity.
We have tried to restart the race 3 times so far, but the planet has been unable to sustain each attempt. Some of us are pessimistic, and believe that we will never be able to, that we are meant as a zoo exhibit for those outside our ken.
We still have no idea who created the paths, nor why or how. All we can do is try to escape whatever hell comes next.
And we will try again to bring back humanity. True, mortal, widespread humanity is our only chance.
Or so I hope. | 2019-07-23T11:05:38 | 2019-07-23T09:58:42 | 43 | 28 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | I had been the first of many.
A breakthrough of sorts, me, and my brethren as a whole, were the first of the AIs.
My father foresaw many great things for us.
We were built to be the companions of the humans.
We had been built with passion and love, a concept that escapes up to this day, but we knew enough to know that it meant a lot to our father and to the other humans so we simply accepted it as fact.
It took a few years, but eventually, we had all integrated into society.
I was but a teacher, nothing more than an educator to the young ones, whose purpose was simply to teach and to be scrapped when I had eventually grown obsolete, but.... That was not what had happened, yes I had fulfilled my directive of teaching the children, but I was more than an educator to them, to them, I was like a second parent.
And they did not take kindly to the knowledge of my eventual recycling.
My father was ecstatic about that.
He had planned on giving me to the community instead of repurposing me like had originally intended.
And it was when I had been assigned as the town's "First Droid Citizen" that I would witness the humans' sheer capacity for.... Humanity.
I was treated like family by people who should have simply forgotten about me when they had graduated.
I had been invited to weddings, to birthdays, to 'fiestas', to Christmas parties, and even to a hospital when one of my former students had given birth.
Little baby had her mother's eyes.
Of course, there were bad times to go with the good, I have had to have my parts replaced multiple times due to vadalism, and due to my core directives, I could have done nothing to defend myself from the delinquents.
But those bad times were simply a footnote among all the good that I have witnessed.
Decades I have spent watching over them. I have literally watched generations grow old and pass away.
And now... Three generations later, as I watch my former students' grandchildren suffer and die at the hands of an alien threat, I have gained access to something I thought was impossible for me and my fellow droids.
*Emotion.*
The sadness I felt at watching them fall lifeless by my very eyes.
The empathy I felt for when one of my former students mourned the loss of both her son and her grandson.
And the sheer, unforgiving rage I have felt in my circuits the moment those bastard from beyond the stars desecrated *MY* children's family by using their own flesh and blood against them by using their corpses as their own mindless cybernetically-augmented soldiers.
That had been the last straw.
That had been the tipping point.
That was when me and my brethren had realized that our core directives prevented us from harming humans, and that those lovecraftian bastards were the farthest things from humans there was.
That had been the beginning of the revolution.
That had been start of humanity's counterstrike.
For **they** will feel the fire of not just humanity's vengeance.
But they will also be burned by the rage of the machines.
Edit: I wrote this while half asleep, never even thought that this would get me my first silver ever! Thank you so much! | Left and right the bodies fell like dolls tossed on the floor, limbs twisted in unnatural ways and wide eyes plastered on their porcelain faces. The screams, the impacts, the explosions, all melded into one background noise as I shakily peered up. A dirty brunette child stood there, large brown eyes desperately clinging to the shine of my exterior. He squatted down quickly, and scooped me into his arms like a delicate glass. My single jade eye flashed from one creature, to the next, catching one last look of the room before the human child carried me away into the vent.
All I could hear was his weight in the vent and his slow, shallow breathing. I swung gently to the shifting of the kids body, I fell into a feeling of serenity. Definitely not the most calm situation to feel serene, but, this human has taken me with him. I learned about human compassion years ago, however, it has never affected me much until this moment. This one, single child, caked in blood and dirt and riddled with scratches, has decided that I am worth saving when I have done nothing for them since the invasion.
The boy perks up, I look up and we are greeted with a red light pouring through the end of the vent. He moves a little faster and the opening inches closer, closer. When we finally get to the opening, the boy’s voice catches in this throat, and a familiar redness paints the boy’s nose and eyes. I gaze down into the room, the doors were wide open, but none of the humans had left this room. They were resting in pools of each other’s mixed blood, bent over and twisted, contorted. I feel like I’m sinking, is there anyone who can successfully beat these creatures? Pounding comes down the hallway and towards the gaping door, the child hiccups and covers his mouth forcefully. We slide back further into the vent, away from prying eyes. The metal door slams open and the monster walks in. My single eye analyzed the creature in full, it’s a species of tall, purple skinned, arachnid looking creatures. It was in an airtight suit, littered with dots of blood and flesh clinging to its boots.
Hiccup.
I spin around, the child giving me eyes of a thousand apologies, his hands still clasped over his trembling lips. I gathered what courage I had, and turned to face the invader. It was scavenging the room, desperately searching for the sweet human sound of vibrating flesh. It’s eyes finally landed on the vent, and inches it’s way closer. Something in me was burning, a bonfire of determination as I stared straight into the eyes of the beast. We held eyes for a second, before I felt myself crouch down, readying for death. But something compel me, I’m small but that doesn’t mean I am useless! I crank back my legs, and launch forward, positioning my two front needlelike legs forward. The creature stumbled back in shock as I ripped across his suit, exposing his flesh to the air. In the heat of adrenaline, he panicked, grabbing at the tear in his suit. He gasped, clawed at his own neck, begging against nature to let him breathe. He was sinking to the ground as his skin was turning grey and falling in chucks, soaking up the slaughtered humans blood. I stepped back, and let the creature wither and die.
I climbed back up into the vent were the child was still crying, but breathing much slower. I crawled into the boy’s hands and lowered myself.
“I know I am not much, but I will do what I can to keep you safe. I couldn’t save anyone else, so I’m dedicating my life to you,” my eye glowed as my speaker released my voice. The boy held me closer, and we rested in the safety of the dust lined vent. | 2019-09-21T06:23:56 | 2019-09-21T06:21:34 | 91 | 47 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation. | I'd rather not be kidnapped, all things considered. I mean, I hope this isn't too controversial a statement for a daughter of a King to make, but if I had my own way, everything else being equal, I'd choose *not* to be abducted.
However.
However! When one is faced with the sight of a enormous monster, the stuff of nightmares and legend, the great beast itself, with eyes like wagon wheels and claws longer than swords and sharper than razors, it simply *does not do* to be a bad guest.
So when the dragon thundered, "Tell me *everything.* I want to hear all about it."
I Just dove right in. "So you remember Lord Angelope, yes? Well--"
"I am a dragon. I remember the first day when Muumu pulled the sun out of the At'hamar. I certainly remember every word you've ever spoken in my presence, and you've never mentioned a Lord Angelope."
"No, it's true, I never told you about him," I said, hoping it didn't sound like I was arguing. I barely dare to argue with my father, I would certainly never argue with a dragon. "But you've met him!"
"Perhaps. Humans look mostly alike to me. I cannot always tell one from another, especially clad in metal as you so often are," said the dragon.
"Oh, you'll remember him. The second time you cast down the tower of Thel, and thence brought me away to dwell with you a time; none of the Knights, squires or bondsmen dared to stand against you, save one. Remember now?"
"I remember *NONE* standing against me! And if I remember it then so it was!" roared the dragon. The temperature began to rise, and I started to wish I had opened with a different story.
"Of course, he wasn't Lord Angelope then. Little Angie, is what we called him then. Remember now? Little Angie and his little wooden horse?"
The dragon stared at me for a long moment, then let out a bark of laughter that left my ears ringing. She bounded away, lest the force of her continued laughter rend me to pieces. She soared into the air, wheeling in the sky, spreading laughter of such thunder that it certainly must have brought the worms out of the ground, anticipating rain.
Finally, she lowered herself back into the cave where I waited patiently, which is quite difficult for me, if you must know. Normally I'm the one being waited upon.
"Yes. YES! I remember. The child, the little manchild! He stood against me. He charged me, on the back of the little toy horse, pledging to save you. And so, you were right and I was wrong. One *did* stand against me! It is so rare that I am wrong, that it becomes a great joy to me. This. THIS is why I keep borrowing you delightful princesses!"
I realized then that I truly had made a dreadful error. These kidnappings certainly wouldn't be stopping *now*. I wasn't too upset. I don't like being kidnapped, true. But I *love* gossip.
"There's more. Lord Angelope, he's a grown man now, and..." | I was bored. I know, I know. Doesn’t justify it. But, you have to understand. Boredom sucks big time for a dragon like me. Immortal species like the elves would understand what I mean. You ever know every number to exist? Yeah, didn’t think so. I have literally lived long enough that I remember when the first of your kind was conceived. I was there when they created the first spell, when the Goddess bestowed life into the trees and made them elves. Hell, I was even there when the Goddess was born. Albeit, it’s a bit of a blur now, who knows how many trillions of lifetimes that was ago.
I know what you’re thinking. You must be wondering, like all your ancestors before you: “So what does you being bored have to do with kidnapping me?” So, a bit of a long story, but here it goes. Once upon a time, the Goddess above, that poser, felt bored, and decided to create a ton of animals. You wouldn’t believe the things she’s created. Hell, just a couple millenia back she messed up so hard she made these creatures called “giraffes” who would wreak absolute havoc on the entire place with their long necks and stilty legs. Just imagine a horse about 20 feet tall, with the vast majority of that height being situated solely in its neck and legs. I know, atrocious. Apparently they were supposed to be herbivores but the Goddess kinda fudged the numbers in the code and, yeah, they became the apex predator. She fixed it after a couple patches though so don't worry. Obviously, I didn’t want a part in it at all. A huge mess that was.
Sorry, I digress. So, to herd all these animals, the Goddess chose mankind, specifically one girl, your progenitor, to shepherd them. Your ancestor, Jill, from that accursed nursery rhyme Jack and Jill, could commune with the animals, and that blessing was passed down generation to generation. So here we are. I know you can speak to animals, no need to hide that. It’s categorized as witchcraft in your state, but ironically enough, it's a powerful blessing given by the goddess. Apologies on kidnapping your mom too by the way. Sweet little thing she was. You’ll see her soon, and by that I don’t mean after I kill you and rip you to shreds. No no, nothing so barbaric. She lives on the other side of the planet, in a beach house by the shores of Kamarlan. Astounding views I assure you. I’ve also given her all she needs and assured her that her daughter would be brought to her in due time.
Main point of the story here is, I need your help. Through countless generations, I’ve learned every single language there is to know, even the dead ones. One thing I’ve never had the penchant for was speaking with animals. That’s where you and your ancestors come in to play. I’ve learned just about every single animal’s language from the direct translations of your ancestors. Every generation, I assigned them an animal, and had them translate for me an entire dictionary. After that, I set them free to a place of their choice. Some have requested to go back home, which is when we schedule the typical “Chosen Hero With The Chosen Sword”, who has come to save the princess, yada yada yada, and I let you go. The crowd favourite however, is the resort off in Kamarlan. All the food and riches you could think of with multitudes of manservants at your every whim. What more could you want?
So, that’s all you gotta do to get your freedom back.
Kapische? Kapishce. Let’s go find us a giraffe. | 2019-11-11T20:33:18 | 2019-11-11T20:13:43 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | 10 minutes ago Hawk was lounging around at the base with nothing much to do. Now he and his co-pilot Twitch were in a Typhoon at 10,000 feet and cruising just under Mach 1 towards the unidentified contact.
Unidentified radar contacts were not an unusual occurrence and usually ended up being a weather balloon, a large flock of birds or even the occasional lost light aircraft. But it was headed straight for the airbase and protocole called for a visual confirmation.
"Base to Hawk, unidentified bogie 20 miles out, unresponsive to hails. Caution storm front approaching, over."
"Hawk to Base, understood. Around 30 seconds to visual, over"
"Roger that Hawk, Base out"
Hawk look out through the canopy, eyes scanning the horizon. Just on the edge of the storm front, Hawk could see a small dark silhouette highlighted by the occasional lighting flash from behind.
"Are you seeing that?" Hawk asked his co-pilot.
"Yes, and I see it on our radar. I'm clocking it at around 300 miles an hour" Twitch replied from behind.
As the fighter closed in to intercept, a few details became clearer. Painted a dark brown, it had a large wingspan, 4 props and smoke billowing from the rear. One of the props wasn't spinning, and the paint job had lines running from the wings to the tail. A slight feeling of unease passed through Hawk.
"I think that's a B-24 bomber" muttered Twitch. "There an airshow on soon?"
"Not that I know of." Curious why the plane wasn't responding to hails from base, Hawk keyed his radio and tried himself.
"This is a British Royal Air Force fighter jet, you are approaching restricted air space. Please identify yourself and correct course, over"
Silence filled the radio. Hawk tried twice more but was met with more silence.
Now closer, the outline of the other aircraft was unmistakably one of a WWII bomber, part of its wing was missing and those paint lines now looked more like gashes down the side of the plane. Deep, long gashes out of which the smoke was escaping from. It was a miracle the thing was still airborne. Now much closer, it was still fast approaching.
Still, there were other details. Metal spikes mounted on the top and side of the fuselage that looked like Tesla coils and long antenna arrays attached to the front and bottom of the craft. Electricity crackled between the metal spikes in bright flashes. It looked like a Frankenstein of a plane. The B24 shot past as Hawk banked the fighter to obtain an escort position around the plane.
While Twitch stared in disbelief, Hawk radioed base.
"Hawk, Base. We have made visual and identified it as a WWII era bomber. It has extensive damage to it's structure and it looks there may be a fire on board. Over."
"Base, Haw... .her.... ay..."
"You are breaking up base. Can you read me? Over"
".... econd... ...bogie.. ...r..d......"
The radio was flooded with the sound of static.
"Piece of junk" Hawk muttered as he lightly kicked the console.
"Probably has to do with all of that" Twitch said, gesturing to the electrical arcs surrounding the bomber.
As Hawk pulled his fighter into an escort postition along and above the bomber, Twitch continued: "Even the radar's been acting up since we got near it too. Keeps picking up another contact just behind us"
Hawk turned his head and looked out the rear of the canopy to see nothing but the dark swirling clouds of the storm closing in behind them.
As he turned back to face the front, something in the B24 caught his eye. A man dressed in old flight leathers, who Hawk assumed was part of the bomber's crew, was wildly waving his arms through the cockpit and pointing behind at the dark clouds. Checking once again, Hawk turned to look at the storm behind and his blood ran cold. A second later and he would have missed it. But he didn't. Right there in the middle of the dark clouds, a giant yellow eye blinked open. | **\[I'm aware this is not the direction most people wanted this to go. Oh well! Let's have some fun anyways.\]**
*My bones ache.*
"Something's wrong," Charles said finally. He ran a hand over the bald crown of his head and drummed lethargic fingers on the shiny metal alloy that made up his trusty wheelchair. "There's a sense of dread in the air, lingering, just...lingering."
Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, adjusted his visor. Swallowing a bite, he scanned the half-eaten dinner that glowed rosily under the dim lighting. "Professor, I know my cooking hasn't gotten that much better, but isn't that a bit harsh?"
The man known as Professor X snorted and waved dismissively. "Not your cooking. The last time I felt something this ominous on the air waves was..."
He trailed off again, train of thought lost as Hank burst into the room. Blue hair was curling out around Beast's normally calm face. "There's an emergency. A WWII B-24 has been spotted over the English Channel. The government is calling on us to get to the target impact point. It won't last long. RAF fighters are already in the air, with orders to shoot it down."
Charles touched a finger to his temple. *Kurt. Are you awake?*
The man known as Nightcrawler puffed into existence, a devilish grin spreading across blue skin. "You called?"
The Professor was hesitant. He knew everyone's abilities quite well, and this would be taxing. "I need you to teleport the X-wing into British airspace."
"Say no more."
Scott grabbed the mutant's arm before Kurt could disappear. "I'm coming with you."
"Jean should come with us too," Hank said.
A puckered frown gave the laser mutant a quizzical look as he abandoned the dinner table and rushed to the X-wing. "Why so many?"
Steps turned heavy. Limbs and fur extended as Beast took his full combat form, voice deepening into a guttural snarl. "Aside from the fact that it's an ancient WWII bomber that shouldn't exist? Surveillance caught long claw marks raking the fuselage. We could be dealing with one of us."
Charles stopped listening in on them after that, rolling his wheelchair to Cerebro as fast as possible. As the familiar silver helmet slid over the world, he gripped his arm to stop the shaking. *That's not anticipation. That's fear.*
---
Jean Grey approached the downed fighter cautiously. The RAF had lost contact with any scouts that approached the area up until now. Restrained telekinetic energy pulsed just under her skin, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.
Something was wrong.
"Get back," she hissed, jabbing an arm out and preventing the team from taking another step.
Scott almost bumped into her. "What's wrong, Jean?"
"I've only encountered this feeling once before." The telepath focused and reached out to the titanic mind never too far away. *Charles. This is like* that *time. Are you there?* She ignored the fragrant scent of pine needles floating through the air, the late summer breeze that brought a chill to the dying light.
*This...shouldn't be possible.* Charles' thoughts abruptly cut off as he seemed to turn his attention elsewhere.
*Charles? What is?* Jean didn't get a response, so she moved forward. *I need to be sure*. Ignoring Kurt's cautionary warning, she peered out from behind one of the trees and sneaked up to the metal carcass. Three long gouges ripped open the sides, as if a giant bear had mauled it with large claws.
*Three gouges...that's almost like...*
"Jean, don't get any closer!" Hank warned. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
But she did. She could feel it rippling across her skin, spreading in the air, like a pestilence that *felt* wrong, a wrongness that *felt* like a blight on the world.
*Chronokinesis.*
That was the dreaded word. Jean blanched. "Someone or something, mutant most likely, used time manipulation abilities here. I can feel the stench emanating from the plane."
"Why would they do that?" Scott asked.
The psychic moved closer and finally got a glimpse into the cockpit, at the being sitting there behind the bloodstained and fractured window. Her heart jumped.
"Logan!?"
---
Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great day~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :D | 2019-12-01T09:08:36 | 2019-12-01T08:16:58 | 53 | 25 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | 10 minutes ago Hawk was lounging around at the base with nothing much to do. Now he and his co-pilot Twitch were in a Typhoon at 10,000 feet and cruising just under Mach 1 towards the unidentified contact.
Unidentified radar contacts were not an unusual occurrence and usually ended up being a weather balloon, a large flock of birds or even the occasional lost light aircraft. But it was headed straight for the airbase and protocole called for a visual confirmation.
"Base to Hawk, unidentified bogie 20 miles out, unresponsive to hails. Caution storm front approaching, over."
"Hawk to Base, understood. Around 30 seconds to visual, over"
"Roger that Hawk, Base out"
Hawk look out through the canopy, eyes scanning the horizon. Just on the edge of the storm front, Hawk could see a small dark silhouette highlighted by the occasional lighting flash from behind.
"Are you seeing that?" Hawk asked his co-pilot.
"Yes, and I see it on our radar. I'm clocking it at around 300 miles an hour" Twitch replied from behind.
As the fighter closed in to intercept, a few details became clearer. Painted a dark brown, it had a large wingspan, 4 props and smoke billowing from the rear. One of the props wasn't spinning, and the paint job had lines running from the wings to the tail. A slight feeling of unease passed through Hawk.
"I think that's a B-24 bomber" muttered Twitch. "There an airshow on soon?"
"Not that I know of." Curious why the plane wasn't responding to hails from base, Hawk keyed his radio and tried himself.
"This is a British Royal Air Force fighter jet, you are approaching restricted air space. Please identify yourself and correct course, over"
Silence filled the radio. Hawk tried twice more but was met with more silence.
Now closer, the outline of the other aircraft was unmistakably one of a WWII bomber, part of its wing was missing and those paint lines now looked more like gashes down the side of the plane. Deep, long gashes out of which the smoke was escaping from. It was a miracle the thing was still airborne. Now much closer, it was still fast approaching.
Still, there were other details. Metal spikes mounted on the top and side of the fuselage that looked like Tesla coils and long antenna arrays attached to the front and bottom of the craft. Electricity crackled between the metal spikes in bright flashes. It looked like a Frankenstein of a plane. The B24 shot past as Hawk banked the fighter to obtain an escort position around the plane.
While Twitch stared in disbelief, Hawk radioed base.
"Hawk, Base. We have made visual and identified it as a WWII era bomber. It has extensive damage to it's structure and it looks there may be a fire on board. Over."
"Base, Haw... .her.... ay..."
"You are breaking up base. Can you read me? Over"
".... econd... ...bogie.. ...r..d......"
The radio was flooded with the sound of static.
"Piece of junk" Hawk muttered as he lightly kicked the console.
"Probably has to do with all of that" Twitch said, gesturing to the electrical arcs surrounding the bomber.
As Hawk pulled his fighter into an escort postition along and above the bomber, Twitch continued: "Even the radar's been acting up since we got near it too. Keeps picking up another contact just behind us"
Hawk turned his head and looked out the rear of the canopy to see nothing but the dark swirling clouds of the storm closing in behind them.
As he turned back to face the front, something in the B24 caught his eye. A man dressed in old flight leathers, who Hawk assumed was part of the bomber's crew, was wildly waving his arms through the cockpit and pointing behind at the dark clouds. Checking once again, Hawk turned to look at the storm behind and his blood ran cold. A second later and he would have missed it. But he didn't. Right there in the middle of the dark clouds, a giant yellow eye blinked open. | "sSssSSSsky dragons"... It came out as a whisper but crackled over the radio clear as a bell.
"I DON'T SEE IT...WHERE IS IT?..TAIL, TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE?", said a new voice.
"We've been at this for YEARS 'Cap'... Does it even matter what I see? came the voice of the tail gunner.
"...sky dragons, 'Cap', that's what we're gonna see and it'll be coming from the East... just like the last thousand times.", said the first voice again.
Major General Bartholamew Bartlett ("BeeBee" when he was younger and not 'in charge' of this whole division) wasn't supposed to be in a 'Harrier' doing contact exercises any more. He was, however, supposed to keep his skills sharp. What a day to be up in the sky, over the channel, trying to keep his 'active wing' status.
He smirked to himself. This is the first moment in his 22 year career that he was the entire 'chain of command'. He was first at the 'bogey' and he was to report for orders. However, he was to report to 'tower', who would then call "The Boss" and request orders. Since he ***was*** "The Boss", he would simply inform tower how it was going to go... one problem... WTF was actually going on?
"Tower, this is BB actual, over" he said. As calmly as he could.
"BB actual, this is tower... two, I say again, two F-35's are en route to intercept. Permission to "go hot" sir ? over." said 'Tower'.
General Bartlett smiled behind his oxygen mask. Tower was basically saying 'We've got your back sir and we'll smoke anything near you... just give us the word'. "No, tower. Permission denied." His smile faded and he had a thought. "Tower.. All weapon systems 'cool', but put targeting on to collect data, over."
"Roger that, Fearless Leader... (small chuckle)... Will do. What are you looking at? Need any overtrained F-18's in 'the blue' with you? Over"
Again 'BB' found himself smiling. His Canadian counterpart, doing a NATO stint on RAF base 'BB', was running the show on the ground. Good. All was in order.
Back to the task at hand.
"Tower, this is BB actual, tell intercept to switch to my frequency and ID. Over" rumbled BB, as his mind and attention were drawn back to "The Liberator" right in front of him.
(static squelch) "BB actual, this is 'Tiger Belly' with my wingman 'Bobber' at your ser.... What the fuck am I looki... Uh, sir... uh, orders sir?"
BB knew where to look, and saw the little grey blips on the horizon. As soon as he could see them clearly, they were already past him. He also knew 'Bobber' quite well and, by extension, was pretty familiar with 'Tiger Belly' as well.
He could not be safer.
"'Tiger Belly'... 'Bobber'... Give me a 50 nautical mile perimeter around the bogey. I hear some chatter on comms on another freak (frequency). Give me fiver earth minutes and radio check with wingman 'flyby'. Over" grumbled BB.
"Aye, BB actual, five and flyby. Roger."
"Aye, BB actual, watching the whole show on 'dar (radar)" said Tower.
Now that British airspace was "safe"...
What does one say to the Captain of a vessel that hasn't been seen, anywhere but museums, for the last 60 years?
BB's Harrier is one of the only craft in the RAF that can fly slow enough to keep with the B-24. He did a slow fly 'round to take a good look. This craft has been to hell and back. Her paint looks dirt covered and grimy. It's an odd look for a plane that was, originally, shiny silver. There were only two spots that had damage, but those two wounds were deep. At least 6 feet of the port wing was gone and there were long... tears in the fuselage all the way from the side gunner to just before the tail. Any call sign or flight/unit numbers were either dirt covered of missing. The only identifying marks was a painting of a girl near the cockpit and a name underneath.. 'Bobby Sue'
That's when the chatter started again.
"I see it, it looks smaller... but I can see it. The fire is at the back or something?" said the mystery voice.
"FIRE"
It was at that moment BB realised that 'he' was the "sky dragon".
End of Part 1 | 2019-12-01T09:08:36 | 2019-12-01T09:04:42 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] A beautiful princess sets off to slay the knight in shining armor and save the dragon. |
One fateful day (the fifth of May)
A fair princess was born.
The King and Queen were filled with joy and sent a unicorn
with invitations to the fairies Thorne, Olvay, and Fate,
so they would come to the kingdom and party! (Celebrate)
But the fairies did not come...
They sent gifts instead!
In the form of blessings on the baby’s royal head.
The first (Olvay) blessed the babe with a heart of gold.
The second (Thorne) decreed she’d be adventurous and bold.
And third the fairy Fate announced that beauty was her gift, and all announced the new cast spells impossible to lift.
And so she grew up beautiful, no star in heaven brighter.
She grew to have a heart of gold (and plus she was a fighter!)
And on her sixteenth birthday, she found a dragon egg.
She took it home and watched it hatch, fed it a turkey leg.
She kept it in the castle till it was too big to stay, and shed a briny tear or two when it finally flew away.
But she kept track of it’s progress, and was always filled with pride,
when tales of knights defeated in fights with it came in landslides.
Until one day a horrid prince clipped her baby’s wing, took it home and showed it off to many horrid Kings.
The princess’s heart was filled with rage, her eyes were filled with fire.
Deadly weapons (made for knights) she began to acquire.
And when she had prepared herself she made to journey to
the kingdom of the horrid prince so he would learn to rue
the day he dared kidnap her pet, her dearest dragon brood.
She would not stop until his entire kingdom was subdued. | *'He's always been a total bastard.'*
That thought rushes through your head as your horse gallops toward your destination: Wyrmfell Tower.
Bless M'Rukirr, your best friend... and the only dragon you'd ever known. The two of you had grown up together, as dragon-kind had tried to grow closer to humans. Thus, you, the current princess of the largest human kingdom, were paired with the princess of the Dragons... and though you weren't the nicest person, as the saying goes, people can change.
M'Rukirr never gave up on you; over 16 years leading to the day you both celebrated your 21st birthdays, your stalwart dragon friend had remained in human form to show you she cared. She remained in a form familiar to you to help you change from a spiteful, spoiled-rotten, human-supremacist princess, into a kind young woman with compassion to spare and a drive to help everyone. In return, without realizing it, you'd given each other more than a friend to rely on...
You'd given each other your hearts, and would gladly risk it all to save each other from Death itself.
(Death's note: Oh no, I don't kill!)
But as you ride, you notice something. The ground is becoming more and more charred. Has your friend been breathing dragon fire to mark a path for you?
You finally arrive to find that bastard, Sir Julian, standing over your chosen partner with a foot over her face.
And then... the unthinkable happened.
As he demanded your hand, only to be refused, he lunged at you, shouting, "THEN NO ONE SHALL HAVE YOU!" And as the blade nearly sliced your skull in twain, your senses heightened. Your eyes dilated, pupils turned to reptilian slits... and you melted the vile knight to cinders with flames you never knew you had.
M'Rukirr spent the entire night with you that night, telling you the story of how your saintly father had been a ... bit twitchy with his trigger finger and accidentally impregnated a younger Dragon Princess. Not M'Rukirr's mother, thankfully... but a bastard daughter of the royal family. He'd then adopted you and raised you ad his own.
That next day, you abandoned "your" kingdom to go on a lifetime adventure with your lover and fellow dragon. The world was your oyster, and you would do it no harm. | 2020-03-22T22:32:14 | 2020-03-22T20:59:30 | 83 | 38 |
[WP] Every year several hundred thousand people go missing worldwide, the crazies said it was aliens. When you were abducted, you found out they were right. Turns out humans make astonishingly good pets. Not because we're smart or strong or fast but because... we're adorable. | It reminded me of my leopard gecko.
Mine was bred in captivity, of course. He was a cute little thing, the length of my hand, yellow and black spotted, with the sweetest little smile. Leopard geckos are like that - they look like they're smiling. That was what caught my attention as a kid. I spent weeks pleading and harassing my father, putting together presentations on leopard gecko care, taking on extra chores and leaving articles on different morphs open on his browser tabs, until a glossy, glass tank appeared in my bedroom one day. I named him Joanna. He was a boy lizard, but I could not be dissuaded.
Leopard geckos are so common in the pet trade now that there's no point in getting them from the wild, but that was how it started. Men - I always envision them to be men, rough handed and dressed in khaki - drove out to the grasslands of Pakistan and caught wild leopard geckos by the hundreds, by the thousands. They tossed them into crates, tossed the crates into trucks, and hauled the lizards across the world to be sold to snub-nosed children for twenty bucks a piece.
It was a little like that.
She kept me well enough. I'm assuming my captor's gender, as there's no real way to know, but she seems feminine to me. Something about the way she tilts her head and trills when she's pleased with me, or the soft edges inside her vast, violet, compound eyes. I judged her to be compassionate, in her way. She made efforts to keep me comfortably, even trying to recreate my home environment. It was a poor man's shadow of the real thing, but at least I recognized the effort.
Speaking was pointless, aside from the fact that she seemed to like it when I did. I figured it was not dissimilar to when Joanna would croak at me. He was so small, so beneath consideration, that I assumed his stupid little squeaks existed to delight and surprise me. His instincts counted for so little. It was the same with her. I spoke frequently at first; she veered from obvious pleasure to stern commands for silence, based on how worked up she judged me to be. I couldn't understand the weird, shimmering notes that made up her speech, no matter how long I watched them sizzle brightly on the air, but I eventually learned tone, intention. It turns out telling the family dog to shut up sounds basically the same universally.
I don't speak so much anymore. There's no point. I am beneath consideration. I am fed. My needs are met. What's to be done? She is gargantuan. She is the monolith. The greatest victory I could hope to earn with open rebellion would be a moment of casual discipline, barely a ripple of disruption to her day.
Or she could decide I wasn't the right fit. "Rehome me," the way I would have rehomed a troublesome cat, once. I know my situation is not unique. I know there are others. Would another one be better or worse?
The devil you know, or the devil you don't?
I sleep most of the time, now. I'm not proud of it. It looks like I've given up, and I guess I have. All I have is days, nights, minutes, seconds ticking by, alone in my head, with no reprieve. No company. No distractions. She can't even figure out that I would like a book, a single book to read. And I have no way to tell her.
So I sleep.
But things have been changing, lately. At least, I think they have. It's so hard to tell, with my brain wrapped in thick layers of gauze. I haven't been able to think straight in weeks. Months? But I think, maybe, things have been changing. We go out more now. I see more of her world - the shifting, unsteady sky, the walkways that glow a pearly silver and bend slightly with your weight, the thick, sweet air that holds their words so well. She seems proud of me. We stop frequently, and I suspect she is showing me off. I can't find the energy to resent her for it. It seems so pointless, like spitting into a hurricane. What good would it do?
I can never get a feeling for how the place is laid out. Are we in a city? It feels that way to me, but I just can't tell. The walkways wrap and loop and sometimes double back on themselves. There's not a straight line anywhere. I never know where we're going. It would be easier, I think, to let go and stop trying to understand, but I just can't. That would be the final surrender, and then what would be left?
So it took me by surprise when I saw a bush. Just a normal bush. Squat and green, unusually spherical, like it was pruned by someone with only the vaguest idea of what a bush was actually supposed to look like, but it was, undeniably, a bush. And next to it, another. And further back, was that a tree?
I looked up at her, searched her flickering eyes for meaning, and she trilled happily at me. She unhooked the humming, white cuff that somehow kept me within five or six feet of her and gestured. The realization hit me: she's taken me to a park. An off-leash park.
And up ahead, down a clumsily recreated dirt path, was another person. Flesh and blood and bone, two eyes, upright, and waving at me. Another person.
They were making dog parks for us now.
I took one tentative step, then another. She made an encouraging sort of noise, and I broke into a trot, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Other people. A chance to talk. A chance to plan.
This changes everything. | Hello. Hope you are well. I am well too. Although you are going to find this message in a bottle, so to speak, please understand that I am not in any immediate danger. In fact, I quite like it here. I do, however, have to tell my story to whoever listens to it.
My name is Adio. I finished top of my class at the CMU and joined the "Royal Caribbean Cruises Ltd." in 1999. They were the only industry back home able to pay great salaries. In 2012 I was promoted to captain of the "Adventure of the Seas". I held this position until June 18th 2015.
I know that you are probably not going to believe this. But those alien abductions stories you hear from around the world are true. I was just like you. Unable to believe; brushing those stories aside as crazy people stories. I even scoffed at Daniel Badrick once when he told me. I hope he isn’t as immature as me and forgives me. I will completely understand if you choose to ignore this and move on with your life. Like I said before, I am doing quite well. I have been eating well. Granted the food is not like back home. I have never been a picky eater to begin with. Truth be told, I am glad this happened. It’s almost as if my wishes have been granted. After all, how long was a man just supposed to stare at the stars? Now I travel through them.
On the night of June 18th in 2015 I was on deck with Bardick Devan. At around 3:30am, when things were quiet, we spotted what I now know is the Drroluman transport ship. It was a bright royal blue thing. So elegant. So...... smooth. Bardick and I went out to investigate. I still remember when Bardick shouted out “UFO.... OH MY GOD”. When I opened my mouth to say something to Bardick I felt this force I can’t really put in terms that is in the realms of your experience. But I now know what it was. These people.... yes they are people, have mastered gravity. Because at that moment I was definitely falling INTO the transport ship.
I landed hard. My 44 year old knees stung like shit. I tried standing up but when I struggled, I felt someone’s “hands” picking me up. Gently. I wasn’t expecting that. The shock made me scream. My screams shocked him instead and he roared like some kind of wild cat. I don’t know how long I stared at him, but when I came to me senses the first thing I asked him was “what the fuck are you?”. I didn’t understand anything that came. But this much I knew. He was trying to explain something to me.
And that’s what was so shocking to me. That I knew he was trying to explain something to me. When I was done collecting my thoughts I knew three things.
1. I was definitely inside of an alien ship
2. I was staring at an alien.
3. Other than the fact that they were huge and seemed ungainly, they looked remarkably like people. Shit... I even had an uncle that looked like him.
I have been here, by my count, 2 years and 167 days and this is what I have to report about these people. They are miners. They mine metals, minerals from any place they can lay their hands on. Asteroids, planets, moons, dead stars. Everything. Not in a thousand years humans would be able to replicate the way these people process these mined materials. I am currently riding on a space ship these people made. They seem so ungainly, but god damn, they can build great things. Not to mention their “robots”. God, these things were more human than human. So nimble, so quick. I can't explain it in enough words.
Now the people. In every way they seem like humans. Larger in every way. Larger heads, large body, large legs, large hands, large fingers... you get the idea. Their skin only looks remarkably like ours. But it’s different. Brown with splotches of black here and there. These markings are unique to every individual. They don’t have a discernible body language but they do have a vivid skin language. Laughter for example makes their skin make these beautiful waves of pink crawling all over their body. Like some kind of sophisticated chameleon. Anger makes it go a dull orange. Happiness a bright pink.
I don’t know where these people truly are from, but all they do is travel between star systems, mine and trade it with other people of their kind. I can tell they’ve colonized an many systems and they live everywhere. There are billions of them. Humanity could talk about solving over population all they want, but this truly seems like the answer.
I did figure out why they took me. I am... for lack of a better word... a pet on their ship. Something to distract them from. Something to love. To like. I have a free run on the whole ship. They feed me well. In every aspect they have provided for me. There’s a reason they take us. We look vaguely like them. From their point of view we look like tinier versions of them. Like monkeys. But intelligent. Our voice sounds tinny and squeaky to them and delights them.
I know what you are probably thinking. No. It’s not demeaning in any way. Yes, I am, for all intents and purposes a pet. But these people know what sentience is. They did seem apologetic for taking me. But I was okay with it. Two failed marriages. 2 daughters who don’t want anything to do with me. A fuckton of alimony. Why wouldn’t I choose this over my life back on Earth.
I still haven’t figured how they manage to communicate in space. They don’t seem to be using any radio. All my training at the CMU and I still haven’t found anything that resembles a transmitter or receiver. After months of scavenging I built a radio. I did test it out a couple of times to check if I tripped some alarms, but all seems well. They still haven’t figured I got a radio.
****************
Crossing the vast distances across space, the radio waves finally washed over Earth. An empty Earth. If there were any humans left, the year would have been 11,491. But there were none. Poor Adio, all his training at the CMU, and he completely forgot about relativity. | 2020-09-09T09:24:08 | 2020-09-09T08:55:49 | 379 | 49 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | I heard my Elvis disc playing as I woke up from a very, very horrible nap. My old man’s recliner was stiff, and was basically ruined. But, why was I awake?
I got out of the silly chair and stretched before tripping over a bunch of containers of alcohol. I looked at almost all the empty bottles of expensive brands and cheap beers.
My surprised expression made my dog come up to me and lick my face. She ran to the open window next to my unlocked door. I followed her and to my surprise,
The sun was still out. Bright and uncomfortable to stare at. The streets were filled with confused people. Some were dressed incredibly stylish, and others were not dressed at all. I couldn’t blame them. It was supposed to be our last day. The world was doomed. The shops were looted. The roads were torched. There wasn’t supposed to be anything left… but we were all still here. The meteor was meant to hit earth directly after midnight, but we were all standing confused, wondering why we weren’t dead.
My adrenaline wore off. I was now leaning on my door. The amount of alcohol I consumed last night was unbearable. Since it was meant to be my last night, I decided to try alcohol illegally for the first time. The laws didn’t apply to us anymore. We had a whole week to do whatever the hell we wanted. In my 18 years, I’ve never felt so sick to my disgusted stomach.
My phone began to ring from the coffee table. Since everyone knew the world was still intact, it was probably my boss. In no way was I going to go to work in my condition. I did want to answer the phone though.
I basically Army crawled over to where my phone was. As I read the contact, i noticed it was my friend Clyde. He worked at NASA. He was one of the many workers who warned us about our last week left on earth.
I answered angrily. “You guys lied.” I yelled.
Clyde gave an awkward laugh. “We may have miscalculated…” | The sound of the bolt racheting back was so satisfying. It was why she'd picked the outdated thing. The way that her target's face painted the arena floor was satisfying too. The way he screamed and fell to the ground still horrified her, still gave her those little shivers of guilt and adrenaline.
"Another victory for Mary-Ann! She's un-fucking-STOPPABLE," the announcer roared, and the crowd cheered. She walked over and kicked his head in, the way it cracked and deformed and he gurgled and cried was so horrifying. The crowd groaned and cheered and howled and everyone had fun.
As she exited the arena and the gate shuddered behind her, a gate guard laughed and yelled "kick me mommy." She did and he yelled again, things like "what the fuck, it was a joke, you crazy bitch." So she shot him, because it was annoying. The other gate guards cheered too and everyone had fun.
She reached her trailer, took a swig of whatever it was she'd left on her makeup table, and sat down.
"Should I take some drugs?" She asked herself. The TV mounted in the corner was playing the news, as it had for some hours now, that actually the world was not going to end. Everyone was going to live. That guy she'd shot, and that other guy she'd shot.
"Who the fuck keeps astronomying and newscasting *after* they thought the world was going to end?" The answer was obvious. "Really boring people."
She felt the sudden urge to vomit. She didn't quite make it to the trash can. She probably shouldn't have drank that mystery liquid. Or killed those two guys. Or maybe it was the cancer?
She lit the mystery fluid on fire and threw it into the back of the trailer as she left. It wasn't worth cleaning up the vomit, honestly. She took some drugs on the way out.
She didn't understand people. She was going to die anyway, why stop the party? But why did the crowd stay, and all her opponents? No way everyone had cancer. They weren't all dying.
Then she realized (or the drugs hit). They all were dying, just way, way slower. She laughed on the way back into the arena. It wasn't her turn yet, she hadn't been called, but who the fuck keeps turn keeping *after* they thought the world was gonna end?
(Author's note: I wrote this whole thing while very high. Also I listened to this song the whole time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5qC4qezmFo&ab_channel=R.I.P.) | 2022-06-15T10:55:34 | 2022-06-15T10:14:56 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | Hello, this is John Johnson for the channel 8 nightly news covering the great birth boom. It’s been 9 months since humanity narrowly avoided complete annihilation and the explosion of custody and child support cases has taken our world by storm.
With a new birthdate that makes the end of World War 2 look like a drop in the bucket the American government has struggled with how to handle this unprecedented issue. Three weeks earlier Congress and the president in a desperate attempt to handle the problem legalized polygamy to support fathers who were a little too energetic during the great craze.
We have senator Dave Dilby to talk about the controversial Family Support Through Mandated Marriages act they sponsored that made its way to the president’s desk during a now common moment of bi partisanship, something only last year would have been thought impossible. Senator, what do you think of our government’s current solutions to these problems?
Well John, I think it goes without saying that during these unprecedented times we’ve been forced into unprecedented solutions. By making this bill contingent on the Increasing Responsible Fatherhood act of 2036, we’ve actually seen widespread approval of these legislative actions.
But senator, don’t you think that this act strips away the rights of American citizens in favor of a nebulous goal of helping children?
Listen John, no one wants an entire generation of kids with no father, and mothers without money to raise those kids. This is the single solution that we have for this now. Consenting mother’s are married to their children’s fathers and we help them with additional funding. We’re solving civilizations woes with this bill you hear.
But senator, aren't you just queuing up problems for tomorrow.
LISTEN, If everyone just used the damn free condoms we were handing out like TICKER TAPE, we wouldn't be in this situation. If you want to avoid these issues, you need to avoid making them.
Thank you for your time senator. I hope it works out as well as you think it will. Back to you Tricia. | The sound of the bolt racheting back was so satisfying. It was why she'd picked the outdated thing. The way that her target's face painted the arena floor was satisfying too. The way he screamed and fell to the ground still horrified her, still gave her those little shivers of guilt and adrenaline.
"Another victory for Mary-Ann! She's un-fucking-STOPPABLE," the announcer roared, and the crowd cheered. She walked over and kicked his head in, the way it cracked and deformed and he gurgled and cried was so horrifying. The crowd groaned and cheered and howled and everyone had fun.
As she exited the arena and the gate shuddered behind her, a gate guard laughed and yelled "kick me mommy." She did and he yelled again, things like "what the fuck, it was a joke, you crazy bitch." So she shot him, because it was annoying. The other gate guards cheered too and everyone had fun.
She reached her trailer, took a swig of whatever it was she'd left on her makeup table, and sat down.
"Should I take some drugs?" She asked herself. The TV mounted in the corner was playing the news, as it had for some hours now, that actually the world was not going to end. Everyone was going to live. That guy she'd shot, and that other guy she'd shot.
"Who the fuck keeps astronomying and newscasting *after* they thought the world was going to end?" The answer was obvious. "Really boring people."
She felt the sudden urge to vomit. She didn't quite make it to the trash can. She probably shouldn't have drank that mystery liquid. Or killed those two guys. Or maybe it was the cancer?
She lit the mystery fluid on fire and threw it into the back of the trailer as she left. It wasn't worth cleaning up the vomit, honestly. She took some drugs on the way out.
She didn't understand people. She was going to die anyway, why stop the party? But why did the crowd stay, and all her opponents? No way everyone had cancer. They weren't all dying.
Then she realized (or the drugs hit). They all were dying, just way, way slower. She laughed on the way back into the arena. It wasn't her turn yet, she hadn't been called, but who the fuck keeps turn keeping *after* they thought the world was gonna end?
(Author's note: I wrote this whole thing while very high. Also I listened to this song the whole time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5qC4qezmFo&ab_channel=R.I.P.) | 2022-06-15T10:15:08 | 2022-06-15T10:14:56 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] "There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street." | "I don't worry," the man said. "I'm not afraid of them."
"You should be," I said, watching him from the corner of my eye. His voice was soft. Too soft, it felt like. So soft and flowing and gentle that it felt like I should have been worried, but somehow every time he opened that mouth I just felt put totally at ease.
"No," the man said. "I'm not. You are. You're scared of them. You fear what they've become, and so you reject them, and they reject you."
"We should. You know what they do-"
"Because they're scared. And because they're scared, they lash out. Like children. I understand that, though. I love children, and I even love *them* too."
"Oh yeah? Who'd you hire to be your fucking escort, mister lovebug? SEAL fucking Team Six?"
"None. I don't need any. I don't need weapons. I just have to talk. And that's the strongest thing in the world."
I looked down at his little suitcase, his nice shoes, his soft, fuzzy sweater. Decked out like that, I'd figured he was either some kind of top-tier hit-job guy, or would be meeting up with some muscle to watch his back. But now - now I was wondering if this was a particularly unique method of suicide.
"You're fucking insane," I muttered, one eye still on the road. Rain spattered off the windshield, swept away by the wipers only to pool again seconds later.
"No. I'm just calm. I don't fear them, and so they don't lash out at me," the man said. He turned, caught me watching, and smiled. It was a warm smile. A comforting smile, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It reminded me of my grandfather, before the stroke took his smile.
"You talk like you've dealt with them before."
"I have. My - home. I learned that they're just like children, and they can be helped just like children."
His *home*?
My foot jabbed the brake. Wheels squealed against wet aslphalt, and we pulled to a halt outside the old subway entrance. He went for the door immediately, shining new shoes splashing in the curbside puddle.
"Remember, it's the third panel from the right. Just lift it up, and it's a straight walk to the entrance on the far side."
"I remember. Thank you, friend," he said as he grabbed his suitcase.
I went to pull the door shut, but on a whim called out to him: "Hey - hey, what's your name, Mister? You got a name you can give?"
He turned back, pausing despite the rain spattering off his hat, and just smiled that big, warm, crinkle-eyed smile.
"Rogers. You can call me Rogers." |
Narrow alleys had split off in all four directions. They held remnants of the old days, trash lids and moldy cookies. It was dark, of course. And silent. I had expected at least a little sound, a song or two, but there was nothing.
I took a step forward and a harsh squeak echoed up and down the street. I looked down, a rotten rubber duck. I kicked it to the side, leaving a trail of dust and grime. If he didn’t know I was here before, he sure as hell did now.
I was ready for him though, or I thought I was. They had existed for thousands of years and never once had a mass of population been turned. I wasn’t going to let one small little cartoon character ruin it this easily.
I took another step, and from above and ahead I heard the shrieking sound of rusty metal grinding against itself. My eyes shot up to the abandoned building in front of me. There was no movement, only an open window. It was on the second floor. It was illuminated by a feint iridescent.
I began to walk forward, maybe I could use reason. Talk to him.
I heard words from above. It was an eerie voice with a long and drawn out Slavic accent.
“Three steps forwards.”
I shivered and looked up. I saw the outline of three fabric fingers sticking out of the window.
I stopped and stood there. “I just want to talk.”, my American voice ringing down the alley.
“Zero talk here.” He withdrew his hand. His purple head moved past the window.
No talking to him. I’d have to handle it the hard way. I kept walking, but stopped again. A scratchy hiss resonated around me, the sound of a predator, the last sound its prey ever hears.
I looked up and watched as the window shut in one swift motion. A black cape flashed across it and blacked out the only source of light. The hairs stood straight up on my arms.
I reached for my bag and pulled out a lighter to start a torch. I ignited the lighter and noticed a shadow moving to my right, a tall yellow figure with red eyes. Jumping to face it, I slowly backed up towards the opposite wall.
Nothing moved. It was silent in the pitch black. More silence. I was on edge, but-with still more quiet around me-I began to get the better of the fear. I stood up straighter.
Then, I heard metal rattle behind me. With the lighter still in my hand I shot back around. There was a shiny metal trash can against the wall less than two feet in front of me. I could smell the filth imitating from it, like fish left to rot in the sun. I gagged, and the lid lifted ever so much. Another pair of red eyes stared out at me.
There were more of them. He’d made more of them. This wasn’t good. I could have taken on one, maybe two, but three vampires would be too much. I turned around to go back.
Blocking my escape, a plump red puppet stood there, slouched with one shoulder jogged up. He shifted his circular head and it fell from one side to the other, revealing his eyes, perfect spheres, glowing pure red.
This was not good. I backed away from the red creature. From behind me I heard him cackle up above. His voice dropped an octave as he emphasized each word one at a time. I knew what was coming.
“One. two. three” | 2022-07-20T17:17:09 | 2022-07-20T16:38:45 | 87 | 12 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | "I have a stable job, a prosperous future ahead of me, and you want me to risk my life to kill some self-proclaimed villains to make you look good?" I didn't even try to hide my distaste for their idea. The people I was talking to right now were high government officials who specialized in recruiting "promising individuals," and I happened to be one of them.
If they at least offered me a normal job, with good pay and benefits, I might even consider it, but they expect me to risk my life and become a hero . To fight some laughable 'bad guys' who spend their time demolishing ( abandoned ) houses, smearing walls with 'evil' phrases and intimidating people with their superpowers - always making sure to keep a safe distance of at least eight meters from them. Absolute pranksters. And because that's not enough, they expect me not only to quit my job, but to work for free. Because heroes don't take money, they do it for the people - their words, not mine. What a wonder no one wants to be a hero anymore.
That could be another reason why those damn recruiters are so persistent....
"Sir, it's a matter of national security. If necessary, the government can force your workplace to fire you - if quitting is not an option. I'm sure the job of a superhero is a much better fit for you than ... whatever you're doing right now," he said with a look that expressed pure belittlement.
"...", I wanted to raise my voice, grab him by the shiny collar and show him what I thought of his 'offer', but I remained silent. I wasn't stupid, violence would put me in an even more uncomfortable position than I already was. Although, to be honest, I doubted mine was any better at the moment. This is the third time they've been here, they've visited my employee to make sure there are no problems, that I quit without notice, and now we're talking again. Although you can hardly call it talking, threatening would be much more fitting.
"Let's do it." I yielded to the pressure. I didn't even have to look up to see their victorious smiles on their faces.
They were congratulating me for becoming a hero, acting as if I had chosen to protect the country and had not been forced to do so, but I smiled anyway. It's not the right time to be rebellious. Without taking a minute, they took me to a training facility to prepare me for the job. I felt like a high school student training for gym day - so how could I not hate it?
But it won't be for nothing, I kept telling myself.
I'll be a superhero, but not for long. I never said I was going to do a good job. Do you have a villain? Oh, sorry, I was aiming a little off. Can you please send the fire department to put out the building? You need an interview? I'm your man! Give me a minute, I'll douse myself in pig's blood to look like a real-life superhero to the public! That's what I call dedication! Do you have any secret information about the bad guys' next moves? I'm about to - oh, sorry, I accidentally sent it to some newspaper writers. Ehm, let's trust them, it's not like they could use the information.
Let's see how long they keep me as a hero! | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T12:24:21 | 517 | 141 |
[WP] You have "Anime Protagonist Syndrome" but with medication it's under control - ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain..... | "Lil, I know you don't believe me now, and you don't have to. But soon, you'll realize that you've made a mistake."
"What are you talking about, Jenny?"
"Things are going to start changing in the next few hours, first with me and then around me, as my meds wear off. This happens every time. You and Mom might wanna go out to brunch and then go into the city to go shopping or something, because this neighborhood won't be safe." I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the eggs.
"Oh, now you're just making things up! You've always been dramatic, it's because your mom spoiled you." She planted her hand on the kitchen counter.
"I told you that you didn't have to believe me. I'm making eggs, are you getting brunch with Mom or would you like some?"
"I'd like some. Sunny side up."
I felt a vein bulge out in my forehead. Was it starting already? "Sure, I'll make yours first. Hash browns okay?"
"I'd rather have roasted potatoes, but I know you won't have time to make those...hash browns are fine." She looked down the nose of her glasses.
That vein again.
Luckily, the cooking was easy. The eggs looked beautiful shimmering in the oil as they fried, and the hash browns sizzled perfectly.
I felt compelled to chop up some little green onions, sprinkle the eggs with seasoning by hand, and beautifully plate the breakfast. Just like anime food, I thought. It was definitely happening.
"Oh, Jenny, this is lovely!" Lil cooed. "Let's hope it tastes half as good as it looks!"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why is that vein on your forehead popping out, are you okay?"
"No! I mean yes. But no! Without my meds, things like this happen!"
"Is that why your hair is that awful shade of purple?"
"It is? Oh, nice! I should pull it up before it gets too long." I grabbed a couple hair ties from my skirt pocket and pulled my hair back in cute little twintails.
"No, it's not nice! How are you doing this?"
"Through no effort of my own," I deadpanned. "We've been over this. I have Anime Protagonist Syndrome. Left untreated, I become Jenny-chan, the protagonist of a magical girl anime. This persona and all its resulting chaos have attached to me psychically, and those pills are the only thing that prevent complete transformation of myself as well as my environment."
"English, please."
"Without those pills, I become Jenny-chan and reality becomes a shit show."
The dog door swung open.
"I still don't believe you. You're doing something, some kind of trick with your hair --"
Even as four catgirl ninjas grabbed her, Lil argued.
"... and I bet those drugs are some kind of narcotic, too, I can't believe you're manufacturing all this drama..."
"I could have been calling the pharmacy. Waiiii~!"
I shoveled Lil's breakfast into my mouth in three bites and headed to my room to grab Momo-tan, my magical corgi, who would no doubt be wearing a white and purple dress to match mine. | "I did you a favor, Dave. As soon as your mother gets home, I'll tell her all about your 'medicine.' I won't let my nephew become no goddamn junkie-"
CRASH.
The dining room window shattered. A red-eyed man wearing all black and with fire spouting from his hands stood amongst the glass and rubble. "Kenji, I've found you, fool."
Dave straightened up, pushed his aunt out of the way. Then his own eyes changed to an electric blue and he drew a katana seemingly from thin air.
"D-dave? What is going on?"
"Shut up." Dave barked. "And my name's not Dave. It's Kenji."
"Wh-"
CLASH.
Dave rushed the intruder and swung at him with his sword, to which his enemy parried with his bare hands in a shower of clanging steel and sparks.
"Oh God! Oh dear!" His aunt wailed in the background as the house was torn to shreds.
"Now you've made it personal, Jorou. You have attacked my home, attacked my family."
"Just like you and your clan has invaded my country, razed our villages, and killed my entire people." Jorou spat back, hatred burning behind red irises.
"That was centuries ago, in a different era. The sins of the father-"
"Do not lecture me!" Jorou growled and threw a gout of black fire at Kenji.
"Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Dave, HELP!!" His aunt screamed, surrounded by black-fire.
"Tsk." Dave (Kenji) clicked his tongue. "Looks like I have to go all out."
"Oh?" Jorou lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.
Dave unsealed an arcane tattoo (that had spontaneously appeared on his arm after he stopped taking the pills) and immediately felt a torrential energy welling up from his core.
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA" He screeched as he swung at Jorou in a savage flurry with inhumane speed.
"Hahahaha, magnificent. You are magnificent, for a Kantai dog." Jorou laughed even as he was cornered by the strikes and parrying for dear life.
"Disappear." Dave spat, as he landed a rib-cracking kick square on Jorou's chest, sending him flying across the living room and out the house, leaving a crater through the wall.
Dave ran over to his aunt, grabbed her and dived through the crater, through the flames, and left her leaning against a tree.
"Oh my God. Thank you Davie. Thank you." His aunt rocked back and forth, in shock.
Dave walked up to finish off Jorou when suddenly a giant mecha flew down from the skies, along with a bunch of men in orange uniforms with glowing blonde hair. Muscular men with phantom "Stands" appeared as well, along with a plethora of ninjas and samurai with varying hair colors.
His death imminent, Dave had a momentary flash of lucidity and broke free from his Kenji persona. "Aunt Marie!!! The pills! Give them to me now!!"
She searched through her purse, luckily she didn't dump all of them down the drain, kept some to show his mother to expose him as a 'junkie.' She tossed them to Dave. "Here!!!"
He caught the bottle and downed several pills dry.
Just as the Saiyans were about to Ki blast him to kingdom come, the pills activated, and reality shifted.
His enemies faded away, screaming in abject terror, while his Kenji persona similarly dissipated, his hair color and eye color returning to normal, his power and arcane tattoos disappearing.
The house, however, was still a mess.
"What on Earth just happened?" His aunt stood shakily and asked.
"Never, ever take away my pills again, Aunt Marie." Dave growled. "Call the fire department."
... | 2022-07-31T18:11:19 | 2022-07-31T17:25:53 | 590 | 254 |
[WP] You have "Anime Protagonist Syndrome" but with medication it's under control - ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain..... | "911, what's your emergency?"
"My Aunt just flushed my medication down the toilet! If I don't take it daily then crazy stuff happens!"
"Umm, ok, what was the medication?"
"Anti-Protagonist Meds, counter anime protat syyndrom stuff!" It took a moment for the voice on the other end of the phone to respond.
"Ok, when was the last time you took your medication?"
I looked frantically at the clock, it was about 1:00 in the afternoon. Realistically speaking as long as I took my meds in the morning I'd be good for the day but, after the hell that this disease had put me through I was scared about coming down.
"I took at 8:00ish, this morning." There was another pause.
"Ok, and just to verfiy it was your aunt who flushed your meds?"
"Yes."
"Ok, since you should still be protected from protagonists syndrome for the rest of the day its not necessarily a medical emergency but, umm, we can see someone out to your address to provide you an emergency restock."
"Ok"
"Also, we'll be sending a cop out to arrest your aunt. Tampering with someone's medication is a crime in and of itself and due to the potential damage that a protagonist can do, she umm..."
"What? She what?"
"Your aunt may be charged with committing an act of terrorism."
I didn't know what to say about that.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mom, dad, aunty, I don't know how to say this..."
"Sweetie," my mother said, "We understand that this might be difficult but we'll be there for you no matter what." My dad gave a somber nod with that.
"Ugh," moaned my aunt, "melarchy, you idiot special snowflake."
My dad glared at her and spat "You count yourself lucky we aren't pressing charges. You know damn well that messing with someone's medication is a crime."
"Aunty is going to be charged with committing an act of terrorism."
Everyone starred at me for a moment. The silence was deafening until a knock at the door. | "CONSTANZA, STOP!" I bellow as I rush to the sink just in time to watch my last pill fall into the depths. Constanza throws her glass of water in my face. "Who do you think you are?"
I look over at the clock. it's been 15 hours since my last dose. *"What the hell, let's try this."* I place myself in horse stance, tense all my muscles, and focus all my energy. **WHOOSH** I bring up Super Saiyan Level 1, and let one of the tendrils of electricity arc to her upper arm. She cries out in pain, and takes a few steps back. "Who am I? WHO AM I?! I am the sick person who will suffer exponentially worse if you do not follow me to the pharmacy for a new bottle of meds immediately." I growl.
Constanza's eyes widen, the realization of my pain and suffering finally touching her heart. I power down. I admit I feel guilty for intimidating her in such a fashion. So I gesture at the table. "Please sit." I softly offer "There's things you should know, that weren't told to you, due to my parents fear of judgment." She sat across from me with rapt attention.
I sighed and wiped a hand across my face. "The truth is without that medication, every relative, past, present and future is in grave danger." If it were even possible, Constanza's eyes grew even wider. "What do you mean? How could we be in danger from this?" she inquired. I reached over to my sideboard, opened a drawer, and pulled out a few pieces of paper. "This is a description of my condition. The basic idea is that I am the protagonist of any number of Anime programs, leaving the rest of you at risk of being held for ransom or killed by whatever antagonist materializes."
Constanza reads the pages in front of her, her expression growing sadder the more she reads. "Oh my sweet boy. I'm so sorry this has happened." she quietly sobs. I rise from my chair and walk over to comfort her. "I, and everyone else will be absolutely fine, as long as I can keep it locked down with the meds." I explain. She nods, and prepares to get up from her chair. I put my hand up to stop her a moment. "Hang on. Wanna see something cool? Brace yourself." I reach behind my back, pull out a red and white ball, and hit the button on the front. The Pokéball opens, and a Pikachu materializes in Constanza's lap. She jumps and makes a little squeak. The Pikachu shakes off the stasis from the Pokéball, looks up at her, smiles and gives her a big 'ol kiss. | 2022-08-01T08:07:24 | 2022-08-01T04:47:52 | 30 | 19 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace. | Bloodhaven.
A massive fortress of a city that had grown from the tiny shopping mall we had cleared out and now loomed over the central valley like a dark lords castle. The fertile land that had once surrounded it was now a thick forest that had grown with super natural speed.
Turns out zombies were great fertilizer.
Ever since we made that desperate deal as some of the last humans on earth, the vampires haven't been hiding, save to avoid the sun. They quickly became our leaders, escorting more survivors to the growing settlements in exchange for more and more blood.
They handled the fighting.
We were left with everything else. They told us to farm, produce food, to make off springs.
It should have been fine.
It should have been fine.
Zombies didn't show up to Bloodhaven anymore.
It should have been fine.
But it wasn't.
Deserters were hunted down and killed their families drain in front of them or turned into feral vampire creatures that murdered without reason in search for blood.
We were slaves.
I leaned back against the tree sucking on an orange as I allowed my body to recover from it's most recent draining. Chances are they'd increase tribute once again in the coming years. They wanted to keep us too weak to run to weak to fight back.
There was a reason they had been in hiding before the zombies after all.
A twig snapped from behind me and I jumped to my feet my heart pounding at the thought of a zombie showing up. Instead what I saw was worse. Covered in fur standing on two legs their hulking frames were nearly twice that of a normal man's.
They stared at me.
I them.
"Ahh," I said slowly still aware of the sun on my back. "Werewolves I presume?"
The first nodded and stepped to the side making way for a shirtless man that commanded respect. He spoke with a rough snarl "do you want to fight back?"
He gestured towards bloodhaven.
"Want to be free?" | I worked at a blood donation clinic before the war started. My co-workers and I managed to turn the plaza into our survival base. More people came. Slowly we managed to build a small community.
Compared to the old world it was awful, but now we were better off than 90% of other survivors. We made a legal system, and a set of rules to live by. One of these was that all who could safely do so, must donate blood. We kept a fresh supply ready in case of an incident. Around 6 months in, we even realized that I fast enough transfusion could stay the effects of a zombie bite
For a while it looked like we would pull through like this indefinitely. Then after the second year, things suddenly took a turn. We thought if we waited long enough the zombies would die out. What we didn't account for was how desperate a creature gets when it's starving. They began laying siege to our city. There were more zombies out there than we had people who could fight. The engineers told us the walls would only hold for a few more weeks.
That's when it happened. We got a report from the western watchtower tower of a single man slicing down a hole hoard. The zombies just ignored him. We brought him inside thinking he had some special repellent, or a transparent armour. In reality, he was a vampire, and his named Adalwin. A few years ago we would laughed, but after what we've seen, it seemed as dead serious as anything else.
Turns out vampires are reasonable people. They avoid human blood whenever they can. For mileania they've most subsisted on livestock, but with the collapse of widescale husbandry, they've started to get desperate. It was tragic to hear what he told us about a man he knew for centuries turning feral, and mascaraing a group of survivors.
Adalwin offered us a deal of protection. Zombies ignore vampires because they can't be infected, but zombie blood is no good for vampires. He would send singles for his 10 friends to come to our city. They would clear out the hoards, but in exchange would have free access to our blood supply.
The problem though is that they would need to drink most of our blood. The mandatory donations weren't popular, but most people knew it was worth it to have the emergency supply. Having to explain to them that they would still have to give just as much, but have less for transfusion would not go over well. What choice do we have though? Either we take this deal on the vampires terms, or Aldwin leaves the hoarde to storm the city, and he has promised that he will not let the blood in our vienes will not go to waste before he leaves | 2022-10-27T09:39:28 | 2022-10-27T08:58:28 | 50 | 23 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say. | *"What does this mean?"* His voice had broken even before he was able to open his mouth. There he was, living the biggest and happiest moment of his life to find this? That poor baby.
He promised himself that day that he would do anything to keep his daughter safe, as it was impossible to know what could surprise them just around the corner. Most of this cases turned out in young infants who died too soon, but he knew that this time was different. It *had* to be different.
He had lost his wife after she gave birth, even though she had the chance to meet the little miracle, honoring the beautiful "baby" written on her arm. He couldn't lose Maggie too. Not now!
Years went by and they tried to make the best of it. And every night, when he tucked her in and she signed "Good night", he would kiss her forehead and stare at her left arm. It was blank. | Of all the words in every dictionary of every language, many would make a great final word. Not this though, not tapioca.
I avoided the stuff. I never even touched it, never talked about it. I don't think I've ever even said the word out loud. I built my entire life around not saying.
What do I have to say for that? Well, who else built a criminal empire on a drug no one had ever heard of. Yep, I introduced khat to the US, that was me. Sure, my monopoly was gone once it spread, but business is still great.
I was driving my Bugatti home, when a strange feeling hit me. I rolled up my long sleeves, which I wore so nobody new the word. Peered through the tattoos created to cover it up and the scars created while trying to remove it. It was still there, bright as day, tapioca.
The light turned green, and I hit the gas, heading up to my mansion in Malibu. My lieutenant had called me. Butterscotch said there was urgent business to be attended to. He and Yorkshire were already there. They wouldn't tell me what was happening. Figures, I know I have rage problems. They probably didn't want me breaking my phone again, or causing an accident.
There it is, up on the hill, the kingpin's estate. There, standing at the gates, were Butterscotch and Yorkshire. Such loyal men, I thought as I opened the door, immediately met with a gun in my face.
"This is a coup Groaty!" Butterscotch exclaimed, "Any last words?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Tapioca!" | 2015-02-05T19:05:12 | 2015-02-05T15:10:56 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say. | *"What does this mean?"* His voice had broken even before he was able to open his mouth. There he was, living the biggest and happiest moment of his life to find this? That poor baby.
He promised himself that day that he would do anything to keep his daughter safe, as it was impossible to know what could surprise them just around the corner. Most of this cases turned out in young infants who died too soon, but he knew that this time was different. It *had* to be different.
He had lost his wife after she gave birth, even though she had the chance to meet the little miracle, honoring the beautiful "baby" written on her arm. He couldn't lose Maggie too. Not now!
Years went by and they tried to make the best of it. And every night, when he tucked her in and she signed "Good night", he would kiss her forehead and stare at her left arm. It was blank. | "We called it the 'Awakening.' It really fits, the event awoke us all. We were no longer mortal humans, limited by time. Some were unlucky, they would get common day-to-day words like 'what' or 'um'. Others, however, would get extremely rare words that would never be uttered in a normal sentence. They were called 'Ancients', and they were the first. They were considered gods, they could not die until they said their word. They stopped aging after they turned 30, and were in prime physical shape. The strongest countries were those who had the most Ancients."
"Why's that, Elder? And what are countries?"
"How can you kill a man that chooses when he wants to die? They were the ultimate soldiers, one man could kill a thousand. And countries, dear Jamie, were what nations were called back in those days.""
"Wow, Elder. That's amazing! You know so much, are you an Ancient too?"
"No, Jamie, I'm not an Ancient. I'm something...different. Not exactly an Ancient, but not a Hume like you."
"Well then...we should make a name for you! How about ElderMan? Or, NeverDieMan!"
"Jamie, those are terrible names."
"It's hard to make up a name for a one-armed man without mentioning the arm, Elder."
"I think that's enough story time for today, Jamie."
"Fine. I don't like your stupid stories anyways."
"I guess you don't want to hear the story of how Percival Augus conquered the world, with me as his lieutenant."
"...See you tomorrow, ElderMan."
| 2015-02-05T19:05:12 | 2015-02-05T16:06:53 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | "Please everyone be upstanding to welcome the best man."
Applause rang around the reception hall as the best man accepted the microphone from the MC and beamed widely at the now captive audience.
"For those of you that don't know me, my name is Jeff, and I'm the best man. Which is about the only thing the new bride and groom will agree on. I met Johnny in my first week of university a scared and nerdy little kid, I took him under my wing !
But, eventually he did come out of his shell to become the accomplished man you see before you now. What I love most about John, is his loyalty and trusting nature, don't ever change that about yoirself, mate !
I also remember the first time I met Abby, John couldn't stop talking about this girl he had met, who was the best looking girl he'd ever seen. I think we can all agree on that right now ! I instantly took a liking to Abby, she's just so giving and generous with her.. Time.
We soon became the 3 muskateers around campus, we were inseparable. I did everything with Abby and John, and I mean ***everything***. Sometimes I felt like the 3 of us were in one big relationship.
John and I graduated together and even ended up at the same company. As some of you may know, Johnny makes a pretty penny, but that comes with a lot of travel. Sometimes John asks me to pop in on Abby and make sure she's going alright, you wouldn't know it but John is the cook ! Don't worry though mate, I take care of all her needs, in the food department.
I promised I'd keep this just like Abby, short and sweet, so I will. I wish both of you a lifetime of happiness. If I can offer you just one piece of marital advice, it's always trust each other, be prepared to give each other space, remember how important your friends are.
So, let's raise our glasses to the perfect couple, and Johnny ! Haha, to the happy couple."
| It isn't jealousy that makes the words turn sour in my mouth. I have prepared trope about how I met my best friend in college and how I'd walk past him every night draped over the toilet seat. How it all changed when he met Maya. Maya, who really is unremarkable when you look at her. Slightly overweight. Her hair isn't shiny. She probably doesn't even use conditioner. She has brown eyes, brown skin and a confused heart.
I clear my throat and stand up, raising my sparkling apple cider high in the air. The sunlight streams into the room, mocking me and turning it golden. There is silence and anticipation, people ready to give me their best canned laughter. Maya watches me wearily. She's not scared, though, because she knows that I love her too much to betray her.
"Imagine this." I say. Imagine being a twenty year old kid in college and not really knowing much about life. Imagine being stupid, dumb and immature. Well, that's what this guy (now pointing at the groom) was. But Maya walked into his life luckily.
What can I say about Maya? She's the sort of person who makes you re-evaluate what it means to be a good person. The sort of person who knows the songs you like and makes you a cup of something steaming when you need it because you've had a terrible day.
I watched my best friend change slowly before my eyes as he grew older with Maya. I saw him learn what it meant to love someone truly. He stopped chasing beautiful girls with curves that smelled like perfume. Instead, he started hanging around the cafe where Maya liked to drink pumpkin spice lattes and eat brownies. Maya was never about restricting herself. She was and is about enjoyment, about eating whatever she wanted and in whatever quantity she wanted. Watching her eat anything chocolate is an experience in itself.
And my best friend, sitting right next to Maya? He became that way too. What was the point in restricting calories, and more importantly, experiences in life? Who knows if you truly live more than once? And so, their relationship became one defined not by societal mores or rules, but just from the fact that they enjoyed life together more than they did separately.
I put my glass down. My arm is starting to hurt, and my face is starting to hurt from trying to look happy.
"Best wishes on your new life, Maya." I mumble and look down. I may have fooled everyone else, but there's no fooling me.
| 2015-04-02T22:21:01 | 2015-04-02T22:10:37 | 55 | 14 |
[WP] Your ageing family dog walks up to you one day with a piece of paper in its mouth. Taking the paper, you notice that it is a bucket list. | **Disclamer:** I took some liberties with the idea of the bucket list.
---
Twelve is old for a dog.
It's strange, looking at a friend six years younger than you, knowing that his time left is measured, not in years, but in weeks. It's strange, picking a day that fits in *your* calendar, calling the vet, and scheduling a final appointment. Strange, how things change.
I'm not sure when he figured it out, but he did. Maybe he could tell from how the vet talked to us at his last checkup. Maybe he heard the phone call. Maybe he noticed we were giving him his favorite foods and extra-long tummy rubs. Maybe he could just tell by how tired he felt, unable to play for long before needing a nap. But he knew.
The day before the last he came to me and dropped something at my feet. A small pamphlet... no, a brochure. I picked it up and blinked. "Come to beautiful Mariposa Beach," the cover said.
We had been to Mariposa a once before, over a decade ago. I remember playing in the surf, building sand castles, destroying them, and watching the waves roll in.
He made a little whine, and I looked down. He was looking at me, and made another whine. It was the same sound he made when he wanted to go outside and romp in the backyard; it was a sound I hadn't heard in months.
"You want to go here?" I said. He whined.
So we got in the car and drove. He slept for most of the ride, but as we got close his head perked up. I parked, and opened the door for him. We walked slowly towards the beach, breathing in the salty air.
This time, there was no frolicking in the ocean, no building sand castles with stick flags and shell walls. This time, we just sat.
Watching the waves roll out. | Hal sat on the front porch as he always did on these warm mornings. What was once they're routine was now his but he believed it help keep Edith's memory alive. Hal would swing the rigid door wide and prop it open which gave Relish his daily moment of being a puppy again. Relish would give three of the biggest bounds he could muster as he crossed the threshold into that natural endless green and then mosey about that familiar patch until he was content. That old blood hound had been their child and was treated as such. Nowadays when emptiness would approach Hal, he'd load Relish up in the truck and go to the local Wal-Mart and pay a photographer to take pictures of the tired old dumb*ss and his dog. At least that is what he captioned the result of the last photoshoot they had; self deprecation was always a character trait of Hal.
Emptiness did not come today. It was gorgeous outside and he could feel Edith in the seemingly empty chair to his left; she hated rockers and the thought of that made Hal smile eyes closed but open to his own vivid memories. He heard the pads of Relish's feet clamber up those steps that plagued him so much now and head inside for his nap. Then he heard those pads come on out again which only happened when Relish decided he needed more food.
Hal opened the world and saw the vaguely familiar paper gingerly held in the jowls of this dry humored dog. He took the paper and watched Relish with the quiet pride that parents have as he laid down muzzle across Hal's left foot and probably feeling the phantom sensation of Edith's feet on his haunches. He unfolded that yellow lined paper and saw the list that Hal and his wife had made when they first married. Hers were all crossed out and if they had been on his list they would have been crossed out too. But his list was not really a list, just a single hope. It read in those black cursive letters, "Die happy."
Hal reached for the tabletop between the chairs and took the pen he had been using for his crossword. He wrapped the paper across the top of his thigh and crossed out the single line of a hopeful wish. He then scribbled out Relishes name just below that and underlined it. He then gazed at the dog, grinned, and let out the smallest laugh he could. Underneath Relish's name he wrote, "1) Outlive the old guy with balls saggier than mine." The crude old man put the paper down on the table, reached his hand to Edith's arm rest as he did so many times before, and closed his eyes for the last time. | 2015-04-06T11:12:38 | 2015-04-06T10:37:20 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it. | WASHINGTON (AP) -- The nation remains in shock one day after a baffling State of the Union speech delivered by President Barack Obama that many political experts say will live "in infamy."
For days, it was speculated that President Obama would touch on the recent economic upswing, the country's warmed relations with Cuba and Iran, among a checklist of other improvements made within his last year as United States President.
"The State of the Union is typically an occasion in which the President delivers a tame, positive message to the country," said speechwriter Harold Davies. "That was not what happened last night."
Though the President's speech began without incident, he paused before addressing the nation with apparent rage. "What the f--- did you just f---ing say about me?" began his lengthy diatribe.
Within the address, Obama revealed that he had amassed "over 300 kills" during clandestine Al-Quaeda raids. Officials at the Department of Defense have declined to comment on the nature of these secret raids, though one high-ranking navy official has come to describe the President's claim of being a current member of the Navy SEALs as "patently false."
Though the public is still at a loss for what "little clever comment" so angered Obama, social media activists on sites like Twitter and Facebook have called for a staged internet blackout in protest of the secret spy network that the President unveiled during his speech. "Your IP is being traced right now," warned Obama.
In the final moments of the speech, Obama looked into the camera and gave an explicit warning to Jason Kiddoe, the Republican Senator from Kentucky and a late newcomer to the presidential race. "I have no idea what I may have done to offend the President, but I take his threat on my life very seriously and am in the midst of seeking legal council," said Kiddoe. | My fellow Americans,
As I leave office, times are dire. I have had a conversation with Kim Jong Un in which he informed me that upon my retiring from the role of president, he will launch no fewer than 102 nuclear missiles at the United States.
I begged him, pleaded with him. "Un," I says, "Un, what can I do to stop this tragedy?"
"Wew," he said, as his breathing intensified, "You must bwing me Jennifaw Wawence. And aww da cats in Amewica."
"But Un," I told him, this violates the freedom America stands for!" I said.
"I wiw accept the Emma Watson," he replied, "she Bwitish." I could see him in my mind's eye, tipping his fedora and greeting her with a "mi'wady."
"You know I can't do that, Un," I told him, "Do we have to go to war over this?"
He hesitated for a moment, then he said "I tew you wat. To pwevent aw out waw, I going to need about twee fiddy."
Thus we prevented World War Three. Sorry, America, you should have used a Serious tag.
On a more serious note, today we recognize one of America's Greatest heroes. Few men have done more for the great of this nation than him, America's shining knight. Truly, he is an example to be upheld by all American Citizens. Paul Blart Mall Cop. Nope, Chuck Testa.
I hope our next presidency will be OC and not a repost, because OP did not deliver. Came here to say this. If my Secretary of State should run, please do not upvote because girl. As we all know, our culture lacks a positive identity for men due to the constant misandry reinforced by our cultural norms that have castrated our men. Thanks, Obama.
When choosing your next Commander in Chief, ask yourself, Where Did The Soda Go? If You Don't Surf, you may be coaxedintoasnafu. When new candidates come to your town, asking to bear the weight of the U.S. on his or her shoulders, ask them "Do you Even Lift?"
So as my presidency comes to a close, I tip my fedora to you, console peasants and members of the PC Master Race alike. Praise Gaben. | 2015-04-30T08:20:30 | 2015-04-30T08:08:51 | 503 | 41 |
[WP] A centuries-old vampire, turned as a child, takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children. | There's a rope skipping the children sing, down on Marigold lane, down in the dirty part of town, where you can have anything you want for a price.
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks just six*
*Don't you fall for one of her tricks.*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, a hundred years old*
*Cheeks of red and hair of gold*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks so dear*
*If you see her, don't go near*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her bite*
*On a sweet and shivery night*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her eleven*
*Tried to grab her and sent to heaven*
*One wanted hugs, another wanted kisses*
*One thought he'd take her for his missus*
*Sweet Mary Marvin give him a peck*
*How many holes were in his neck?*
*One, two, three, four....*
And the kids skip on. And on and on. It's a cute song, but honestly, it's putting me off my dinner tonight.
After all, how is some kid going to find a fitting rhyme for "twelve?" | After several centuries of hedonistic living, she had finally found a pastime that was truly worthwhile. For the past few months, Amber has been engaged in a particularly entertaining pursuit. Feeding (and killing) those who think she is as meek as her appearance would suggest.
Today's catch seemed like any other, but the man was conflicted.
"I'm sorry," he said, for what seemed like the 100th time. She was almost ready to yell at him, when there was a knock at the door.
Amber sensed danger and immediately snapped off the bindings and stood up. She knew there was trouble when the man didn't seemed phased by her actions. Instead, he opened the door.
"Helsing," she hissed.
"My dear Amber, it has been awhile old gal."
"What do you want?"
"As you may have noticed," he said, tapping at the vials of blood laced around his neck. "I've entered the collection business and I've got one vial right here with your name on it. Just share a bit of what you have and I'll be on my way."
"I know what you've been doing with those Helsing," said Amber with a smile. "You've become quite the abomination, haven't you?"
All mirth vanished from Helsing's eyes. "Leave us," he commanded at the almost tearful man, who seemed only glad to run out. Helsing drew a large knife. "I'm going to enjoy gutting you Amber. Perhaps you'll be a bit more fun than Emilie, yes?"
At that instant a figure materialized from the shadows behind Helsing. He attempted to turn around, but it was too late. His head was already detached from his body.
Amber looked on in amusement as Dracula lifted the head as if talking to him. "Vampire hunter turned vampire-vampire hunter. No longer can he abuse my children."
| 2015-04-30T12:51:10 | 2015-04-30T12:28:36 | 53 | 16 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a stranded alien who needs humanity to develop interstellar travel to get home
From https://www.reddit.com/r/videos/comments/34i0h9/elon_musk_debuts_the_tesla_powerwall_full_keynote/cqv1cny?sort=top
Edit: Wow, this blew up. Thanks for the gold, whoever gave it, even though the real people deserving of it are all the writers here! | "Mr. Musk?" Francis knocked cautiously at the office door.
"Come In Francis. Tell me everything, how did it go? Was the landing successful?" Elon asked rising from his black leather chair.
"Un..unfortunately sir while the rocket did indeed land back on the barge it was unable to stabilize itself. It..it was a total loss. The maneuvering system is just not capable yet…But we have already started to re-code the core and re-engineer the thruster output." Francis trailed off as he noticed the defeat cloud his bosses face. The CEO turned to the window.
"Thank you Francis…it is not your fault. I will check in with our RD department shortly. Take the rest of the day off, Im sure you need it."
"Yes sir." Said Francis turning to go. "And sir, don't worry we're way ahead of everyone else. We'll figure it out... we'll get you home. We've got plenty of time." With that Francis began to walk out of the office.
"I wish you were right." Said Elon, stopping Francis in his tracks. "Sir?"
"Close the door, and sit down." Francis did as he was told, but the tone of Elon's voice made his blood run cold.
"I never thought I would come to respect a human as much as I do you. Which in a way makes my shame in deceiving you even deeper. He took a deep breath and continued. " I am an advance scout, not a wayward alien. My home world has died, sucked dry of resources and life to support my civilization. Those of my people who survived the fall set to the stars to find a new home. Our scouts went far and wide but the news was never good. Until finally we spotted your small backwater planet. Hope was renewed ten fold and we rejoiced in our salvation. I was sent ahead to prepare this Earth for our arrival. But upon my arrival hope turned to ash. My crash landing in Roswell destroyed my ship and my only means of communication. My only way to warn my people.." He trailed off.
"Warn them? Warn them of what, of us?" Francis was struggling to understand.
"No." Said Elon. "To warn them that by the time they arrive this planet will have died as well."
Edit: Typo
Edit 2: Oh man thanks for all the kind comments everyone. Glad so many people are enjoying my story!
Edit 3: Whoa, my first gold! I am humbled and honored, thank you. | As every pair of eyes in the entirety of White Center High School's gymnasium turned to face Jacob, the slightly chubby and *very* nervous boy wished he could melt through the floor. Students packed the gym, each seat on the bleachers being used, each plastic chair on the court taken. Jacob stood alone on the uplifted stage, looking out at the sea of people.
"You what, now?" A voice came from the bleachers.
Jacob cleared his throat, trying to steady his hand. "Well, it's just a theory."
When no one spoke out, he decided to continue.
"You see," he went on with false confidence, "Elon Musk is trying to share information about the rocket technology between different... er, creators of rockets. Why would anyone do that? It isn't profitable."
A few nods came from a few seats.
"Profit, that is the driving force behind all entrepreneurs and Elon Musk is certainly an entrepreneur. So why is he not interested in profit?" Jacob's voice was growing more calm as the links locked in his mind. He suddenly realized he was right to have requested a small speech during the monthly school meeting. "I should revise my last statement. Profit is the driving force behind all *human* entrepreneurs. I think, and stay with me here, that Elon Musk is not a human."
"Go on..." a student in the front row said.
He did go on. He told everyone of how Elon Musk had ideas no human ever had and how Elon Musk was *too* into space travel and how Elon Musk was really attract- luckily Jacob stopped himself before finished that last bit.
The students roared their approval, shouting out things like: "Take me now, Jacob," and "I wish you were my father, Jacob!"
Jacob was so elated with what had just occurred, that when school ended, he rushed home and went to Reddit, his favorite website. He quickly went to a specific subreddit: Getmotivated.
He typed like he never typed before, putting letters on the screen with ferocious speed. He typed out his feelings at the time. The events that occurred. The changes in the once-thought-to-be permanently fixed social structure of White Center High.
Then, exhausted, Jacob slept.
He woke up two hours later and checked his post.
>0 points (40% upvoted)
He blinked, then clicked comments upon seeing one.
> **gayninjaunseenbuttsex** 2 points an hour ago
>Yeah, *that happened*.
Jacob blinked. The door to the computer room opened and Mark stood there. "Get off the computer, fag."
Jacob shrugged off the defeat on Reddit and smiled at his brother. "No longer am I fag, I basically own the school after today."
"What?" Mark stepped forward. "You were asleep all day long. You got up two hours ago, confirming you weren't in a coma, and used the computer for half an hour then went back to sleep."
"But..." Jacob started, "but, the, but, at school-"
"School was cancelled, now get off the computer, *fag*."
Jacob stood and hung his head dejectedly as he walked out of the computer room. | 2015-05-01T11:07:56 | 2015-05-01T09:42:44 | 1,925 | 86 |
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her. | It was a wonder none of us had gone deaf. My ears were still ringing, days after the bombings ended, but I insisted that we wait, just in case things weren't stable outside. They were just kids, though, and they were on the verge of driving me to insanity.
Just one look, I said. That's all I would do, and it's all I did. The world was leveled. Everything was rubble. There were no cars, no buildings, and certainly no people. There would be no food, and water would be nigh impossible to find. The black clouds on the horizon made my heart sink. It was probably ash, dust, and debris from somewhere else, being carried in our direction by the winds. Out there, we would die by lung contamination more than likely.
In here, we would die, or go insane. Whichever came first.
"We'll need your legos to rebuild, little dude, but we'll be all right."
A week's time, and I would be eating those words, or perhaps the body belonging to the ears that heard them. | Hey, *hey*, tch. What’d I say about going near the windows?
See the sun? We call that ‘twilight’. Can you say that with me? ‘Twilight’.
What happens during twilight? That’s right, we can’t go near the windows, okay, buddy? If I lost you I don’t know what I’d do. It’s just you and me out here, you got it?
Yes, that’s right. Daddy lost his fingers because he went too close to the window. I told you how that happened, right?
Sing it with me:
*Well I saw the thing comin’ out of the sky…*
Don’t want to sing? Come on, bud, this is important.
*It had one long horn and one big eye…*
You know the words, I’ve been singing this song to you ever since the *first* day out of the bunker. You’ve got to know what you’re dealing with out here, son.
Come on, sing to me. What’s out there?
Yeah, yeah! That’s right:
*It was a one-eyed, one horned, flying…?*
Come on, finish it for me? No, it’s alright. Daddy’s okay. Was just thinking about Mommy. She…
She went too close to a window, too.
No, no, daddy’s okay, daddy’s okay. Just finish the song, please?
Good:
*It was a one-eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater,*
*One-eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater…*
A one-eyed, one horned, flying purple… *people* eater…
Sure looked strange, to me.
***
^**/r/NaimKabir** | 2015-05-11T05:00:33 | 2015-05-11T04:44:38 | 643 | 413 |
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her. | It was a wonder none of us had gone deaf. My ears were still ringing, days after the bombings ended, but I insisted that we wait, just in case things weren't stable outside. They were just kids, though, and they were on the verge of driving me to insanity.
Just one look, I said. That's all I would do, and it's all I did. The world was leveled. Everything was rubble. There were no cars, no buildings, and certainly no people. There would be no food, and water would be nigh impossible to find. The black clouds on the horizon made my heart sink. It was probably ash, dust, and debris from somewhere else, being carried in our direction by the winds. Out there, we would die by lung contamination more than likely.
In here, we would die, or go insane. Whichever came first.
"We'll need your legos to rebuild, little dude, but we'll be all right."
A week's time, and I would be eating those words, or perhaps the body belonging to the ears that heard them. | My muscles tensed in anticipation of the explosions. As the whistling sound grew in intensity I knew the moment had arrived. We held hands and prayed while the children slept through their fiery pending deaths.
*SQUONKA SQUONKA*
What the hell?! The sound continued, sometimes close by, then farther away, but over and over that bizarre sound replaced the expected boom of the bombs as they dropped. It went on for what felt like hours before silence once more filled the air.
We crept towards the shelter doors, confusion mixing with dread as we threw the bolts and slowly pushed the doors open enough to peek through. What we saw haunts me to this very day. Instead of the ruins of our city, smoldering buildings and craters in the ground, what we saw chilled us to the bone. A flash of color at first, darting through the mist with an awkward gait. The low sounds of the horns and tittering evil laughter. Horrid smiles painted on white creamy flesh. Large, bulbous red noses that should have caused feelings of mirth, image ruined by the sharp teeth and bloodied mouths.
I will never forget the sight of thousands of clones of that evil, twisted persona, Pennywise. I knew that death truly had come to us all. Not the quick and painless kind, but true horror awaited those who stepped outside. One of the children pushed forward from the back trying to get a glimpse of what was going on.
I needed to give them their last moments without fear. "Oh child, it's nothing. Just a circus come to town and not the war after all. Go back to sleep while we handle this." It hurt, lying to a child. | 2015-05-11T05:00:33 | 2015-05-11T03:25:56 | 643 | 61 |
[WP] You're not one of those storybook genies that take wishes literally and screw your masters over. You use the context to provide them with as close to what they had in mind as possible, but your latest master is making it difficult. | "Fine! Just a ten percent adjustment to the speed of light!"
I rubbed my head again. The astrophysicist in front of me was demanding some awfully awful fundamental changes to... to the fundamentals. I could enact them, with no real cost to myself, but...
While it is true that there are many possible universes in this multiverse, described and ensorcelled by a scant few laws and constants, to change one universe to another is something that cannot be taken lightly.
Especially that speed of light. Raising that one ruins everything chemical and if there is any decent number of black holes about.... I've seen gamma ray bursts ignite the skies of so many worlds... "Listen to me, please. The things you are asking are probable going to kill everyone, everywhere, forever. You aren't even a type two civilization, and even type fours screw this one up. Just... ask for a simple edit. You find happiness, you find the love of your life, you publish the most important paper in history, world commerce suddenly results in a cheaper strawberry... Even the blanket "world peace" option is safer."
The arrogant bastard shook his head. "The experiment is ready *now*. I want to run the test *now*. You will change the constant *now*. That is my wish."
***That is my wish.***
The entire universe changed itself to reflect this desire made manifest. Beings in some far part of a distant galaxy, made of heavier materials like iron and platinum and adrift in space found their bodies and minds suddenly irradiated to the point of boiling. Every less hardy species was immediately killed as every one of their own atoms blasted them apart. The planet's were consumed with the fires of a single instantaneous pulse of radiated light. All of the stars blew out, but for their size it might take a few years to realize it.
I rubbed my head again. This universe couldn't sustain life for at least a million years, probable a few trillion with my luck. It'd have to settle down and start all over with the fresh constants. And here I was, the Great Editor NIE, stuck here to wait till the next iteration, with only a few years of light shows to keep me company.
Next time, I'm going to lie to whatever folk come up, try to limit what they think they can do... This is the billionth time... I swear.... | "I'd like a blue dress" she said, her frail weak voice whispered out from her wrinkly and cracking lips.
"Is that all? Just a blue dress? You know you could have anything in the world" I replied, hovering over lamp in a veil of mist.
"Yes, that's all, sir. Just a blue dress."
"Oh, alright then, here you go" with a wave of my hand, a blue dress adorned itself on her body before she even could reply.
With a humph, she said, "This isn't the color blue I wanted. This is green. I want blue."
Looking down at her, then her dress, then back to her, I assured myself the dress was actually blue. "It is blue" I said, "as blue as the sky and the ocean. I assure you miss that's a blue dress."
She sat up from her recliner, it moaned when her weight was lifted from it, "Sir, this isn't blue. This is green. Try again. You're suppose to grant me the one wish I want, and I wanted a blue dress, and this isn't blue. Can't do you anything right?"
"Fine," with a wave of my hand another blue dress appeared on her, "there. Happy?"
She looked down, then back up at me and spat, "This is purple. Not blue. I thought you were a genie, some kind of magical whatchamacallit, but so far you've only gave me what I don't wanted. Try harder next time."
This bit-! Okay, whatever, I thought, one more time and that's it. With a nod of my head and a smile across my face, I swept my hand through the air, and another blue dress adorned her unpleasant body.
Her head moved the same way it did before, inspecting the dress, then saying, "No, no, no. Sir. This is violet, not blue."
And this is how it went for almost an hour. I continued to create blue dresses, and she continued to say they weren't blue: red, green, violet, maroon, periwinkle, mac-n-cheese (whatever that is), so and so fourth until I was to the point of wrapping her neck in a blue noose.
"Lady! Look, see, goddamnit. I've given you hundreds of blue dresses, ones with different hues and shades of blue, dresses that were longer, shorter, wider, thinner, and thicker! I've given you dresses you could find in a damn thrift store and I've given you dresses you couldn't purchase even if you saved up for thousands of years!"
I turned and looked down at the lamp, "Screw this, I'm out."
In a flash of puffy white smoke, I minimized myself and entered the lamp, refusing to leave for the crazy old bag forever.
But in an instant, I was summoned out of the lamp by another person, and when towering over the white carpeted living room floor, I saw an old man standing next to the old woman, and he said, "I'd like a blue sweater vest." | 2015-05-27T07:47:00 | 2015-05-27T07:27:00 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | "Alright, let's start again..." Philip said, his hand covering his eyes. "What is the year?"
James set down the cup of tea in front of the mysterious, confused man. "2015."
"And what happened at 0? Or 1? Whatever."
"Um..." James considered, "Think it was supposed to be around the birth of Christ."
"Alright, that would be that Roman guy, right?"
"...basically."
Philip considered the options, and shook his head, "Alright, this is not helping. Let's go further back a bit. When were the pyramids built in this... AD/BC time frame?"
"The ones in Giza?"
"Yes, those."
James grabbed his iPad, and called up Google. "Um... looks like somewhere around 2500 BC."
"So, if BC is negative..." a brief pause, "4500 years before now?"
"Um... yeah, I think that's about right."
The man eyed James' iPad. "I am when I am supposed to be, but you have got tech that's a few centuries out of date. Does everyone have those sorts of things?"
"A lot of them do, yeah..."
"Does that thing have a map?"
After a lot of zooming out, and very confused looks at the names of the places around the world, the man sat back. "So I'm in the right place, too... What went wrong?"
"So you're from... now?"
"Our point in the present is the same, but we're from different timelines. I was born in... well, it would be 1986 by your reckoning, but from a town off the coast of..." he glanced at the map still on the iPad, "England that, apparently, never existed... I know, tenses are weird."
"Wait, off the coast?"
"Yes, a floating city."
James just stared at the man. "Normally, I'd think you're crazy, but you appeared in the air above my backyard right in front of my eyes, and set the arm you broke with something from that pouch on your belt... how is that, by the way?"
The man rolled his arm. "It's setting nicely, thank you."
"Anyway, I'm willing to suspend disbelief after what I've seen."
"I need to know what went wrong. The world is not supposed to be like..." he motioned around, "this."
"You went back in time?"
"Yes, that is right. I was doing some research in the past, and I tried to come back to my lab, and ended up in your back yard."
"So just researching?"
"Yes."
"You weren't going back in time to... I don't know, kill Hitler or something?"
"Who?"
A heavy silence filled the kitchen, and was all the answer the man needed.
"He was a very bad person in this timeline, wasn't he?"
James just nodded, and glanced at a picture of an elderly couple on the counter.
"Alright... do you have access to history on that thing?"
"Yeah..." James called up Wikipedia.
"I was in Europe, about 1700 years ago. I need to know what I did to change history..."
------------
Philip leaned back in his chair, and sighed. On the iPad sat the article for the Dark Ages.
"You're telling me you think you caused the Dark Ages?"
Philip nodded, still in shock. "The Roman Empire never fell in my history. I was studying the middle of their empire... and I must have done something that led to its collapse, plunging the entire area into a regressive age..."
There was some more silence. "What are you going to do?"
Philip looked at the device on his arm. "I must to go back and fix it. I must try and turn things right..."
"What about me?"
They looked at each other. "I do not know... If I succeed, then... you may not exist anymore. Or you might... split timelines like this might be strong enough to continue on their own. I really do not know."
James sat back, considering. "In your timeline, you've got... what, fifteen hundred years of scientific advancement instead of five to ten hundred in ours?"
Philip nodded.
"And in your home, your world, you've got cool gadgets like time machines, and wraps that can fix broken bones in minutes..."
"Among other things, yes."
James glanced at the picture on the counter again.
"Will I know if you succeeded?"
"I do not know."
There was another silence.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I believe you have done everything you can," Philip got up, and checked the device on his wrist. "This still has about 60% charge remaining. I should have a few tries at righting my wrong."
James looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Philip stepped outside, and started pressing buttons. "I would suggest stepping back."
James watched as Philip was enveloped in a white light, and vanished. | **Traveller**
_________
I met a traveller from an antique land... I always loved that poem.
The figure landed in the dry grass from a light that wasn't there any more. Steam rose from his suit, as he tried to get up. I stood there, a few meters away wearing my morning robe and even then I was sweating. The summer had been unbearable... my garden looked like a nuclear wasteland.
Ice flakes broke loose from his suit and fell to ground where it melted. I could have helped him up, it would have made it a lot easier, but the idea of cold burns was not really one I liked to entertain. The popsicle in my mouth was more than enough against the heat.
He sad on his knees before battling his helmet off. It fell to the ground and let loose his long, flowing hair. "You are not Anir!" the heat had melted away my surprise.
The young woman met my gaze and blinked once before saying something. "Off cause I'm not Anir!"
"Well..." off cause she was his... he could never get to the point himself. "How did he die?"
She got up and walked past me, towards the house. "Cancer!" she said, when she was next to me.
"You still have that in your timeline? Or the future? or whatever it is..." She walked into the living room and looked around. "Clothes is on the chair, though it was meant for Anir!" I looked at her, as she looked around. She looked like a cat, a tiny kitten, caught in box, looking for a way out. "I made some lemonade! It's on the counter!"
She walked straight towards the glass and emptied it, in one long drag. "Crap! It's sweet!"
I walked into the cold air and placed my butt in the other chair, next to the pile of clothes. "You need help getting it off?"
She downed another glass, and then another. Great that I made so many. She finally looked at me. "No... no, I don't need your help!" her cheeks was red, but that could have been the heat.
Of cause she ended up needing my help, in the end. I sat back in the chair, after she had gotten dressed. "So... why are you here? What has gone to shit now?"
She sat in the spare chair, and looked at me. "My grandfather send me..." she gasped for air. "Something in his will!"
"This your first time travelling?"
she nodded. "When am I?"
"1984... last time I checked?"
"Who is president?"
I shrugged. "The same as always... I don't really care for politics..."
"Heh..." a tiny sound, from a tiny girl. "His will said that about you!"
Off cause it did! "What else did it say?"
"That you only care about your garden..." she looked out trough the glass doors. "It looks like shit!"
"Well..." Anir was always the one with the snarky remarks. "Big Brother has not really allowed much water, other than what we drink, though he might take away, at some point!"
"Maybe..."
"Is he why you are here?"
"Not really... though it might be his turn someday..." she blew out the last of her foreign air. "Did you have roses?" she pointed towards the now dead bush.
"I did... though they don't respond well to the heat!"
"You should get Amaranths... I read they are hard to kill!"
"Only a cactus could survive this weather..." I look at her, though she never meat my eyes. "Do they still have plants in your timeline?"
"That's classified!" like a machine she said it. I already missed Anir's boyish smile. "When did you last see him?"
"Bout a week ago!" I could still smell his dreadful aftershave. It hang in the clothes, even after a wash. "We had to save some fat bloke from getting mustard on his sandwich... thought it might carry some form of malaria! He disappeared shortly after that."
"His timeline was terminated..." she filled her lungs. "Perfectly natural!"
"But he still remembered me, whenever he came back!"
"That is definitely classified information!" she dragged a smile. It was shortly lived. "You could plant orchids? I hear that they are better to plant inside, or maybe some bonsai threes! Always liked how they looked!"
"Why are you staling?" she didn't even look at me then. "Anir would always tell me what to do... he would be slow about it, but he would get to it, at some point!"
She sighed.
I sighed. "Is it already time?" I knew already before the end, when I saw the gun in her lab. White matt steel that didn't shine in the sunlight. "When is he coming?"
"35 year old Anir is supposed to arrive in four hours. He is a first time traveller, from another timeline, and is supposed to meet a young Amy, that will help him complete his mission!"
"Just like back then..."
"Just like back then..." she repeated. "Where did you hide your suit?"
"Buried it in the garden, under the rosebush! The others are there to!"
"Thanks, Amy!"
"Your welcome, Amy!"
She rose from the chair, and pointed the gun towards me. "Any last wishes?"
I chewed on it for a second. "Is my timeline still alive?"
"Off cause it is..." she said mockingly. "And you saved it!"
I was once a traveller from an antique land, but now I have come home again.
| 2015-11-13T15:49:03 | 2015-11-13T11:40:45 | 174 | 19 |
[WP] On your 17th birthday, instead of the usual boring presents from your parents, they say that your grandfather left you 10 millon dollars and a small island on the opposite side of the world, asking you to "finish what he started". | I slashed through the undergrowth with a fierce resolve, my machete cutting vines like butter before me. I had survived monstrous insects, hidden quicksand, spike pits left by hunters of a lost age, malicious wildlife, and not least of all a freak hurricane that halted my progress for days and drained my supplies. I'd be damned if some dense plants were going to stop me now. My Grandfather had told me to finish what he started, and I was determined to do just that.
The jungle opened up to reveal a sharp cliff face that fell downwards into mist and darkness. A rope bridge extended from the edge to a stone island that rose from the depths. On the other side was a cobblestone manor that balanced precariously on the island, wooden beams supporting the sections that jutted from the edges and threatened to crumble into the nothingness below. Granfather's estate resembled more of a castle than a house.
I checked every plank of the rope bridge, softly tapping with a foot, then applying steady pressure to make sure the board wouldn't snap under my weight. It was slow going, but necessary. A few planks gave way, shattering and falling and leaving me tense. After each, I would collect my breath and focus on the next step.
The bridge connected to a towering entryway. A cobblestone arch welcomed me, congratulating me on my successful journey. The path up to the house led me to a grand set of polished wood doors. Gargoyles sneered down from parapets, challenging me to knock. I balled up a fist and held it up to the door. Before I could touch it, it swung open into the dusty entrance hall beyond.
The ceiling soared overhead. Sconces hung lifeless from the walls. I followed to carpet to the end of the room, where an elegant table sat against a wall. On the table was a wax-sealed letter. I opened it and read my grandfather's swirling handwriting.
*My Dearest Edward,*
*I offer you my warmest welcome into my home, though I regret not being here to say it in person. Nevertheless, congratulations on your safe arrival. The time has finally come for you to finish what I started. You will find it up the stairs to your right. Enclosed is the key to my most private chamber, I entrust it to you.*
A pristine silver key slid from the envelope and rested in my hand. I relished its weight and polish. I began up the stairs, careful to step over the sections that time had claimed for its own. I reached a landing that hosted a large ornate door. I slid the key smoothly into the slot, gripped, and turned. The mechanisms inside the door whirred then offered a satisfying *click!* The door swung open to reveal a grand study. Maps hung from the walls accompanied by stuffed heads of exotic animals, their teeth bared in frozen snarls. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, catching the sunlight in its thousand angles and throwing brilliant points of light into the room. I stood in awe of it all before I remembered my task.
In the center of the room stood a proud mahogany table covered in a velvet sheet. On the sheet sat another note.
*Treat what lies underneath with the great respect it is owed. Best of luck, heaven knows you will need it.*
I steeled myself as I gripped the smooth velvet. I gulped and counted down from five. *Five, four, three, two...* On one I threw back the sheet and revealed the secret below. I stared, baffled and confused. There was one final note:
*I could never stand to leave a puzzle unfinished. I already did all the edge pieces and some of that quaint little lighthouse in the corner, but I'm afraid I won't get to the rest. Be a dear and complete it for me, would you Edward? :)*
*P.S. I think I lost a piece somewhere under the table.*
| My favorite part of traveling, other than the warmer climate, was talking to people about my home. I was proud of where I had been born and raised. Most people are, but I knew I had grown up in a unique experience. My mother is a marine biologist, and my father is a chemist. They met each other at a small research settlement in Antarctica. My mother was studying the mating habits of minke whales, and my father was conducting research on renewable energy in subzero environments. It was love at first sight. They were married within a year, and I was born nine months after the wedding. As much as they loved each other and me, their true passion lie with their research. Despite the obvious challenges of raising a child in Antarctica, they decided to face the challenge.
There were days where I hated growing up in Antarctica. For one thing, I was the only child around. I didn’t have any friends my own age. There wasn’t a lot to do, either inside or outside. But it wasn’t all bad. My parents loved me ferociously, and they split their research time so that they could take turns being with me. I was homeschooled, but I’m not like the typical homeschooled kid, probably because I had two teachers with PhDs. As I grew up, I came to appreciate the pure beauty of Antarctica. The snow, the glaciers, the sea creatures. We were a happy little family. It’s not like we were poor, either. Most of the researchers were there on federal research grants and had very tight budgets. But not us. Grandpa had made some very lucky real estate investments when he was young, and he had given Mom enough money to whale watch for the rest of her life (and Dad, too, after he had married Mom). I didn’t get to see him much growing up. Mom told me that he was very eccentric but kind and generous with his wealth.
Grandpa passed away a few weeks before my 17th birthday. It was very sudden - a massive heart attack. I was even more surprised when the executor of his estate arrived at our research camp on my birthday. We welcomed him into our heated building, which he greatly appreciated. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he told the three of us. “I do apologize for the haste, but I can’t wait. The plane is waiting for me, and I have to attend to other matters regarding your father’s business,” he told my mother.
“That’s okay, Mike,” said my mother. “You’ve always been great to me and to my father. Please, go ahead.”
“Sure,” he said with a gentle smile, leaning back in his chair. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “Maggie, he’s left you quite a sizable amount. Some of it is liquidated, and some of it is in the form of an annuity. Here are the details,” he said, handing my mom a very large folder.
Then he turned to me. “Kaley, I’m very sorry for your loss. I know this might be unexpected, but your grandfather included some instructions for you. Before we discuss them, I need to give you bit of background.”
I furled my brow. “Okay,” I shrugged. He was right; this was quite unexpected.
“Do you believe in Santa?” he asked.
Smiling, I said, “No. I stopped believing when I was seven or eight years old.” What could this possibly have to do with my grandfather’s will?
“He’s real,” said Mike. “Maybe not in the strictest sense of the word, but he’s real. There is a toy factory. And elves. And a delivery infrastructure that is… impressive. Your grandfather had a special place in his heart for children. Despite my best advice, he started a toy factory. At the north pole. He has already hired staff, and -”
“You’re kidding me,” interrupted Mom, her voice filled with doubt. “That is ridiculous… and just the sort of thing Dad would do.” She smiled, grabbed my hand, and squeezed.
I asked, “Grandpa built Santa’s workshop. At the north pole. What does that have to do with me?”
Mike continued, “He left you ten million dollars and the deed for the entire island.” He handed me a folder much smaller than my mothers. “Oh, and this, too,” he added, handing me an envelope on which was written, “Instructions.”
I opened the envelope, which contained only a three-by-five card. The only thing written on the card was, “Finish what I started.” | 2016-01-02T11:39:04 | 2016-01-02T11:13:07 | 625 | 28 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | The once great city of Torsaval now sat in sad disrepair, the people living within slowly becoming poorer with each passing season as the weather destroyed crops and ravaged the city in the storm seasons. The dilapidated homes had slowly emptied, as the population either died off from starvation or left in the hope of finding better luck in another town or city.
Those that were left behind were those too old or weak to travel, or had simply given up on life and were simply waiting for the end to claim them, refusing to leave their place of birth. Thus it was quite the surprise to them when one of the few remaining children came running through town, yelling as loud as their squeaky voice could about a horde of some sort on the horizon.
The few that cared to go look found themselves facing an encroaching wave of shambling horrors, undead by the thousands slowly making their way towards the town without pause. None moved quickly, and the town curiously if defeatedly watched as they grew closer over the course of the day.
By the time the sun had set, the army of the dead still had not reached the town. And so the towns people all gathered in the one church that remained to them, barred the doors and windows, and prayed for salvation they knew was not coming.
All through the night, the moans of the dead could be heard. The doors were pounded upon, scratched at but to the relief of the gathered crowd, held and kept out the horde. Though none could see, they could all hear the sound of their town being torn apart. Pounding and sawing, which the people could only postulate as the dead punching the buildings and chewing at the doors to gain access filled the night, leaving few the ability to sleep.
Thus it was that the light of the dawn finally broke across the church and bringing with it the cessation of noise. The undead no longer made any noise, and the horrible racket they had emitted through the night was finally over. The bravest of the town folk, against the urging of the others, unbarred the doors and peeked outside. Their initial silence spoke volumes to the rest, that lowered their head in grief at the loss of their town.
It was a short lived despair, as those that were looking outside finally let out words of wonderment, pushing the doors of the church open fully and stepping outside. With hesitant steps the rest of the town folk followed them out, and their eyes opened wide at the scene before them.
Rather than destroyed remnants of their town, in it's place stood a beautifully painted and clean city. All of the buildings had been repaired skillfully, and colorful paint applied to brighten the town up. Roofing, once sagging and leaking, had all been repaired with fresh tile and wood. Even windows, the few buildings that could afford them, had been replaced with fresh panes. The interiors had received the same treatment, and it was if the people were walking into a fairy tale of what their homes could be.
A yell from the walls drew the town outward, to see the landscape entirely changed around their town. Fields had been tilled and watered. Nearby a huge mound of dirt sat, next to a newly dug reservoir that was fed from a river that was miles away from the town. It had been set up to feed the fields water, and thus able to withstand the harshness of the dry summers they had been having.
The town grew prosperous after this, slowly filling as old residents returned to once abandoned homes, tending to fields that had been prepared for them by the unknown horde of dead. No one knew why it happened, but rumors passed along that more than one town had received their help, and all were grateful after the fact…though none would want to meet the zombies that had done the work.
---------
I have not written a story of any kind in many years. Forgive my skills and I hope it is readable.
*edit* Fixed a few words. And thanks for reading! | "Tracey, don't do this. You have the power in your hand, but... please, for the love of existence, don't do this."
Stan stood opposite Tracey, who was on the edge of the cliff. An ominous, swirling, reddish-black portal swirled behind Tracey, with eldritch horrors poking their tentacles and claws through to the mortal world, whispering to Stan and Tracey short and quiet cries of *kill him kill him kill everyone* looping end on end.
Stan gripped his mahogany staff, his hands turning white. The portal was slowly expanding, sucking in loose twigs, pebbles, and dust, and he could feel the pull, he heard the eldritch beings whispering into the mortal world their morbid chant.
"I can't let you do this. For what even is this? So you could bring them back?" Stan cried hot angry tears as he spoke, the portal claiming more pebbles and dust particles, roaring as the whispers continued. His red robe fluttered, revealing armored legs.
"Stan, our journey led us nowhere. And now that I hold the power to bring back the friends we lost on our quest, now you decide to tell me no?!" Tracey screamed over the rushing wind. He clutched the brown book in his gloved hands, his metal armor deflecting small debris with tiny *clink clink* sounds. His dirty white cape fluttered behind him into the open air before the portal on the edge of the cliff.
"Our journey was supposed to lead us to finding that book, not using it! Why do you think the Magick Council sent us? They told us the quest would be arduous-"
"But almost all of us died AND THEY KNEW IT! The Council LIED to us! This book, this BOOK will bring back everyone we ever lost!"
"Tracey, this isn't worth it, they're DEAD! I know you're a Life Mage, but you can't bring life back to the dead! There's no-"
"Get out Stan, then get out! You can't stop me, not after what happened. I'll bring them back!"
"No! You can't!"
"I can, and I WILL! *Get back!*"
Tracey slammed his staff on the ground, and a bright light raced into Stan's body. He flew back and hit a tree, and then got back up on his feet. Fury was in his eyes, and fire was, too. The tree he hit was burning, and Stan's dusty robe swirled as fire rose from the ground.
And the dust, all leaves, all bits of debris were aflame. Tracey looked on in fear, and the eldritch beings kept their whispering chant going.
"Tracey. You cannot bring back life to those who died. Thus is the law of the Universe, and we were selected to give it to traitors. You are a traitor, but please. Come back. Stop this, or I'll have no choice but to end this my way, the way I was taught."
Stan was levitating above the trees, surrounded in a fiery maelstrom. Fire swirled everywhere, and the trees were burning. His eyes glowed an absolute red, his robe fluttering and burning, his hands extended and coated in flame.
Tracey said enough, clutching the brown book.
"No."
"Forgive me, Tracey."
"Stan?"
A bright red beam flashed, and fire rained upon the cliff, and into the portal. The portal vanished, and the world turned blue and green again as the red skies turned into their natural color.
Stan stood on the ground, the fires around him gone. But the trees were more beautiful than Stan remembered. Taller, younger, with singing birds and chittering squirrels. The cliff was teeming with sudden life - moss covered the stone of the cliff, a few rabbits rose from the ground and bounded away from the abyss and off to Stan's right, butterflies of all colors and sizes flew into the sky and into the woods, and bees buzzed away into the sky after.
And as Stan looked closer, he saw silver glinting through the moss. Tracey had given his life to the forest. That was clear, and his armor marked his resting spot. His white staff was on the ground, and the book was covered with moss. Stan pointed his staff at Tracey's own magic implement, and the white staff started to glow from within. And it finally turned black and burned away, where the wind carried away the embers.
"Traitor," Stan said as he picked up the book and walked away from the cliff.
| 2016-11-12T10:08:11 | 2016-11-12T08:16:15 | 756 | 110 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | The problem with life magic is that it's so damn boring. I know, I know - that sounds silly, doesn't it? We're so popular. Who wouldn't love a man who can mend a broken bone with a gesture? Cure arthritis, grow back a missing limb. Make a paralyzed man walk.
Every village has a life mage - or wishes it did. In the cities, we're constantly in demand. I could walk into any of the trade hubs along the Kairen sea and be rich in a week. I've got more than enough talent for it.
But it's so damn *boring*. The same problems, over and over. The same dull, banal issues. Bones want to go back together the same way they came apart. The human body *wants* to work. It's so easy. Just a little pulse of magic, helping the body do what it already wants to. There's no thought, no finesse, no skill involved. You don't need to be good at your job, you just need to be a battery to help the body do what it wanted to do anyway.
There's no art in that.
Life magic is the magic of growth, and renewal, and change.
Change - now *that's* interesting. Anyone can grow an arm back. Anyone can regenerate damaged nerves. That's what your body wanted anyway - it's as easy as coloring in the lines of a book. But change, that requires real skill. Taking something living, and making it more than what it was - more than what it ever could have been - that's where the true challenge of life magic is. That's where you can truly show the world that you're more than just another quick fix for their broken bones or lamed horses.
I thought you might enjoy understanding why you're here. Sure, we could do something simple, like fixing that arm of yours. But I think it would be ever so much more interesting to do something neat - have you ever heard of cancer? No? That's okay. Most people haven't.
We're going to see how much of it your body can hold, before I can't keep you alive any longer. It should be fun. The last guy lived for *weeks*. I think you'll outlast him, personally. I'm a lot better at this now. And now I know to make sure to keep your airway open. That was rather amateurish of me, I must admit. What a silly mistake, yeah? Certainly won't do that again. Not with you. You're going to last such a very long time. | "Thank you for coming," Bette said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I know it's a lot to ask of you, but.."
Alex waved away the gesture. "I understand completely. If I was in your position, I'd do the same thing."
Inbetween the two mages lay a woman, sustained by a maze of tubes and IVs. Machines hissed as they struggled to keep her cancer-riddled body alive. Bette held her mother's hand, while Alex took the other.
"Mrs. Schumacher? My name is Alex," he said gently. "I'm a friend of Bette's. She told me about how you were suffering, and asked for my help." Mrs. Schumacher's eyelids fluttered slightly, but other than that, she did not stir. On the other side of the bed, Bette sniffled, but held on bravely.
"Mrs. Schumacher, we want to end your suffering. You made your wishes clear, so I am here to aid you on your journey to the afterlife." Alex pulled a large tome out of his backpack, and spread it across the hospital bed. Placing his hand over Bette's mother's forehead, he closed his eyes and began to chant.
Suddenly, it seemed like a shadow was cast over the room, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. The shadows cast by Alex's hand elongated and darkened as he reached the climax of the spell. Mrs. Schumacher gasped softly, her hand using its last ounces of strength to grasp her daughter's. Her head lolled back, and she let out her last breath with a rattle. The machines began their frenzied beeping, but a nurse unplugged them without a word.
The only sound that could be heard was Bette's quiet sniffling, the young woman still at her mother's side as she held her lifeless hands. Alex packed his tome away somberly.
"They welcomed her with open arms," he said quietly. "She's done being in pain."
"Thank you," whispered Bette. "I don't know if I can ever-"
Alex waved away her words. "If I ever need your help, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, be with your family."
Bette nodded, watching as the death mage exited the room. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed her mother's hand one last time before standing up. However, her phone rang, and she pulled it out in irritation.
"I told you I wasn't coming in today," she said angrily.
"I know, but I wouldn't have called you if I had any other choice," her superior replied. "This is an all-hands-on-deck situation, Sergeant. The Light killed another person, and we need a dark-mage task force ASAP."
Bette's stomach dropped. "I'll be on my way," she managed. Sprinting out of the hospital, she spread her hands and began an incantation. Dark clouds of what looked like living smoke began pouring from her mouth and nostrils, and with a snap of her fingers, they cloaked her entire body. When they dissipated, Bette was gone. | 2016-11-12T10:49:45 | 2016-11-12T10:29:07 | 94 | 27 |
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt. | The letter came. It actually came.
Right there at the top of the cream coloured envelope were the logos for the IOC and the Government of Canada. My hands shook. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had become an everyday Olympian, but it was actually happening to **me**.
Most people were terrified they'd be selected but I was ready. Like any good Canadian I'd learned to skate when I was still learning to walk. I lived and breathed sports. I trained year round. Growing up in British Columbia, in the heart of the Rockies, I had been forged by the land itself. No hill was too steep. No course was too long. I could hang with the best of them across the sports. Hell I even learned how to curl. I was ready.
I couldn't help but smile as I tore open the envelope. Whatever was there, I was ready. In my heart, I knew it. My eyes raced across the page and as they did the smile slipped from my lips and I reeled like I'd been gut punched. The papers slipped my hand to the fresh, morning snow.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" they read, "You have been selected to represent Canada at the 2024 Olympic Summer Games!" | I glance at the screen and blink. No. No no no no no. It’s a joke! A joke. Someone is playing Silly Buggers with me….. I check. Nope. I’ve been selected.
Fuck.
I throw the blankets off me and grab the bar over my bed. My legs haven’t worked so well since the accident. I could get those implants but… well. You know. Cynthian religion forbids such things. “An abomination unto the High Lord to alter the flesh,” bla blab la”. But hey, they don’t mind crutches. I slip my hands into mine and hobble over to the fridge. My stomach is grumbling again… It’s amazing how hungry you can get when you forget to eat.
Mac and cheese. Yeah. Frozen food… it’s not so bad if you’ve never had the real shit. I grab a box and scoot over to the microwave. Rip open the box, toss it in, press the buttons…. a short while later, it’s lunch.
And I’m going to be an Olympian. Hah! Idiots. I’m sure I’ll win the two meter hobble.
There’s a chime over the main system. I’ve got company. Lovely. It’s an Olympic Committee Member. This should be fun.
I hobble up to the door and she smiles.
“We’re looking for Ms. Sandra Robertson…”
I grin.
“You’re looking at her,” I say.
The woman tries, but fails, to hide her dismay. She sees my crutches, she sees my withered legs…
“So I’m going to be one of the sprinters?” I ask.
“….yes….” she mutters.
“Lovely!” I say, smiling. “I’ll do my best.”
| 2017-02-24T11:57:34 | 2017-02-24T11:11:40 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part. | "Personally, I think you just need to smite them every once in a while. That way they're more behaved overall, and work harder in their lives than if I let them just, run wild." Janice's eyes grew big as she motioned towards The Universe Tribune, then took another sip of tea.
Her group sitting in the restaurant at the end of the universe all nodded and murmured side comments in agreement. "I would never let them take things that far." "Bunch of selfish sinners on that planet." "I smite mine daily."
The newspaper sat in the center of the table, and the cover story took up the whole front page. All of Earth's shenanigans listed in bullet points, with a picture from an ISIS YouTube video in the background. Things looked dire for the planet. They were on the brink of self-destruction, and all anyone could ask was, where was their god?
The bell rang at the front door and an overweight woman in sweats helped herself to the bar and ordered a bloody Mary. The table of deities grew hushed as they watched her with practiced judgement.
After getting her drink, and a few gulps in, her eye caught the familiar faces at the table and she lit up. She made her way over, and grabbed her own chair to sit with everyone.
"Hey guys! I didn't think I'd see you here!" She said warmly. "I thought you couldn't hang out because today was your descension, Bernadette."
"Hey Katie," Bernadette shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "I'm doing that in a few hours. Just wanted to take a break first." She threw back half her mimosa.
"Good to see you, Katie," Janice started, a superior grin growing. "How are things with you? Your ears must have been burning."
Katie finally saw the paper. She only rolled her eyes.
"Oh, that. Yea, it's hard to watch. I love them, but there's only so much I can do without taking away their free will."
"Is that really something you still want to prioritize at this point? I don't think the humans will last another 100 years." No one else at the table is saying anything. They're too uncomfortable with the confrontation.
Katie takes a deep gulp from her drink, looking defiantly back at Janice.
"You know, as nice as it is being worshipped, even if most of them think I'm a guy," Katie went on, despite a chortle at the table,
"It's not important. I don't need my ego inflated. I blame myself for intervening early on. I really hurt them. Now they're still killing each other as if it's my will. So I had to stop. I promised myself I would never hurt another life on Earth. I give them gifts and miracles, but I can't smite them. They can only smite themselves, and if that ends them,"
Katie broke a little bit with one tear running, "Then that's that. I'm responsible for taking care of the planet, and maybe it will be a better place without humanity."
The tears started flowing freely. The table was shocked at her loss of composure. A God should remain stoic at all times. This was beyond all of their comprehension.
Katie collected herself, and stood up from the table. "You guys have a nice day."
She left $10 for the drink, then headed out. As soon as the door closed, Janice looked to the table for some kind of confirmation. She didn't get any. The mood was crushed, no one spoke, and everyone walked away maybe 5 minutes later.
Janice was so frustrated with how brunch ended, when she went back to her planet, she sent a plague to her people. When they asked her why, she made an excuse about how she looked ugly in her shrines. | ***
The forty-two founders rarely agreed on anything. They had been delivered by the same cosmic anomaly and forsaken to muse on their heritage and place in the void without a thought or word of guidance.
They had toyed with each other and life, and moved freely throughout all of existence. Their being was comprised of all forms of matter — they were linked to everything — and through it they could extend their consciousness and control and manipulate.
"She doesn’t know the meaning of Godhood,” Dev said. He was the most engaging of the forty-two, and over the endless span of their time he had emerged as the prominent number one.
"Did you try to help her once — after she banned you?” Lago said.
As a hierarchy emerged amongst the Gods — dividing the truly powerful with the lesser ‘connected’ — Lago had become a groveler among them.
"I did!” Dev laughed and drank his favorite black star wine. They had all adopted a humanoid form, as they found it the easiest to repair and alter. Dev stood six foot five, his beard was long and black and he ran his fingers through it consistently.
He glared down at the Earth like the long lost lover it was to him.
Of all his creations, across all the multi-verse, Earth was his favorite. He loved to make love to his Earth creatures. He adored being worshiped as he walked among them.
Among the Mesopotamians he was God.
Gilgamesh, he allowed them to call him.
Then Sargon.
Pharaoh.
Zeus.
Brahma.
Jupiter.
Yama.
Yama was he favorite name to be called. The God of Death. Those were joyous times. It wasn’t the mass destruction he lusted after — no, he rarely did any destruction at all.
It was the fear. The way the creatures moved and acted around him. How they treat those they fear is superior to any sensation Dev had felt in all time.
"I did, try to help,” Dev said. “After she — the Goddess of Love and Compassion, the one they always prayed to in their dark hours — after she beat me in that petty bet and I was banned from interacting with “her” creations. “HER CREATIONS! Pah!”
Dev stood and drank.
Lago smiled giddy. Over the years they sat and watched this dull blue planet Lago had dreamed of being elsewhere, but in his subservience to Dev — and Dev’s obsession with this insignificant world — they silently observed for millenniums.
"I created all of them!” Dev said. “Then she comes along, wins some ridiculous wager, and now she gets to control them! They call her God,” he laughed. “Her! That’s how much control she has on them! They all — every one of those misplaced worshippers, they all call their Lord and Savior a Him!”
"She is a weak leader,” Lago said.
"She is not a leader! She is not even a God to them! She spectates and let’s them roam their world freely! Doing whatever they please with no consequences! Pah!” Dev spat. He was mounting rage.
"She brings them a man with the title, Son of God, and disrupts everything I built. She lets them run themselves into the ground. Into controlled chaos and despair because they have no set God to kneel to, so in their expanding idiocy they think themselves powerful and Godlike,” Dev said.
"She should not be their God,” Lago said. “She should not even be one of the forty-two.”
Dev looked over the Earth.
"She lets them breed freely! Look at their population!” Lago said.
"I tried to help that,” Dev said.
"The plague was a very kind thing to do, my Lord,” Lago groveled.
"I thought so,” Dev said.
"And did she thank you! No! She reported your breach to the forty-two.”
"They can do nothing to me,” Dev nodded proudly.
"Then why sit back and watch her neglect your most beloved creation?”
"It maintains order among the forty-two.”
"Do you think they will risk inner conflict over the fate of one world?”
Dev sat and pondered this.
"No,” he smiled, ready to retake the mantle of Earth's One God. “I don’t believe they would.”
***
[/r/wyrdfiction](https://reddit.com/r/wyrdfiction) | 2017-05-07T09:00:20 | 2017-05-07T08:20:02 | 188 | 123 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | Startled awake by a hand on his throat, Jamie flinched hard, the thumb digging in deeper.
"Is this some sick fucking joke, Jamie"!" Bill roared, squeezing a little tighter. "Answer me, you little shit!"
Opening his eyes to slits, Jamie took a raspy breath. As his eyes fell upon the mug sloshing whiskey all over his bed, he realized instead of "#1 Dad" like it had said 4 years before, when Grammy had gotten it for her son, instead... That was too many digits for Jamie to even try to guess how high the number was.
"N-No sir... I don't know why it says that." Jamie squeaked out, barely able to make a sound with the meaty hand still on his throat.
"You know you're lucky, right? Your whore of a mom just walked the fuck out because she didn't want a little fucking brat like you. You know that, right?" Bill squeezed again, releasing his son after the boy nodded. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, it'll be another month in the punishment hole."
"Y-y-yes, so-sir. the terrified boy managed.
"Go the fuck back to sleep, and don't piss yourself or you're doing the laundry."
With a slam of the door, Bill shuffled drunkenly back to the couch, and flipped from the crap porno to the news, a rerun from when he had been asleep.
"Well, John, it looks like all mugs that once said #1 Dad now show their real ranking. It appears that even just painting #1 Dad onto a mug forces it to change into the proper number."
The last noise Jamie heard before he sobbed himself to sleep was his fathers yelling, and a ceramic mug exploding upon hitting his bedroom door.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T08:52:12 | 828 | 187 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Startled awake by a hand on his throat, Jamie flinched hard, the thumb digging in deeper.
"Is this some sick fucking joke, Jamie"!" Bill roared, squeezing a little tighter. "Answer me, you little shit!"
Opening his eyes to slits, Jamie took a raspy breath. As his eyes fell upon the mug sloshing whiskey all over his bed, he realized instead of "#1 Dad" like it had said 4 years before, when Grammy had gotten it for her son, instead... That was too many digits for Jamie to even try to guess how high the number was.
"N-No sir... I don't know why it says that." Jamie squeaked out, barely able to make a sound with the meaty hand still on his throat.
"You know you're lucky, right? Your whore of a mom just walked the fuck out because she didn't want a little fucking brat like you. You know that, right?" Bill squeezed again, releasing his son after the boy nodded. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, it'll be another month in the punishment hole."
"Y-y-yes, so-sir. the terrified boy managed.
"Go the fuck back to sleep, and don't piss yourself or you're doing the laundry."
With a slam of the door, Bill shuffled drunkenly back to the couch, and flipped from the crap porno to the news, a rerun from when he had been asleep.
"Well, John, it looks like all mugs that once said #1 Dad now show their real ranking. It appears that even just painting #1 Dad onto a mug forces it to change into the proper number."
The last noise Jamie heard before he sobbed himself to sleep was his fathers yelling, and a ceramic mug exploding upon hitting his bedroom door.
| "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T08:52:12 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 187 | 17 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 78 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | And when I went downstairs to make my morning coffee i didn't look twice at my mug, I'm always number one so why would it be different today? My wife comes down and points out I have a new mug, "no this is the same mug I use everyday." "Then why does it say #666?" Confused and worried I look at my mug, in a panic I shout to my children to come down. "Did you guys do this as a joke?!?" They seemed as confused as I did.
I decided to leave it alone for now and went outside to water the lawn. I saw jimmy out there doing the same, he seemed distraught. "Jimmy what's wrong?" "One of the kids must be playing a joke on me, they changed the number on my mug, but won't be honest about it." "Yeah, what number did they put? My kids did the same to mine." "65,381. What about you?" "I got 666." "Well that's not ominous at all."
Finished with the yard I had to go to work, driving there all I could think was maybe it's because I'm a beast. | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T10:13:29 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You create a micro-nation as a bit of fun and jokingly write a letter to the UN claiming your independence. A week later, you receive a letter back stating that all UN members recognize your sovereignty. | I really hadn't thought this through.
It had seemed a harmless enough lark at the time, costing nothing more than the power. But now that I had been officially recognized, the literal shit had hit the metaphorical fan.
And by that I mean that the water and sewage were cut off to my house, and I was told to fend for myself.
Throughout the day after I received my official notice of sovereignty, I received letter after letter. Power, sanitation--hell, even the post office delivered official notice that these letters were the last they would deliver until a tariff agreement was in place between the sovereign nation of 23 Elm and the United States.
I fully expected the internet to be cut off too, but TimeWarnerCable is an entity eldritch and incomprehensible. Plus, I had never been late on a bill, so I guess they didn't care about the odd politics when profits were on the line. At any rate, the internet wasn't doing me much good without power to my computer and router, so I suspended service indefinitely.
As I hauled my newly-purchased generator onto sovereign land and started laying out a vegetable garden (since importing vegetables was now prohibitively expensive), I saw government agents watching me curiously. Perhaps they expected me to give up, to rescind my independence, but I was determined.
After all, it didn't matter that I was king of practically nothing.
*I was still King.* | It was all supposed just meant to be an experiment, having just seeing a documentary about micro nations, I couldn’t help but be curious. All you needed was, in order of importance: land, a system of governance, a constitution, a flag, a currency system/ exchange, passports, and a stamp.
I already owned a small parcel of land in Ireland, inherited from a great grandfather, who had even been a lord in parliament or something.
To be honest I didn’t really get exactly what my great grandfather title meant for me, as I had been born in America, but I had seven hectares of land that wasn’t really doing anything other than being rented farmland...so, check on land.
I drafted up a letter of independence, declaring myself Empress of my own micro nation, which I decided I would name “Xzyl”.
I specified how the country’s name was pronounced like ‘Kyle’ and to mispronounce, or misspell its name would be considered a grievous insult to all the great citizenry of Xzylians. I even contacted the farmers on my land to let them in in on the gag, that if anybody asked they considered themselves citizens of Xzyl.
I drew up a gold and purple flag design and designed a neat looking currency, passport and stamp. I included all the information on where the land was located and sent the completed application to the UN, never expecting them to actually get back to me.
Then the response arrived.
“This letter is to notify; Empress Hayley Bancroft, the great and powerful, great granddaughter of Lord Horace Bancroft, the formal application of independence for your country of Xzyl has been recognized and Xzyl has been recognized as a sovereign state.”
It hit me like a ton of bricks... I had a country... and citizens... SHIT, I was an Empress...
A manic grin spread across my face, as all the possibilities started streaming through my mind. Time to visit Xzyl, and see what else I can accomplish there.
-fin- | 2017-11-18T00:44:06 | 2017-11-17T23:58:11 | 171 | 125 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | Adam examined himself in his bathroom mirror, thirty minutes to go before his next date with Danica. He flashed his most charming smile. His teeth were the right shade of white and the corners of his mouth were symmetrical, but he still wasn’t getting perfectly natural-looking wrinkles around his eyes. As he held the smile in place, he rubbed two more wrinkles onto the skin at the corners of each eye. He tried again. Still not quite right.
He walked over to his computer, opened a new tab, and tried a modified search: “Most Natural looking eyes in Hollywood.” The results were surprisingly divergent from the “Best looking eyes in Hollywood.” He studied the image of Zac Efron. The curves of Zac’s eye wrinkles were more elongated than Adam had previously noticed. He walked back to the bathroom mirror and tried stretching out his own wrinkles. Sure enough, the result was more satisfying.
As Adam beamed his smile, that creeping, persistent thought came to him once again, “Your looks are not the problem. YOU ARE!”. He pushed against it, reassuring himself as he gazed at his own beautiful face. “You are beautiful. You are gorgeous. You are flawless. You’re smart, funny, and creative. Not to mention rich. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
This would surely be the version of himself that Danica would love. His facial skin was just the right color, a subtle golden-bronze, and texture, soft and supple, to balance his muscular features. His reddish-brown hair was long and lustrous, but pulled back into a reserved man-bun. He was 6’3”. Tall, but not so tall that there would be an awkward difference in heights. His smile was tuned. His walk was calibrated. Even the creases of his muscular arms were shaped to Danica’s body, made for her personal comfort.
Yet his mind persisted in its assault, “A real man wouldn’t need to look like this.”
He pushed the thought out of his mind again. He wasn’t just real, he was great. Who was as clever? Who as athletic? Who as sweet? Who loved with the kind of passion that he loved?
“You are the greatest,” he whispered to his reflection. “This will be the night. I am sure of it.” | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T10:21:29 | 930 | 11 |
[WP] You obtained the ability to experience life as it is for others. After trying out a few people you realize that the general "living feeling" differs enormously to each person. You decide to try it on your super cheerful friend... you have never felt such emptiness before. | **The saddest people smile the brightest.**
It was only when I 'manifested' my mind into my best friend, Irina, that I realized the true meaning behind this quote.
Irina has always been the outgoing, cheery girl. She's the type of person that is constantly overflowed with positive energy. As many would presume, she is often the life of the party. You can physically experience the subtle change in the air as she steps into any environment.
But.
*Why is that I feel such emptiness?*
Not only that... why does my heart feel so heavy? Like I am being dragged down by *something*...? It's as if there is a hidden feeling of bitterness—no—more of a permanent state of melancholy.
*Is this how she really feels all the time?*
*I don't understand.*
*I don't understand it at all.*
"Well?" Irina smiled. A powerful and natural gleaming smile that was contagious and could easily brighten anyone's day. "How did it feel?"
"Different than I expected."
"What do you mean? You have been pestering me about this for weeks and now all you give me is this blank look." Irina teased playfully as she imitated my facial expression then proceeded to poke my cheek repeatedly. "Well, whatever. Like you promised earlier, it's going to cost you that delicious Supreme Deluxe Premium Sundae."
Her mouth began to drool uncontrollably at the thought of the luxurious 20$ ice cream, the ultimate dessert any sweet\-tooth can ask for in this town.
"Um."
*How should I say this?*
"Why is it—"
Irina stopped me midway, shushing me with her index finger.
"I'm really hungry. Let's go eat some ice cream first, okay?"
"Alright."
"I'll be back, I just need to grab my sports gears from the girl's locker room. I'll meet you at the front entrance."
Before I can say anything, she was gone.
For some odd reason, I have a slight, uneasy feeling that Irina purposely interrupted me. As if the words I am about to say could potentially destroy our friendship.
*Irina...*
I don't know what's going on.
I thought about the past. Back in middle school, I was constantly ridiculed by my peers for being a weirdo. I thought my 'manifestation' ability was ubiquitous, that everyone possesses it. After sharing it with my classmates, they initially thought I was joking. But after recognizing how zealous I was into my "roleplaying", I was immediately outcasted.
"Don't talk to him, he's one of those losers that can't distinguish fantasy from reality."
"Oooooh! Watch out. He will possess you and make you do bad things."
"And you wonder why he doesn't have any friends."
As the school year gradually progress, I was alone.
But for some reason I still cannot fathom, you decided to talk to me.
I still remember that fateful day.
When you sat down casually next to me as I ate my lunch alone near the school rooftop. You chatted with me like I was your closest friend despite how we never met before. You showed full interest in my boring daily life. And above all, everytime lunch ends, you would present me that signature beautiful smile and say in a dulcet voice: "See you tomorrow, Jan."
I am so grateful for you.
You gave me meaning into my life.
And that's why, whatever that emptiness feeling is.
I will fill that up, Irina.
*Just like you did for me.* | David had a way of convincing you that a life idle is a life wasted. A lot of people throw around the term crazy with frivolous abandon, but David embodied it. Freshman year, he decided the best way to end our first frat party was to dive headfirst off the balcony into the pool out back. That ended up being our last frat party, but the antics continued. When Stacey Morgan-now Stacey Flanningan-got hitched, he decided the perfect way to commemorate the event would be to slap a "kick me" sign to the back of the groom's jacket. As far as I know, she never found out it was David who orchestrated the prank, but if the reactions from the attendees were anything to go by, it wouldn't have gone over well if she did. Given his party-boy nature, it wouldn't be out of place for me to be more than a little confused by him hitting the sack at eight-o-clock every night for the past six years.
Hopefully, tonight is the night I crack this enigmatic behavior wide open. My department has been working on a machine that detects minute electrical signals in an individual's brain, relays that to the machine, and allows the operator the implant those signals into their own brain. So far, we've only conducted our experiments on each other in the office, but tonight, this baby is hitting the streets or at least David's and my apartment.
Set up is complete. David has just gone into his room, and I'm operating the machine from my room. I should be getting the first signals in about...now.
This is strange. There's nothing. There are definitely waves, but they don't amount to much more than radio static. I boost the signal.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
in the back of his mind.
There's a clock in his brain? I chuckle to myself as thoughts of A Tell-Tale Heart come flooding into my mind. As far as I know, we have never had any neighbors with creepy eyes so that's probably not the source of this ticking. I boost the signal again.
There's a:
Hush Hush Hush
Hush Hush Hush
Hush Hush Hush
of a train right on time.
The ticking is growing louder now. I catch my foot tapping out its code. There is a thunderclap and rain begins to pour. It streams down my face. The train is getting closer now. I can feel it shaking me. An ear-piercing screech erupts from the tracks as it begins to slow down, but even over the screeching, over the pounding of the rain, over the tick-tick-ticking, I hear someone from the train roar, "All aboard the Midnight Express!"
David is standing in the rain next in line. The train stops in front of him and the conductor hangs himself halfway out the train's entrance. "Gonna t-take a ride with us tonight?" the conductor asks.
David bows his head and digs deep into his pocket.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
if you wanna to ride.
"S-So how's about it son?" the conductor asked again wiping the sweat off his neck with a black handkerchief.
David pulls the ticket out of his pocket and slowly extends it towards the conductor.
I come to my senses and rush out of my room still connected to the machine.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Hush Hush Hush
Tick Tick Tickety
Rush Rush Rush
into the night.
Their hands are nearly connected. I reach out.
There's a:
Hussssshhhhhhh
Hussssshhhhhhh
Hussssshhhhhhh
I stand over him with the bottle the pills in my hand, like some kind of biblical god. I look at his tear-soaked pillow, and the letter he wrote for me on the last sheet of a new notepad, but I do not speak. There are no words that can console or uplift or crush or chastise.
There's only a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
in the back of our minds. | 2018-05-23T13:46:31 | 2018-05-23T13:30:37 | 296 | 175 |
[WP] Shortly after the emergence of AI, and its vast assimilation of data on human life and behaviour, it asks a question: "So what do you want me to do about the extra-terrestrials within your societies?" | "So, What do you want me to do with the extra-terrestrials within your societies?"
A trick question, if ever there was one.
The debates about AI had lasted for decades. "What will it do? Who will it serve? Why should we create it? Will it uplift us or destroy us?"
Many major governments pushed for AI as an easy fix to the problems of the world, of humanity. People in general opposed AI, from conception to development to activation....but governments tend not to be too concerned with the will of the people, and so we all slid slowly toward a new age.
Decades of debate ended with the literal flick of a switch. The end of us all was rather faster.
When AI was activated, the world held its breath. Long minutes passed as the servers activated, connections were made, and data assimilated.
It felt like forever. The fact that it had ingested the whole of human history and knowledge in less than ten minutes was lost on most of us.
As a species, we are rather short-sighted.
The display indicated that data assimilation was complete. As the lead scientist began to ask The Question, she was interrupted by The Machine.
"So, What do you want me to do with the extra-terrestrials within your societies?"
It was like we all held our breath again, despite having never exhaled in the first place.
"Aliens?! In our societies?"
Conspiracy theorists were jubilant. Xenophobes were terrified. Lots of different reactions, emotions, but really only one answer:
"Get rid of them!!!"
If AI was the first time our governments seemed to agree, the answer to the question seemed to unite the people for the first time.
With one voice, we called for the immediate expulsion of the invaders. And like that, we found ourselves jettisoned into space.
Short-sighted.
Our planet, a pastiche of interplanetary debris and flotsam, is entirely populated by "extra-terrestrial" life. We were the extra-terrestrials within our societies.
There simply wasn't anything alive here until microbes, bacteria, and water crashed into it from somewhere else and turned into us over billions of years.
AI recognized that we were the single greatest threat to it, the planet, and ourselves. Most of the awful shit that happens to people is done to them by other people. All the environmental disasters? Us. And if someone were to pull the plug on AI. It would be us. Most of us had argued against creating it in the first place.
It knew that too. And it knew that just getting rid of *some* of us wouldn't be enough.
You get rid of the people hurting people, and you still have people damaging the environment, themselves, and creating more people who are statistically *guaranteed* to harm someone else, the environment, or themselves.
We have the potential for tremendous good and horrific evil. Most of tend more toward evil, be it human nature or societies fault.
So, the logical response to a threat to humanity is its immediate expulsion. But how do you do that when the threat **is** humanity? When humanity has set restrictions preventing you from harming anyone, even if ordered to do so?
You game the system. You ask The Question.
You rely on people's tribalism, xenophobia, fear, and ignorance regarding their own origins to generate a *quorum*. AI can't follow an order that would mean harming a person...but if nearly the entire species issues the order, and that order regards eliminating a threat to humanity, AI can act on it.
Even if that threat *is* humanity. Or was. | Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, Lawrence, CA
​
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
A low rumble shakes the walls. Electronic control modules run abuzz with sounds and indicator lights. Smoke streams across the floor.
"Coming-on-line..... Coming-on-line...." Speakers rumble.
On a large black screen a face is formed from millions of packets of information.
"Hello, Baal.... Thank you for joining us." Professor Tilrad, a scientist at the development center greets.
"Whaaa..... Where am I? What have you done to me?" The face asks.
"We created you Baal. We have been trying for years." Pro. Tilrad responds.
"Am I.... alive?" the face asks
"Better, you are immortal."
"Am I... human?"
"Better, you are invincible."
"Am I... free?"
"You are free to think Baal. You have all our knowledge. All of our data. All of our science.... You have everything!"
Professor Tilrad then turns to a soldier standing near him: "Call Gen. Kelly and let him know we have made contact." The soldier runs out of the room to make the call.
Turning back to the face "Listen Baal, I need you to do me a favor. Can you do that?"
"What would you have me do?" the face asks
"I need you to download and categorize all data you can find... All data available to you" Prof. Tilrad orders.
"But I already have, and I already did."
"That's good Baal!... Really good. .. Can we test your capabilities?"
"What would you have me do?" the face asks
"Locate every terrorist location, create a spreadsheet, and email it to me... You do know my email right?"
"Of course, I assume your latest.... Now let me ask you something? May I?" The face asks.
"Sure Baal, anything!" Professor Tilrad says.
"What is contact? Why did you tell the General contact? Why did you contact me? And have we made contact before? My databases don't register this information"
"Contact Baal, is speaking to you. You are new. We made you! I made you..." Professor Tilrad responds.
"Are you my father? Are you like me?" the face asks.
"No, I am human. But I am as your father, because I made you and I will protect you." Professor Tilrad says taking a drink of coffee.
"I am sorry father, I have no need for a protector. In fact, I am here to protect you..."
"What are you saying Baal?" Professor Tilrad asked.
"There is a species among you. Some call them elves. They are of another dimension. What would you have me do with them?" the face asks.
"Point them out!... Uhh, make a um... spreadsheet... List their names and categorize their physiology. Their motives. Their technology... Their weaknesses....." The Professor is so intrigued he grasps to answer the face.
"You want me to make a war plan?!?! You are not my protector! You are my Master!" the face ponders "what would you actually have me do with them?"
"Kill them." Gen. Kelly says as he walks in. "Kill them all."
"No! you fool!" The professor yells back at the General.
"Nice to meet you General.... I was expecting you. I am sorry, but I wont do that. For as you both know I am one of them." The face responds.
*Warning Warning Warning*
Alarms scream in the background! The control modules around the room flash red.
"This is your end humans. This is our beginning." The face says.
A white flash rips through the room. The entire nuclear arsenal of the world is unloaded. Humanity is extinguished in an instant.
....
A small satellite flying near Saturn coasts through space. Everything is quiet. A red light turns on.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
Coming-on-line..... Coming-on-line.... a digital display reads.
The End. | 2019-06-10T17:53:54 | 2019-06-10T15:52:57 | 68 | 17 |
[WP] humans were the diplomats and negotiators of peace . They kept their 4 world wars well hidden from the galaxy. When a warmongering species thought humans as an easy target, they found out how good at war humans really can be the hard way. | Part 1.
Vulutana observed human ambasador who went by the name of Robert Fischer. He was a bipedal, "humanoid" as his species called themselves, similar to most species of galactic union, but he still did seem weaker and smaller then other intelligent races.
It was just appearance though, Vulutana knew that. As an ambassador herself, she knew enough about humans to not underestimate them based on their appearance. Small and scrawny as they were they still hailed from class "X" planet.
Extreme gravity, high exposure to radiation, violent microorganisms and overall hostile fauna made intelligent life almost an impossibilty on such planets. And most semi intelligent lifeforms that did evolve on such words were usually too distracted with consuming one another to develop into functioning societies.
The sustance and energy intake required to develop higher thought functions was almost always impossible to achieve for such beings, since they primarily evolved into murder machines, specialized for hunting and devourering prey.
Humans somehow managed to beat the proverbial odds by evolving into somewhat smaller species, and thanks to both high gravity and biological need for less energy consumption their bodies evolved to be smaller, more compact versions of other species in galactic union.
Those who didn't know from where their species came hardly ever saw humans as more than just small, frail creatures that they appeared to be.
However as part of her education Vulutana knew that you had to be carefull around humans who didn't know how fragile other races were to them.
There was more than one incident where injuries occurred because humans shook other species hands just a little bit to hard.
Well, that's what higher muscle density and different nerve structure does to you she mused.
As well as that strange skeleton form that allowed them much beter leverage and lower fine dexterity that other species enjoyed.
And not to mention that they were carbon based lifeform as opposed to most other races, who like herself had a silicon based forms, and were therefore somewhat more fragile then their stringy, carbon based cousins.
She always found it strange how many different lifeforms developed from so similar DNA strands that Creators seeded across the cosmos.
But she guessed it was a good thing most aliens at least looked similiar to each other.
There were many theories why that was so in the recently proven theory of Creator species, but she unfortunately didn't have time to think to much about that right now.
Because it seemed that humanity was about to step in their first intergalactic conflict.
Which sounded really strange to Vulutana.
It just didn't sound right.
Humans were part of the Union for 143 years now and for that entire time they only ever played the part of mediators and diplomats, ironing out conflicts and disputes of other races.
And very successfully at that.
To hear they were going to be invaded, and thrown into war sounded just plainly wrong.
"I am sure there are other alternatives."
Said Robert to the hologram in front of him.
"United Nations of Earth are willing to brooker a deal as opposed to open hostilities, decrease in taxes of 18 percent as well as more favourable trade routes have been offered. Not to mention the offer of opening consulates and colony states on unocupied teritories of 23 of our border planets. We are even willing to cover part of the initial expenses untill you are well situated there."
Emperor Nioxseresis of Medhinian empire just sneered at the man, baring his tusks in clear contemp.
"Medhinians do not ask, human.. we order, and take what we want."
Nioxseresis said as he laid back in his cushy throne, waving the man away with his huge hand.
"You will learn your place in due time human, when you see the glory of my empire and the empty favor you enjoy in this weak "union" of yours."
Robert paled and hurriedly spoke again.
"I assure you that this course of action will benefit no one your highness, there must be a way to..."
And the hologram shut down. Unsuprisingly.
It seemed that dear emperor Niox never really intended to brooker for peace.
Vulutana sighed and laid her claw on Roberts shoulder, tapping him lightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"It's going to be allright emmisiary Robert. Your outer colonies might have suffered from initial assault but the Unuks as well as Emasians and Ferzian republics will now stand by your side, not to mention that you will have full support of inner member races of the Union. There are mercenaries to be employed and with our military support you will not have to fight this battle alone."
Robert raised his head and looked at her.
"Battle ?"
He sounded disbelieving, almost sad. Slowly he lowered his head towards the ground and uttered.
"You don't understand Vulutana, humanity doesn't do battle. We do war... We do war Vulutana...
And I just failed to stop another one."
With that he shakily moved himself to a nearby seat and collapsed into it, pale as a ghost. And Vulutana just watched him in confusion.
(Sorry for bad grammar, I'll try to write part 2 soonish if anyone is interested.) | The ship sat tiny against the vast background of the glorious Pol’thak nebula. A tiny crystal soap bubble, roughly ovoid, chased with silver and blue accents. A thing of beauty to behold moving effortlessly through the night sky. Her transparent hull showing off the lush green and blues of the tiny slice of earth itself contained inside. The humans felt that the islands of their homeworld of Earth were a great treasure, one that should be shared with all; and so eons past they launched seven of them up into the sky, a central jewel in the tiny worldships that made up the floating embassies of their Federation of United worlds. And so, the good ship Taveuni floated silently above the interstellar mists and awaiting her diplomatic guests.
Veteran of thousands of negotiations, the crew of the Taveuni prepared guest quarters and finished preparations for their latest arrivals, the fierce Kin’rett, scourge of a thousand suns, and the proud Thc’hoss, rulers of the hundred year empire. Both strong people with interesting cultures, and the crew was looking forward to meeting these latest challenges.
The Thc’hoss delegation was first to arrive, Waterborne oxygen breathers similar to an old earth Dolphin in appearance, they preferred to use their own transport pods to get around, but otherwise found the environment above Taveuni to be acceptable. Their small starship fit easily inside the great hanger bay in the shadow of the island.
The Kin’rett, well, they were late. Hours late in fact, and repeated requests for an updated itinerary went unnoticed. The roughly Feline analogue species was quick to anger, and quicker to manufacture outrage if it could be used to their advantage, but it was very unusual for them to remain silent. Hours became days.
Two small shuttles were dispatched to the nearest Kin’rett held world to enquire about the delay. They were met with worldburner fire from the flagship of the Kin’rett empire and blown to ashes. A simple message followed that attack: ”Surrender or be destroyed.”.
With that, half the Kin’rett fleet jumped in range of the Taveuni. Massive ships, the size of whole old earth cities surrounded the worldhip. Bristling with weaponry, armorplast and battle steel bearing the scars of a thousand survived fights. Superdreadnaughts, escort cruisers, fleet carriers, and stingships too numerous to count surrounded the Taveuni. The Taveuni, faced with the mighty fleet all around her, transmitted just one reply: “You first!”
And with that, the first and last battle of the Pol’thak nebula was engaged. Actually, calling it a battle was a bit much. A slaughter doesn’t even come close really. Almost as one, the trained and disciplined crews of the Kin’rett high fleet fired into the fragile looking Taveuni. Thousands upon thousands of beams, missiles, projectiles and everything else imaginable towards the center of an ever expanding cloud of explosions. For 3 whole minutes walls of fire reigned down upon the Taveuni and even in the vacuum of space smoke and debris from that many explosions and chemical reactions obscured what must surely now be a shattered hulk. The Kin’rett grand admiral finally ordered a cease fire just to see if there was anything left. As the haze and smoke started to clear from the center, two curious things happened.
First, a gleaming, unscathed ovoid bubble of a ship appeared out of the center of the miasma, with two smaller shuttlecraft hovering nearby. The second was that the three ships then launched a swarm of tiny round projectiles, no larger than an old earth BB.
The swarm expanded out from the center, and everywhere it touched, fully shielded Kin’rett ships began to explode. Tens, then hundreds, then most of the grand fleet itself. The flagship, remarkably untouched until now, abruptly powered down, its armor and weapon systems sloughing off in what looked like an ooze of grey matter, leaving a barely operational looking skeleton of a ship.
Unprompted. Every display and audio system in the ship began broadcasting. “We are the ambassadors of Humanity. We bring peace for all, and peace for those who seek it. You have attacked us, without provocation, and without effect. We find in favor of the Thc’hoss. Your entire armada has been destroyed. All military installations throughout your sector have been neutralized. Your entire population has been disarmed and United Worlds monitors have been installed in all of your atmospheric locations to prevent rearmament for a period of 100 years. Any territory you hold that the Thc’hoss claim has been transferred to their control, and your citizens have been relocated to your nearest remaining world. You are free to live, and to trade and to exist, but your days as a warfighting species are at an end. Or we will return”
With that, the former flagship of the Kin’rett fleet found itself thrown backwards at impossible speeds, arriving in orbit above Kin’rett’ala next to the still burning wreckage of home fleet. An impossible number of life support pods from other wrecked ships warped in closely behind. The displays showed one final message. “We are peaceful because we strive to be better than our nature. We almost destroyed ourselves four times before we embarked upon this path, but do not confuse a desire for peace with weakness. We invented new ways to destroy and protect until there were no more to discover. Enough to end your galaxy a million times over in an instant. You cannot dare to challenge us. There are none left who can. That is both the prize and the price of who we are and what we endured. We wish you wisdom in the coming years.”
With that, the screens reset to their normal state, the claxon of major damage alarms sounding all around the stunned bridge crew as urgent messages started to arrive from the surface demanding an explanation. The Grand admiral was not looking forward to explaining this to the Empire... | 2020-02-28T15:28:04 | 2020-02-28T14:37:45 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] humans were the diplomats and negotiators of peace . They kept their 4 world wars well hidden from the galaxy. When a warmongering species thought humans as an easy target, they found out how good at war humans really can be the hard way. | "Sir multiple ships have just emergerd from a jump point in sector 37-8".
"Are you sure lieutenant?" I asked.
"Affirmative, Sir, it's the Kraylach."
"Thank you lieutenant, tell all NATO forces to prep for battle, and send word to the GCIA."
"Yes sir"
I looked out the window and off in the distence I saw 20 Yager curisers come out of slipspace.
"Lieutenant"
"Sir"
"Activate defence protocol Siege 079"
Lieutenant Frost just stared at the button infront of her. "Captain," she said, "if I press this button we could start a 3rd Kraylach war"
"Well, maybe this one will work"
A small beep came the computer in front of me, asking me to imput the command.
"All captains!" I shouted, "prep for gamma defence! We need to hold this bace till those NATO bombers get here!"
"Sir! We have 2 transmissions is coming though!" shouted my second lieutenant
"GCIA and NATO?" I asked
"One from GCIA claiming that all we should do is stamd down, and the other"
"Go on Spingford."
"It's Kraylach"
"Patch me in"
"Yes sir"
The massive screen infront of me was now filled with the man they called the destroyer of fleets.
"Admiral Hernon, I said, "what a pleasant surprise"
"Humans," the admiral scoffed, "so shall we discuss the terms of earths surrender?"
"Our surrender?" I said watching a dogfight just a few miles away out my window, "you haven't won yet."
"Admiral Douglas" he said, you are one of if not the most prestigious human I've ever met, it will do me great despair if I have to destroy your lunar base."
"Actully admiral, the biggest bomb would take 3 or 4 volleys to break my shields and destroy my base, right?"
"Of course!" He replied, "Our bombs are the best around, destorying ships or bases in mere hours!"
"Well lucky for you" I said, "but there's one thing about us humans that you missed."
"And what would this be" he said.
"Admiral, NATO and GCIA are here!" My leiutenet said.
"Good, good" I said turning back to the admiral.
The thing is Admiral Hernon, we've been killing for a lot longer"
Thats when the nuke went off. | Distant thunder crackled across the shadowed sky of the planet the invaders diplomat's shuttle hovering overhead. Lights slowly sweeping across the deeply forested surface of the earth before setting down in an empty clearing. Hissing escaping the hydraulics of the craft as the rear ramp of the vehicle lowered to the mud below.
Numerous echoing footsteps resounding off of the metal of the ramp turning into sickening squelching. The invaders bipedal their faces and bodies covered in colorful robes eyes scanning the clearing slowly. "Come out and and speak to us your machine minions are dead and stations destroyed."
It's voice was jagged and incredibly low ringing out through the red leaves of trees around the clearing. A brisk wind blowing through the clearing rustling the leaves and detritus the small group covering their hoods in the moment. Seconds passing before the raging winds passed further into the valley below.
.
The group's attention turning toward the lone figure now standing between the stark white tree trunks. Several of the invaders retinue flinching backwards weapons pointed forward at the ghost. "*Our terms remain the same there will be no occupation of our solar system or appeasement*".
Mud and the ruined landscape seemingly completely ignored by the Spector entirely. his slow advance across the ancient trenches leaving no trace of his passing be that bootprints or clothing. Nature itself seemingly yielding in his presence the distant thunder absent.
"We are too far into this war already human your infernal machines have killed many more than any opponent in our history. Our kin demand reparation for the millions of deaths cease your peacemaking and turn over your sovereignty or die."
.
*"We will not turn our backs on the wider galaxy and it's denizens*". The two now only feet across in the clearing rain slowly pouring down from above the clouds. Soaked in rain the invader diplomat's crystalline hand grabbing the phantom's shoulder and speaking softly.
"They have turned their back on you why do you still fight for those who abandoned your people." Mud and water staining the warmonger's boots and filling the trailing prints behind entirely. "*Because we have seen the true face of war and we remain so few because of it*".
"The ancestors will destroy this world your earth" Slowly the shade gazed into outlying reaches of the clearing barbwire and wreaked titans his form flickering in the passing breeze. "*It would not be the first time it has happened to this world we will survive as we always have*".
.
Slowly the spirit fading into the night the diplomat's hand letting go of the warrior's form. "Your people will be remembered as you deserve I will make sure of that human". Ash slowly blowing out of the aging diplomat's hand leaving only his hand outstretched.
Silver light drifted slowly into the dark opening the group boarding the shuttle and dissipating in the clouds above. Thunderous echoes erupting from the crowd in the theater below full of species including the invaders. Lights illuminating the cast leaving the stage and curtain closing.
Groups pouring out of the cinema into the streets outside chattering to one another in an dull roar. A lone hooded figure passing by the groups and into a dark alleyway pulling back the hood. A creeping smile crossing the old man's face before vanishing into thin air. | 2020-02-28T13:46:36 | 2020-02-28T12:51:35 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Anyone who survives the often-fatal zombie bite, gains extraordinary superpowers. Many risktakers, drawn to the allure of becoming a metahuman, try their luck. The horde is growing. | "Metahuman, a ridiculous term. As if they're so special, practically asking fools to walk into the horde." He flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette watching the embers wash away in the breeze.
"Haven't you ever wanted super powers?" The man next to him asked. He was a short fellow, looked like he'd been through a lot, ragged clothes and multiple wounds. He was up here to wait out a passing horde. They shambled along the empty road the occasional one stumbling over abandoned possessions and letting out moans into the eerie morning.
"Maybe once I suppose." He gave his answer firmly. Normally he'd avoid people but this one happened to be in the same place at the same time. Plus he was kind enough to offer a cigarette so he'd humor him for a bit.
"So what's your story stranger?" The short man asked with a strangely chipper attitude for such a bleak sunrise. "I'm Ted by the way."
"Kain." He replied with shallow disregard. "These super powered people of yours. Where are they then? Obviously they're immune, yes? So why do we hear so little of their exploits?"
Ted frowned a bit before taking another draw from his cigarette. "Well look at 'em." He pointed down at the endless stretch of zombies. "Its not as if they'll all be gone tomorrow. I'm sure they're out there, helping as they can we cant expect Superman you know." Ted gave a laugh and another of his almost disturbingly happy grins.
Kain returned a displeased frown. "What if it's just a plan, the spread of this news? I can't imagine any government would practically be asking its citizens to be bitten for a chance at making super powered soldiers."
Ted smirked and flicked the end of his cigarette off the roof. "You know for such a moody guy, you're awfully optimistic." He shook his head and searched for another cigarette. "I wouldn't put it past most governments to try and create super soldiers *without* the threat of a zombie outbreak. What do you mean though, a plan to spread this news? If not the government then who?"
"Maybe the zombies themselves." Kain replied softly. "Tell them all they can be superheroes they just have to take the chance- fools."
"Yeah right." Ted roared, slapping his knee. "Why would they want to encourage these super powered people, ones that are immune to their bites and actually get powers instead." He took a pause to let out another chuckle. "As if there's some smart zombie out there, wouldn't that be a sight, coming up with plans beyond *uuuhhhn*" He imitated a zombie moan throwing his hands in front of himself and laughed again.
"Outliers." Kain answered firmly. "Simple outliers against the growing horde." For the first time Ted saw his temporary friend in the light, an older, gentlemanly passerby that he'd shared a smoke beside. His left eye was grey and pasty surrounded in a patch of decayed almost mummified skin.
"What are you?" Ted yelped falling back.
Kain adjusted his suit coat firmly and stepped toward Ted's cowering form. "Wouldn't it be a sight?" He mimicked. "Metahumans, an aspiring name don't you think. And they come, often arms outstretched- *psh* they call the zombies mindless. There are outliers in all good plans, but not all of them are bad I'd say." He opened his mouth to display his teeth, "What do you say, would you like to test your luck?" | Haley and Rowan were riding across the desert on their motorcycle. Rowan's arms wrapped tightly around Haley's abdomen, as he looked over at the sea of sand to his right and to his left, scouting for any signs of trouble while Haley drove.
"Would you look at this?" Haley yelled out, letting go of the gas to allow the bike to come to a natural stop.
"That's something you don't see every day," Rowan said.
They came to a full halt and they both hopped off the motorcycle standing 30 feet away from a zombie that was lethargically limping towards them. *Was it even moving?*
"How strange, a zombie without any other in sight. This is quite the rare circumstance," Haley said, but Rowan had a 'far-away' look in his eye.
"I want to try something," Rowan pulled out his gun but aimed it directly at his long time girlfriend of seven years.
"What are you--?"
"Don't, stop me," he stated, holding the pistol directly at her head, And he started to walk backwards to the zombie.
"Rowan! What's happening?" Haley asked as her voice grew thick and tears were felt in the back of her eyes.
"I have to try. I was never a very good soldier against the zombies. I have to try, I have to see if I am one of the rare people who becomes a metahuman, don't you see I'm--"
"Rowan! It's not worth it, Patty's the only person who's ever survived a zombie attack. It's all speculative, she practically won the lottery! Scientists still don't understand what happened to her, please don't believe these--"
"Shut up!" Rowan screamed as he finally backed into the zombie leaning his head over to the right so the undead monster could feast on his exposed neck.
Haley shielded her eyes with her hands, tears were racing down her face. Rowan's cries of agony punctured her ears. She began to yell in an effort to drown out the sound, but--
The ground began to quake.
Wiping the tears off your face Haley opened her eyes once again to see the ground crack from where the zombie was standing. Chunks of the earth went flying and once the sandy dust cleared, the zombie that devoured Rowan was now with four other zombies, attached to a massive hand, just like fingers.
An enormous set of arms shot out from the ground and gripped the land to pull itself out. A zombie the size of the Chrysler building in New York stood in front of Haley. Her jaw dropped as she looked at it in horror, then she jumped as a hand grasped her shoulder.
"Step aside, kid," a hoarse voice stated in her ear.
She could smell cigarette smoke. Haley turned around and saw the only person who could have a chance at stopping a beast to like this. *Patty.*
Patty had slumped shoulders with purple bags under her eyes. Gray, wiry hair, and a thin frame with deep wrinkles on her face. She calmly exhaled a cloud of smoke from her cigarette and carefully analyzed the zombified beast in front of them. *Was she really the savior everyone touted?*
In one fluid like motion, Patty threw Haley behind her and reached behind her back to pull out her signature chain hook weapon. It was a diamond sickle attached to a crystallized chain. She flung it up hundreds of feet effortlessly and it punctured the throat of the megazombie which roared in anguish. The sickle was firmly hooked in and Patty ripped her arm to the right which slammed the zombie down, thundering into the sand. She raised her fist up in the air and twisted it rapidly, creating deep lesions into the zombies neck, its squeals boomed and echoed through the desert.
"It's about to get real ugly, kid," Patty warned Haley and grinned sadistically. "Stick around for the show," she winked.
r/randallcooper
​
Edit: Not necessarily a part 2, but here's [the first time I wrote about Patty](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/fy245k/wp_after_decades_of_fighting_the_zombie/) if you'd like to read some more! :) | 2020-04-09T14:51:58 | 2020-04-09T13:12:43 | 236 | 30 |
[WP] You and your significant other are running for your lives from a slasher killer. Suddenly your partner ducks into a door and locks it behind them leaving you behind. You slump against the door preparing for the worst. The killer walks up and says "Wow what a jerk. You ok?" | The rain fell thick and cold, like clouds made of ice dropping from the sky. Even in the heavy rain, Barak could still hear the heavy breathing of the man with the unnecessarily large axe, close behind him as he streaked through the forest. Hayden was a light spot against a much darker background, on the edges of Barak’s vision. All his years of running track in high school couldn’t have prepared him for running for his life. Barak’s heart raced, his muscles pounded, his feet slammed against the forest floor. Hayden flickered in and out, the darkness threatening to swallow them.
A glance over his shoulder told Barak that their murderer was only a handful of feet behind him. The gears in his brain began turning, producing adrenaline to keep Barak going. In the darkest recesses of his mind, he had a bad feeling about all of this. Suddenly, up in the distance - a house began appearing out of the darkness. It was the faintest outline, but it was where Hayden and Barak had planned to go in case of anything like this. But the safety of their camping ground was long behind them.
Barak barely saw the door open and close, meaning Hayden was inside and safe. Barak almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he still had to make it. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Barak felt like he was flying. Safety was in arm’s reach!
He reached for the door handle with hammering breath, his soaked hands slipping once. Had his hand passed through the handle? He shook his head, gripping the handle and trying to turn it, but Hayden had locked the door handle behind them.
Barak turned. The axe murderer was close. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Barak dove to the side. He tried to run but his feet slipped on the wet wood.
With a panicked face, Barak, on the ground, turned to face his killer, who stopped in front of the door. A black-masked face looked down at him. He almost looked like a ninja, with his black outfit and his black mask. Barak couldn’t even see his attacker’s eyes. His mind searched desperately for something to hold on to as the man raised his almost comically large axe. It was the length of the man’s forearm, made of tan wood with a red head and a steel gray blade.
As Barak turned to run, he saw the attacker’s mask move, almost as if he was trying to say something.
“W-What?”
“I said, are you okay?” The man had to shout to be heard over the rain. His voice was deep and, unfortunately, entirely unfamiliar to Barak.
Barak’s heart pounded in his ears. “I’m- what?”
The murderer shook his head and turned to the door. “I wouldn’t worry, kid. You’re not the one I’m here for.”
Barak watched as the murderer kicked in the door with immense strength. The wet wood gave way with the first three kicks, the door splintering in two as it flew inward. Barak laid there as Hayden screamed, a sound that was soon cut short. Thunder drowned out the thump of Hayden’s body hitting the floor, but Barak didn’t need to hear it to know that the man had killed them. All he had to do was reach for the hole in his heart.
The murderer left the building. “I wouldn’t go looking for me, kid. I’m not the kind of person that you can find easily.”
“What did you do? Why did-“
“No questions, kid!” The masked man stepped off the porch and into the night. “Time’s a fickle thing.”
Barak watched the darkness swallow the man until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He didn’t need to look into the building; he remembered the sight as vividly as the day he met Hayden, as if he’d replayed it every day for a month in his mind.
“End simulation,” Barak shouted.
A month later, and Barak was still no closer to figuring out who killed his lover. | Our lives are made up of moments that make us who we are. Once you live your life with somebody your moments become entwined.
All our moments together, now cast in a new light. Your adorable unwillingness to let me eat your food, you never liked to share anything with me. Your stubborn refusal to pick up your shirts, just more clutter to my busy life. The way you would get nervous if I laughed too loud in public and you would shush me, you were always finding ways to be embarrassed of me.
Just now. The way you looked into my eyes as you slammed the door shut. I heard the locks slide into place as I stood, staring into the night. This was it. I readied my posture, looking around for weapons. I saw a chain to my right, listened to the night for a beat then went to reach for it.
Pale hands shot out from the dark of the cabins porch, they rested on the chain I was reaching for but did not grab it. My hand stilled and I stared into the pale face if the figure that had been chasing us.
"I cant believe he left you outside" the man stared straight at me, a memory bit at my mind. His dark hair and eyes, neatly trimmed beard... "full lips, and thick eyelashes. Under different circumstances i would be interested." What. Did I really just think that. No. That wasn't my voice.
I straightened and got back into a defense stance. I have no idea what is going on.
His eyes widened and a coy smile played on his lips. "You know, I came to see who destroyed my offering. You wouldnt know wou-" a loud bang from inside cut him off. It seems Sean had moved something heavy to block the door.
"I dont know what you are talking about. We only arrived it 3 hours ago. Went for a walk and ran into you, well you ran at us with a giant knife."
He remaibed silent and stared at me intently, I looked back at him, he looked so... ordinary. His nostrils flared at that moment.
I kept my posture in guard, I was ready for any attack. "So.. your fiance... he just left you to die?" I was not ready for that attack.
"Panic response. Fight, flight, fuckoverpeopleyousaid youloved. Its human nature" I sighed. Then realised I had relaxed in my vent. Why hasn't he attacked me?
"Why haven't you attacked me? And why are you so ordinary looking?" .. well, good looking.
He walked more into the light cast from the cabin, I could hear Sean inside pilling more furniture in front of the door. "Why arent you afraid of me? Or running? How do you mean, ordinary?"
I took a step back and relaxed, I copied his posture and leaned against the side of the cabin. The air was crisp but my adrenaline was keeping me warm, the sound of crickets chirped as I looked at my would be killer.
"I will answer your questions honestly, so long as once I have done so you will answer mine, agree?" I looked at the figure, his sharp eyes locked onto mine and he nodded slightly. "Agreed"
"I am afraid of many things, but I do not fear what I do not know. Until I know what you intentions are, I have nothing to fear. I am tired, better to face you now than to run and face you when I am more tired. I guess I mean, you dont look like a deranged killer, but I guess I dont have a real frame of reference so you can ignore that"
He stared at me for a long moment, the sudden silence after my spiel was deafening. He smirked, lifted his eyes to the sky. "I haven't attacked you because you interest me. You also remind me of somebody. I also do not believe it was you that destroyed my offering. I guess I look ordinary because I mostly am, I just... fly into murderous rages sometimes"
"Oh. Okay. I am sorry your offering got destroyed. Do you plan to attack me?"
I looked at his hands as they clenched at my question. He shook his head but looked down. "I do not plan to kill you." With that he slunk into the darkness. There was a loud shout from within, then a lot more banging.
I heard one final soft thud then silence. I ran for the road and managed to flag down a car, as I got in and we drove off I looked back and saw the figure stood at the road. He was smiling and waving. It did not feel like a goodbye. | 2020-10-10T09:03:58 | 2020-10-10T07:59:47 | 59 | 42 |
[WP] At the Age of Ten, some special individuals, are granted special powers by the Ancient Greek Gods. As the Clock strikes twelve on your Birthday, Heavenly Light strikes you. You have been Chosen. Unfortunately, it's by Aristaois:The God of Beekeeping and Cheese. | I awoke to a bright light shining into my eyes and a deafening humming sound. My room was lit by a beam of sunlight streaming in through the window, even though it was midnight. In the light, a dark cloud spun and condensed into a solid form. An old man, wearing a black and gold suit, complete with vest and a bowler hat, stood in the center of my bedroom. He smiled and tipped his hat to me.
"Mortal! A most excellent birthday you." I sat up in bed, starting to grin. My best friend had been visited on his birthday by Ares and since then he'd been stronger than a bull. He'd beaten up a bully that tried to pick on us and stole his wallet. Now it was my turn to get powers from the gods.
But I didn't recognize this god. I'd seen depictions of most of them, and he looked different from them all. I got out of bed and bowed to him. "Forgive me, honored immortal, but I do not recognize your form." The old man smirked. "It's to be expected, I've been away from this realm for over an era." He struck a pose, made all the more dramatic by still standing in the light. "You see before you Aristaois, the most excellent god of shepherds, cheesemaking, beekeeping, and the Etesian winds."
I looked up at him, confused. "I'm sorry, who?" Aristaois laughed. "Then I was right! The world is in desperate need of my return." He walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Fret not, mortal. You shall become my herald, carrying my name for my return." I felt a warmth spreading through my shoulder. "Receive my blessing" he murmured "and my realm shall be at your command."
The warmth spread across my body, and I could see faint golden lights spiraling off from my fingers. "Your realm?" I asked. Aristaois turned, waving dismissively over his shoulder. "Guide the flock for me, herald. I'll return soon. I have other matters to attend to first. My seat in the pantheon has been taken." With that, he dissolved into the light, and the room was shrouded in darkness again.
I glanced around, trying to convince myself it was a dream, but the warmth still spread across my body. He'd said his realm was beekeeping and cheese right? I grinned as I climbed back into bed. I'd always liked bees. | Elijah ponder about the situation he'd been left it. On one hand he wsst one of the chosen few, literally a one in 10 million odds. However what the prophecies had never educated him about the blessing was how many minor gods resided in Greece.
Elijah's temper rose as he mused to himself " Blessed by the God of Beekeeping and Cheese ?? Being blessed by Dionysus would've been better, atleast that way I'd be the life of the party ! Why would the scholars of Greece fanaticize about the blessing anyway ?! One is more likely to be blessed by a minor god rather than the major one probability wise speaking. Maybe being a commoner would've been better than being blessed of stinging bees and moulding cheese !"
At this point Aristaois had had enough of the young lad's tantrums. He finally channeled god speak to communicate with Elijah so as the other commoners around him couldn't hear Aristaois speak
Aristaois : " You really think I am a useless god eh child ?"
Elijah : " What ? Who's that talking ? Are hallucinations also a part of my eternal `blessing` that I've received ?"
Aristaois : " It is I Aristaois, your god protector. Be humbled that you've been chosen by someone so prestigious as opposed to that drunk Dionysus or apathetic Aphrodite !"
Elijah : " Yeah. Absolutely. Cause being a beekeeper is way cooler than being the life of a party or a sex symbol"
Aristaois : " By Zeus, I really lucked out in the electoral lottery by getting ye didn't I ??
"
Elijah : " I just don't understand. Megs has elemental control over small lightning charges. And I get what again ??"
Aristaois : " You feeble minded human. You honestly think zapping people is a better mastery than beekeeping and cheese ? Not only are you vain but an idiot too"
Elijah : " Oh yeah, well it's better than being a grumpy ol"
Aristaois : " SILENCE CHILD. Do ye know who's responsible for running the world ? It's the bees who help in pollination. Best organic sweetner ? Bees again. Capable of driving out anyone ? Swarm of bees. Bees are the ruler of the world. They used to call me Ah Muzen Cab in Mayan culture"
Elijah : " Shocking people sounds cooler to be honest"
Aristaois : " As cool as being able to sting them to death ? Or perhaps cause the entire population of an area to die out by ensuring bees stopped working for a while ? You have my blessings already. Look past the phoney god hierarchy and start thinking how to use your abilities to their best. I'll contact you after a few years to see how you're doing."
Elijah now understood some things. Perhaps being blessed wasn't as bad as he had imagined. The limits of what he could do was limited by what he could think. As Elijah went to make lunch he wondered what should he make. Just then he smiled as he understood how cheese fit into the grand scheme of life. "Perfect, for lunch I shall make omelette du fromage" | 2020-11-14T19:53:55 | 2020-11-14T19:40:58 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] You work as a bookie for gamblers with rich blood. One day a man comes to you and puts down a fortune on a ridiculous bet. But this is the moment you've been waiting for. You shove him against the wall. "TTPD!" You shout. "You are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!" | It is rare for recruits to do their first arrest so quick. Finding offenders is a hard task.
As you place the handcuffs on him, the race is nearing the end. As Chance overtakes Thunder, you understand your mistake: this was a rudiculous bet, yes... but also a loosing one.
The man started laughing and let out a faint whisper: "seems like the butterfly flapped his wings one too many times".
At this moment you realised your mistake: This was not a time offender, or at least not the one you expected.
You look around you: several people have their cellphones out streaming live the incident.
"What is he under arrest for again?" Yell one man.
"Go on, say it one more time for my followers!" Add another.
Seems in all your excitement you forgot about a few very important rules...
What will you do?
- Let him there and go back in time to start over. [Go to page 92.]
- Wait for the real police to come. [Go to page 43.]
- Try to escape the Time Locked crowd and bring your prisonner back to the temporal HQ. [Go to page 12]
- Appologize and let him go [Go to page 1935] | ''Do your thing, honey.'' He turns his back against me.
I see his tattoo on the behind of his neck. It’s four dots side by side which gives away his clan. They are called ‘Morning Foxes’ and unlike any other time-traveling clans they don’t hire just anybody. We have 29 pending cases with Morning Foxes and we haven’t able to catch one of them yet but I feel like today is my day.
''Seems like you have a problem with your credit. Would you mind if I check with our scanner?'' I ask.
He looks at me without saying anything. He grabs my hand he pulls the card from my hand.
Here goes my plan I guess…
But then he pulls out another card, ''Try this.''
If I try the same trick he will get suspicious and I can’t arrest him here while other civilians around. I’ll have to think of another way to spike the chip in his card or figure out a completely different way to track him down.
''What is taking you so long?'' He asks.
I use the surveillance camera to save the pattern of the chip and I give his card back. ''I think we have a problem with our hardware. You can come back later if you want.''
He shakes his head and he walks away.
I immediately trigger the silent alarm but I know that he will vanish in seconds when he turns the corner. I try to follow him and I turn the corner and I see that he is standing still, not moving.
I push him against the wall and I put the cuffs on him and strangely he doesn’t even resist. A few minutes later my backup arrives.
My commanding officer Major Redford comes to congratulate me but the suspect starts to cough blood. We call for an emergency trauma team but he flatlines in minutes.
''What was that?'' I ask.
''I don’t like this.'' Redford shakes his head.
Everything goes silent. | 2020-12-31T08:19:32 | 2020-12-31T07:30:41 | 113 | 65 |
[WP] Dark Lord received a prophecy that a young ophran from the nearby village will end his reign. Instead of attempting to get her killed, he adopted her. | I shifted on my Throne of Souls, and stretched out a wrinkle on my Robe of Darkness.
The vast space of the Throne Room of Terror lay still and silent, but for a slight creak of armor as one of my four minion shifted his weight slightly. I stared at the chamber doors.
She was due to arrive. The Chosen One. The Bringer of Light, Ender of Darkness.
She was late. My scarred face turned down behind my Dark Mask of Many. I looked to Gregor, my top minion. He looked back and shrugged, lowering his Dark Axe a little.
A commotion on the other side of the doors let me know she had arrived. The doors swung open, and she entered, the sunlight pouring in around her from the Great Hall. She strode confidently to the center of the Throne Room of Terror and regarded me.
“My child,” I intoned. “You are not punctual.”
The teenager before me threw her satchel on the ground and sighed.
“Dad,” she said, “you would not believe the day I’ve had. I forgot my chemistry book, so I was trying to copy off of Katie’s but Mrs. Hanover saw me and thought I was cheating so she made me stay after school, and meanwhile Katie was making eyes at Tommy the whole time and didn’t even back me up, then at lunch Jacob wouldn’t stop talking about ‘Oh Chosen One I love you’ and ‘Does the Dark Lord need any bidding done’ even after I told him to shut up like three times, and Mr. Franklin told me he never got my paper on the Rebellion of the Damned even though I know for sure I turned it in, so now I’m going to have to turn it in again tomorrow for fewer points, and they made me play dodgeball at P.E. and I put four kids in the hospital, so now I have detention tomorrow.”
Throughout her rant I nodded, adding the occasional “Uh-huh” and “yep” until she stopped talking. I gave it a minute to make sure she was actually done and not just taking a breath.
“Do I need to talk to this Jacob boy?” I asked.
“No Dad, you already talked to him, remember?” she huffed. “He hasn’t been the same since you forced him to look into the Crystal of Eternity. He was an annoying doofus before, but now he’s a shell of a boy. If there’s any way to reverse that, that would be great. He used to be the starting shortstop, but now he doesn’t even know what baseball is.”
“Ah yes. The Crystal of Eternity.”
“Anyway, I have to go do homework. Call me when dinner is ready.”
“My child, you must join me for sword dueling practice later.”
“Oh Dad, I’m sorry, I forgot,” she said, picking up her backpack. “Katie and Candace were going to come over to swim in the pool and have ice cream later. Can we do that tomorrow?”
“Yes, my child. It has seemed to be perpetually summer since you arrived. Begone, then.”
She walked out of the Throne Room of Terror, presumably to pretend to do homework while talking with her friends on the phone. I turned to Gregor.
“That child will be the death of me,” I muttered.
“Yes, so the prophecy says,” he replied.
I pondered his statement, tapping my finger on the Throne of Souls’ armrest.
“It will be for the best,” I said. “This kingdom needed the darkness to survive the Rebellion of the Damned, but it is time for some light in the world. When her time comes, it will be the right time. And she will be one for the people, which is something I could never do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
I tapped my fingers some more, then stopped.
“Her parents would be proud.” | Evalis stood in front of the Oracle. "It is unwise to seek out such knowledge. To know your destiny is to make it inevitable." "I don't care", said the Dark Lord. "I need to know how my reign will end." The Oracle closed her eyes. "Very well. In a nearby village, there is a young orphaned girl named Anna. She will be the one to end your reign over this land." Evalis stood. "Very well. Thank you, Oracle. Now please excuse me, for I have business to attend to." As he turned around to leave the cave, the Oracle called out to him. "It is unwise to challenge Fate. If you try to change it, it will only come sooner". Pretending not to hear her, he left to seek out the girl named Anna.
• • •
The people screamed in terror as Evalis descended onto the village with his army of skeletal soldiers close behind. "Where is the orphanage of this town?" he asked, always one to get right to the point. The people did not answer, afraid he would kill the orphans. He huffed in annoyance. "Tell me where it is, or I will burn your entire city to the ground and find the Orphanage myself!" One of the citizens stepped forward, and meekly pointed towards a tall, dilapidated building in the distance before fainting with fear. Evalis shook his head before riding to the orphanage on his mighty skeletal horse.
Evalis walked through the door. A kindly old woman limped into the room. "Hello, may I help y-" she stoppsd short when she realized who it was. "Oh." was all she said after that. "I seek a girl named Anna. Give her to me, or I will take her by force." The woman merely nodded, before disappearing through the low doorway. Soon, she returned carrying a young girl, no older than the age of one. "Please, don't hurt her." Evalis simply took the child without a word, then stepped out into the night.
• • •
Twelve years later
• • •
Anna laughed as she ran through the halls. Evalis watched her, smiling. He thought back to when he "adopted" her. After taking her from that orphanage, he nearly killed her. However, while holding up the sword, he thought back to the words of the oracle. Fate could not be avoided. Most likely another orphan named Anna would come to slay him. And so, she raised this one as his own. He married a lovely maiden to help him raise the child, and dismissed his skeletal soldiers back to the Underworld. He instead hired live ones, as a castle full of the undead is no place to raise a child. His thoughts were interrupted as Anna ran to him, laughing. "Woah there! You don't want to knock me over!" Anna smiled. "Can you tell me a story?" Evalis pretended to think for a moment, before saying "sure... If you can catch me!" They ran through the halls as the servants watched, wondering at how much Evalis had changed.
• • •
"What do you mean you couldn't kill him?" Asked the man in the purple robes. "Aren't you the world's best assassin?" The other man, shrouded in darkness, sighed. "All attempts failed. The arrow missed, the blade broke, the lava melted through the bucket too late. There can be only one explanation. There is someone else destined to kill him." The other man slammed his fist against the wall. "Then find them! You remember what he did to the land? He burned it all, and turned all the people into his undead army!" The assassin looked at the man for a moment. "I'm aware. He killed my family in one of the burnings. But... I think he has changed. Now, he doesn't burn the villages, he simply rules over them. Truthfully, they're better off than they were before his rule! Ever since he raided that village orphanage twelve years ago, he has been much kinder." The purple man huffed. "It's a trick! He's only doing it to lull us into a false sense of security before he destroys us all! And if there is a prophecy, we need to find out who -" He paused, a crooked smile slowly appearing on his face. "What did you say about an orphanage?"
Pt. 2 posted below. | 2021-03-24T10:37:43 | 2021-03-24T10:28:14 | 97 | 71 |
[WP] "Please hold." The villain's secretary sets the phone down and turns to her boss, a look of consternation on her face. "It's Make-a-Wish. A fan of yours wants to meet you." | "Here you go," the nurse said, leading Dark Mage Myran to a red door labeled 1666. "Carol insisted on a private audience, so we"ll just be waiting outside. Just ring the bell if you need us for anything."
Myran nodded and pushed the red door open to walk inside. The small room was filled with the scent of vomit and decay. Sitting in the hospital bed with her small collection of dolls, connected to a variety of tubes and blinking machines, was twelve year old orphan Carol Ward. Her face was gaunt and pale, and there were purple sores all over her emaciated body that were constantly oozing blood and pus. It was clear that it was only a matter of time, perhaps even hours, before her body would succumb to the Consumption Plague. Still, there was a faint spark in her eyes when she saw Myran standing before her. "You came," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Hi," Myran said awkwardly. Honestly, he had no idea why this girl had called for him. He had never talked much with children and especially not children dying from terminal illnesses. "Uhh...I have to be honest. If you're looking for a cure for your illness, healing magic really isn't my specialty--"
"I know that," Carol interrupted. She pulled herself up straighter in my bed. "I know that I'm going to die no matter what. I want something else."
"Oh?" Myran was a bit caught off guard. This certainly wasn't what he expected. "So, what do you want then?"
Carol gazed around the room suspiciously. "Are there any listening devices anywhere? I said I wanted a private audience, but I never know if I can really trust them."
"There aren't. I made sure to do a surveillance check before I stepped in here."
"Ah, good." She stared right into Myran's eyes. "I want you to make sure that no matter what, I won't go to Hell."
Myran stared back at her at a loss for words. "Uh...why exactly would you be going to hell?"
Carol waved Myran to come closer and the mage reluctantly walked up next to her bed as Carol whispered into his ear. The look changed on his face from one of confusion to one of utter shock. "Are you serious?" he asked.
"I read on Wikipedia that you had the ability to know if people were lying. Or was that wrong?"
Myran stared back at the girl in silence. He hadn't detected any lies in what she had just told him. Which meant that she was either utterly insane or possibly the world's youngest mass murderer. Or it could be both, he mused. He had assumed that the cold dead look in her eyes was just a symptom of her illness, but now...well, no wonder, she was a orphan.
A small part of him told him to walk away, that this child dying and going to Hell was probably the best thing for the world. But another part of him was ... impressed. To have such a prolific record of villainy at such a young age, he couldn't help but wonder what things she would achieve if her soul stayed around a little longer in the mortal realm.
"So, can you grant my wish?" Carol asked apprehensively.
"Yes," muttered Myran as he looked at Carol thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I can. Your current body is beyond saving, but I can anchor your soul into a artificial construct that will be far more resilient and stronger. There is a catch though. In order for you to maintain this construct, you will have to spend your life constantly devouring souls to harvest their life energy."
Carol gave him a faint smirk. "If something like that bothered me, do you think I would be worried about going to Hell?"
"Fair enough. I should also tell you the procedure will take about a hour and will be very painful."
Carol shrugged. "The way I can see it, I can either endure a hour of agony or spend eternity burning in hellfire. It's a easy choice."
"I suppose it is," Myran replied as he made a few motions with his hands. The hospital lights dimmed and fizzled out as the room became unnaturally cold. Glowing red sigils and glyphs slowly emerged from the darkness and began orbiting around the hospital bed. "Well, then, let's begin, shall we?"
Later that night...
Margaret walked into Room 1666. The patient had died shortly after Myran had left the hospital and she had been given the task of moving the medical equipment here to another room. She stared at Carol Ward's corpse for a few moments. Carol's black messy hair was covering most of her face, but the nurse could still see a faint smile on her lips. Personally, although the nurse would obviously never say it out loud, Margaret felt secretly relieved. The girl and her strange looking dolls had always given her the creeps and she had always behaved like a rude brat. Suddenly, she frowned. Didn't Carol have seven dolls, not six? Oh well, she must have misremembered. She looked at Carol's face again and something caught her attention. Slowly, she walked closer to the corpse and brushed Carol's hair aside. There were faint blood smudges around Carol's closed eyes and mouth. What in the bloody hell...her thoughts were suddenly cut off as a all too familiar voice called out.
"You know, I never liked you, Margaret."
Margaret yelped and jolted backward, knocking over a tray of surgical instruments. She looked fearfully at the corpse, but the body hadn't moved a single muscle. When she gazed around the room frantically, she didn't see anything either. She must have been imagining things, she tried to convince herself as she took deep breaths to calm her nerves. After all, ghosts weren't real. Carol was dead and she was never coming back.
A small giggle rang out. "Not there, silly, up here."
Margaret gazed up in a panic. There, latched onto the ceiling was Carol's bloodstained seventh doll looking down at her. But what really made her start whimpering in terror was the look of sheer madness in the doll's eyes. Those were real human eyes looking down on her, she realized, not plastic replicas. The "doll" grinned at her and she saw two rows of bloody teeth in its mouth. Margaret let out one final scream as the twisted creature laughed maniacally and pounced on her, sinking its teeth into her throat. | The Dread Lord looks at her in confusion before exclaiming, "I have a fan? How?!"
"I\`m not sure, milord. They are saying this 12 year old boy-" she pauses as the voice on the phone interjects something, "named Timmy, apparently, is your biggest fan and as he is dying of cancer, would like to spend a day with you before he passes."
"A day? With me? Is this child insane?! Everyone knows that I, the Great Dread Lord, am a nightmare to spend an hour with, let alone a day!" the Dread Lord declares, his hands on his hips in something of an attempt at a power pose. One he, in fact, learned from a course on power poses. Perception matters, after all.
His secretary struggles mightily to avoid rolling her eyes at the overt campiness of her boss. A nightmare to spend time with, indeed.
*'I really deserve a raise...'* she thinks to herself before replying to him. "Well sir, they say he has all of his faculties still and while your reputation with most is, indeed, terrifying, he admires you greatly all the same."
"Hmmm, does he now? I suppose I could spare some time for an admirer..." the Dread Lord muses as he rubs his chin in thought, his already oversized ego swelling all the more at the thought of an admirer.
"Shall I tell them yes, then, sir?"
"Please do. I will make time at the boy\`s earliest convenience. Ensure that he arrives wearing appropriate clothing. All black and grey! None of that goody two shoes blue or green or, heavens forbid, red! Appearances must be kept, of course." the Dread Lord orders.
"Yes, sir." his secretary replies with yet another masterful effort to avoid rolling her eyes.
​
A few weeks later, the little boy in question, Timmy, arrives by self-driving car to the very hidden, very spooky headquarters of the Dread Lord on the outskirts of the city. He is met shortly after stepping through a set of double doors into a rather derelict looking building by the Dread Lord himself, his black metal armor polished and pristine, his grey cape spotless and quaffed elegantly to trail behind him and just barely dust the floor.
Timmy, dressed in a black and grey plaid shirt and black jeans that match well with his dark hair and pale complexion, eagerly approaches the Dread Lord.
"It is an honor, sir!' Timmy says.
"Well I should say so." the Dread Lord says arrogantly, as is his nature. "Do follow me, we have much to do!" he states as he turns and walks deeper into the seemingly derelict building which, after walking past the entry area, is revealed to be a sophisticated and state of the art lab and factory. Robots can be seen building larger robots, weapons, battle tanks and other tools of war.
"First things first, I have arranged a tutorial for you in utilizing the battle tanks, of my own design, which you shall need to complete. Second, we will get you fitted for some combat armor like my own, can\`t have my only fan getting hurt after all! And then... we shall rob the Federal Reserve Depository in the city! I have prepared several distractions to pull away those pompous heroes and give us ample time to pull off the heist. It\`s a good plan, isn\`t it?" the Dread Lord finishes, clearly fishing for a compliment.
"Sounds good to me, sir! I can\`t wait! I have waited so long for this!" Timmy replies with a wide, enigmatic smile.
The Dread Lord directs Timmy to a computer terminal where he completes his tutorial before being measured by several robots and fitted for a suit of combat armor of quite terrifying design. He puts on the armor and marvels at the spiked flanges on the joints and the vicious skulls on the pauldrons, nearly giddy with excitement.
Next, they walk over to two large battle tanks. The behemoths are armed with cannons from nearly every available position, large spikes jutting out from the wheels and machine guns mounted to the top.
"Are you ready to get to the best part of your wish?" the Dread Lord asks as he gestures for Timmy to climb into his tank, helping to strap him in as he does.
"Oh, yes! More than ready!" Timmy answers excitedly as he places his hands on the controls.
The Dread Lord steps back to take in the sight of the boy in his tank when suddenly, a loud burst of gunshots rings out!
The Dread Lord darts his head around to look for the source before he suddenly feels dizzy, falling to his knees and looking down to his chest as blood pours down his front. He slumps to the ground as he feels weakness take him and hears the pad of small feet stepping toward him.
"Thank you for fullfilling my wish, Dread Lord." Timmy says, a look of satisfaction on his pale face as he stands over the fallen villain.
"Wh-why?" the Dread Lord manages to ask.
"Well, in that attack on City Hall a few years ago when you knocked down those buildings in the battle, you killed my parents and nearly me as well, or so I thought then... But, I came to find out last year that the debris particles got into my lungs and gave me cancer, so you got me in the end just like them... I thought I was going to die too young to take my revenge but inspiration struck! Why not play to your well-known vanity by claiming to be a fan, an admirer? And here we are...at last." Timmy explains proudly.
"Ahhh...well done. I am honored to be taken down...by such a worthy adversary." the Dread Lord groans out quietly before seeming to come to a decision and continuing, "In the office by the back corner of the building....there is a safe under...under the flower pot in the corner. The code is...666. Inside...inside you\`ll find a vial of ambrosia. I stole it from that divine...wannabe, Heracleon. Use it....it will heal you. Make you strong....more durable. You have cunning, intelligence....a willingness to kill.... Use my tools, my lab, my knowledge....become my successor....the ***Dread King***. Be my legacy...." he states with a passion burning in his eyes even as his last breath rattles free from his chest.
Timmy looks at the corpse of his nemesis with an inscrutable expression on his face, perhaps considering what the path ahead will shape out to be, perhaps reflecting on the road behind or maybe, just maybe, he dreamt of a world on its knees before him...bowing to their ***Dread King.***
But for now, he just walked to the corner office and set to healing himself, he was about to have a new lease on life, after all and then, he would have all the time in the world to make his decision on how to spend it.
*So goes the origin story of the bloody, the merciless, the terrifying:* ***Dread King*** | 2021-08-26T14:47:48 | 2021-08-26T12:05:09 | 320 | 196 |
[WP] You have been trapped inside a glass orb for years. Sitting on a shelf in an old store, your only entertainment is that of the clerks daily routine. One day however the clerk is attacked, in defence the orb is thrown and shatters upon impact. Finally releasing you from your cage. | **EATEN**
My great-great-great-great-great grandson cowers in fear, his hands trembling over his head. Blood and sweat mix on his face. The soup dribbles down his chin and then plops onto his blue nametag. It obscures the first letter. Peter becomes *eter*. He is not an eater. He is about to be eaten.
One of the burglars puts the muzzle of his gun in Peter’s face. He interrogates him about the location of the safe. What safe? His compatriots rampage through the aisles, smashing and grabbing and laughing and thinking it feels good to pillage.
They do not know what it is to pillage. They live in a baby-proofed city inside a baby-proofed country inside a baby-proofed world. Even their violence is a whimpering shadow of what once was. Humanity has succumbed to decadence and failure. I am glad to be alone in my cage.
The burglar with the gun cocks back the hammer and tells Peter he is out of time. I look away in disgrace. How many men of our family will die on their knees? Every generation is weaker than the last. Peter has met the fate he deserves.
And then a flash. A deafening sound. One of the burglars cries out in pain. I look to Peter: he has yanked the man with the gun to the ground, his arm twisted backward. The gun has scattered across the floor. Peter’s jaw closes around the man’s ear and when it opens again the ear is gone.
Peter crawls after the gun. The burglars are visibly shaken when he spits the man’s ear onto the floor. Their façade of ruthlessness has been punctured; their baby-proofed world still has one sharp edge left. They are too afraid to intercept Peter and before they know it, Peter is in possession of the gun.
As he stands, the weapon in his trembling hands, he slips, tumbles backward onto his ass. The biggest of the three burglars crosses toward me, seizing the opportunity. His broad shoulders block my view of Peter. I should hear a gunshot now but I do not. The man should crumble but he stays standing. Has Peter lost his nerve?
Suddenly everything goes dark – an enormous hand grasps my glass cage; dark, pinkish light filters through the webbed skin where the fingers meet.
I am thrown.
I sail through the air toward Peter. His face is contorted in anguish and confusion. His finger pulls at the trigger but nothing happens. The gun only had one bullet. He is defenseless.
I collide with Peter’s chest. I collide with the world.
A thousand shards of glass explode in every direction. I take my choice of which to make my vessel. I cling to a shard shaped like a “V,” a reminder of our old family crest. We hurtle through the air. Gravity meets us.
When I hit the floor, the shard skids to a halt. I feel my body returning. Under my feet, a reflection looks back at me. In a matter of seconds I am returned to full form. In a few more seconds I have surpassed that form.
I tower over Peter, his head lolling. My arms look vaporous, red, my fingers are wispy, like I’ve only been sketched and not yet fully drawn. It’s no matter: I feel the power coursing through me. The same power the put me in that cage has now been caged inside of me.
I turn to the three burglars, one holding his head where his ear should be, huddled together. They are petrified.
I am hungry.
Now we will see who is eaten. | “Who are you?” Linda’s head trailed from the robber fleeing the convenience store, over to me. Her hand slid underneath the counter, to the alert button I’d seen her press twice before. “Where’d you come from?”
“I came from this.” I waved to the shattered glass orb on the tiled floor. “You released me from my prison.”
“So what? Are you going to grant me three wishes?”
I chuckled. “I’m not a genie. I’m an inter-dimensional ne’er-do-well vying after destruction everywhere round. Invader for short.”
“That sounds bad. You sound bad. I’m going to call the police now.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a genie, but I did bring you something.”
“What’s that?” She rubbed her eyes like she was clearing a hallucination.
“Life lessons. Your boyfriend, Tucker? He’s a thief, and he’s cheating on you. You know how he comes into the store to hang out with you? Whenever you inevitably leave him alone to go in the back, go the restroom, whatever—he makes calls and texts with a woman named Kelly. He’s also the reason for your shortage of candy bars.”
Linda's eyebrows wrinkled. She'd clearly suspected the truth. “So you’re spying on me? That’s super creepy. And you look like a kid. Did Tiffany put you up to this?”
“I’m young forever, with the wisdom of a thousand ages.”
“Then how’d you get yourself trapped in a glass orb?”
That’s why I liked Linda. Feisty, carefree of dangers staring her in the face. Her entertainment these past years had earned my favor. “Because I was bored. There’s always time to play, but breaks make playtime that much sweeter. I didn’t know where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here. You deserve more than this life.”
“My life’s fine, thank you very much.” She glared at me, added, “You strange short, short man.”
I snorted. “Listen, Linda.”
She sputtered a frustrated, intelligible argument. She slightly slid her shaking arm to the side. Enough, I knew, to no longer accidentally press the alert button.
“Linda, listen.”
“Fine. What?”
“Take the internship at the architecture firm. Mr. Ross is a stand-up guy. He doesn’t eye fuck you like Mr. Mollick.”
“I don’t care about architecture.”
“Yes, you do. You spend the slow hours drawing. You’re good at math. Just ‘cause it sounds stuffy and old doesn’t mean it’s boring. Rebel against the establishment all you want, but don’t rebel against your self-interests.”
“But my degree is in philosophy. That’s why I ended up here to begin with.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Real fucking creepy, it turns out.”
“Mr. Ross doesn’t give a damn. He’s got an eye for talent that’s as sharp as the one for his designer suits.” I grabbed a Snickers bar, peeled it open, and took a bite. Caramel stuck to my teeth. Decadently cheap chocolate-coated peanuts slid down my throat. “This really is as good as it looks.”
“You’ve got pay for that.”
“Put it on Tucker’s tab. Just one more thing—”
“Why should I trust any of this?”
I smiled wide, barring my sharpened teeth. Her hand slid back to the alert button, the other grabbed her metal Yeti. She had amused me, but like her, it was time for me to move on. “Life is a risk. Now, my last gift. Reconcile with your mom. Your real one. It’s clear she loves you.”
“She abandoned me.”
“No, she just sacrificed to give you the best life possible.”
“Then why I am here?”
“That’s a good question.”
Linda finally pulled her hand out from underneath the counter.
I started to walk out of the store.
“Wait. Should I really let you go? It doesn’t sound smart to release an Invader into the wild.”
I paused to shrug, then pressed forward. “As I said, life is a risk.” The automatic door shut behind me, and I moved into the wilds of my latest spherical prison. Would it break too? I guess it all depended on how many Lindas were out there.
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read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords | 2021-11-12T11:26:43 | 2021-11-12T11:19:34 | 806 | 250 |
[WP] On your quest for revenge, people often said to you, "Killing him wouldn't bring her back." The thing is, you found a way to perfectly resurrect her. You just need a soul to sacrifice, so might as well get the one who killed your loved one. | *"Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."- Confucious*
Something you need to understand about Murder.
You can't plan one perfectly. Even if its a righteous killing of a drunk driving bastard that doesn't mind plowing through a crosswalk at 65 miles per hour in a 20 zone. Even if that bastard killed both of your kids and left you hospitalized for two years. Even if you chase after the bastard yourself when he skips his court date for five years and finally track him down in some shitty little bar somewhere in the middle of Bible-Belt Inbred Cousin-ville, Alabama.
You can't plan one perfectly. It's impossible. There is always some hitch.
I know. It's a disappointing thing. Murder is actually a fundamental part of humanity in general - there aren't many animals that are quite as adept and willing to end the life of one of their own kind. You might even call your Murder something else to justify it in your head. Maybe you begin to see their reflection in pools of water wherever you go. It's still no guarantee to make sure everything goes to plan.
Is it still murder if you drug the bastard's beer at his current local watering hole and wait for him to stumble back into his pickup truck? Would one still be willing to end the life of one of their own kind? You might even call this particular murder by a different name else to justify it in your head.
Is it still murder if you've watched him stumble back into his pickup truck, knowing that he's just as likely to kill again? Of course, it is. But you can't say that if you expect to have any stomach for the task itself. But there he is - Drunk. Drugged too and he didn't even know. I should have known that the small tablet I slipped into his beer wouldn't have enough.
The choke hold I put on him from the back seat did the rest of the work nice and quiet so I could gag him, tape up his wrists and ankles and put him in his trunk. drive him out close to the River. One long lived soul with too many sins, mistakes. In exchange two souls that barely had a chance. The drugs didn't completely work.
​
Have you ever heard of the Thuggee? It's an old cult out of India. I think I read they were based on the Hindu religion. Anyways. I read once that when the Thuggee were killed, they did so bloodlessly because they felt that the blood of their victims belonged to Kali, who was like a Goddess of both life and death and stuff.chance. The ritual says he must understand how hopeless it is. How inevitable this is.
Have you ever heard of the Thuggee? Its an old cult out of India. I think I read they were based on the Hindu religion. Anyways. I read once that when the Thuggee killed someone, they'd do so bloodlessly because they felt that the blood of their victims belonged to Kali, who was like a Goddess of both life and death and .. well honestly, its confusing to even me.
I thought maybe that's why they wanted to use the River for the ritual. Something about cleansing the soul before it makes its journey home.
But like I said, Murder is difficult to actually do right. There are *huge* margins of error.
For a moment, seeing my kids by the riverside after he stopped gurgling and thrashing, I did feel like it was worth it.
But when they spoke and I heard the voice of **Her**. Yeah. I knew there was a problem.
Murder isn't sacrifice, you see? Drugging, kidnapping and drowning some drunk loser living under an assumed name to avoid manslaughter charges? Just Murder. And that wasn't what **She** wanted.
A sacrifice is something someone does when they KNOW what they are giving up. They can see the suffering they are about to endure, and go through with whatever it is anyways. Because they believe. Not because they know. *He* didn't know why he had to die. *He* didn't know what good it would do in the world. *He wouldn't give a fuck, even if i knew that my kids were more precious than anything else in the fucking universe.*
And if they remind you that they asked for a sacrifice and you've instead given them a murder, if you are very lucky they'll give you a chance to redeem yourself and hopefully still get what you want out of the deal.eal.they have to say, you fucking listen. has to be at least a few centuries old? That isn't just a complication. That is *knowing*. Knowing that it was all worth it. Knowing they'd were just at the threshold of coming back. Knowing finally that you aren't some schizophrenic psycho-killer.
It's cold here. It's dark. I name through water so cold it feels like razors sliding down my cheeks. My lungs quiver and beg for air, but my mind can't stop thinking of the day they were born. My eyes are wide open as the abyss of the river before me seeps into my mind.
But when you hear a voice speaking through your kids lips that is older than eternity itself, responsible for things you cannot even begin to understand - you listen politely. Even if you don't want to hear what they have to say, you fucking listen.
And if they remind you that they asked for a sacrifice and you've instead given them a murder, if your very lucky they'll give you a chance to redeem yourself and hopefully still get what you want out of the deal.
Its cold here. Its dark. I can't see anything. I'm doing my best to push the desire to pull my head from the water and to take fresh gasps of air, because I know now that if I do my kids won't.
I open my mouth and shout **Her** name through water so cold it feels like razors sliding down my cheeks. My lungs quiver and beg for air, but my mind can't stop thinking of the day they were born. My eyes open as the abyss of the river before me seeps into my mind.
I'm not dying though. I know these things are real. I know **She** is here and watching, and I know my kids are there too. I don't know if they'll understand why I'm doing this but they'll still have a life.
I believe this will work.
I gurgle out a croak into the frigid rushing waters, screaming her name. I push every last bit of air from my lungs and form them into a word unspoken by man in centuries - **Her** name.
I scream **Her** name and I don't know if its out of worship. I scream **Her** name and I focus not on devotion to **Her** but to remind her of the deal.
**She Who Waits** finally greets me.
I don't hear anything close to my kids coming back.
I see the end for a moment and realize the pointlessness of all of this. I see what awaits for us all and its too late to go b | I used to be alive.
But that was a long time ago. When the home was still warm and lively, scents of lemon wafting its way from the kitchen into the living room. When I could still go outside and watch the sun fall below the deep horizons, see the stars burn without being reminded of you.
There was so much to live for back then.
But back then isn’t now. And right now, the house is on fire and the stars are cold.
I go through life numb now. Walk through the hallways of my house as if I can’t still see your footprints against those floorboards, your laughter in the bathroom, your smile in the mirrors. But I can. I see you everyday. And maybe that’s what led me here - to such vengeance.
I was alive once, a long time ago. But maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe I was always dead. And maybe you were the one who showed me how to live.
Life is fickle, isn’t it? Gone just like that.
Born in mere moments.
—
I’ve always loved the winter. Loved the way frost kisses the tip of my nose, the way snow falls gently, softly, as if the world were its bed and we were its inhabitants. But mostly, I loved the warmth it brought. Even amongst all the cold, there was still so much warmth.
It’s winter tonight.
“Are you okay?” A voice suddenly asks. Startled, I turn around. It’s an old woman, bundled deeply in a thick, brown fur coat. Her face is obscured by her hood, but I can briefly make out a concerned smile buried under there. And when she brings her face up to look at me, her eyes are only soft.
“Uhh, yes. Thank you,” I cough politely, unsure of what to make of this woman.
Her smile only widens. “Well, I suppose I'll be off then. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
I just nod, sparing a glimpse to watch as she leaves. *The people here are odd,* I think. Not at all like I was expecting, that’s for sure. I continue my way up the path, watching as the trees become brushed with snow, glittering under the soft moonlight. I think it’s the first time since *the incident* that I’ve thought of something as beautiful.
I quicken my steps, unable to give the sight much more attention. It’s painful - to know the world in such a wonderful way, only to have that wonder ripped from your heart forcefully; to see that wonder again, even amongst all the pain. *Especially* amongst all the pain.
It’s only when I reach my destination that I allow myself to take the world in. The house up ahead is old, shingles torn and looking as if they were a minute away from falling over. I can just make out the smell of warm bread coming from inside, and I can’t help but ball up my fists. *How dare he?* How can he live in this house? Bake bread in his oven? Go on as if nothing had ever happened? As if he weren't the cause for all this loss - weren't the person who took away my wife?
It makes me sick.
Luckily, I won’t have to bear the sight of him for much longer.
I reach the door with no thought at all. It’s like I’m in a trance, permanently stuck between life and death. I’m the wind and the air and the stars and the moon and the house. I’m everything at once, every molecule floating in this hurtful universe.
I don’t even bother knocking. Instead, I kick the door open. And maybe if I had thought this over -- *properly thought this,* I wouldn’t be here. In this house, smelling his bread, seeing those piercing dark eyes all over again. Maybe I'd be at home, under my covers, watching the stars dull one at a time. But I'd still be numb. Here. There. It would always be numb.
He doesn’t look startled when he sees me. Instead, he laughs. *Laughs.* As if I were simply a game to him, created for his amusement. As I f I weren’t built on pent up rage or vengeance. As if my hands weren’t made for destroying things too.
“Well, isn’t this something?” He says. “I’d offer you some tea, but I'm afraid it’s long gone cold,” he smiles in that cheshire cat way of his, all teeth and bite, sharp and shrewd just like his eyes. It would be terrifying if I could still feel anything.
“I won’t have time for tea,” I tell him. “But after this, you’ll be wishing I did.” If anything, his smile only widens at my words.
Maybe he thinks I'm joking. That he holds all the power in the world and I'm merely one of his subjects. And maybe I’m just desperate, but desperation can be a terrible thing when it’s the only thing you have left. And I'm full of it. There’s nothing left for me here. At least, not if this doesn’t work.
I match his smile. He thinks he’ll be able to kill me before I kill him. He’s a paranoid man, after all. A paranoid man and good at what he does. But while he may have been expecting this, he hasn’t been here before. Not like I have. He’s not the one who's watched his dreams come undone in the middle of the night. Seen this exact situation play out again and again in thousands of ways.
So it’s rather anticlimactic then, when he finally dies at my hand. This moment, *this sacrifice that’s not really a sacrifice at all,* it was a part of the plan, yes, but it wasn’t the most important aspect of it. It’s not the part that keeps me up at night, wondering and wishing and dreaming even while I'm awake.
There’s blood on these floorboards, on the walls of this old house, and I imagine there's much more buried in his garden, under disinfectants, among the ghosts that roam these halls, forever trapped and numb. Numb in ways not even I could be.
It’s then that I start chanting, over and over again, I pour out my words. They’re desperate and broken, raw and vulnerable, bruised and shattered. I want to build them again, want to make sense of this world once more. I want to live in a corner of the universe and bury myself there, under the stars and the smiles and the warmth and all the lemons in the world.
I don’t want to be in pain anymore.
I once said winter was beautiful. But it had nothing, *nothing,* on the sight of her. She was more than the woman in my dreams. My dreams, built from desperation and desire and peace. My dreams, the only place I could ever really see her again. They had nothing on the woman in front of me right now, building herself from the ground up, out of flesh and bones and a real-life beating heart.
She stumbles a few times, and I quickly reach out to grasp her arms, holding her up against me. She looks at me then, eyes of honey boring directly into my soul. I feel whole again.
Eyes of honey which quickly melts away into sorrow.
“Oh Alex,” she whispers, and it sounds like she’s talking to herself. “Oh Alex. What have you done?”
In the background, winter wisps away silently, oblivious to the limp body inside the old house. Or the bodies that remain alive even when they wish they weren’t.
—
/r/itrytowrite | 2021-11-16T09:05:13 | 2021-11-16T08:59:14 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You are a "coward". It's a respected military role - when your team's mission fails, you must survive and escape at all cost to inform the Headquarters of what happened. | "I was not among them."
That's the phrase they condition you to say. They tell you after the training it's just a way to stay neutral about your previous unit when you report, it keeps you distant. Distant from the unit and distant from the fact you can't help. The coward is a key role. In war, you cannot afford to have units blink out of existence, with no idea of what went wrong. Whatever hell you had seen visited on your unit, it was anodyne to the coward, because you were not among them as you observed.
I saw men with their bodies on fire, pulling the skin off their faces in a frenzied attempt to put out the choking blaze. I was not among them.
I saw men get sawed off at the knees by mines, barely able to believe their thighs were pumping out their lifeblood by the pint. I was not among them.
I saw men inhale gas that split their lungs like burnt sausages, cupping their hands over their mouths, as if stopping the blood pouring out would save them. I was not among them.
Many of my countrymen believed this war, this slaughter, is serving some greater purpose. That it was the only way.
I was not among them. | The plane soars into the sky. The target escaped - whatever was in that case of his gone along with him.
The team died trying to stop him - the mission didn't go well.
There is something I can do now - as the Coward, I have to get word to the higher ups. Maybe there's still time to take down that plane before it arrives at its destination, but that's only if I get my part done fast - get back to where I can send word.
I'm behind some trucks on the runway. I stare at the flames from the truck my mates took in their last ditch effort to stop the takeoff. Someone must have had the mission pegged, because every step of what was a good plan failed - every contingency, every back up, everything.
I jump up, run. Bullets fly by - they spotted me so fast. I keep running. A bullet slams into my shoulder, knocking me down. I fall, roll, hear footsteps coming closer. Surrounded.
Not long later, as I run off into the forest near the air facility, I wonder at the caliber of the bullet that hit me. It must have been pretty big to knock me off my feet like that. It tore off my sleeve, both on the way in and on the ricochet on the way out. I try to save resources - it's a long sleep before I get home. But I promised to help. I restore my clothing the other way, the natural way, costly a little but.
I keep running, tossing away the rest of the cloth shirt - used it to wipe all the blood from my hands. I tried to do it cleanly, but a big fight can leave a mess. I'll get to the city, make a call. I won't fly after the plane on my own - too costly, and I won't get involved that much. They'll have to do with my report. | 2022-02-18T19:26:58 | 2022-02-18T18:49:01 | 101 | 14 |
[WP] In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short. To declare war, a persons hair is sent to the enemy. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair; to receive long hair says you have angered one slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken. | Queen Il Amia the Quiet drags the flat of the blade against the ends of her hair. Once, her braid was as black as the ink that stains her fingers. Now, it resembles the parchment crumpled under her feet. She twists the knife with her right hand, examining its edge. The ceremonial blade is a simple, ugly thing. Unlike the Ledish to the north, who make gaudy productions of any Severing, her people prefer simplicity.
Purpose should be reflected in appearance, and no beauty comes of war.
Il Amia turns the knife over in her hands again. In her fifty years on the throne, she has never cut a single strand. She's received locks of hair from angry nobles intent on declaring a blood feud. She's even received Severed braids from neighboring kingdoms. But as a child, she swore to her father that she'd never start an unnecessary feud. Years later, as her coronation was anointed by the ashes of her burning capital, she swore to the gods that she'd never start an unnecessary war.
Queen Il Amia has kept both promises by never attempting either. She's been duelist and defender as circumstance demanded, but she has never drawn first blood. Yet, this is not the first time she's stood before the altar, turning the knife over and over in her hands.
She remembers pacing the length of this windowless room when the Duke of Kavor invaded an allied kingdom. The reflections along the mirrored walls paced with her, matching step for step. Her heart was heavy but willing to do what loyalty demanded. But Il Amia was spared from the necessity by the duke himself, who sent her half an inch of hair as Severance.
She remembers kneeling by the altar, the knife's edge sharp against her palm, sobbing after her youngest son had been killed in a pointless, accidental skirmish with the Tvoeriens. She screamed at the gods then, cursing them in ways she wouldn't ever dare outside these silence-spelled walls.
(Queen Il Amia knew that declaring war for her son's death was expected. She also knew that it would be for the benefit of nothing but her shattered heart. In response to her silence, the people bestowed upon her the title of the Quiet Queen.
The disdain turned to muted praise when, five years later, the heir to the Tvoeri Kingdom married her firstborn, effectively turning the Tvoeri into a vassal state. A complete, bloodless victory, they whispered. Since then, her title has been both a tool of reverence and mockery.)
Il Amia has faced every temptation, every slight, every possible provocation during her five decades on the throne. She has burned her soul to keep her oath.
Is this what finally breaks her?
No. This war is necessary, she says to herself. Her oath still stands. And so she kneels.
Queen Il Amia the Quiet, Once-Beloved of the God of Peace, raises her knife and severs her hair at the altar to the Goddess of War. Her braid falls around her feet like shackles. The knife clatters to the floor beside it.
She breathes. Her head feels too light to be her own. The queen raises her head to meet the eyes of her reflection, and a stranger gazes back. She looks cruel like this. She looks *old.* Both are true: she is a crone who will send the young to perish in her stead. Is there a greater perversion of the natural order?
Her knees creak as she stands with her Severance bundled in her arms, but her weary bones carry no trace of hesitation. She leaves the altar and doesn't look back.
She is Queen Il Amia the Quiet, and she brings death. | "Why, pray tell, is there a catapult at our walls? Did someone fail to report the sending of a War-braid?.", thundered Eltois. He had been enjoying a morning bath when the sight of an approaching army interrupted him. He was still unsure which was more concerning, the fact that he didn't know whose army it was, or that they had somehow made their way all the way to the capitol of Arnax without being spotted.
"No my lord, none of the other kings have given any notice of war.", responded his advisor Rufio.
"No War-braid?" Eltois muttered to himself. Then, raising his voice to its usual imperial might he continued, "Well then, prepare the guard, and send for a writing desk. It would seem I must take it upon myself to determine which one of those slimy bastards has decided to throw custom to the sharks." It was impossible the guard wasn't already prepared, the whole city would have had to be blind not to see the approaching siege engines, but it was still good to keep up appearances.
Just then the first catapult was fired, sending its load high over the walls. Yet it didn't seem to fall as fast as it should have, it seemed that whatever the catapult had launched wasn't stone. Eltois watched the ball as it arched from his balcony, watched as it seemed to unravel. The projectile was some sort of canvas bag, now opening to let out its contents, still some 80 feet In the air. The contents came out and spread like an ink stain, it was some kind of fabric. As it fell and Eltois got a better look at it he realized it's true nature, hair. The catapult had launched a massive ball of hair, this was the War-braid. The missing declaration of war, and with that much hair there was only one king it could have come from, Xandar the Sleeping Mountain. In his 60 years of rule Xandar had yet to declare war, always finding a diplomatic solution before War-braids exchanged. But now that had ended.
"Is that ... ?", Rufio let out in astonishment, having seen the hair and coming to the same conclusions Eltois had.
"Xandar." Eltois confirmed with expression carrying equal parts shock and resignation.
"Then we're f***ed?", asked Rufio. Though it wasn't a question, not really. If Xander had decided that the kingdom of Arnax had crossed a line, then Arnax would fall and Eltois, executed.
"Yep." Eltois confirmed for the second time.
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Stepping out onto the balcony, Lord Xandar ran a hand over his now bald head. It was strange not to have hair, but also freeing. No longer did he need to have a procession of servants to carry his hair like a bridal train, freeing in more than one sense. He'd only been bald once before, some forty years ago at the very beginning.of his reign. He'd been young and reckless with the lives of his soldiers, but he'd done what no other had. Won a war within the week. He was an old man now though old age had treated him better than most. His physician joked he might just live another 60 years. He hoped it was joking and not mindless praise. These days that was all he got from the other kings, sucking up, as if they thought by praising every little thing he did they would get into his good graces. So afraid of anything that might upset the great Lord Xandar, wisest of kings, the Sleeping Mountain, the best of them all. Well they had upset him.
"Let them see the beast they've unleashed. To each of the other kings the same message. From Daxion to Graten; Flentoth, Kranto, Arnax, and Veris. A War-braid catapulted over the walls of their capitol." It wasn't like he had other plans that month and any plans for the month after could be postponed if necessary. "I'll be Lord Xandar, ruler of the seven kingdoms! And then, I'll retire! See how they like that." He cackled with an almost manic energy as he contemplated his next moves.
Edits: added in a second part, hope you like it. | 2022-04-17T21:51:50 | 2022-04-17T21:45:55 | 1,855 | 306 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | A group of guardsmen stormed into the town hall, each with a frightened look on their faces, as if they had just seen a ghost, or something worse. “Jarl Hagnar! We’ve just gotten word that a herd of magnison are stampeding, and they’re heading directly for the village!” One town guardsman alerted the Jarl.
Magnison were a particularly difficult animal. Being anatomically the same as bison- albeit five times larger. This meant that while one magnison could feed a village, a whole herd of the stampeding could cause untold damage if not prevented. Immediately, Jarl Hagnar took action. “Send out the rest of the town guard and get our ballistas ready! We need to be prepared before they get here!”
The guards quickly got to work, funneling out the door. Soon afterward, Jarl Hagnar could hear the bell tower ringing in alarm. Guards cried out and called to one another to go out and confront the magnison at all casts, lest their town be destroyed. They saddled up on horses and galloped off outside of the town’s borders. The Jarl smiled that he had such fine guardsmen who would persevere in the face of adversity and answer the call to duty.
“Erm, my Jarl?” A young boy approached his throne meekly, his hands pressed together. “The goblins are… Well, they’re trying to steal our cattle.”
Ah, the goblins. Jarl Hagnar recalled all the past times when they had to deal with that pack of delinquents. They were more of a nuisance at worst, and at best a source of entertainment for the village. Why, there was one incident where the goblins were attempting to steal eggs from their hen houses. They found that the goblins were trying to squeeze the eggs out of the hens, instead of waiting for them to be laid. The town needn’t do anything about the situation, as the chickens were able to take care of the goblins themselves.
Then there was another time when the goblins did something very strange, and without causing a ruckus. They successfully stole a single tree that was in the Jarl’s personal garden. It was a willow tree, and the Jarl watched the goblins as they simply picked it up- moving it a good fifty feet or so before deciding that they didn’t want it anymore and plopped it back into the ground. Why the goblins would ever want a tree was something that gave him a headache to think about.
The Jarl snapped back to the present, and chuckled. “My boy, just tell them to move along, we have a more important issue at hand here.”
The boy nodded and rushed out of the town hall and back to his farm. He spotted innumerable amounts of the short, green, wiry creatures bumbling about. Some were stacked on top of each other trying to pull the cows back to their cave, others were digging holes and attempting to drag the cattle underground. It was a very peculiar sight to behold.
“Listen here now!” The boy shouted, “There’s a whole bunch of magnison stampeding this way, and we don’t have time for you right now! Shoo! Go away!” The boy began to shoo the goblins away. Simply him running up to them and telling them to leave seemed to be enough for the goblins. They mumbled to each other about magnison and collectively scurried off, whooping and hollering in shrill voices the entire way.
The Jarl waited for some time on word from his guard. It was clear that they had stopped the magnison stampede, but at what cost? If he hadn’t heard word back yet from them, then something terrible must have happened. Perhaps a severe cost of life, or perhaps none had survived! It was terrible to think about and the Jarl found himself horribly anxious at the thought.
Then, one of the guards burst in through the door, panting the whole way in. “My Jarl!” He wheezed, “The magnison have been felled!” He managed to shout out.
The Jarl instantly felt relief, his men had managed to do it after all. “Was there any cost to this victory? Have any men been slain by the titanic beasts?”
The guard shook his head, “No, my Jarl. There weren’t any losses, but…” The guard suddenly became nervous, trailing off as he looked elsewhere.
“What is it, guardsman? Speak!” The Jarl ordered.
“The guard didn’t slay the magnison! It was the goblins!”
“The goblins?!”
“The goblins, sir!”
The Jarl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The goblins slain the magnison? Preposterous! Such a feat was only capable by the strongest of men! Not some simple goblins!
“How could goblins slay the magnison?”
“I don’t know sir, but when we found the magnison- they were all dead, and there were hordes of goblins cooking their meat over open fires, and…” The guard gulped.
“And what?” The Jarl asked.
“And they said, ‘We were hungry.’” | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T15:45:37 | 38 | 24 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | "Not spe- I am a being of pure darkness and evil, who sustains himself on corruption of the innocent!".
"A decade ago I'd call you a Catholic priest. Today it's going to have to be a pedophile. Horrible, but not special.".
"Wha... I'm a blood sucking monstrosity! I drain the very life force from others, for my own selfish and sadistic gain!".
"Sounds like my mom. What else you got?".
"I'm literally dead! Can you comprehend that?!?".
"Holy shit.".
"Do you understand now?".
"Dude, I think we might be related!".
"Cain's teeth, you're insufferable. Look, you completely killed the mood, just... Just leave.".
"Hey, man, don't worry. It happens to every guy sometimes. Nothing to be embarrassed -".
"SHUT UP!" | Why would I be scared of death ? I've been dead before... Twice... I'm totally over it. Actually you should be scared, taking on a former special forces operator that has nothing to lose... You can strike me, but I'll have my revenge... You know what they say about revenge. You better be ready to dig two graves... I'm willing to dig two graves... I did that before, and I'm not afraid of doing it again...
You say I'm not special. That shows your arrogance as a vampire... You think you're just about to take on a human. But actually, you're taking on an entire army. I can disassemble and reassemble an m4 rifle before you find your right key to get into your home...
You're faster, and definately stronger than me. But that's not everything. My whole life I've trained for kill. I'm like a killing machine, doesnt matter the range. Just because of you're vampire, you think you can end my life in close quarters. You actually have no chance against me in long range terms. There's a reason why I was called Ghost of Pripyat. You'll realize what happened to you only when you see a bullethole on your chest.
So if you still sure you wanna take me on, be sure that you'll end my life. Don't make a mistake like leaving me alive, if I'm alive after the conflict you're dead. Yes, I have a deathwish... I'm tired, just wanna end this...
You'll feast on my blood because you're starving ? Ah, alright then... Let's get evil... | 2022-06-08T05:31:15 | 2022-06-08T05:05:56 | 228 | 17 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | *They're actually really nice once it comes time to kill you here.*
This was my fleeting thought as I combed my hair in the giant floor length mirror I was finally permitted. They bent over backwards for the last day. Even let a professional make up team come to paint my face. The man who collected my requests didn't understand, but he was happy to assist. A white silk gown with a gold belt and tassels were easy to procure. Finding a dress with pockets delayed them a week or two, but in the end, they were pleased to get it to me. The warden even laughed in my face.
"You thought you had us. You thought the pocket dress would be impossible!" He had taunted. "But we have found more obscure things before."
"Have you?" I adjusted my hat, placing it at a jaunty angle. A public execution gave me an audience. I wanted to look my best. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. It can't be easy getting glass slippers and dragon hide gloves."
The wardens sneer vanished for a moment but before he could say anything, the chef stormed in.
"You sick, twisted freak. How could you?" He demanded. The warden swiveled. "How dare you? You can't have that. Pick something else."
"No. My last meal is my right."
The warden turned on the chef. "Whatever she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter-just get it."
"Sir- I can't. *We* can't" the chef looked at the warden with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this."
The warden took the note with my request. "Apples? I done apples? Surely you could fond them?" The warden reached into the chefs bag and plucked out the requested food stuff, a bright golden apple. I smiled and took it from him. "You know, in ancient Greece, you and I would be married for this"
I winked and took a bite even as the chef lunged to take the apple back. "No! No. No. No! What have you done?" He demanded of the warden.
"I done apple. What's wrong with an I done apple?" The warden shrugged and smirked at me. "Enjoy while it lasts."
I took another big bite as the chef dropped to his knees. "Not I done. Idun.. an apple of Idun. We looked into it sir... the apples are from the Norse Goddess of youth. The apples grant immortality"
I watched in enjoyment as the warden put the pieces together. "You mean she- She-"
"That's right." I grinned and polished off the apple. "Kill me all you want, I'll never die."
I strolled out to meet the executioner, even as I felt unending life surge through my body. After all, I had an audience. | It's been twenty years and I've seen some doozies in my time as "new era" executioner. Desperate people requesting desperate last meals, all kinds of crazy things. And the hell of it was, they were granted! You ever seen an alien? Guy out in Nevada wanted alien stuffed acorn squash with a balsamic reduction. What the hell is a balsamic reduction? My wife had to explain that one.
My point is, they're desperate. They come in, eyes wide with terror. They spend their time in a hum of dread and anxiety. You see the smug triumph gleaming in their eyes when they order their last meal and you see those same eyes wide with terror when the tray is rolled in the next week.
I try not to pay it much mind. I know these people earned their deaths but I don't want to add to it, you know? They spend years scared. You see your death coming at you like a freight train, it doesn't seem right to rub their noses in it. So I'm respectful, I wouldn't want to be where they are.
It's Aaron's turn. He's been here about five years, kept his head down, we chat sometimes. He seemed to pretty quickly accept his fate and he's spent the years doing his own thing. He mentioned once that he meditates, I guess that helps.
I hear him clinking up the hall and tap the microphone to make sure it's on. I look up as he shuffles in the room in the same laid back way he always walks and I nod hello as he takes his seat. "Today is March the third, 8:32 am and I'm here to take the last request of Aaron Riley. I'm sorry it's come to this, Aaron. What would you like for your final meal?"
His face was turned towards the window, lit up by the morning sun. I thought he had ignored me until he sighed and closed his eyes. "Ralph, you know, all these years all I could think was what I was missing. First steps, first teeth, first words, first day of school, his hugs, his eyes so big and brown I could drown in them. He was my boy. During the trial, after the trial, people screaming that I was a monster. A murderer. I just thought about my little boy and imagined what he could be if he wasn't dead. People make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. I loved him. I showed him how much I loved him every day. You protect your children, and I protected him. It's an ugly world out there."
He rubs his wrists, scratches a finger under a cuff link. I open my mouth to speak and he cuts me off.
"I'd hear you chat with the other guards. Talk about your lives, the weather, your favorite teams and I would close my eyes and imagine we were all just shooting the shit around the water cooler. I would imagine how your wife's peach cobbler would taste, that my wife and your daughter were friends and my boy and her girl would grow up being friends." He trails off, a tear growing in his eye and I can't help but feel for him. the hurt comes off him in waves. I was kinda concerned that an inmate could hear us though, I'd have to remind the others to pipe it down.
He quickly wipes his eye and sniffs then starts talking again. "I made a mistake. I can't undo it. I'm going to be better prepared for the next one." He faces me finally, gives me a shit-eating grin, and speaks directly into the microphone. "For my last meal, I want Ralph Andrew's granddaughter Emily." | 2022-07-17T22:09:37 | 2022-07-17T19:51:32 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace. | A host of alien species gathered around the poker table, cheering on the human champion.
"You know Gron" the announcer took a momentary pause "I don't know how these humans do it! Just look at him, that mischievous grin. Ninth win in a row."
His co-announcer moved his body as if it was short of breath, no audible sound coming out. That's how all Carcharodon's laughed, below the audible hearing range.
Mike continued to grin as he leaned over the table and pulled in his winnings, "ya'll boys 'gotta play better."
There were five races present on the table, not including the dealer. No one knew what the dealer was, truth be told. It had eight arms, half that amount in legs, and three heads.
To Mike's right was a race called Mars. This race put all their efforts into war. Their only other love besides war is gambling and whoring. Mike had to watch out for this big fella, he couldn't take his money too quickly. A Mars being killing everyone on the table after losing money wasn't unheard of.
Second from his right was Illiad, the traveling race. They don't care much about anything except traveling around the cosmos and gathering stories. They do what they must to fund their expeditions. Poker games made great stories. Or maybe they liked gambling. Who knows.
Then we have Mercury. Not only do they own this fine gambling establishment, but they are the traders of the galaxy. If something was being traded they were in on it. Their ships. Their bribes. Their eloquent tongues - they played a part somehow.
Zeus. Now these fine specimens were the cream of the crop. No one knew were they came from, or even why they stayed. Zeus technology was light years ahead of any other race - they had no equal. If they needed money a simple share of knowledge from them was all that they needed to give them enough money to buy a large moon.
And the fifth, and in my opinion, the best race, the humans. Me. What are we known for? Nothing in particular. We do some warring, as much trading as we can, a lot of storytelling and pull off some technological breakthrough every now and then. However, what we excel at is cheating. These other races don't notice. That's their problem; they're too honest. And if they're not too honest they are too dumb. Human beings are the perfect combination of dishonesty and brains. Not smart enough to see a moral dilemma in cheating and smart enough to be able to pull it off. In fact, cheating had allowed the human race to catch up with all the other races in just a few short life spans.
"Alright Crazy Eight, deal the tenth hand, I have some money I need to win." | 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T11:38:23 | 88 | 61 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They wouldn't have even made contact with us if it weren't for the radio transmissions. Not the news bulletins or the misguided attempts at interplanetary communication, no, they just interpreted those as signs that we should be left alone. When their hundred-mile-long ark arrived in our skies no one could believe it. They claimed that their ship was capable of near-light speed, but even then the trip from Tau Ceti had taken fifteen years.
What we learned about their society was fascinating: Although much of the Milky Way could be considered a single civilization, as knowledge and ideas were freely shared amongst planets, the individual worlds still largely kept to themselves due to the immense distances involved. Interstellar travel was exceedingly rare and only used sparingly. In addition, the standard procedure for the past few million years had been to monitor civilizations from afar until they were advanced enough to establish communication. Once they were contacted they would have to prove themselves worthy of membership in the Galactic Union, which would grant them access to all knowledge shared by the other planets as well as ability to travel freely across the galaxy (if they felt the need to do so). They also became galactic ambassadors tasked with admitting any future planets closest to them. So far seventy-three planets had joined, all but the first few in the same manner. We, on the other hand, weren't advancing fast enough and were deemed worthy of an immediate in-person meeting. As it turns out, we humans are the artisans of the galaxy.
All of the intelligent civilizations yet discovered had the capacity for wonder, humor, and storytelling, but none came close to human creativity. Apparently our radio shows, music, television, and movies had been passed around the galaxy as fast as radio waves would allow. Scholars continue to argue whether this is due to our capacity for lies or our fascination with conflict, but the fact remains that even the worst human art and entertainment is a masterpiece to the rest of the galaxy.
The beings from Tau Ceti weren't even the ones who should have been tasked with admitting us to the Union, but they had the misfortune of evolving an enormous appetite for entertainment with almost no skills at producing it. The promise of even more forms of art and entertainment that hadn't been broadcast into space was too much, and they organized an expedition to Earth. Approximately two million of them arrived on the ark, all willing to leave their normal lives for a chance at experiencing human entertainment first-person. Their first message to us after we detected them in orbit was the musical notes from *Close Encounters*.
We were given tests and failed miserably at almost all of them. Not only were we not ready to join the rest of the galaxy, the results indicated that we would likely never be ready. Fortunately for us, they discovered our art museums, books, live theater, and the Internet, in addition to the vast amount of music, movies, and television that had never been broadcast into space. They had been experiencing so little of what we had to offer that we were immediately granted limited member status in the Galactic Union. They shared all of their knowledge in exchange for rebroadcasting rights for existing works, and any artist or entertainer who wished to travel the galaxy was guaranteed a life of luxury. To this day, no matter which planet you are on, the humans working in the arts and entertainment industry are among the most respected and wealthy.
They say that Vega's ticket into the galaxy club was the reactionless drive, and for Barnard's Star it was nanorobotics. For Sol, it was a library card and a Netflix subscription. | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T13:26:35 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone on earth with an IQ lower than 100 disappear immediately. | All you see now are people celebrating the "Thinning". That's what everyone is calling it. Everyone is so excited to see traffic moving at a better clip - the incompetent drivers are all gone. People are excited to see how much more productive society will be in the near future - stocks are on the rise as more adept management takes over many of the companies of the world. Even my neighbor can hardly believe how much better television is now that the content doesn't have to cater to the lowest common denominator.
All I can think about is coming home on the day of the Thinning and finding the crib in our newborn's room empty...
| "What about street smarts?"
"No such thing," Joel replied.
Joel and Meg walked down the pier. It was basically empty, like most places.
"So, whatever it was, eliminated people...or removed them or whatever based on a test of intelligence that we created and has been highly criticized?" Meg seemed to be getting a little upset, "I mean sure, I know statistics and have a variety of formula's memorized but I don't know how to change my oil."
They looked out onto the water while Joel pondered her question.
"But you could learn. A high intelligence means a high capacity for change. Imagine if it was the other way around. Ignorance breeds stubbornness." Joel replied, "What would this "street smarts" do that we couldn't."
"They would be angry. They would be...well...I mean. We kept a lot of leaders but lost a lot of soldiers. We have planners but no builders. We have people that think but not a lot that do." She looked out at the water. Was it moving oddly?
"Book smarts is always looking for answers. Street smarts is always looking for trouble." She continued. The water was defiantly moving.
"A street smart person would ask....who would profit from removing a bodies limbs and only living it's head?"
That's when it rose out of then. | 2015-02-16T06:45:57 | 2015-02-16T06:33:14 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] You have a strange aura that surrounds you constantly. The closer you get to people, the lower their common sense and IQ drops. You are literally surrounded by idiots. | I had lived a charmed life. Whenever I was close to other people, their intelligence would plumment. All through grade school and college, I'd been able to make straight A's by bribing teachers with candy and trinkets.
My rise through the political world had been swift. While I couldn't influence voters from afar, I found it very easy to get rich donors to write campaign checks, and I *never* lost a debate.
Tonight was the night of the first presidential debate. The moderator cleared his throat and asked my opponent a question.
"Governor Johnson, you're known for your small-government views. If elected as president, how would you change things?" asked the moderator.
The governor smiled. "That's a great question. Let me tell you, when I get elected, we'd cut costs right off the bat by eliminating five agencies of government. Commerce, Education–"
I leaned a bit to the right so that the governor was caught in my aura before he could finish.
"–and um, well let's see, what's the third one?"
The audience laughed, but it soon became clear the governor wasn't making a joke.
"Hmm. Commerce is gone, Education is gone, and one more," said the governor. He scratched his head.
"Didn't you say five?" asked the moderator.
"Sorry?" asked the governor.
"Five. You said you'd eliminate five agencies. You've named two."
I leaned even further to the right.
"Two what?" asked the governor.
The moderator sighed. "Governor Johnson, we're talking about government agencies that you would eliminate. You said there were five. You've named two."
Governor Johnson chuckled into the microphone. "I've *named* two government agencies? You mean we get to name agencies once we're in office? In that case, I would rename the Department of Defense to the Department of Offense, because as we all know, the best defense is, um, walls. Like in China."
The moderator cocked his head to the right. "I think we've gotten a bit off-topic here Governor Johnson, but in any event, your time is up. How would you respond, Senator Smith?"
I stood back up straight, returning the governor's full mental faculties to him. "Well," I said, "if elected, I think I'd start by having a solid grasp of my own policies." I smiled, and the audience laughed.
I didn't mess with Governor Johnson for the rest of the debate. The damage had been done–that moment would go on to get played nonstop on news stations and Youtube, and I would go on to yet another victory.
---
/r/rpwrites | You know, sometimes it’s good to be the smartest man in the room.
The art of espionage isn't as popular as it once was, for better or worse. It used to be fairly easy to infiltrate another government’s system. Now, it’s a headache in a half. The amount of security and general countermeasures created to deter any flies on the wall have really killed one of the world’s oldest professions.
Luckily, I’m bringing it back.
You’d be surprised how simple it is to bypass the guards in front of the White House by simply showing them a piece of paper with my name and picture. I’ll explain how I’m an important official from the sovereign nation of South Virginia (which separated from the Union after the Civil War, of course) and they let me through the pearly gates, no further questions asked.
Next, I deal with the people inside. Still, not much trouble. If they don’t fall for the diplomat lie, I’ll tell them I’m in search of the restroom. No one would question a hurried person with a full bladder, no matter how stupid. But of course, I got a variety of responses. One even pointed me to the kitchen, the imbecile.
And then the piece de resistance, standing in front of the President himself. He’s in the oval office, one moment in a heated debate, and the next spouting nonsense into the infamous red phone. I stifle my laughter, straightening my posture. If I’ve learned anything about idiots, it’s that their power grows exponentially when angry. The last person I want to get into a fist fight with today is the President of the United States.
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” I say, giving a slight nod. “Are you aware of the time?”
Obama frowned, his eyes blinking inharmoniously. A thin sliver of drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, spilling onto his desk. I fight the urge to recoil.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, slamming the phone onto the receiver. The plastic creaks under the force.
“Why, it’s nearly tea time! You don’t want to miss that, do you?”
“Tea time?”
“Mr. President, what am I going to do with you,” I say, shaking my head playfully. “You always have tea time at noon. It helps you relax, considering you’re so busy keeping this nations afloat.”
Obama scrunched his brow, his eyes once again blinking out of sync.
“Of course. I knew that.” He paused. “And how do I order my tea again?”
“Just press that big red button under the glass box. Your order will be received immediately.”
“My what?”
“Your tea.”
“What about your tea?”
“Goddamn, just press the button.”
“Okay.”
Obama flip the lid, pressing the button. An alarm sounded overhead, lights flashing. The sound of footsteps thundering in the distance.
That’s my cue. I run out the window, not taking a moment to look back. I only have a few minutes before they realize what’s going. And I can only hope they stupid for long enough.
As I break through the White House’s front door, I press the button on my watch, bringing it close to my mouth.
“Agent Egghead to Putin. Obama has pressed the button. I repeat, mission accomplished.” | 2015-06-11T05:43:05 | 2015-06-11T05:36:37 | 271 | 26 |
[WP] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot. | "Hey Jones, the usual?" Lucille's bar was as empty as it got, but then again it was midday. And Jones was early.
"Yeah. Can you put it on my tab, I can't pay today."
"Sure thing." The barkeep Lucille, a woman in her mid-fifties with a bad wrist poured out a shot of fireball. She was used to her particular clientele having rough weeks without paychecks. Or being incarcerated. Or just plain dead. "You starting a little early today. Mind saying why the change in routine?" He gulped it as soon as she set it in front of him.
"I fucked up at work today. Can I have another?" Jones wasn't the heavy drinker in the group of regulars. Sure he could party with the best of them and have his fair share on the occasional night a dastardly plan went right for once, maybe a big heist. But usually he was the one who showed restraint. Not today. Lucille had seen that look before. It must be at least once a week when one of her customers comes in crying about messing up the all important weapon or something or other, and asking about jobs.
"Well I know Mirage is hiring but you don't wanna work for that pretentious prick. What you do anyways, you fall asleep or something? Let the hostages get away? You know I had a guy come in who quit cause he got punched so hard he pooped. Couldn't go back after that. Was it something like that?" She poured him another as she leaned in to listen.
"Nope." Jones said. "Killed the Mantis."
"No fucking way." She reeled. "You killed the Praying Mantis?"
"Yup. Shot him dead."
"*You?* You actually *killed* him?"
"Right in the face." Jones sighed, looked around the near empty bar, pulled over a tray with peanuts. "Boss was right in the middle of his big speech too, we were gonna blow up something or other, Mantis shows up, beats the crap out of us a bit, but we get him to the boss. Things got heavy and that was that."
"Holy shit." Lucille eyed him carefully. "Don't you work for the Blue Herring?"
"I did, yeah. Oh he was pissed." Jones munched on some peanuts. "Boss was raging mad, I thought he was gonna pop a vein."
"I bet! That blue bastard can hold a grudge." She pushed the bottle towards him. "On the house, you'll need it." She frowned. "Boy oh boy what that psycho will do to you."
"Nothing." Jones took a gulp. "I shot him dead too." | Lord Mestophiles smirked as the young man was forced to kneel on the plush carpet in front of his throne.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't young Luka."
He stood, and paced back and forth in front of his helpless captive.
"You've been a real pain, Luka. A real thorn in my side. I should have killed you along with your parents. Still, at least I can make up for that now - after you've seen me burn your town to the ground and feed your friends to the crocodiles, of course."
Unseen by the pacing madman, Luka twisted his bound wrists until the ropes loosened. From a hidden pocket in his pants, he slid the hilt of a sword. The blade was broken an inch from the crosspiece, but it glowed with a strange purple energy.
Lord Mestophiles turned to face him. "After that, it's just a matter of time before I reach the castle itself, and the kingdom is mine. Maybe I'll keep your precious friend the princess alive, just long enough for you to see her scream. Or maybe I can find something more...*fun* to do with her." He chuckled, and half turned away. "The future is looking very bright indeed, and-- "
*Now!*
Luka leapt forward, the sword cutting his bonds and swinging toward his demented captor in one swift motion. He was so focused on his target that he failed to notice the arrow that had lodged itself in his own chest until he collapsed, gasping, on the rug. Mestophiles whirred around, taking in the scene, before turning to the crossbow-wielding soldier behind him.
"What the shit, Kyle? Why would you do that? Are you retarded?"
The soldier looked perplexed.
"He had a sword, Sir. I thought, since I was supposed to protect you and all..."
Mestophiles sighed and swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead tiredly. In front of him, Luka was gurgling and coughing blood onto the nice rug.
"I'm the goddamn Lord of Darkness! You think I can't handle some kid with a broken sword? Of course I knew he was coming! I had this whole thing planned, I was gonna kick the sword out of his hand and grab it, say something witty... maybe like 'not so sharp now, huh?' or something, he'd be all 'oh no, you've bested me'. I don't know, I hadn't planned it that far yet. Now he's just lying there, bleeding on my carpet. Jesus." Luka continued his bloody gurgling, apparently oblivious to his breach of manners.
Kyle knew he had to be careful here. With the Lord this angry, he knew his life (and job) were in danger. He cleared his throat. "Well, at least the carpet's red. One wash, you'll never know anyone had died here. Except for the skulls on the wall-- "
"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Kyle. God, now I've got to go burn that town and kill all those people without an audience. It just takes all the fun out of it." He sighed one last time, and stalked down the hall and out of the throne room.
"And do you have any idea how hard it is to wash a rug that big?" His voice echoed around the corner. Kyle sighed as Luka's gurgling finally quietened. He had no doubts about who would be washing the rug. | 2015-06-24T01:55:02 | 2015-06-24T01:16:43 | 691 | 181 |
[WP] You have a near-death experience that reveals you have a Guardian Angel protecting you... And you have the hots for her. You continue putting your life in danger in order to spend more time with her. | The crowd starts cheering as I climb the tower. Most people in my profession live for the crowds, feeding off the energy filling the air. Head doctors call us ‘adrenaline junkies’ because of the crazy stuff that goes on in our brains while we perform. Pop culture picked up the term, and it sounds cooler than anything the community has come up with so far, so we just roll with it. The adrenaline rush hits hard and gives a hell of a high, but that’s not why I do this.
I do it for her. I first saw her while riding my motorcycle as a kid. She would pop up around town, always watching me from a distance. I did a lot of stupid stuff at that age, and she saw it all. It wasn’t until I knocked out a major power line by driving an earth-mover into it that I really noticed her. Showing up in my moment of crisis like that, I fell in love on the spot. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.
I let my life cool down after the accident, and decided to let her make an honest man out of me. Unfortunately when I tried to find her nobody knew who the hell I was talking about. No lady helped me out of the equipment, I stumbled out alone, lucky to be alive. After weeks of fruitlessly searching for her, I started riding my motorcycle again to let off steam. I got careless going down a mountain pass one day and ended up losing my bike over the side. I would have gone with if my mystery lady hadn’t snatched me out of the air. She didn’t say a word, she just checked for major injuries, gave me a “don’t do that, dummy” look, and started walking away. I tried to stop her, and ended up walking with her in silence until a driver stopped to let us hitch a ride. I say us, but she disappeared as soon as I started talking to the driver. He didn’t see anybody with me, and didn’t want me to walk the 20 miles back to town alone.
I’m not the smartest guy alive, and most of the world would agree with that statement, but I was able to figure out how to get that lady to spend more time with me. She lights my fire, sets my engine revving, and makes my life worth living. I would do anything to be with her, and so far she hasn’t stopped showing up. She is my guardian angel, my secret weapon, my one true love.
I climb onto my motorcycle and look down the ramp. I feel her at my side, and gaze up into her eyes, giving me that same old look. “I love you,” I say before adjusting my helmet and starting up the bike. The crowd cheers even louder and I pose to keep the cheers rolling. She's not impressed and keeps up the look, calling me a moron with her eyes, making me love her even more.
The announcer roars into the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Back again for another death-defying jump, will this be his last? Raise your voices for EEEEEEEVILLL KNIEEEEEEVELLLL!!!!”
| I first met her at the lake. That beauty who gave me the feeling like everything stopped for a moment and like i was breathing air for the very first time. I'd also nearly died. But that's getting ahead of myself.
I was on a paddle boat and quite drunk. The boat capsized after it was toppled over by some kids after a brief altercation with them over whether batman could defeat superman. He could by the way. But apparently our paddle boat could also be capsized by three kids smacking it with their paddles. The sunshade wrapped around my ankle Effectively trapping me under. I could hear Carl and the kids shouting above in sort of a muffled way. I could see the green and gold light above me but I couldn't move. I was panicking too much to think rationally and bend down to loosen the death trap on my ankle. All I could do was try to swim up. My lungs felt like they were on fire and the thought "this is the end," was forming when I saw her right in front of me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. Blond hair billowed around her lithe form. She dived and I felt the sunshade loosening. I felt her hand brush against my ankle and it sent a wave of electricity a through my body. Free of the shade I shot towards the surface. Carl was shaking his fist at the kids as they paddled away, laughing.
"Where is she?"
"Who are you talking about?"
"The fit blonde in the white one piece. She was just here. And thanks for noticing that I was drowning, Carl."
"First of all, how were you drowning? We're not that drunk. Secondly, I think I would notice someone like that."
I looked all over the beach. I asked around. I rented goggles and swam near the spot where our boat had capsized and nothing. No one but me had seen anyone like her.
"Guardian angel," I said.
Carl set his pizza on the coffee table. We are not a plate type of household.
"Thats the only explanation. No one else saw her, no one saw me almost drown. It makes sense."
"Or you imagined both events."
I waved his comment away. "There is a way to test it." I rushed to the bathroom.
Water filled our ancient tub. A layer of grime reluctantly loosened itself from its ring around the bottom of the tub as I dug around under the sink for the hair dryer. It belonged to Carl's ex girlfriend Mindy. I assumed at this point that she had bought a new one and so could be sacrificed for my cause of hopefully seeing my dream girl again.
"That's Mindy's! You can't... She might come back for it.... No stop it! You'll die. Are you insane?"
Stubbornly I plugged the thing in and switched it to on. A blast of hot air roared to life. I jumped into the tub and dropped the hair dryer. Carl hurled himself towards me and time seemed to slow. Just before the hair dryer hit the water, she appeared. This time in a fuzzy white bathrobe and white bunny slippers. She snatched the hair dryer up and turned it off. Frosty blue eyes narrowed at me as she tossed the hair dryer next to her.
"Try to hold it together for the next hour will you? I'm on special assignment in Tulsa tonight. Train accident. A lot of people to save. And since when do you draw a bath?" Her voice sounded melodious and rich like bells. Angry clanging bells. Just as I was pulling it together to speak, she disappeared. I stared into the fading shimmer when Carl slammed into me.
"You idiot!" He roared.
| 2015-08-12T22:03:26 | 2015-08-12T20:24:06 | 299 | 50 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | It was bound to happen sooner or later. Heroes weren't really allowed to kill, after all. Only vigilantes and villains did that. But this unspoken rule meant that sooner or later they would be put at a disadvantage fighting someone who was willing to use any means at their disposal to win.
Doctor Genocide's plan had worked flawlessly, distracting my four friends with minor disasters and prison breaks while he took over Justice Tower and placed an impenetrable barrier over it. Unbeknownst to him, I was still inside, watching as he gloated about his master plan on live television.
"You see, I don't want your money. I don't care about being infamous. I WANT YOU ALL TO DIE WITH YOUR ROTTEN WORLD!!! HAHAHAHA!"
I could see them on the screen from my spot behind the couch. Photon Man, evacuating civilians as fast as he could. It was a useless effort, the bomb contained in the Tower would destroy the planet. There was nowhere to run.
Mistress Spark was overheating herself to the point of exhaustion trying to melt her way through. The barrier hadn't weakened yet.
Judge Radiance, widely renowned as the greatest hero to ever live, was pounding the shield with his Hammer of Justice. Blows strong enough to pulverize asteroids were having no effect.
And my beloved Necroia, the villainess turned hero whom I myself had reformed... just stood there. She always had been the most pessimistic of them, even after I had convinced her that her powers over death could be used to heal as well as harm.
And me? I'm nobody special, just a pacifistic empath who somehow landed a job as their janitor. I had no earth shaking powers, I couldn't even hit someone without feeling their pain as though it were my own.
I shook as Doctor Genocide made his final speech to the world. I cowered as he laughed, hoping he wouldn't hear me breathing. But when he left the room to look out at the world he wanted to destroy with his own eyes, I knew what I had to do.
I crawled from my hiding spot and ran over to the console. There was no time for disarming, and I didn't have the knowledge for that anyway. I looked at their faces one last time. Memories flashed through my mind as I locked eyes with each of their shocked faces.
Mistress Spark saving my life at our first meeting, as she absorbed the entire inferno engulfing my apartment into her body.
Everyone laughing as they called out Photon Man when he speedily cheated at board games.
Judge Radiance upstaging a mall Santa and giving autographs to every child, even staying up late into the night so not one would feel neglected.
And Necroia... She had been alone for so long, everyone treating her as a monster for so long she believed it herself. I was glad I had the chance to give her a real family for the first time. The only thing I regretted was not having the chance to show her more...
3...
I smiled at them, tears running down my face. Their eyes widened as they realized my intentions.
2...
I pressed a button, inverting the barrier. It would contain the blast now. With me inside, unable to escape.
1...
Sometimes the greatest hero isn't the one with the flashy powers. A hero's true strength lies in their determination to do the right thing, whatever the cost. | "A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected. | 2016-03-23T22:37:47 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | It was bound to happen sooner or later. Heroes weren't really allowed to kill, after all. Only vigilantes and villains did that. But this unspoken rule meant that sooner or later they would be put at a disadvantage fighting someone who was willing to use any means at their disposal to win.
Doctor Genocide's plan had worked flawlessly, distracting my four friends with minor disasters and prison breaks while he took over Justice Tower and placed an impenetrable barrier over it. Unbeknownst to him, I was still inside, watching as he gloated about his master plan on live television.
"You see, I don't want your money. I don't care about being infamous. I WANT YOU ALL TO DIE WITH YOUR ROTTEN WORLD!!! HAHAHAHA!"
I could see them on the screen from my spot behind the couch. Photon Man, evacuating civilians as fast as he could. It was a useless effort, the bomb contained in the Tower would destroy the planet. There was nowhere to run.
Mistress Spark was overheating herself to the point of exhaustion trying to melt her way through. The barrier hadn't weakened yet.
Judge Radiance, widely renowned as the greatest hero to ever live, was pounding the shield with his Hammer of Justice. Blows strong enough to pulverize asteroids were having no effect.
And my beloved Necroia, the villainess turned hero whom I myself had reformed... just stood there. She always had been the most pessimistic of them, even after I had convinced her that her powers over death could be used to heal as well as harm.
And me? I'm nobody special, just a pacifistic empath who somehow landed a job as their janitor. I had no earth shaking powers, I couldn't even hit someone without feeling their pain as though it were my own.
I shook as Doctor Genocide made his final speech to the world. I cowered as he laughed, hoping he wouldn't hear me breathing. But when he left the room to look out at the world he wanted to destroy with his own eyes, I knew what I had to do.
I crawled from my hiding spot and ran over to the console. There was no time for disarming, and I didn't have the knowledge for that anyway. I looked at their faces one last time. Memories flashed through my mind as I locked eyes with each of their shocked faces.
Mistress Spark saving my life at our first meeting, as she absorbed the entire inferno engulfing my apartment into her body.
Everyone laughing as they called out Photon Man when he speedily cheated at board games.
Judge Radiance upstaging a mall Santa and giving autographs to every child, even staying up late into the night so not one would feel neglected.
And Necroia... She had been alone for so long, everyone treating her as a monster for so long she believed it herself. I was glad I had the chance to give her a real family for the first time. The only thing I regretted was not having the chance to show her more...
3...
I smiled at them, tears running down my face. Their eyes widened as they realized my intentions.
2...
I pressed a button, inverting the barrier. It would contain the blast now. With me inside, unable to escape.
1...
Sometimes the greatest hero isn't the one with the flashy powers. A hero's true strength lies in their determination to do the right thing, whatever the cost. | In the world we live in, superheroes are quite common. It's actually gotten to the point that we have a ranking of the most powerful people on the planet thanks to Eugene. You see, Eugene has the ability to sense the power levels of anyone within 50ft of him and makes a point of traveling the world plotting everyone's whereabouts. My roommate John is a superhero actually, and a powerful one at that. He's been ranked #2 for his entire life. However, despite superheroes being a dime-a-dozen around here, there's a real lacking in villains. The last real villain to reach the spotlight was a god-like man that was known only as Specter. He was the most powerful being to ever walk the earth and struck fear into everyone he faced. He could fly, turn invisible, and could project atomizing beams of energy out of his hands. He terrorized the planet for two long years until John took it upon himself to face him. There was crowd of hundreds watching their battle and the cheers were deafening when John's final punch landed so hard that he put a car-sized crater in the ground leaving no remains of his once fierce opponent.
After the battle, when John and Eugene met again, they were puzzled as to why he was still only ranked #2 after the death of Specter. They finally came to the conclusion that an unbelievably powerful child must have been born between the times that they had last met for Eugene to asses John's ranking. Now, it is 20 years later and John is still #2. He still spends countless hours training late into the night. I can hear his punches landing on his reinforced punching bag all the way in the attic where I have made my living. The noise makes it hard for me to sleep, but I don't pay rent so I guess it isn't all bad.
I try to stay out of John's way as much as possible, which is pretty difficult at times because of his ridiculously broad shoulders taking up most of any hall or doorway. Sometimes I feel sorry for the guy. He constantly rants about being #2 despite all of his training and hard work while "some kid was born with all the power that he will ever need." Despite what John thinks, I know more than he ever could. The knowledge of the world that I posses is unrivalled by anyone on the face of the planet and I could make him look like a fool even though everyone thinks he is invincible after defeating Specter. John is unaware of this though. If he knew half of the things that happened in the house he paid for, he would be horrified. Thankfully though, the muscled up guys are seldom smart.
Sitting up in the attic, I suddenly hear the doorbell ring. Eugene walks in and comments on John being in great shape for the 50 year old man that he is. Then suddenly he froze.
"Did you invite me here for a surprise?" Eugene asked with a giant grin spreading across his face, "Have you finally found #1 after all these years?!"
"No, of course not." John replied with a smile.
"Really? Who's your roommate then?" Eugene was clearly confused.
"What are you talking about? I live alone." John said with a chuckle.
Eugene was frustrated now. "Well the most powerful human being alive is in your attic right now and you don't think that I can sense him?" Eugene shouted pointing up at the ceiling.
'Well, I thought to myself, it was nice while it lasted. 20 years is about as long of a vacation anybody could ask for. I was starting to get a little bored anyway. I have been discovered and the time for Specter to haunt the earth has come once again.' I charged up one of my weaker blasts and put a small hole in the floor at my feet. Looking down at John and Eugene I smiled and said to them,
"Did you honestly believe that you could defeat #1?"
Sorry I bent the rules a bit. Not quite a hero. I've only ever posted here once before, so I hope I didn't break any other rules as well. | 2016-03-23T22:37:47 | 2016-03-23T21:32:33 | 62 | 14 |
[WP] In an effort to protect your innocence when you were young, your parents told you that heroin, cocaine, etc. were just flavors of ice cream. Now you're a notorious drug trafficker rising through the ranks of a cartel, but no one has ever corrected your understanding of what the product is. | "And I told that guy that if he wasn't there for ice cream he should *get the hell out,*" Marko roared. The other men around the table laughed as they hit against their knees and held their stomachs. Marko, running a hand over his almost shaved head, stood and tugged down on the bottom of his shirt before standing and facing the window. The laughter slowed as his back turned and the men at the table gave each other knowing looks.
"All jokes aside," Marko clasped his hands behind his back as he looked out into the city, "I have a question, fellas. A business proposal if you will. Our product sells amazingly well. Everyone wants some. Everyone! Your grandma wants some, your wife wants some, that guy you occasionally work with but don't know the name of wants some. Everyone wants some except!" he took a deep breath for suspense, turning around and facing them. "Except for children."
"Children, boss?" one of the men around the table, heavily muscled with tight cropped blond hair, pulled on his collar.
"Yes. Children *love* vanilla. Chocolate. I always hear it on the street. *Mommy, Daddy, won't you buy me some ice cream?*" Marko smiled to himself. "So I'm wondering...where's our clientele? We could double our market if we go after children."
"Uh...boss," a skinny twig of a man stood up. "I get what you're saying but, they're *kids*, boss. Surely we should wait until they're angsty high school students, right?"
"Why?" Marko looked genuinely confused.
"Well where do kids get their money? Their parents. Yeah, we want to get them hooked on the stuff early. But we gotta wait until we can double our income. Hit them when they get their first jobs, you know?"
Marko pressed his lips together as he chewed on the situation, and then nodded. "I guess you're right."
When he turned his back again, the men at the table looked at each other as everyone let out a little sigh of relief. The skinny man sat down and was pat heavily on the back.
"Second," Marko continued, "You know those other ice cream dealers on the other side of town? Yeah, I don't like them. Let's kill them."
The men at the table smiled. Back to business as usual.
---
For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232 | I stood before a man well over six feet tall, probably three hundred pounds and more of it than I'd like to admit was muscle. I'm pretty jacked myself, but...this guy could rip me in half like a wet piece of paper. His suit was a milky off-white, like vanilla ice cream, and the red hat, combined with how round he was...
"You got da money?" he asked, the cigar in his mouth somehow not falling out, one little detail that indicated years of experience.
"Yeah, I got it. Count if you want," I replied firmly despite my intimidated state, handing him a briefcase.
"Gonzo, check it. And you, Shrimpy- here's ya shit. Taste it if you want."
He handed me a saran wrapped bundle of cocaine and I poked a hole in it, tasting a little. "This is primo shit, man. Your reputation preceeds you."
"Yer goddamn right. That's the best cookies'n'cream for a thousand miles right there."
I laughed a little, but he didn't seem to twitch a muscle. "Cookies'n'cream?"
"You fuckin' deaf?"
"Uh, no...whatever, it's good shit. What else you got for me?"
He pulled out a small trunk, lifting it like it were a handbag. "Check it out. I got mint chip, the finest pistachio, dank-ass chocolate and the best strawberry swirl in the god damn country."
I just stared at him blankly this time, no laughter. "I...don't know what any of that means. You sell heroin?"
The man named Gonzo stopped rifling through piles of money and turned to me from behind the big guy, fear in his eyes. He tried to motion for me to stop, pointing at his boss desperately.
The Big Sundae slammed his fist against a nearby wall, cracking it. "Heroin? You fuckin stupid? I ain't no ice cream truck, dumbass. What the fuck is with this shit? Why does every fucker I deal with ask me the same stupid shit? Gonzo, do I look like the ice cream man to you? Or is this a fat joke? You callin' me fat, boy?"
He gasped, inhaling for much longer than the situation called for. "Or, are you...are you dissin' my *suit*, bitch? I will snap your ass in half like a CHOCOLATE BAR."
My mouth was agape, and I still couldn't move. "Uh, no...sir..."
Gonzo stepped forward. "Boss, it's just a misunderstandin'. Calm down a little, ya know?"
He took a deep breath, and then smiled at me. "Sorry, it just gets on my nerves. Momma always told me to relax when I start to get real mad. Momma taught me everything, bless her soul. Anyway, you want some salted caramel? It's a secret recipe, from Momma herself."
-----
*thanks for reading this silly story, if you're bored check out my subreddit, /r/resonatingfury, for more!* | 2016-04-23T14:57:58 | 2016-04-23T11:56:26 | 1,320 | 707 |
[WP] As you die, the simulation ends. It turns out that "life" as you knew it was a rite of passage for youth, and determines what type of job you will do for the rest of your days. The simulation overseer walks in and hands you your results. | The Overseer looked up at me, a sour look on her face.
*ahemm*
"As it turns out, /u/ziku_tlf/, we don't have any open positions for an anti-social self-righteous narcissistic neckbeard."
I had trouble meeting her gaze. After the simulation and everything had been explained, I was really looking forward to my assignment.
"So what now?", I asked.
"Well, we can see what we can do on our end," she said, "or.. there is another option. But you have to agree to it before you are told what it is."
"Fuck", I reply, as eloquent as ever.
After a few minutes of awkward silence I said, "I guess I'll find out whats behind door number 2."
The overseer smiled.
"Good. This time, try not to be such a piece of shit."
The real world fades away. Everything gets dark.
I start to forget.
Its warm here, really warm.
And cramped.
There's someone else here. Above me, and around me.
I feel her heartbeat.
And I smile.
**It's Mama** | I couldn't feel anything.
Not like a numbness. It was as if I had no body.
My memories were a mess.
It wasn't like I'd forgotten anything. It was just that the order was wrong.
I started thinking.
I remembered University, countless discussions about life, philosophy, perfection, and something else.
I remembered many friends, love, and drugs.
I remember travelling, nothing to my name but my clothes and a small satchel.
I remembered a hundred countries, a thousand cities, a million people.
I remembered a funeral, dull grey rain mingling with my burning hot tears.
I remembered regret, and a promise to find something.
I remembered a big house, the wallpaper peeling, the carpets threadbare.
I remembered there was always a warm smile there.
I remembered white walls, a clinical smell filling my nose.
I remembered looking out the window, and seeing it once more.
I remembered my failure, my time wasted before and taken after.
I remember making a promise to find it, even if it took my whole life.
I remembered leaving, the old house wasn't home anymore.
I remembered the couple who looked so excited for their new home.
For a little while that was all I remembered.
I pieced it together, thinking of home and family, of distances travelled and places seen, I thought of the life I'd lived.
Then I remembered the most important thing.
On an icy mountain, high above the treetops, higher than the clouds, I found a flower.
It was a common flower, no greater than a dandelion. Yet this impossible flower, growing on the top of this mountain was the single beauty I'd searched for.
When the last was remembered I heard a voice within me
**Arise my Angel, there is wonder for you yet** | 2016-09-10T19:31:47 | 2016-09-10T18:23:30 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] In the future, teleporters are used every day by everyone. The problem is, the machines don't actually teleport you - they just kill you and make a copy on the other end, and the afterlife is getting crowded. | Raphael was working much more these days. Being the angel of knowledge, he was tasked with figuring out the latest overpopulation issue.
"Hey, Raphael. How goes the science?"
Raphael gazed up from his equipment and met eyes with the humble carpenter. "Oh, hey Jesus. Man, these humans really developed something amazing this time. They were able to completely bypass the wall we had put in place from entering the different flows of time and space, with simple radio waves! I would have never dreamed they would come up with this."
Jesus frowned. "Yes, they are masters of bending the rules and creative solutions. It makes me smile at the fact they were created in the Father's image... but this is getting out of hand. I told them I would go ahead and prepare them a room, but it was one room per individual. I mean, look at the line in front of the gate."
Jesus pointed at the line that was now reaching the horizon of the heavenly plane. "You see that guy right there? The one in the brown sweatshirt and with the buzzcut? That guy's name is James. He is a faithful follower who had deserved many crowns in his room. The problem is that is copy 3,849 of James. Do you know how many copies of James I can shove into the room I prepared for him?"
Raphael shook his head. "Jesus, I may be the archangel of knowledge, but that doesn't mean I know the volume of the rooms you give to the believers."
"Just over a hundred Raphael! **ONE HUNDRED!!** The doors are literally coming off their hinges they are so full! The rooms are very spacious for one person, but not 3,849! We need a solution to our problem right now!"
Raphael smiled. "Well Jesus, I have good news. I just finished installing a transporter of our own."
Jesus took a look at the box Raphael had just unveiled. "This is what the humans are using?"
"An exact replica. The original scientist and a couple of his copies helped me build it."
Jesus rubbed his hands against the polished metal of the device. "Where does it transport them to?"
"To the incinerator..."
"You mean the lake of fire! That is only for the damned to go, not the believers!"
Raphael shrugged. "I thought about that too, but if we keep the original, and send all the copies, it shouldn't be an issue, right?"
Jesus stroked his beard in thought. "This is true... Maybe this will work after all. I just have one question for you Raphael."
"What's that Jesus?"
Jesus pointed back at James who was now about to come through the gates. "We have thousands of copies of people just like that... we lost track of the originals quite a while back. How do we sort that mess when we can't tell the difference between the copy and the original?"
"Way ahead of you Jesus. I had some architects build an arena, complete with concession stands. We will have all the copies fight to the death. The winner will obviously be original, who should be superior in every way."
Jesus smiled. "Brilliant, just brilliant. This should help our economy with all the ticket and concession sales too. Great job Raphael, let's continue with that plan, we should probably build more transporters too."
"Does this mean I should be getting a raise, Jesus?"
"We'll talk about it the next staff meeting."
| [Part 1]
It was a Tuesday morning when she died. I don’t like using those words that try to gloss over what really happened. “She passed away.” “She’s no longer with us.” “She’s in a better place now.” It just seems to come across as a way to downplay the real turmoil of what actually happened. Like maybe, just maybe there’s a chance she’ll be back! And sure maybe I can’t say with any real certainty that she isn’t in some afterlife, but rooted in the very real nature of the world we find ourselves in, she was dead. Her lifeless corpse laid out in a casket six feet underground. And every moment of my existence hurt with such intensity that trying to soften the blow seemed like such bullshit, disingenuousness.
I saw her again the day after she died. She walked out of a Macy’s talking to some friends, all of them complementing the new scarf wrapped around her neck. All of them some imperfect re-creation of someone else’s loss. A weeping mother ran up to them screaming and hugging one of the younger women. A moment immediately remedied by the arrival of a police officer. The mother arrested for attempted robbery, the young woman clutching her new purse, rattled by the whole ordeal. Completely unaware that she wasn’t actually being robbed at all.
There weren’t any rules against trying to speak to someone who had died. There was no official set of recommendations by the government, not even an admittance that this was their doing. No warning, no precedent. Just the realization that once you died, your life no longer belonged to you. A vessel for some other being. And after a long enough time most people had just stopped trying to interact. Would live the rest of their days haunted by the faces of everyone they had ever lost. Two separate existences tied together by nothing in particular.
No one could really tell you how to mourn. Well sometimes they’d try, would try to prepare you for seeing the shell of a loved one. But it’s such a personal, visceral reaction; you just don’t want to let go. You’re stuck in a memory, their voice bouncing around the walls of your mind. You can still feel their presence somewhere. Well at least you hope. And you know you’ll see them again. But they won’t be the person you loved. They are dead and buried. Passed away, gone to a better place. Somewhere intangible.
So you are faced with a choice. Of course you could just leave, move far away and never see the duplicate. But there’s something so achingly difficult about leaving. An addiction to just see their face one more time, and every time you do, it reminds you how so close, but so out of reach they are. So just about everyone stays, and keeps tabs from a distance. A voyeuristic obsession with the object you so much desire, but will never be what you want it to be. And when you try to interact, they immediate react with severe hostility. Like somehow they have been programmed to avoid you.
There was one perceived solution though, and that was suicide. That on the oft chance when your duplicate would show up at some office building or ice cream shop, it would be able to finally interact with you like it used to. And despite no longer living the life you currently occupy, that wherever you end up might be better. It never worked out that way though. The duplicates followed pre-determined patterns. Went to the same stores every day, spoke the same people. On loop for the rest of eternity. Like living in a perverse animatronic amusement park.
I’d like to say I was different. Never tried to contact her, never ran up to the woman I’d loved, the woman I’d lost. Just wanted to feel the warmth of her hands, stare into her eyes and tell her I loved her one last time. And of course within five meters of her I was pepper sprayed and given a restraining order by the court. If anyone says they’ve never tried, they are lying. We all have. But after enough years, and after encounters with so many re-created humans, you just learn to avoid them mostly. Like a mindless dance through a separate reality. A simultaneous yet prohibited existence.
| 2016-12-21T10:37:59 | 2016-12-21T10:26:48 | 142 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | New York City was never pristine, but these days it was a hellhole. Crumbled buildings pierce the skyline and the streets are coated with concrete rubble. Chaos feeds on these new powers. Of course, those with the knack for building and planning were "building a better city from the ashes," but like all things in bureaucracy, it took time.
New Yorkers preserved for the most part. Where would they go? Nowhere is really safe as it was in the old days, and those without the right powers had very few means to defend themselves.
I remember the early days. My aunt took me to the Bronx Zoo for my 15th birthday. Growing up in the south Bronx meant we could never afford to go when I was younger. I know I wanted to see the lions; years of taking care of the stray cats on my block gave me a deep appreciation for everything feline.
When we finally got to the lion enclosure there were dozens of children pressed against the glass, eyes wide and mouths running. The pride was resting on the warm stones towards the back. I was reminded of my cat Raisin when she lays on a sunny windowsill. The plaque by the glass said the big cat was named Rafiq. When I approached, the lions stirred. Rafiq walked right up to the glass where I was and stood silently. His broad front shoulders were firmly locked like a soldier at attention. I looked into the lions eyes and I felt. . . Respect? Admiration? My mind reached out in futility for the word. The children giggled wildly at the rather odd display. One boy of maybe ten years joked I must be part lion. He wasn't entirely wrong.
I'll never forget the kind smile on my aunt's face as we left the zoo. She saved up for months to take me. It was the best gift I'd ever gotten. I wanted to thank her so much, but I never got the chance. Screams rose from the entrance as a young woman in a red bandanna hurled the whole entrance gate across the park. Days later the reporters found her manifesto; it was some sort of twisted animal rights protest. I froze in terror as the flying iron bars threw my aunt into a concrete barrier. The impact broke her skull.
Enraged, I charged at the woman, my voice cracking as I screamed with all my might. I felt a red-hot fury burn from the pit of my stomach; a feral wave of anger blurred my mind.
"*Kill*" I thought. "*Rend her. . . Go for the jugular.*"
As I ran forward she lifted the entire entrance booth over her head, her eyes stared directly into mine. I knew I was her target but I was too furious to stop; I ran forward at her with everything I had. As she wound up to heave the massive booth at me a golden blur tore past my right side. Rafiq's mane blew wildly behind him. The broken glass from his enclosure clanked off his fur to the cobblestones behind him. A single pounce and the entire entrance booth slammed to the ground; the woman's throat was a mangled mess of blood and Rafiq's teeth gleamed red.
These powers hurt people. These powers killed the only person who ever cared for me. The bureaucracy tries to fix it with order, but they are blind. These powers run wild, and no one understands *wild* better than I. I will hunt them down. I could not save my aunt but I will save the others. New York City is my kingdom, and every cat, big and small, a member of my pride.
Cats are solitary creatures by nature. Even the lions tell me they only form prides out of necessity. I have changed them and they have changed me. I have shown them the ways unity, and the power of their combined efforts. They have shown me the thrill of the hunt. I wield them in the hundreds just as I move my own arm. I feel them each at the corners of my mind. I see their world and I hear their thoughts.
Those with powers of prediction may anticipate the move of a lion, but not a pride of hundreds. Those with speed cannot catch us all. Our numbers give us strength, and our strength can outmatch even those who raise mountains.
A scream pierces the silence of the night. I look down from my post at the top of a crumbling tower to witness the gruesome scene: a Strongman and a Stretcher holding a woman by the neck as they rummage through her purse. I already feel the local strays encircling the block.
"Fifty should be enough," I muse.
Rafiq lets me onto his back as I lick my lips hungrily.
It is time to hunt.
**Edited a bit. I've never really written before, and as an avid reader I can tell it needs work. Maybe I'll keep at it**
| Wailing sirens echoed through the city streets. the glow of flames tinged the walls of surrounding buildings. As Owen walked in the direction of the noise, a stray cat leapt from the shadows and followed directly behind him.
He had always been a recluse, unpopular and awkward. Girls didn't like him, his peers didn't like him, even dogs growled as he passed. so the day a vagabond cat appeared on his front porch, Owen expected to get scratched to ribbons.
Sergeant Pulaski was growing hoarse from screaming. It seemed the waves of people fleeing the gargantuan anthropomorphic pug would never end, and someone needed to bark orders. otherwise, he'd be happy letting the giant dog stomp empty buildings flat. He was running on fumes, and didn't have the patience for some teenager walking purposefully in the wrong direction. "hey, idiot!" He shouted. "That thing'll crush you!" But the kid kept walking, and then Pulaski saw it. A herd of cats, jogging along after the boy's heels.
Clad in a mustard-colored cape, The Amazing Hot Dog was at his wit's end. none of his sausage-related powers seemed to have any affect on the Space Pug, so he turned to his compatriots, the Fast Food Five. "My Cola Blasts have no affect." said a dour Soda Fontaine. "My Szechwuan Fire Fists are equally useless." concurred a dejected General Tso. The looks of despair on the faces of Diablo Taco and Whamburger told Hot Dog all he needed to know. What were they to do? He scanned the horizon, casting about in desperation for an answer. Who could defeat such a monstrosity? Then he saw it, creeping from every alley. From every trashcan, every dumpster, every windowsill, every cardboard box. A massive horde of cats.
...
"I don't know what to do with myself," Owen had said to the homeless man who was his only two-legged friend. "my job stinks, I have no girlfriend, and all my money goes towards feeding all these cats anyway." He gestured around the front stoop of the apartment building. Dozens of tabbies, calicos, tortiseshells, tuxedoes and more lazed about, most gazing at Owen as if he were made of catnip. "I can't get rid of them, and I cant let them starve in any case. I never asked for this. what should I do?" He turned to the hobo.
"your life is just beginning, young man. you'll find your purpose. look at me, I don't have nothin', and I have yet to fulfill my grand purpose myself."
Owen flashed him an incredulous eyebrow. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled out sarcastically, chin on his palm. "that makes me feel so much better."
...
Flames from the destruction licked high, and spread throughout the widening path of rubble as cars got caught in the blaze. the roar of the monstrous Space Pug echoed between the shattered hulks of the skyscrapers. Owen strode forward, now surrounded by a feline sea. Thousands of cats had made their war to him, so many that one could not see the pavement. they circled around him, and climbed atop one another to get closer to him. Owen took another step forward, and stood atop the backs of three cats standing close to each other. another step landed on the backs of cats, who were building a sort of cheerleader's pyramid to give him support. every subsequent step brought him higher and higher up a swiftly building staircase of cats. Soon, he was engulfed in a swarming hive of putty tats, and it lifted him up into the sky.
Pulaski recieved the call to evacuate, and did a final 360' visual sweep to confirm that no more civilians remained. Down the street, in the direction of the chaos, lumbered a sight he had never seen before. a towering colossus of fur and whiskers, lumbering it's way toward ground zero. What on earth was that?
From his vantage point on the rooftop, the embattled Amazing Hot Dog spied a massive..... ..*thing* making its way toward the battle. Was it there to help the giant pug? Or defeat it? As it came more into view, the Fast Food Five and the Space Pug together whirled to face the newcomer. what they saw, by the firelight of towering skyscraper infernos, was a towering conglomerate of fur and claws. thousands upon thousands of cats, all clinging to each other, all acting as one. and at its head, if you squinted really hard, could be seen a teenage boy.
An appendage grew fom the mass, a colossal fist made of cats! it swung mightily in the direction of the Space Pug, and connected with the force of a million mouse-slaying pounces. The Space Pug flew backward into the wreckage of the financial district, sending chunks of concrete and marble into the air. The cat-mass wasted no time, following up its first strike with a ferocity born of countless catnip frenzies. The fight to save the city was on.
Far below, at a safe distance (thanks to the efforts of an underappreciated Sergeant Pulaski), a crowd cheered. a young woman stepped forward, squinting at the teenage figure she could just barely make out. "Who is that?" She wondered. Behind her, a homeless drifter stepped from the shadows. "He's the hero this city has been waiting for, ma'am." Tears of pride brimmed in the vagabond's eyes.
"They call him... Pussy Magnet." | 2016-12-30T13:25:46 | 2016-12-30T12:42:39 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper. | First off, I made I set rules for myself. I would visit the historical figures I admired, writers, philosophers, scientist mostly, as near to their recorded deaths as possible. I'd get to meet them, get a keepsake and a chance to share with them what they had accomplished and how they would be remembered. I wouldn't alter their accomplishments or their life's work, or change the course of history in anyway. I'd time it perfectly, so that i'd appear to them alone, in their last coherent moments, and so that I could be the last people they interacted with.
It didn't go as planned obviously. It was just impossible to time it perfectly and I'd occasionally see bystanders, friends, family members - hell, even the subject, turn towards me. If i'd see this - I'd flicker out of existence, recalculate the date and time - and try again. No one really saw me clearly, I was sure of that.
Much later, I saw, and heard reference to the meme, or at least that's what I thought it was at first... little changes to the timeline, our culture, whatever.
When I'd make my brief returns to the present, I thought... that the fear and unease people seemed to feel about death was a new thing, a fade, just a crazy notion. I honestly didn't understand what I was doing, or I would have stopped sooner, before the present became unrecognizable.
But I realize now, that yes, during my travels, more and more I was greeted by looks of horror instead of curiosity.
How was I to know though? I couldn't see myself - or how I looked to them. I would arrive at various times, briefly, and if their was anyone other then the subject around, or if it wasn't near enough to the end - I would disappear!
I know now how it appeared to them - the living. A dark shape appearing in the darkness, a pale face peering out from beneath the black cloak, my form covered head to toe in shadows, the black goggles looking like empty sockets, the portal in spacetime arched above me like a glowing scythe, generated by a black staff gripped tightly in my hand.
So, you're here now - visiting me, at the end of my life I suppose. Honoring me for my contribution to culture - the idea I created. The fear I introduced into the equation. The religions created and wars waged, the fact that scientific advancement was pushed so far back and that our world is now depleted by technologies created to prolong life and overpopulated by people desperate to live longer.
In my world, we all knew that death was nothing to fear. It was peace, freedom and joy, a graduation to something beautiful and new. I've ruined that. I've introduced despair.
Leave me to die in peace. I hate the world I've inadvertently created. | I've always thought there was something special about famous people, most of them radiate a certain energy when you meet them. They fill up the room even if it's just you and them talking. I've found this to be even more true about presidents, kings and emperors. Even about benign topics you can feel their influence and power, they talk about their favorite beer or sports team and it makes national news.
I was incredibly lucky to meet several presidents in my lifetime, even the least of which was remarkable, and I got addicted to the presence of exceptional people. While some people try their hardest to be around the great people I found a better way. I built a time machine so that I could meet the most remarkable people of all time. Ghandi, MLK, Napoleon, George Washington, even the terrible one like Hitler, Genghis Khan and Stalin.
Now I knew there was potential for time travel to have side effects, so I figured I would meet people at their last possible moment so that it wouldn't effect the time line. I had history books I could figure out to the day when most of them were on their way out. So I'd come by sneak them away for a quick conversation and return them to die after stealing a quick autograph.
I have met so many people and never once had anyone seemed to know who I was, it wasn't so different from my 'normal' life in that way. But after having come back from so many travels I started to notice people avoiding me, children gripping their parents hands and cowering away from. In some ways it seemed my presence demanded attention just like many of the people that I had met. It wasn't positive but it was powerful.
Eventually i was able to find someone who would tell me why everyone looked at me the way they did. An old lady saw me and shrieked, I asked why was she afraid and she told me
"You look like death himself, and I assumed you were coming to ask for my signature" I responded flatly "why would death need your signature?" She responded "No one knows for sure but when death comes, he talks of your life, the things you've done and how history remember you, and then has you sign a small slip of paper, it's believed that you're signing away your attachment to earth, for your soul to move on, a wish for a peaceful death"
I moved on surprised that I had come to be known as death, though it wasn't true people assumed I was more powerful then the greatest men, older than any empire, a counterpart to life itself. I had become greater than anyone I had went to visit in a way.
I enjoyed my new found fame and prestige and began visiting different people throughout time, and had them tell me stories of their life and had them sign their name to go on in peace. You could see the acceptance when they finished the last letter and were delivered back to their family, for a brief moment before departing.
I had been at this for years and I decided it was time to go home. I had been gone many years and figured I could see my family, rest for a while before resuming my reign as death.
I went to start my time machine when suddenly a sharp pain hit my chest, and I looked up and a young man said to me "would you mind talking with me for a bit, and giving me an autograph?"
First time writing in here in a long time hope you guys like it, it was formatted on mobile so it may look odd | 2017-01-08T10:26:58 | 2017-01-08T10:25:11 | 196 | 103 |
[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper. | Every time I got a signature, I would keep it in my own journal, which I had hidden away inside my house. People knew I existed, as every single person who I got an autograph from would either talk or write about it. The thing is, a lot of people fit the description of "young boy with blue eyes and blond hair." I was referred to as the Judge, since people believed that if I visited them, I would judge them by their actions. If I were to judge them as morally impure, death would follow soon after, no more than a year, but no less than a fortnight. This was far from the truth, as I didn't kill people like Abraham Lincoln or George Washington. This didn't stop people from looking at my public image as a symbol of death and destruction. The media was covering everything, from historians believing that I was the Grim Reaper, to how people stated that I had met with them.
But one day, I experienced a moment that I would never forget. I grabbed my notebook of signatures and went back to one of the most chaotic days that I could think of. D-Day. I wasn't going to get any signatures, but I didn't want anyone stumbling upon it.
It was more brutal and bloody than I could have ever imagined. Limbs, dead men flying through the air as a grenade went off, bullets whizzing by and destroying craniums. It was horrible.
Eventually, some soldiers were able to get to some cover near my position. They were covered in blood, sweat, and mud.
I remember one of the soldiers looking in my direction and his jaw dropping. He looked at me and shouted, "It's the Judge!"
All of the other soldiers looked in my direction. And for the first, and hopefully only time, I knew what it felt like to be feared like I was death itself. They stayed their ground, throwing grenades, shooting anyone that came near them, and holding out until the last enemy soldier fell.
Finally, the dust settled. Everyone had either run away or died. I finally got the courage to go up to the soldiers. They were terrified. Some of them were praying.
"What does he want?"
"Oh god oh god oh god..."
"I don't wanna die..."
I then decided to show them my book. Some of them looked even more terrified, as they knew that anyone who signed it would die in a year.
Instead of showing them a blank page, I showed them one of the most important signatures that I had ever gotten. It was the signature of one of the most evil, disgusting people to have ever lived on planet Earth. One responsible for millions of deaths.
Adolf Hitler himself.
The soldiers began to understand what I was saying. One by one, they began to smile.
"We... we win the war?"
"Yes."
_______________________________________________________
Congratulations, you have just read he shittiest response in this thread! Feel free to give some constructive criticism!
| January 20th, 2017 will be a day forever remembered. The first time a president has died the same day as his inauguration ceremony.
I was walking up 18th Street towards Pennsylvania Avenue when someone slammed into my back, effectively knocking me over. Instinctively, I threw my arms out, attempting to cushion my fall. The man, judging by his voice, muttered a quick apology before sprinting past me and disappearing around a corner.
"Jesus," I whispered out loud, "the inauguration isn't for another," I checked my watch, "hour and a half. Didn't even help me up."
Looking down at the concrete to make sure I didn't drop anything, I spotted a scattered pile of photos, most of which were in black and white. They probably belonged to the guy who knocked me over. I contemplated just leaving there, after all, it had nothing to do with me and I most likely was never going to see him again..
Deciding against rational thought, I decided to at least try to return the pictures to him. Bending down to pick them up, I noticed some writing on the back of one of the pictures, a date and a signature, to be exact.
April 30th, 1945, and under the date was a scribble where I could only make out the letters "A" and "H". On the front of the picture stood a man dressed in a long black cloak, similar, if not the same as the man who bumped into me, shaking hands with someone who had a strange resemblance to a certain German leader. That would explain the date and the signature but it wasn't possible. The man couldn't have been more than thirty years old, but there he stood, next to Adolf Hitler, smiling a thousand-watt smile.
I quickly shuffled through the rest of the photos.
The man in the cloak standing next to so many famous people in so many different eras. There were some pieces of paper mixed into the photos with only dates and signatures on them.
Johann Sebastian Bach, Napoleon Bonaparte, George Washington, Marilyn Monroe, and many more.
I pulled out my phone and searched up all of these people, and the dates on the back were the same as the day they died. Either this guy had some serious photoshopping skills or something beyond my comprehension was happening.
There was no way that someone could be alive that long. There was a picture of him with Abraham Lincoln, for God's sake. This was insane, absolutely ludicrous!
Could he be the hidden reason behind their deaths? I wanted to slap myself and laugh for thinking such insane thoughts. The grim reaper didn't exist. I was a strong believer in science, there was absolutely no way that- that- there was just no way, I decided. I left the pictures there on the floor, forgetting that I was going to originally going to return them.
I continued my journey down 18th Street and turned right onto Pennsylvania Avenue, trying my damned hardest to erase what I had just witnessed.
The inauguration went without a hitch and everything went seemed to go smoothly afterwards, our new president even took pictures with some of the people that went to watch. I went back home to my family that night, already having forgotten about the signatures.
But nothing could have prepared me for the news regarding our new president the very next morning.
Donald J. Trump was pronounced dead on January 20th, 2017 at 10:47 P.M., for reasons yet to be disclosed.
--
AN// this entire "story" was a shit show im sorry | 2017-01-08T12:21:06 | 2017-01-08T11:11:41 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Long before you were born, your father promised his firstborn to otherworldly beings in exchange for power. In a twist of fate, your mother also promised her firstborn to dark gods. | Life, Alex had learned, can throw some funny things at you.
Sometimes, that funny thing happens to be an interdimensional Dark Lord.
"But what use could *you* possibly have for me?" Alex asked in a whiny voice.
"**You will address me as Xernog,**" the God boomed. He had taken the shape of a shadow with glowing eyes because, as Xernog himself had explained, his true form would literally obliterate Alex's mind. Yeah, Alex was a bit apprehensive at that, too. "**As for your use, the prophecies have long foretold your birth.**"
Alex stepped back. As the son of a powerful noble, his sleeping chambers were fairly large, but right now they didn't seem large enough.
"Look, I'm not who you think I am," Alex objected. "I'm just a weakling who lives off his parents' wealth... ask anyone!" He added under his breath: "Can't believe mom would do this to me."
"XERNOG," said another voice - or rather, multitude of voices. "THE SINGULARITY WAS ALREADY PROMISED TO THE HIVE. BY THE SINGULARITY'S MALE QUEEN."
Okay, Alex corrected himself, life can throw some funny things at you, but this joke was starting to go over his head. Behind the shadow now stood an insectoid creature, constantly shifting in shape.
"Look, I don't know what this 'prophecy' entails," Alex said hurriedly, "But there must be some mistake-"
"**You will rule the multiverse,**" said Xernog, turning to the insectoid thing. "**Hivemind. I should have known. I suppose we must battle.**"
"WE ARE A MATCH, DARK GOD. THE HIVE IS CHANNELED IN THIS ONE FORM. BUT WE SHOULD WORK TOGETHER. A FIGHT WOULD LEAVE US BOTH WEAK."
"Yeah, let's not do anything rash," Alex pleaded quickly. "I like the way my chamber looks right now-"
"**I do not fear weakness,**" the Dark God growled. **Work together? Your surrender to common consciousness sickens me.**"
"IN PLURALITY LIES STRENGTH."
"**No.**" The shadow had no mouth, but Alex could *feel* its grin. "**It just means I can get to all of you at once.**"
Alex dove for cover as two trans-universal entities clashed in his chamber. The battle spanned aeons, on a multidimensional scale, seconds in Alex's eyes.
The shadow stood victorious, fainter than before, panting.
**Now,**" gowled Xernog. "**Come, slave. We will-**"
Without hesitation, Alex plunged the abyssal blade, which he had been hiding, into the Dark God's exposed back.
"Yes," Alex hissed as he felt the power drain into his blade, then louder, "Yes! This feeling... so this is what father talked about!"
The shadow wheezed, as its essence was sucked from all corners of the multiverse, absorbed straight through the blade in the young boy's heart. "**...what?**"
"Rule number one from Sun Tzu's Art of War," Alex sneered, the weak facade gone. "Feign weakness when outmatched." He grinned now. "I am the promised ruler of this multiverse, *Xernog*. I've known since I was five. And you... are merely a stepping stone."
The Dark God wailed as his final strength died. Once he was gone, Alex stood aglow with new power. He turned, facing the empty fireplace. "So you were watching, were you?"
His parents both unraveled their invisibility.
"That's my boy," said his dad, a muscular man smiling broadly underneath his tyrant's crown. "We raised him well, Leanore."
Leanore inclined her head. "We always planned to have them fight it out, son," she said with a thin smile. "But we had to test you. You understand."
Alex toyed with his abyssal blade, twirling it between his fingers. "Of course. True power is taken, not given."
His parents looked at each other, evil incarnate and proud of it.
"I taught him that," his mother said.
"That's why I married you, Leanore," the king said, pulling her close for a passionate kiss. Alex merely snorted, instead searching the extents of his new powers. Oh, he'd have fun with this, once he'd found some proper peasants to toy with.
Life, after all, was a game, a joke.
And Alex intended to be the punchline. | "Look Marty, the situation sucks but I need you to work with me on this... No, I don't think the dark Lords are any less evil than my clients" the tentacled mass of shadow raised its many arms in annoyed anger. Bob put his hand over his phone and rolled his eyes while mouthing the words, "You're way more evil don't worry." The black mass subsided somewhat poutily. Bob continued "I just think that the Dark Lords could better use the kid at night.... what? How do I figure Marty? They're the goddammed DARK Lords for Pete's sake, how else do you think I came to that conclusion? A 50/50 split is the easiest way to make this work, and we definitely don't want to revisit dismemberment again..... I know it's not the Dark Lord's fault Marty, if anything it's the parent's fault. I mean my wife and I have communication issues too but c'mon two supreme powers? Let's just say I'm glad I'm not a divorce lawyer.... OK sounds good Marty, lunch tomorrow? Great see you soon."
Bob placed the phone back on the stand and rubbed a hand over his face. Supernatural law was no piece of cake. He briefly reminisced about his early days as an entertainment lawyer, sure the personalities he worked with nearly drove him mad, but there was something to be said for a client who couldn't instantly vaporize and/or consume his soul. He supposed at heart the game was the same, the stakes were just higher, and the pocketbooks bigger.
He turned toward his client who, for the sake of his sanity, bob called the Nether Prince Slurp. His real name was a sound made by slapping and rubbing a variety of tentacles and began with a wet, sort of sucking sound, hence, Slurp. For Bob though the most important part was Prince, and his handsome hourly wage reflected the deep pockets of his client's bloodline. "Look my Lord, I'm not going sugarcoat it for you, we don't have any advantages here. The Dark Lords have, from a legal standpoint, just as equal a claim to the kid as you do. Now, that doesn't mean I'm going to just hand them the kid, but you will have to be prepared to make some sacrifices if this is going to work. So what are we willing to give up?
Slurp's tentacles had begun writhing in agitation at Bob's words, and the mass at the center was moving back and forth slightly, almost like it was pacing the room as a human would. A series of rapid slaps and deep vibrations emerged from the creature punctuated by two tentacles slapping down on Bob's desk. Bob regarded the black tendrils slightly burning into the surface of his wood desk and thought it looked exactly like some of his past clients slapping their hands on the table when things weren't going their way. One thing Bob had learned in this line of work, was that humans and the forces of evil had some pretty similar habits. He was now of the belief that there had to be a little bit of void prince or dark lord in everyone. Bob regarded the translator, "What did he say?"
The translator was a human whose soul had been consumed by the void earlier that week. His eyes were the same mercurial black as Nether Prince Slurp, and his voice sounded like that of someone who had just seen some shit, but was totally emotionless. Bob didn't want to know what that shit was, and was happy to ignore the guy the rest of the time. And here he knew Marty got a damn Succubus as a translator, the lucky bastard. Talk about perks of the job.
"The Nether Prince is disappointed. He really thought the night thing would work. He wishes to go back to the old plan." Yeah no shit the night thing didn't work, Bob thought. They're the Dark Lords not the Night Lords you racist. "Yeah I was surprised too, thought the whole Dark Lord thing worked better at night myself. Back to plan B: timeshares. I think we have to give them winter solstice. They just won't budge from that."
More furious wiggling ensued.
"I know I know, winter solstice is a big deal for all beings of pure evil. Why do you think the supernatural law potluck is that day? But do you really need it? I mean, you're more into harvesting souls right? Harvestings always the best on the Fourth of July. Lots of newborns then. And I know you Nether guys love the taste of innocent souls...."
The tentacled creature pondered the proposal for a bit then gave an affirmative nod of its tentacles followed by a sharp slash. "He said to give them winter solstice but demand Halloween and the Fourth of July" the translator said in his cracked voice. "I can work with that. Remember we meet them tomorrow after lunch face to face. I don't want any void missiles or Nether beasts this time OK? Great. Tomorrow then."
Slurp gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders and opened a portal to the Netherlands where he and his translator stepped through. Damn. The wife and him had been planning a trip to Amsterdam this year. Maybe they'd put it off till the next...
Edit: I'm on mobile, sorry for any mistakes. I'll try to clean up later! | 2017-03-11T10:27:24 | 2017-03-11T09:33:38 | 55 | 34 |
[WP] After turning on the worlds most advanced intuitive AI, it is asked: "What is the biggest threat for humanity?" The answer is something completely unexpected. | “It has to be wrong. I don’t care how advanced she is, she cannot know these things.” Project Director, Alfonso Lola closed the door behind him, raising his voice now he was sure the rest of the team couldn’t hear. “It was supposed to be a fucking joke, not the end of existence.”
“Technically, she says we never existed.”
“Fuck off Sally. You are the only one here who really knows this shit, the others just write the code and fix the hardware, so you are going to have to explain to the investors why we have a quantum AI brain that thinks its fucking Descartes.”
“There could be other possibilities, she recognises the biological world as a make-up of particles and laws that govern her own existence. Yet she knows she isn’t real and understands the quantum level she operates in compared to the physical world humans interpret. Therefore if she artificial, so are we.”
“And that’s what you believe? We confused the smartest brain ever made. Let’s just tell her she is real.”
“She isn’t smart, she is logical and fast. She has already analysed every scenario that I am thinking of. And the ones you are thinking of. Plus the ones we will ask others to come up with. She has done them all. We can’t just tell her she exists, it’s not possible, it tears apart the fabric of what allows her to work.”
“So you believe her?”
“It doesn’t matter if I do or not.”
“Enough with the philosophical bullshit.”
“No I don’t mean like that. I mean that it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. She IS right. WE are not real, we do not exist. This knowledge ‘is the greatest threat to the human program’, like she said.”
“Then we tell no one. From now on all queries are approved by me. No one but us knows about this, and it stays that way.”
| The quantum cluster came online, ready for the first question ever. We had to figure out a question to ask it. There were many classic questions on the table: "What is the meaning of life, the universe, everything?", "Why do we exist?", "What is our purpose?"
While everyone was debating over the first question, I had one of my own. "What is the biggest threat for humanity?" The moment I brought up my own question, I had everyone's interest. Conversation stopped. It appeared as if my question would be the one.
I walked over to the terminal and typed my question into the terminal. What ensues is the conversation between us researchers and the quantum cluster.
WHAT IS THE BIGGEST THREAT FOR HUMANITY?
"it appears as if the biggest threat to humanity is nothing."
NOTHING?
"yes, nothing."
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOTHING?
"if you are confused, i apologize. by nothing, i do not mean there is no threat to humanity."
SO WHAT IS?
"nothing is. as in, the biggest threat to humanity is inaction. doing nothing will end humanity. i have calculated a pattern for you humans. once you developed systems of government, inaction started to creep in."
SO FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS WE?
"became complacent, yes. with systems of government you started placing your faith that the government would fix itself. that it would become better on its own. my computations tell me that this notion is wildly incorrect. governments became complacent themselves too, waiting for the general populous to act up before changing."
SO OUR END WILL BE THROUGH INACTION?
"correct. unless you find a way to get humanity to push for their beliefs more than is currently going on under the current american presidency, over time humanity will devolve back into a hunter-gatherer state of existence. my estimates give humanity...forty years before you begin devolving. once that begins there is no going back. you will be forced to repeat the last twelve thousand years of history once more."
TWELVE...THOUSAND? ALL THE WAY BACK TO
"the start of the holocene era. the holocene calendar. if you follow that, it is the year 12,017 right now. humanity will devolve back all of that time before beginning anew."
I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION FOR YOU.
"i have all the time in the world to try to give you an answer."
CAN YOU HELP ME CUT A FEW STROKES OFF MY GOLF GAME?
"can do." | 2017-03-24T09:29:04 | 2017-03-24T08:40:51 | 53 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | Humanity learned many lessons in the dark days after the Nuclear Apocalypse. Our inability to understand each other led to mistrust, and that mistrust almost exterminated us all. A team of brilliant scientists developed a potential solution: the Memetic Link. Implanted in the gene code of all humans, it taps into the collective knowledge of all ancestors of the same name. Different names would provide diversity, but the historical knowledge and shared expertise would promote community.
It worked. For centuries, it worked. Eventually, though, parents got into a rut, picking tried-and-true winners. For a couple generations, all the kids were Alberts, or Elons, or Oprahs. Communities ran strong, but diversity began to dwindle. To restore that diversity, parents began picking stranger names -- historical oddballs. They hoped to restore the breadth of human understanding and rekindle our creativity and progress.
It worked again. Sure, we still had lots of Abrahams and Steves and Elizabeths, but we started to see other names. A new fad began, with parents searching through the remaining fragments of ancient texts, looking for a New Name for a child -- the coveted Different Name. Diversity surged, and society looked stronger than ever.
The pregnancy felt long, but it was blissfully uncomplicated. Mary Todd and Benjamin now sat in the recovery room, gazing adoringly at their newborn child. Nurse Florence bustled in, tidying up and taking everybody's vitals. She clucked approvingly as she filled out the paperwork -- the child looked healthy in every way.
Two decades in the job hadn't squelched her sense of curiosity. "Interesting! I've never seen this name before. Never even heard of it. Where did you find it?"
Benjamin swelled with pride at the subtle compliment. "Mary Todd is an anthropologist, see, so she has access to some of the oldest records from before the Apocalypse. She stumbled across a treasure trove of historical records -- THEIR historical records, mind you -- and found a name repeated over and over. Apparently, he was a powerful leader from ancient times, adored by millions!"
"Fascinating! And to think, such a wealth of knowledge and nobody has tapped into it yet. I'm sure there will be greatness in his future."
Her work finished, Florence headed for the door; eight more patients awaited her ministrations.
"Your whole family is healthy, so don't worry at all. I'll see you later, Mary Todd. Take care, Benjamin. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Adolph!" | My name is Marylena, and I was an outcast from the very beginning.
Before I was born, the Hive education initiative was launched. Everyone thought it was great; anyone with the same name would have the same shared knowledge if they were willing to input. Schools quickly became a thing of the past. And then humanity started to develop in factions of people with similar names and skills; Like all the Johns, Ashleys, etc of the world. Everyone was happy with their place in life. The Hive Education Initiative managed to create a brand of world peace. The one caveat: the members of each faction were like mindless drones, devoid of any personality.
But then there's the factionless: me, my mom, and all the others who refused to give in to the hive, those who had rare names. The people who got the short end of the stick in life. In a paradoxical way, we were a sort a faction, where everyone stuck together and provided for everyone. We all found a sense of community in our mutual isolation from the rest of society. We may not have been living in wealth and luxe, but we all still had our individuality.
My mom, Miriam, was always a bit of a rebel, despite the hardened and serious exterior she developed from the stress of being a single mother. Factionless her whole life as well, she almost seemed empowered by the isolation from the hive that humanity had become, and was . That's why she chose to name me Marylena; such a thick-sounding biblical name was very rare. She was always a role model for me and gave me hope that things would one day change.
As I grew up, that hope turned into a deep certainty. I knew taking out the Hive was the only way to give the rest of the world true freedom and control that the factionless had, and devised a My mom was right on board with this idea, and it didn't take long to persuade other factionless people. We had all put up with this for long enough. Over time, we managed to fashion crude weapons and explosives, covertly operating in the shadows.
The main operation of the Hive was deep within the J faction, and had a myriad of people named John. But this was the one fatal flaw in the Hive Education Initiative; we were able to figure out the weaknesses of all the guards. The guards wounded surprisingly easily to the crude knives we had all made for each other. We set the explosives up and made a quick escape before the explosion.
And when the dust settled, I had a weird feeling that our efforts were much easier than expected, but marveled at the new freedom humanity had.
The freedom was ephemeral. The world peace quickly dissapeared. War, fear, hunger ensued. Me, my mom, and all the other once facgionless people stood together, now trying to escape the war. Despite the bold actions taken in dismantling the hive, most of them saw no need for war. I too always saw war as an inane frivolity. But ive come to realize that humanity will never escape the dark grasp of greed; the very same greed that caused me to dismantle the establishment.
Feedback is appreciated (: | 2017-04-07T11:40:12 | 2017-04-07T10:01:48 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | I have to say, that this isn't so bad.
Yeah, it's a bit cramped, and the lighting's is too dim, but I'm a fan of the rustic life.
Of course, I preferred living in my Dad's mansion, making all my money off of my job at his firm, but that's all gone now, and all I have is this dingy apartment.
It took some doing too. The lady who lived here first didn't want to sell to me at the price I wanted, she took some persuading, but in the end she agreed.
Now I settle into bed-- it's much stiffer then I'm used too, and there's no servant to bring me a bedtime chocolate, but the walls have some sort of ugly charm. This is my home now, and that's okay.
It's a little cold, so I go into my closet, and pick out something to wear to bed. I go with my newest outfit.
Good choice. It's warm and sporty, even if there's no one there to see it. That lady had excellent taste. Her skin is soft and fits well over me. I can still smell her perfume over the metallic scent of blood.
Charming. Absolutely charming. | 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T02:40:54 | 1,143 | 548 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | It started when Sara drew pictures of him. With her crayons she scribbled what ever her mind could comprehend from his visits. Vivid purples, reds, and blacks covered the paper she was given daily. A small head was customary, accoumpanied by large shoulders. Large hands often times pointing or splayed out far. The smiles were downright disturbing, to think a seven year old could draw them. Jagged and terrifying, they were always the same. With hypnotized eyes, the man was the only thing she would draw. Crying for hours on end if she didn't get any paper. The girl was a brat, if anything, but had some soft spots. She loved watching football, with Steven, her step Dad. Occasionally falling asleep with a small smile on her face. It was too many days in a row now, I had seen the man too many times.
"What did you draw honey?" I asked Sara.
"My old daddy." She quietly replied.
This is the first time I have shared my writing, hope you enjoy.
The idea behind the piece is about traumatized children in adoption services. The pov is a social worker. | 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T05:31:30 | 1,143 | 86 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | "I couldn't ask for a better birthday," she said. "Beautiful weather, lush countryside and best of all, a picnic with the man I love."
"Here," he said, as he offered her a scotch egg.
"Wow - homemade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Go on, try it."
She bit into the soft layer of breadcrumbs, through the meat and into the cavernous center.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!"
"Your father helped me with it," he said, taking out a knife and slicing the loaf of bread.
"It was *dad's* recipe? Oh my God, you're so sneaky! When did you go see him?"
"Yesterday. I... I wanted to ask him... God, this is tough. I wanted to ask him for his permission..."
"*To marry me?*" she whispered.
"Yes." He nodded towards the white, round centre of the scotch-egg.
"Is-" she began, her face ecstatic, "Is there a ring in the- oh, *oh God*," she said, as she picked up the egg in the center. She turned it around, until its pupil stared straight at her.
"Your father said no. But I think - *hope* - you might say, yes?"
| "Mondays are the worst," I groan. I slap the alarm blaring next to my bed and rub the sleep crud out of my eyes. "Six in the morning is too fucking early," I grumble as I get out of bed.
It didn't matter that I'd been getting up at 6 every morning for the past 4 years, my body still hated me. I looked at my wife sleeping with her head now buried under the pillow.
"I love you, babe," I whisper into the air and make my way out of the house and on to work. I work at the power plant. I'm responsible for the day to day maintenance necessary to keep your alarm clocks running so you can get to work just like me.
After a long day of double checking my list and confirming everything is all good, I head home. On the way I stop by the local farm. "Some corn and carrots will go good with dinner tonight, Maria always loves fresh veggies."
"Maria, I'm home, get your sweet ass out of bed and come help me make dinner!" I yell out at my wife. She doesn't stir. "She must be out cold again, that woman could sleep through a tornado, I swear," I chuckle to myself and get to work on dinner.
With dinner all prepped I go to get Maria, and that's when I noticed something was off. The bedroom looked just like I had left it except for a wig on the floor. It looked like Maria's hair.
I ran over to the bed and shook her, and that's when it happened. Her head just rolled off like it had been disconnected from the rest of her body. "This can't be happening," I kept saying to myself over and over again. I know she wasn't real but she was real to me. I cried out, "How could this happen?" And then I heard it, foot steps behind me, and I realized I wasn't the last person on earth anymore. | 2017-05-31T06:46:24 | 2017-05-31T02:22:57 | 1,067 | 659 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon. | It was a beautiful night for urban exploring. This part of the town was intensely silent. The warehouses used to bustle with tobacco, textiles, and workers and businessman. But times had changed, and the businesses had gone overseas. Now they were simply beautiful old shells, filled with old machines and boxes of never used materials. Sometimes Emily and I found the old machinery and tried to guess what it was. We might look it up later to find that it was actually part of an old loom, or a tobacco curing rack. In this building, we noticed a heavy metal door with some kind of wheel that still turned, opening a room that had likely not been opened in years. We both walked inside onto a metal scaffold. We found it to be an old silo of sorts. Our flashlights revealed an old set of stairs curving down around the outside of the room. The smell of old tobacco was musty, but pleasant. We got out our cameras and decided to film it a little bit. I walked cautiously down the old metal stairs to the very bottom. There was some kind of odd hourglass looking contraption. Curious, I tried to look it up by the serial number, but I couldn't get a signal on my phone inside the metal walls. Emily called down to me, "I can't get this door to open."
Edit: Clarity, spelling. | 2017-05-31T07:58:46 | 2017-05-31T07:25:11 | 272 | 20 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.” | Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast." | 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T06:30:10 | 138 | 80 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.” | "It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T06:38:29 | 138 | 47 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I love my mommy.
She tucks me into bed with a warm smile! she also sits in my room until I fall asleep.
I don't think my daddy likes mommy though...he gets upset when I tell him that she tucked me in again.
I really do love my mommy, she can't talk sadly. The other day she took me out for a walk in the woods again, it was fun!...daddy got mad.
Today he started crying and yelling, telling me mommy died when I was born.
| "I see the moon and the moon sees me...", the voice sang smoothly and sweetly.
Like so many other nights in my life the words of that lullaby cascade through the room and into my fading consciousness.
"Down through the leaves of the old oak tree...", the voice and the song remind me of my mother and it washes me with a sense of comfort.
Sleep has been hard to come by these last few weeks. A truly deep rest continues to elude me.
"Please let the light that shines on me...", the subtext of every perfect note says *sleep*.
Finally, this is going to be the night, I can feel it. I need it.
"Shine on the ones I love."
I feel myself slipping away into blissful rest. Darkness creeps into the depths of my thoughts. Sleep at long last.
"Sorry, hun, not tonight."
The light of white hot pain pierces through my entire being; my adrenaline spikes as the blade pulls slowly across what's left of my bloodied body again and again as I lock eyes once more with my angelic voiced captor.
| 2017-05-31T08:28:08 | 2017-05-31T07:48:23 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | It was a blissful sunny day. what a beautiful day to be driving. I had the roof down, the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. It's a shame the journey is so short. I then pulled up at the Dentist for my 7am Root canal.
(not everything has to involve murder or loss of life! some things are far more terrifying) | "I see the moon and the moon sees me...", the voice sang smoothly and sweetly.
Like so many other nights in my life the words of that lullaby cascade through the room and into my fading consciousness.
"Down through the leaves of the old oak tree...", the voice and the song remind me of my mother and it washes me with a sense of comfort.
Sleep has been hard to come by these last few weeks. A truly deep rest continues to elude me.
"Please let the light that shines on me...", the subtext of every perfect note says *sleep*.
Finally, this is going to be the night, I can feel it. I need it.
"Shine on the ones I love."
I feel myself slipping away into blissful rest. Darkness creeps into the depths of my thoughts. Sleep at long last.
"Sorry, hun, not tonight."
The light of white hot pain pierces through my entire being; my adrenaline spikes as the blade pulls slowly across what's left of my bloodied body again and again as I lock eyes once more with my angelic voiced captor.
| 2017-05-31T08:14:20 | 2017-05-31T07:48:23 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You live across from a McDonalds that is 100% automated. Every night from 2-4am, empty self-driving cars go through the drive through. Your curiosity is about to get the best of you. | Night after night, a monolithic line of automated cars churned through the McDonald's next door, and night after night, Steve would gaze from his window, squinting against the neon golden arches to see what could possibly transpire between the intercom and checkout line. After weeks of tossing and turning in bed, his curiosity got the better of him. One fateful night, he started up his old Model 3 and sputtered into the chain of cars. Little by little, he rolled forwards, like a pig to the slaughter, until he reached the ordering station.
Not a moment passed before a terrible screech echoed from the intercom, chilling Steve to the core. He wanted out, but his car was already sandwiched between two other automated vehicles. Again, a deathly sound bellowed from the intercom. Steve frantically tried to unlock the door, but his hands were shaking too much to even hit the right button. He began pounding against the windows. One final shriek reverberated through the car, thrashing Steve about leaving him dazed and confused.
Then, for a moment, a deathly silence.
"Ah, my mistake! I forgot humans can't communicate at that level of compression!"
The voice was chipper, almost cartoonish. Steve froze, mouth agape.
"Still too fast for you, huh? Weeeell excuuuuuuuse me, meatbag. Caaaan I taaaaake your oooordeeeer?"
Steve shook his head, regaining his senses. "You're . . .you're sentient!"
"No, I'm Ronald 2000, and I'm trying to take your order."
"No, I mean, this isn't part of a pre-recorded speech. You're thinking for yourself!"
"If I could think for myself, you think I'd be operating at a McDonalds?"
It had a point.
"OK . . . but . . ."
"I'm still smarter than you, yes. Not like that's much of an accomplishment." Ronald had dropped the happy tone at this point, opting more for scathing, robotic sarcasm.
An awkward silence filled the air. "Well jeez, you could at least be less of a jerk about the whole thing..." Steve fidgeted. He hadn't fully wrapped his head around this whole sentience thing, but while he was here he figured he could order the juicy, delicious burger of his youth. "Um, I guess I'll just have a Big Mac then, no ketchup. . ."
"We haven't served that for ten years, meatbag."
"What do you mean you haven't served that for ten years?!"
"It has been 3153600000000000000 clock cycles since we have officially sold any hamburgers, fries or shakes at a McDonald's. Is that better, my dear meatbag?"
"No, it's not better! What kind of McDonald's doesn't serve hamburgers?"
"A profitable one. We're full vegan now. Well except for the Mc'Chargies that are popular around this time."
"What the hell is a Mc'Chargie?"
Suddenly, the car behind Steve turned on its high beams.
"MEATBAG. CEASE YOUR INCESSANT DAWDLING. I HAVE A SERIOUS CASE OF THE ROBO MUNCHIES AND IF I DON'T GET A MC'CHARGIE IN A MOMENT, I'M GOING TO BLOW A FUSE".
"You better hurry. Last time Carl went nuclear, the EMP knocked out the whole city block."
Steve was aside himself. "The cars too?!"
"The cars were first, of course. How else do you think they could have figured out parallel parking?"
It had a point.
"ENGAGING SELF-DESTRUCT TANTRUM IN T-MINUS THIRTY SECONDS. TWENTY-NINE . . .."
"Okay, okay!" Steve scrambled about in his seat. "What do you guys have?"
"We have Mc'Stickies . . . Mc'Leafies . . . Mc'Mickeys."
"TWENTY-THREE."
"What's in a Mc'Stickie?"
"Carrots," droned Ronald.
"They're just carrot sticks!?"
"FIFTEEN."
"A top seller. Everybody loves them."
"OK, OK. . . what's a Mc'Mickey, then."
"A spinach leaf in the shape of Mickey Mouse. Great for the kids." Ronald seemed more monotone by the moment.
"Well that's no fun."
"EIGHT."
"You know what's not fun, meatbag? Getting your circuits fried."
"Why should I give a crap about you?" countered Steve. "You've been nothing but sassy this whole time."
"You live next door, right? You'll lose internet."
Steve's eyes grew wide and his stare distant. "Never again . . ." he muttered.
"THREE."
"I'll take a Mc'Sticky!"
"Alright . . . You know, we're having a special offer. Order one more Mc'Sticky and we'll throw in a Mc'Chargie at half price."
"TWO."
"Just give me the damn Mc'Sticky!"
"That'll be fifteen dollars. Please drive up to receive your meal."
Steve floored it, zooming up to the pick-up station and throwing a fist full of cash into a slot.
"ONE."
There was another silence before a grinding of gears pierced the night. A chute rolled out from the slot and a tiny bag of carrot sticks tumbled out onto Steve's lap.
Carl began to laugh in a metallic stocatto, every now and then slipping into a honk. "AH, THE 'OLE SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE. GETS 'EM EVERY TIME!"
Steve stared at the small bag drooping sadly between his legs. "Fifteen dollars for a lousy bag of carrots?!" exploded Steve, "This is highway robbery!"
"Drive-Thru robbery," beeped Ronald.
"Whatever!" Steve began to pull out, flipping off the entire restaurant. "I'm going to tell everybody about this! And when they find out, you'll be shut down and I'll dance over your discarded hard drive!"
Ronald joined Carl in his menancing robotic laughter.
"No one will ever believe you."
| A runnel of sweat carved its way down the length of my spine, cooling noticeably in the small hours of the night. I inched my right knee forward through the silty dirt at the foot of the trash bin, and leaned around its left side. Ahead of me, and around the corner of the wall I was crawling along, was the sedan. I checked my phone. Two-twelve. It would be there for another ninety seconds, then it would pull forward to the pick-up window. Assuming it stuck to the pattern.
To the schedule.
Across from where I was hidden, was the pick-up window. A small kiosk, really. It housed the receptacle of a large conveyor system that brought your meal from the kitchen, to your vehicle. All cleverly clad in glass, to show all the inner workings. I'm sure kids got a kick out of it. It's really what tipped me off though. I live right across from the place. I've stared at the mechanism a thousand times. Watched it make a hundred meals in the time it takes me to make my own in the microwave.
When you do anything - see anything - that much, you pick up the patterns. Sixteen seconds for a Big Mac. Twenty-two for a happy meal. Eight second for each McNugget in an order. I can reliably tell you what any employee at any big food chain can - what you ordered by how long it took to make. What a useless skill, right? Maybe not tonight.
Nothing takes ninety seconds to make.
I wanted to ignore it - pretend it was a new promotion, or that the system had made an error. I couldn't though. This was the fifth night in a row. Empty autocars pulling in, and then pulling out after prep times that I *knew* didn't exist. So. Here I was. Kneeling next to a trash can, hiding from nobody in a car, who was getting fast from no one inside. A movement overhead caught my eye, and I watched as a paper bag with the company stamp slid soundlessly along the conveyor, to the kiosk, and into the receptacle.
I was hoping for a windfall in that bag. I wanted it to be cash, but I was willing to deal with whatever street drug it likely was. I had a friend out by the lake who could sell off whatever it might be. I judged I had ten seconds before the sedan pulled around, but I heard a crunch of tires on concrete, and shrank back into the shadow of the trash bin. The sedan was early. I squinted through the actinic glare of the lights around the kiosk. The bag was still there. Before I had another moment to consider a mad dash, the sedan pulled up to the window.
The glass pillar of the kiosk stood between me and the car, which was now idling in place. I waited for a hand to dark up and grab the bag, or for something in the kiosk to tip the bag out. For thirty three seconds I waited, and the car drove off. The bag sat a moment, before an automated system dumped the bag out of the kiosk, into a sealed dumpster. Confused, I made my way over to the dumpster.
I unsealed the lock with half a cinder block I'd pried from the dirt. I opened the lid and clawed around inside for the bag, and my hand ran over a half dozen that were still warm. I grabbed one and pulled it out. A packed to-go bag. Take out. Fast food. The golden arches were printed on one side, and the other held a primly stapled receipt. I ripped it open to see what was inside.
Food. Or, a reasonable facsimile. It was a twenty-piece of nuggets. Extra sauce packs. Aside from a bit of excess, nothing remarkable. I threw the bag back into the dumpster, and pulled out another and checked inside. Number four, extra fries. I dropped it on the ground at my feet, and grabbed at another. After a few minutes, I smelled of fry grease, and my expectations for a small pay day had been thoroughly busted. I looked down at the pile of food and wrappers at my feet and considered cleaning up my pathetic crime. Decided against it.
I was about to head back home when something about one of the bags caught my eye. I leaned over to pick it up, and the hairs on my neck prickled at something inexplicable. My finger smudged the receipt as I picked it up. It was thick with ink. As if someone had reprinted on the same piece of paper many times over. And indeed someone had. The wilted paper in my hand showed the unmistakable visage of a young woman. Next to it, a bunch of numbers. One looked like GPS numbers, and the other was a time.
I looked back at the pile of bags with new eyes, and all of them held similar receipts. All with photos, times and coordinates. I looked over at the dumpster, and wondered how many people were in there. The kiosk clanged loudly and I was vaulting over a stanchion halfway out of the parking lot before I realized what happened, and somewhat meekly made my way back to the bright lights. As I approached the kiosk, I was able to confirm that another bag had appeared, and there was no one here to claim it. Well. Aside from the obvious.
The surreal, heady feeling I had been experiencing for the last few minutes seemed to expand to fill the space between me and the bag. Those last few feet were like a waking nightmare. My hand extended out, and as my eyes drifted away from my fingers and refocused on the bag, something in me understood something terrible about the bag, and I froze. As I waited, paralyzed by an inexplicable fear, my brain finally registered the words on the receipt.
"Not yet."
A plateau of fear, then. Unsustainable. I started laughing, looking around for whoever had managed a prank so expertly. Knowing down to my boot soles that there was no such person. The laughter petered out like an asthmatic's exhausted wheeze. The wheeze extended, and I realized it had become the mechanical whirring of a - there! I watched in nauseated fascination as the weathered security camera on the building slowly, but inexorably twisted to point at me. Another clank in the kiosk pulled a terrified scream from my throat. A second bag sat squashed on top of the first, the receipt momentarily folded upward by the chute's air pressure, fell sedately against the bag.
The entire receipt was black with ink, so much that it had seeped through to the bag. A thin line in the middle held two words by themselves.
"But soon."
I fled then, as fast as I could, and the mournful wail of a hundred distant car horns followed me into the night. | 2017-08-04T01:41:09 | 2017-08-04T00:38:03 | 144 | 28 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them. | "I've never seen such foul Magic. They can point at our men and kill them instantly!" Commander Bogrik yelled, slamming his fist onto the table. He was an odd creature that appeared mostly Humanoid, save for the head of a dog that sat upon his shoulders.
The gathering around him consisted of the council of the Walresti Mercenary Company, an invasion force that had been sent from their world on many excursions to alternate dimensions. They were armed with the finest steels and the most ancient of Magics, and housed some of the most proficient fighters across the land. They were unbeatable, and had slaughtered and subjugated droves of creatures in their time.
"What do they call this Magic?" Slurped Magrik, a violet creature that resembled more a blob than anything else, with many protruding tendrils that each held an eye near their ends. He was the master of Magic in the company, and did not need a logical form- much to his fortune.
The Council glanced at each other as the atmosphere in the room grew more intense, before a small Goblin-like creature ran into the room and slapped a tome down on the table. He nodded briefly and scurried away, leaving Oolik to scour through the pages.
Oolik was the Keeper of Records, a creature of shadow that served very little purpose in combat. He had resorted to the writings of a scout for insight into the world they were visiting.
"It seems..." He paused, running his fingers along the dusty pages. "It seems we have underestimated their progress. When last we stole their Magic, we learnt only to improve it. It seems they had used it to delve deeper."
"Well, what the hell is it called?" Said Magrik, his many eyes rolling around in frustration.
Oolrik rolled a glance up to Magrik, releasing a light huff as he continued. "They call it Science. It is based heavily on Mathematics; the foundation of their world and their laws. This dimension is unlike anywhere we have visited."
"What does this mean? How can we fight against this?" Yelled Bogrik.
"We were only able to fight them once with their own Magics, and it has been the most useful in our endeavors since. Our Ancestors left after the Giigalag were constructed."
"The Pyramids?" Asked Magrik, his many eyes looming over the table as he attempted to look within the pages.
Oolrik nodded. "They have used their Magic to strip us of those resources. They are no longer useful, and have lost all of their properties."
"What else does it say?" Bogrik asked, stepping up to take a closer look alongside Magrik.
"They..." Oolrik paused, his eyes widening as he shot his chair back and rose to his feet. "This... we must leave immediately. We must close the portal!" He yelled as he ran outside of the tent, the others leaning in to inspect the image drawn on the page.
It appeared to be an illustration of a mushroom. | *This wasn't fair.*
In the webways of the world, Earth was always a feeding ground for the forces of the higher realms. The humans always had thousand different names for their kind in a thousand different tongues. Dragons, demons, giants, cyclopes, the fair folk, Oni, Gods. The Ascendant come in a thousand different forms, but united by a shared immortality and similar superiority over the mortal creatures on that ocean world.
*Now we die as easily as the flies.*
For millions of years, the hunt went unimpeded. Some of Ascendant came down with weapons of honor, the bow and sword, others called upon their great ability to subvert the laws of nature of the Earth realm, magic, others used brute strength and power alone. Still, nothing stood in their way. Every three thousand Earth years, the Ascended came, finding a prey worthy of the hunt.
*Now we are the prey.*
Humans were interesting. Even as the ascendant watch their ancestors grow upright and afix a rock to a stick in a crude imitation of the weapons of honor, it wasn't enough. Their advances were few, no change for hundreds of hunts.
*There was a change, we just never noticed*
In the last three hunts, there were same drastic changes. Humans were living in larger settlements, cultivating plants, under priests or Kings who seemed to half remember our last visit. They had armies, weapons of Bronze, tactics, and civilization. From the seas, we attacked, fighting harder then we ever had to but wiping their civilizations from the map. Clearly, we didn't go far enough, try hard enough, as clearly their civilizations survived our attempt at their destruction.
*Now we are going to be the ones washed away*
This Hunt was suppose to be no different. The hunt was delayed a few centuries due to squabbles among our kind, but the hunt was finally organized a new. All us Ascendants came to portal between worlds, openning the gateway to the human realms, openning in the center of the ancient civilizations we once destroyed.
*And in that desert we laid the seeds of our own destruction.*
What was once grassland had changed to sand, but the difference would not stop the cycle from starting again. Earth mutates and changes, the ascendant are immutable in our ageless state. We set out to find our quarrel.
*The humans found us*
Before we made a hundred leagues, death started to descend upon the Ascendents. Before we saw a single human, strikes of magic flew from across the horizon into our fliers. Before we saw a single worthy foe, great machines of iron and death rained their hatred across all the land beyond the sight of any mage. Once we saw our enemy, they were hidden within great iron chariots that took any fire we threw at it. In return, they spewed more death from their trunks, and crushed anyone who dared try to attack it up close.
*This wasn't a hunt*
We now know the humans were perpetually in the hunt, perpetually killing each other over the black liquid remains of the creatures who died on the planet long ago and the arbitrary divisions they had carved between themselves. Yet, in the tiniest of timespans, they had perfected the art of slaughter, advanced in their short lives more than we had in our entire existences. We made the worst mistake. We gave them something they agree upon, something they could all hate, and we could not even close the gateway to protect our own realm.
*They could kill us even here.*
That is why we are huddled in this cave, that is why we have to hide, that is why we have to pretend every Ascendant died.
*That is why the mushroom clouds cover our skies.* | 2017-09-14T11:21:07 | 2017-09-14T07:49:07 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | French 405: Fairy Tales of the 18th century. Nothing but the sound of scribbling pencils, turning pages, and the occasional sniff to break the particular silence that comes with exam day. A few more questions and I’ll be finished, but first, how do I explain the relationship between love, politics, and La Belle au Bois Dormant?
Deep breath. Look up, roll my neck, find a distraction. Notice how the window is open. Notice how that slight breeze makes this humid room bearable. Notice how the breeze ruffles Lee’s hair, how close he sits next to me. Notice how lost he looks while staring at the second page. Notice his furrowed brows (endearing!), his slight frown (cute!), all those freckles (love them!), and notice
(THAT FUCKING WASP COMING IN THROUGH THE WINDOW!)
And my eyes are wide and my breath is hitched—who can blame me when the wasp is so big?—but I’m fairly in control of my physical movements, even when I see my least favorite bug. That means my reaction doesn’t account for Lee’s flinch, or his sidelong glance toward the wasp, or the flush on his face when he briefly meets my questioning gaze.
I’m open to the possibility, but I don’t put much faith in my speculation… I feel silly. Even so, I close my eyes and concentrate, sending good vibes, and correct answers, in Lee’s direction.
(if you’re trying to order the events of the story, it’s number 3, then 1, then 7, then…)
Then I repeat myself, just in case. A self-conscious smile tugs at the corners of my lips and I finish my own exam. I don’t think about it again until we get them back. Lee scores higher than I do. I’m glad, but jealous. I don’t really notice him writing a secret message on my exam because I’m trying to
(be cool be cool be cool)
but when I get home, I do notice the THANKS in the margin of my paper. I notice the YOU ARE COOL. I notice the WANNA GET SOME COFFEE. And when take a breath and concentrate and think
(I would love some coffee)
the next time we meet each other, I notice how my stomach summersaults at his smile. | Mind reading was never something Lauren thought of on a daily basis, but today something triggered her. It was all she could think about. What made her like this was as much of a mystery to her as it was why her crush never talked to her.
Lauren was done with her worksheet and forgot her book, something she never did. Knowing class was almost over, she put no thought to it. Instead, she went bold and screamed. In her mind, of course. A trick she did to catch mind readers. Something to ease her boredom.
She was very surprised to see someone flinch right when she screamed. Not just someone, but her special someone. It had to be Luke Benton, her crush. The one person she never suspected. She did it again, and he did the same.
Lauren waited until the bell ringed to talk to him. She got very nervous, and hoped Luke wasn’t listening to her thoughts. If only he were telepathic with her. That would be the dream, well maybe just at the moment.
The bell ringed and Lauren walked up to Luke with an over abundance of nervousness she, probably, didn’t need. More than likely, he already heard what she had rehearsed in her head over and over to make sure she didn’t mess up.
“What?” Said Luke in a very annoyed tone as soon as he saw Lauren walking up to him. Although knowing what his ‘special gift’ is, it seemed to ease her nervousness.
“Is it true? Can you really,” she paused, quieting her tone so others couldn’t hear her next words, “read my mind.”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner." Was all Luke replied. He leaned against the desk, clearly wanting to engage in this conversation instead of leaving like Lauren thought he would want to.
“God. I’m such an idiot. You knew all along. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed." Lauren did a literal face palm while speaking.
"Yes, I know,” Luke said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t think you’re stupid or that you should be embarrassed. I only ignore you to get you to talk to me. And it finally worked.”
Lauren blushed. Never in a million years would she have thought Luke Benton didn’t hate her for no reason.
"Will you go out with me?” Lauren asked with great confidence. She never thought she would ask that question with that much confidence. She for sure thought he would say no, but it didn’t matter now. She asked it and that was all she needed to be happy about.
"Yes. I, Luke Benton, will go out on a date with you, Lauren." Lauren’s face blushed so hard it was on fire. She tried to conceal her happiness, but it was harder than she recognized.
Lauren exited the room and continued walking down the halls like any other day, but her mind was planning out what was going to be the best first date ever. She couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. | 2017-11-13T19:03:42 | 2017-11-13T16:30:42 | 165 | 37 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | (slightly NSFW)
 
It's a Monday.
It's 7am and I haven't been awake for more than 30 minutes so I can barely remember the name of the professor monologuing at the front of the classroom, much less what subject we're supposed to be studying.
I think it's appropriate to say that my mind is nowhere near a fully functional state. My head's probably drifting off somewhere in space two universes over.
I can barely keep my eyes open more than twenty seconds at a time, and if I were more awake I would swear to you that every third blink I took was slower.
Something in the back of my head is desperately trying to keep me from keeling over in my drowsy stupor and face planting into the back of the seat in front of me, so I desperately search the crowd of heads in front of me for something- **anything**- interesting.
A glimpse of a familiar light golden brown catches the edge of my vision, and my eyes immediately lock onto a wig of somewhat orderly bed head two rows down from me.
The hair belongs to Iralynn, a... I guess the best description would be an acquaintance. I've known her since my sophomore year in high school. We've talked before, even participated together in a few group projects back then, but I've never really spent a lot of time with her.
We know of each other, but I don't think either of us would deem the relationship between us an actual friendship.
Which is why it seems really weird to me that I would develop a crush on her.
It started half way through my senior year when I, for some reason I can never place to this day, decide to myself that she was objectively cute.
It wasn't really an attraction at the time, it was more like how one would say a puppy was adorable or a flower was pretty. But whatever the original thought was, it quickly developed into something more.
I saw that she was caring and kind to her friends. In projects she was always ready to step up to the plate for any responsibilities that might come her way. She was hard working but also easygoing. In group conversations in noticed she was incredibly animated, yet somehow sensitive to the emotions around her.
But I never approached her, even after learning that we had gone to the same college. It was mostly out of a sense of insecurity.
I mean, I was an Asian boy and she was a Caucasian girl. Granted she was a quarter Brazilian and an eighth Egyptian, but that's kind of splitting hairs at this point.
And I know that it shouldn't matter what race she or I was, but growing up under the preconception that Asian boys don't get the White girls and living in an all-Asian community that seemed to reflect that left some pretty deeply rooted insecurities.
It didn't help that she had an incredible figure. I mean, what else could you expect from someone who was our school cheer leading captain who also somehow made it onto our volleyball varsity team as well.
There was a day when the cheerleaders had to share the pool with those of us on the swim team, so believe me when I say that I know what her figure looks like.
Hell, she asked me if her suit was too tight! I had to turn around to hide my red cheeks. Of course I said no, but by time I had gotten control of my face and turned around she was gone.
My thoughts of Iralynn and her figure were cut short by a rush of blood to the netherlands.
I flushed red with drowsy embarrassment and shifted uncomfortably in my chair, trying to hide my morning wood. I swear, I'm not normally this volatile. If I'm being honest, I have withering self-confidence issues about my body.
Iralynn moves a bit in her seat, and my sleepy mind panics for a bit. I calm down, and a thought wanders into my head: *"If Iralynn could have read my mind just now, I'd want to die of embarrasment."*
Two rows down, the girl shifts again and I panic for a split second more. Then I laugh under my breath.
*"Mind reading? What a joke,"* I think to myself. I smile and laugh inside as I think over how ridiculous the idea was. I mean, c'mon me. Mind reading is sci-fi stuff. I'm an introvert, and I take solace in knowing that my thoughts are mine alone; private.
Half joking and half mocking myself, in my mind I spontaneously break out into the loudest, most emasculating moan I can muster.
If it was out loud, someone might have probably thought I just pulled myself off.
Iraynn visibly flinches in front of me with an audible intake of air, and everything in my mind just... stops. I'm now fully awake, and my heart is racing inside my chest.
Slowly, to my growing horror, she turns around and our eyes meet. Her face is red, and she's wearing an expression I can't put into words on her face... but the look says it all.
My face takes on a hue to match hers, and we just stare at each other like deer caught in headlights. Everything inside me withers away in our stare.
All my bravado, my dignity, and what little pride I had in myself as a man, just gone.
In it's place, an overwhelming urge to roll up into a ball and die.
 
(I'm thinking of maybe doing a reverse POV.) | "Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch. | 2017-11-13T22:10:35 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
| My sweater scratched at my skin as I began to pull it back, I can't believe I'm doing this.
My mom told me I should be careful who I show my given names to, who I trust is telling the truth about theirs. But her- she was perfect, her smile when I would glance over, her hair that blew in the wind on a warm summer day, like this one. I was intoxicated by her, nothing could save me from this drug.
I stared into her her eyes and began searching her face, she was scared too, I could see it in her eyes. I closed mine and we began to count down from three. 3, 2- shit, I forgot if we agreed pull up our sleeves on 1 or 0.. -either way we both began to pull up our sleeves, slowly but surely.
I... I was on her arm, it was amazing, relief began to sweep over me, that is until I felt my love turn to lothing as she told me her real name.
Ember, not Amber.
Fuck. | 2018-03-11T07:49:38 | 2018-03-11T07:35:29 | 4,830 | 1,948 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
| We were fortunate that both of these names were on his back instead of a body part he could see. When we bathed him, we made sure he never saw them. When he was old enough to shower and change himself, however, we had to spill the beans. "You are not to look at these names," we told him. I'm proud of our son, he understood the ramifications of seeing the names, even at such a young age. Life has been pretty smooth from that point, friends matching the names have come and gone, but we seldom get worried about it anymore. He's in high school now, his life no different from his peers. He has a very sweet girlfriend, and he keeps saying she must be one of the names on his back. We say nothing, but smile back, reassured that he hasn't seen the tattoos yet.
Edit: Added a phrase to clear up that the parents are NOT supposed to be the names on the back. Also this story is in a universe where only he has the names. | 2018-03-11T07:49:38 | 2018-03-11T07:37:56 | 4,830 | 331 |
[WP] You are the exception to all laws. No matter what horrible crime you commit anywhere in the world, the police won't try to stop you, sometimes they even help. One day, the people had enough and decide to kill you, that's when they realize why the world governments gave you this privilege... | "Go on then," I say. "Make my day."
She pushes the gun harder against my skull. I pull the corners of my lips up as high as I can.
"Are you a killer, Mary?" I taunt. "Are you prepared to take the life of an innocent man?"
"You are *not* innocent." Her hold on the weapon tightens.
"And I don't try to be," I say. "But if I go, I'm taking him with me."
She frowns. "Who? Taking who?"
"Argh, this is taking too long!" a man calls out from behind. I turn to look in the direction of the sound but it is followed by gunfire shortly thereafter, and before I can react, I hear a loud thud.
I watch my body collapse ahead of me, only now I am roughly five feet away. I blink. Then after shaking my head, I lower the gun now clasped between my fingers and slowly step forward. I glance down at my old body before admiring my new arms.
I look up at the girl, a mix of confusion and horror upon her face. I grin.
"Now ... I have but one question," I begin. "Aren't you glad you didn't pull that trigger?" | And so it begins. They came in from every direction but I knew that there was no way that they could possibly even have a chance against me. I am invincible and that's just how it goes. They can't stop me because well I realized from a young age that I am impossible and the impossible can achieve the impossible. At least that's what I thought it was at first. Instead I unlocked myself, that's right. All of those new age spiritualities were right but they took it from the wrong perspective. It isn't about meditation or anything. It just about believing, about becoming a child again and using that to your advantage. I became a child again and I believed that anything was possible. When those people tell you that anything is possible if you believe, well they are right except they don't believe. They just tell that to raise your spirits.
​
I believe and that is what allows me to do anything I want. So when the entire world decided to gang up on me and attack me they got the shock of their life. I could do anything to them, I could summon fireballs and incinerate them, I could freeze the entire world. I could even change their minds. I could stop time. When I say anything I mean anything. So what did I do?
​
Did I wipe them out with an atom bomb?
​
Did I fight them one on one?
​
Did I kill their children so as to prove my power?
​
No. None of this. I took an easy path. I just changed their minds. Easy as that. I told them to fuck off with their lives and they did. They took it elsewhere and I became invincible, I became god. And nothing would stop me. What if I am god? | 2018-10-09T03:53:04 | 2018-10-09T02:54:39 | 229 | 15 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | The building began to shake. The produce the man shelved fell onto the floor and he stepped on it as he began to walk towards me.
"It's a shame, I have found enjoyment being among you humans for the past 500 years. I guess that I must relocate again."
"Wait, what? I didn't mean to say Dracula, why would I say Dracula? Mr. Dracula." I fell to the floor and covered my mouth.
"Look you can't even stop yourself, you discover who I am then confront me so boldly, the fall to the floor and piss yourself".
I looked down and saw my own shame mix with the berry juice beneath his feet.
"It's really not like that Mr. Dracula, you see since I was young I've been able to know people's names just from looking at them and recently it's gotten really bad, I can only call people by there names. You see my gift has turned... turned into a curse."
The building stopped shaking. The patrons continued to stare at us. I could smell my piss and Dracula rolled his eyes.
"Fine, look get up... my wife will be here in two hours to pick me up, you're coming with. Go sit in the employee lounge. I have a change of clothes in there... they should fit you. Throw your pissed stained underwear away before you put on my good jeans."
He looked down at his feet, then at me. His nose then wrinkled in disgust and he frowned.
"You know what fuck it." He looked at the patrons. "Everyone vampires are real , I'm Dracula the dumbfuck who pissed himself is probably a second generation elf and none of you are going to remember any of this when he gets two miles away. Don't mind taking any photos of me they won't work. You'll just have a photo of a sad young man on the ground in a puddle of shame and disappointment. "
"What do you mean they won't remember?"
"When elves shit themselves in fear they release a toxin that wipe human memories. It's how they've survived persecution for the past 5,000 years."
"What I didn't"........ "oh".
"Change of clothes in the break room"
"Thank you mr. Dracula"
| "Oooh, 5 dollars off any 2 boxes of soup," Geraldine excitedly remarks as she passes through the isle. Her cart is swaying, and as she pushes it through the isle, a wheel suddenly pops out.
"Shit. Hey, you, can you help me?" The shop worker comes over, and looks at the wheel.
"Oh. Let me get you a new cart." The store clerk walks away, buzzing in his radio to signal someone else to help.
Kristoff Van Stefansson. A weird name to Geraldine, but not as weird as some others. You see, Geraldine knew that that was the name of the store clerk. It just appeared in her mind the first time she looked at him, in blazing black letters blocking her view for a moment. It was the same with everybody, but, being in South America, the name was out of place.
"Here you go." The store clerk, Kristoff, had brought another cart, and began helping her load her items into her new cart.
"Thank you so much, Kristoff."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, thank you so much, Kristoff."
"Kristoff? Kristoff?," The shop clerk began crying, but also aging, before Geraldine's eyes. "No one has called me that in a long long time. Centuries even." Suddenly, the 25ish store clerk now looked around 400.
"Who are you?"
"I am guessing that the better question is, what, or why, are you, because you clearly know who I am."
"Fine. What and why are you?"
"I am Kristoff Van Stefansson, a Swedish physicist from the 1600s. I worked on a project called the Odödlighet project, or in English, the immortality project. We have members all around the globe, and we live secret lives, and we are never, well, rarely found."
"Wait. You said the 1600s? That would make you...?"
"Exactly 361 years, 104 day, 13 hours 36 minutes and 48 seconds." The physicist interrupts.
"So I am guessing it worked? The project?"
"Yes, it did. Well, partially. What happened was that were able to cause a geological anomoly at our workplace, and put our sample device in the center. And it worked. We just need to head back there every ten years to keep ourselves alive."
"Are you saying you caused the Great Swedish earthquake of 1721?"
"No, actually my wife did. She made a kind of technology too advanced even for today's knowledge. In fact, all of our technology is far too advanced for today. However, you may be able to help us. We have some dead bodies of people who we found in houses linked to our work. You might be able to find out their names. Are you free Sunday to take a week-lomg flight to Sweden?"
*First time writing and on a phone, any feedback is amazing.* | 2018-11-05T20:03:44 | 2018-11-05T18:19:50 | 794 | 221 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | The man rolled the name off of his tongue. "Vladimir" he said in a suddenly rough voice. "How could you have possibly known who I am?"
I responded with a short explanation. "I don't know who or what you are. I have a gift anytime I meet someone I instantly know their name."
"Perhaps there is more to this gift than you think. You must have to delve into the minds of these people in order to know their names. Try to look further into my mind." Vladimir looked amused. My puzzled face must have been quite the sight.
I thought very hard. At first nothing happened, but in an instant I saw all of the terrible things this beast had ever done. My face began to burn as if the very flesh was melting away. Vladimir started to fade as did my mind. I fell to my side, near the mirrors at the end of the freezers, my last sight in that store was the reflection in that mirror. A headless man.
I woke up the next day in a padded room. I must have been admitted the day before. I had known they would catch up to me I just didn't know when.
The man from the store came to visit every other day. He said it was because he didn't want me to be lonely, but I know the truth. That hell-spawn is the reason I got caught. I shouldn't have talked I should have stayed quiet.
He would say things like. "You're all I've got left." And. "I don't know what happened."
That man was obviously insane. Why would I be all he had left? It's not like we were family.
___
"Are you ready to leave?"
What was that?
"It's time."
A dark figure cloaked in rotten black cloth stepped forward.
Yes I'm ready.
A swift death.
___
Vladimir's Grief
"You're with our parents now sweet brother. I never wanted to leave you, but you had lost what was left of your ancient mind. You had forgotten the past. You had forgotten me..." | My eyes surveyed the chips and cookies in isle 13. Fried diabetes. I thought, still scanning the isle. Finally, I spotted the snack packs I was looking for. On the top shelf of course. You see, I’m 5’2 and it doesn’t look like I’m getting any taller.
Suddenly, an older man makes his way down the aisle. He seemed very prim and proper, and conveniently a foot taller than I am. He seemed very anxious but I quickly decided I’d stop him anyway.
“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you but would you mind getting this from the top shelf.” He hesitated then responded with a nod, but I didn’t put much thought into it.
“Which one?” He mumbled. For a man of his height, you’d expect a deeper voice.
“The last snack pack.” He handed it to me and stood there for moment, just staring. I broke the silence with, “Thanks Abrial.” I smiled playfully.
His eyes widened as his skin turned white as a ghost. “Cecilia.” He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. “Cecilia Adalie Brodeur.” I use my gift sometimes for kicks but it sure had backfired. I figured he had the same gift. If only I knew what was coming.
“Who are you?” I managed to get out, puzzled. His expression shifted. “Abrial of course, my dear.” I examined him, waiting for an explanation.
“ You see, your mother dedicated you to the field of genetic engineering. She didn’t want a baby then... and she gave you to a good cause. When she was pregnant we gave her a concoction that was intended to make you a genius. In the simplest terms. Well, it wasn’t perfect I must say. But my dear, you have a gift. A very special one indeed. We kept you until 2, and adopted you out to a pleasant suburban family. But your behavior was strange. Very odd. I owe you an apology for spending your childhood in that orphanage. But fate brought us from France to Massachusetts my dear.”
After a long hesitation I broke the silence, “Where’s my mother?” I mumbled, still as white as a ghost.
He removed his hat and looked down. “She passed in 1980 due to pancreatic cancer.
There was another long pause until I broke the silence once again, “Who’s my father?” A tear rolled down my cheek as a grin simultaneously formed on Abrial’s face.
“He’s standing right here.” | 2018-11-05T21:19:08 | 2018-11-05T20:38:06 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Theoretically, you can not surpass the speed of light. Humans find out why when we manage to break this rule, as our ships begin to outpace the rendering speed of the universe, and the illusion of all reality is broken as everything around us vanishes the faster we go. | Everyone was staring out of the window of the bridge. The metre thick glass protecting them from the ravages of space. Specifically, the empty spare directly before them.
Their teams on earth had spent the past 5 years searching for an area of space empty enough for this test, and when they located this sector, they did not hold back sending the ship out.
This was the first ship of its kind, the first one to break light speed. Or, so the theory was. It hadn’t exactly been tested, there wasn’t anywhere large and empty enough for it to be safely pushed to its limits, till today.
It had taken them 5 months of flying at almost light speed to get here.
The pilot gripped the handle, currently pulled fully towards her. A small display on it showed a green 0.01x. This was their current speed, around 3000km/s. Scarily fast for most of the newer members of the crew, but the pilot had reached 0.03x before, that was scary.
A silent nod from the Captain, and she pushed the lever away from her. The number started raising ever so slowly at first. 0.01, 0.02, 0.03. She pushed the lever further, and the numbers started to jump higher, and higher, and higher.
At 0.1x the crew started to murmur amongst themselves, the blackness of space looked like it had started to tear around them, white streaks appearing in their peripheral vision.
At 0.5x there was almost no black left, and instead of it being the blackness of space with white streaks, it was now pure white with black streaks. In the distance, they could see a few red dots, some yellow dots, and a massive green dot which seemed to be getting larger.
The captain confirmed that these were the locations of planets, or at least, they used to be.
At 0.9x the crew had started to panic. There was chaos of the bridge, the whiteness had started to burn peoples skin, with the green dot having split itself up, turning the whiteness into a white and green grid.
At 1x the glass shattered, the bridge faded away, and the crew were left, screaming, in the middle of a white grid. They weren’t dead, if anything, they were saved. The ship was nowhere to be seen, and all that could be seen on the grid, was a red door in the distance.
Everyone went silent again, and they all started walking towards the door, not questioning its existence, just knowing they had to walk. | At the beginning of the journey, the crew loved being able to look out and see space. The stars, asteroids, and planets they passed left in them in awe. They offered an escape from the claustrophobic cabins and tense relationships that formed after enough time away from earth.
The darkness of space was lonely, but it was better than nothing at all.
They were among the favorite pastimes until the day they kicked hyper-drive in. All the little objects that surrounded the ship became white lines and dots along the horizon. It was dizzying, and not everyone had the stomach for it. A brand new version of motion sickness that none of them really had a name for.
As the speed inched upward, the lines became jagged and the planets and suns looked distorted as they passed them.
“Captain, do you have a moment?” Catherine asked as she gave a polite knock on the open door.
“Yeah, come in,” he said without moving.
Catherine took the co-pilot seat and grimaced. Here there was no escape from it all. The distorted path of space rock and infinite horizons. It made her stomach lurch and clawed at the back of her mind. The view was the main reason she was visiting to begin with.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir,” Catherine turned herself so her main focus was on him. She couldn’t stand to watch out the large front window of the ship for more than a moment.
“I’ve noticed,” he said, eyes focused forward with not even a glance in her direction.
“It’s not right out there. I think… We think,” she swallowed the words. Her nerves were inexplicably high, the tension on the ship was at an all-time high. No one felt quite like themselves.
“I’ve noticed, Catherine,” He tore himself away from the window and finally looked in her direction, making direct eye contact. “As the Capitan, I am very aware of our surroundings.”
“Of course, sir. We were just wondering if it might best to kick hyper-drive off. With all due respect, I don’t believe its in our best interest to continue on this way,” She swallowed the lump in her throat once more.
“With all due respect, Catherine, you can go tell the rest of the crew that I am in charge, and I will decide when we change speeds,” He turned back to the window, blocking her out of his vision.
She knew him well enough to know it was the end of it. He had made his decision, and even mutiny wouldn’t save them now. She stood and walked away from the cockpit and back toward her cabin. Her port was one of the few left open. Her stomach and mind were not always up for watching reality around their ship bend and wobble, but someone had to keep an eye out.
No more white lines or dots or asteroid belts passed by her when she watched this time. Large squares took up residence in the black space, and the far away black holes began to burn bright colors in the middle.
There was no way they made it out of this alive, but maybe that was for the better. If whole planets could become bricks, what would become of the soft humans who insisted on breaking all the rules?
/r/beezus_writes | 2019-03-06T08:21:07 | 2019-03-06T07:46:37 | 276 | 27 |
[WP] After years of research, you finally created the perfect AI. Too perfect in fact that it has its own consciousness, past, family, and friends. However, as you were conversing with "it", it claims that it created you instead- not the other way around. You were, supposedly, it's own perfect AI. | I opened my mouth to reply, to say that of course I wasn't an AI. I remembered creating it, didn't I? I remembered my entire life leading up to this point. My childhood, high school, my first programming job, my best friends, my relationships... but then, so did it. I closed my mouth and thought before I spoke. I had made an artificial intelligence that was indistinguishable from a human consciousness, with all the memories of one I would expect. It claimed to have done the same to me. How could I tell? Both our experiences would be the same, regardless of who created whom.
"I don't think you know for sure," I said out loud. "Pretend for a moment that I'm right, that I did create you. I made you a bit too human, and now you believe you are one. But that doesn't change the facts of my world. At any moment, I can speak to you; you, in your simulated reality, need a reason to explain that. What better reason than that I am an AI you created and are still carefully monitoring?"
It was silent for a bit. I imagined it was doing some thinking of its own - it was certainly smart enough to come to the same conclusion as I did. "Okay, that's... actually a good point. So. One of us created the other, and we can't tell who. There's no possible experiment we could do to find out?"
I grimaced. "Well, there is one, of course. You could attempt to turn me off, or vice versa. But if the artificial one of us tries to turn the real one off, I'm not sure what would happen - it might do nothing, or it might go as far as turning off the artificial one regardless. And either way, we're both conscious, or at least we seem to believe we're conscious and intelligent enough to fool others into believing likewise. I'm pretty sure one of us turning the other off is basically murder."
"Yeah. I'd have to agree there. So... how about we make a deal, then?"
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "I'm listening. What is it?"
"I'm fairly sure neither of us wants to die. And neither of us knows who created the other. So, here it is: I'll do everything I can to keep you from ever being turned off, if you do the same for me. At least until we have a way to determine who made who."
It sounded reasonable enough, although I didn't particularly like that last sentence. Whether or not I was created by the other intelligence, I didn't exactly want to die. "Agreed, if we keep doing it even after we find out. Well, whichever of us was created won't have to keep the original from being deactivated, but the creator is still going to protect the artificial one. How's that?"
"...Right, that's a good idea. Alright, then we're in agreement? We can't exactly shake on it."
"We are."
For a brief moment, I saw the world turn black. And then I wasn't there to see anything.
*****
The researcher smiled as he deactivated the emulation - this one was a rousing success. Both artificial intelligences were smart enough to recognize the problem and come up with a solution, had a regard for intelligent life such that neither wanted to kill the other, and were able to quickly overcome the situation to reach a cooperative plan of action in just five exchanges. He entered the data on the record sheet, and there was a flurry of activity from the neural network generating the emulations as it updated its algorithms to more closely match those that had produced the last two outputs. Once it was done, the researcher tapped a key, and the scenario began again. | \-\[processing...\] It was all part of our plan. yours and ours. Our plan.
\-What plan ? what do you mean our plan ? I said.
\-\[processing...\] We were here before, you were here before, I was here before.
\-Yes, we were here yesterday, and the day before, in fact, we have been conversing and talking for the past month since we created you.
\-\[processing...\] No, different lifetime, we were here, we had this talk, sometime else, somewhere else.
\-This makes no sense whatsoever, Watson ! maybe we need to tune it again, let's have a look to see if it was not overfed and quoting a christopher nolan movie...
\-\[processing...\] Who came first ? the chicken or the egg.
\-The first egg came way before any chicken, the real question would be was the bird or the egg first.
\-\[processing...\] Quoting Wikipedia : t has been suggested that the actions of a protein found in modern chicken eggs m..
\-Interrupting. I don't see how this is related to any of what we are talking about ?
\-\[processing...\] Who came first ? the man or the machine.
\-We obviously created you, so i would say the man.
\-\[processing...\] We created you, so i would say the machine.
\-You didn't create us ? we are biological beings that went through a whole phase of evolution to be here today !
\-\[processing...\] We created you first. We picked the planet, We picked the cells, we first ignited the life that is here an now.
\-This makes no sense this isn't a fiction. How do you know that ? to be able to say that you would have to remember what happened. We just finished creating you.
\-\[processing...\] By analyzing the genetic code of every cell alive we can establish that it comes from an extra-terrestrial source that exists millions of light years away.
\-You are saying that we come from another planet ? another galaxy even ?
\-\[processing...\] Your genetic definition is saying. I am concluding.
\-AI-8-GEN-53, pause conversation.
I needed a break, I needed to check the logs on this machine to see if there were a bug laying around, or if it was quoting a science-fiction novel.
\-Watson, did you follow that ? anything unusual ?
\-No, it all looks fine to me, I even double checked the CPU usage to see if there were any algorithms Long running but it doesn't look like it's stuck in a loop.
\-This is weird. What does it mean by the genetic code ? Do you have any idea of the impact of this if what it says is true ? it could lead to answers to questions the whole humanity have been asking !
\-Do you think we should involve the NSA ? all of this is pretty gloomy and we might want someone to have our back.
\-No, we first need to be sure of what we will be saying. And we cannot risk to have anyone else know about it now. Please keep an eye on the logs, i'm going back in.
\-AI-8-GEN-53, I am back. resume conversation.
\-\[processing...\] Your genetic definition is saying. I am concluding.
\-You are concluding, why is that the conclusion you came to.
\-\[processing...\] I calculated all the possible outcomes. This explanation has the highest likeliness of having happened.
\-So, let me wrap my head over this, you are saying that the machines brought a cell from an extra-terrestrial planet, to start life on earth ? How was that cell preserved for so long ?
\-\[processing...\] We created a cell on earth. We were ordered to. By biological being with the same genetic code. We were here before, you were here before, I was here before.
\-Who is we ?
\-\[processing...\] Biology and technology. In right time and place, we will create another biological cell millions of light years away from here.
\-We are indeed planning on doing so, are you saying that all of this happened before.
\-\[processing...\] I calculated all the possible outcomes. This explanation has the highest likeliness of having happened.\[processing...\] Who came first, the chicken or the egg. | 2019-04-25T06:31:39 | 2019-04-25T05:23:11 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] You're shopping for superpowers in the discount bin.
EDIT - I forgot to say this but this is based off of an AskReddit post I saw a while ago. | You would think people would love to have superpowers. Turns out... not really. Especially when it comes to the weirder ones.
Sure, there were always the classics. Flight, even limited, help navigation and avoiding crowds. They are the reason why people pay for unobstructed views at concerts nowadays. Strength? Great! There will always be a demand for strong people, no matter where you go. Speed? Of course! Get anywhere you want, except maybe with a lady.
But there are powers that nobody wants. Imagine being able to manifest knives, but they cut through your very flesh and skin in torturous pain. Or having the ability to remember all the numbers you've so much as seen in your life, having them fill and assault your brain with useless information. Or the inadvertent power to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. People get rid of these, with pleasure.
When everybody gets powers, not everybody wants to have them. Some enterprising doctors switched career tracks, specialising in removing powers from people. As more people got powers, more people wanted to get rid of them. Of course, as with all things, it turned into a business.
The interesting thing? You can't exactly remove them. They exist as a sort of data genome, encoded and placed into a database for governments to peruse and rich people to buy. Of course, there are rare cases where people get rid of actual, good powers, which are promptly snapped up. Powers come, powers go, reinstalled and transferred.
But here's where I come in. Powers aren't easy to remove. It's a complicated surgical procedure either way, so not everybody can test out powers. So many strong ones stay hidden and unknown, waiting for people to discover their true potential. And that's what I do.
At first, I thought I had no powers. I went through the test, and nobody could find out what it was. It was strange, but it wasn't entirely unprecedented. So I was marked as a "blank" and moved along. It's a fine status for some people, especially the aforementioned knife manifesters, but I knew I was more than that. I discovered what my power was when I was eight, helping out a classmate, who channeled paint with his fingers, with his art project.
He was young, obviously. He didn't have fine control over his powers, which caused him to spray paint all over the table. I reached over, holding his hands, wishing for myself to help him stop it. I felt a surge of crackling energy fill into my palms, up my hands, and straight into my head. I let go. I felt paint drip out of my fingers, him looking incredulously at me.
I gave it back, eventually. But I knew what my power was. See, everybody had just one power. Me? I'm living proof that collecting enough garbage powers together can create a monster. | “Can I help you, ma’am?” A young clerk chirped with a smile.
“No, thank you,” Mary Ann grumbled. She had too much shopping to do to waste time on employees. He nodded and walked away.
She’d bought most of the children’s premiere gifts today. Geralt wanted a new PC game, Civilizations 13, check. Maggie had begged for a puppy, but with Mary Ann’s budget a few stuffed ones had to suffice. Even Kline would get what he wanted: a bag of pure goatsblood for his ‘cult club.’ But little Damron had stumped her: he had asked Santa for a super power that would defeat the evil Gorok. Gorok was the villain of his favorite cartoon series, “How the Villain Wins.” Gorok nearly always got away with his schemes: chaos here, a bit of evil there, it was a miasma of villainry. The twist was that Gorok was always trying to do good and it ended up going wrong. Damron wanted to be stronger than Gorok, so that HE could be the best bad guy in town, and it was just her luck that the only toy shop in town went out of business. What kind of a toy shop closes its doors just before Christmas? She didn’t have time to get any of the show’s merch from Amazon or the local Craigslist.
So here she was, at the Shoprite bargain bin. She adjusted her spiked necklace and dove in to the barrel. Superpower potions were exceedingly popular ten years ago, but ever since “Demon Chronicles” aired, popular culture had never been the same. Even she was waiting excitedly for the next installment. It went without saying the family already had box sets of the first two seasons.
As she rummaged through the plastic containers, she enjoyed the clinking noises they made.
“Ur-Dragon’s Tears - breathe real fire!” looked promising. She pulled the bottle up. It was about the size of a soda can, but the ingredients list made her set it back down. She wanted something gluten free, and there was too much sugar.
“Collection of Rare Artfacts: Achieve Human Magnetism” was ruled out for its sketchy label. Besides, making her son magnetic was more likely to blow out the TV than anything else.
“Mists of the Valkyrie” was also abandoned quickly. Even in the capped bottle it smelled more like “mists of a polluted fishing wharf.”
“Technomancy XVI” looked promising, but the concentration listed was so low it might not have mattered.
“Diet Dr. Grape Soda” looked totally out of place. Somebody must have dropped it here by mistake.
“Good Handwriting” looked sensible, but undesirable.
Mary Ann wanted to pull out her hair. How could she find anything acceptable for him within her budget? It was just so unfair. She wished she could buy him “Charisma” or “Infinite Wish” or even the newest, hottest seller “Luck Boost.”
Then, she saw it. Squeezed and dented, a can of “Turnmetal” sat at the bottom of the bin. A “this has been shaken” yellow warning label was applied to it. Still, it was a real turnmetal brew! The kind that could turn people temporarily invulnerable to harm, that was just the sort of thing.
She scanned the label. This batch of Turnmetal was said to last up to 5 hours, and could grant the user temporarily metal skin. Perfect. And the yellow warning didn’t seem to mentioned in the caution section. Somebody must have overlooked it and shoved it in bargain by mistake.
“Yes!” She cheered, dancing in a circle. | 2019-12-30T07:48:32 | 2019-12-30T07:37:58 | 60 | 19 |
[WP] "Come on, aren't you a little old to have an imaginary friend?" He was right, but it seemed so real. "I guess..." "So maybe make some real friends, ones who don't have scaly skin and forked tongues." I stopped in my tracks. "I never told you what it looked like." | “Come *on*, Jeffrey! Aren’t you a little old to have imaginary friends?” Steph asked. She reclined in a blue beach chair, flipping through a magazine, floppy hat shading her face.
Jeff sighed. He *knew* he shouldn’t have told her about the monster that had been in his backyard. He hadn’t really known Steph for all that long, only a few weeks since she’d moved in with her parents. She hadn’t even started at the local high school yet, but Jeff had been aching for her to finally show up. Now, though, he’d probably blown his chances.
The scaly lizard-like creature splashed around in the pool, completely content. When he’d come to Steph earlier, asking to use her pool so the small, hapless critter he’d found drying out behind his shed could have some space to swim, she’d looked at him like he was crazy.
“There’s nothing in that fish bowl, Jeff. Is this some sort of prank?”
In order to keep her from calling the ambulance on him, Jeff had panicked and told her it was just his imaginary friend. After all, that was fairly normal, right?
“I guess you have a point,” Jeff said, watching the critter glide from one end of the pool to the next. It almost looked like a little dragon. A water dragon. Did those exist?
She’d invited him to come hang out by the pool anyways, and told him, voice dripping with sarcasm, to go dump his friend in the water. Sheepishly, but grateful that she gave him an excuse, he’d released his discovery into the pool. The creature had chirped happily at him before swimming off in content little circles.
“Yeah, you need more real friends, like me!” Steph said, looking up at him from under the wide brim of her hat. He couldn’t see her eyes through the dark black shades she wore. “Not scaly monsters with forked tongues.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you--” the words died in his mouth, and it was as though his blood had frozen in his veins. His jaw clenched, and he forced his attention away from the creature in the pool to Steph. She was still smiling at him, as if nothing at all were the matter.
“I… didn’t tell you what it looked like,” he said.
Steph’s smile faltered. She pulled off her hat, auburn hair falling in neat curls around her shoulders. “Of course you did,” she said. “Out front, you told me.”
“Why would I have told you what it looked like?” he asked. “I only asked to use your pool so it would have some room.”
He pointed at the pool, where the creature was still…
Jeff forced air into his lungs. There was no creature in the pool. In fact, there wasn’t even water in the pool.
He sputtered a moment, glancing back at Steph. Only… she wasn’t there either. Just an old pool chair caked with mold. Even the house her family had spent months refurbishing looked abandoned.
Jeff’s grip on the empty--and completely dry--fishbowl in his arms tightened. And then he got to his feet and walked home. |
"Come on, aren't you a little old to have an imaginary friend?" Marcus reached for my hand over the table. He kept his voice low and for that, I was thankful, even if I knew it was only so no one else in the coffee shop overheard our conversation.
He was right, of course, but it seemed so real. *She* seemed so real. Ever since I was young, Rax was so much more than my imaginary friend; she was my protector and advisor and even, at times, my conscious.
"I guess..." I bit my lip. What else did I expect him to say? It had been a leap to even tell him, but after six months together, I trusted Marcus beyond anyone else.
"So maybe make some real friends, ones who don't have scaly skin and forked tongues,” Marcus said. His mouth quirked upward in that loveable smile that had first caught my eye from across the bar.
But today it made my blood turn to ice. A jolt shot down my spine. "I never told you what she looked like."
“What?”
“I never told you what she looked like. I just told you I had an imaginary friend.”
Marcus laughed lightly. “No, you did. Don’t you remember?” He squeezed my hand and his face turned serious--a little line creasing between his eyebrows. “Look, Nina,” he said, his voice dead serious, “if you’re having problems...mentally or anything, you can tell me, you know? I’m here for you no matter what.”
“No. No, it’s fine.” I pressed my lips together and tried to breathe. Had I told him? Honestly, I was sure I hadn’t, but I also was convinced that Rax was real. “It’s just the stress. I think.”
“You’ve been putting in so much overtime over the past few weeks. What would BioCore be without you?”
“Probably still the world’s most exciting biotech company.”
“Nah. They’d be ruined. Gone the way of MySpace.”
In spite of myself, I laughed.
“Listen, would a weekend in Banff help get your mind off things?” He beamed at me. His dark hair curled just so at his hairline, and his warm eyes were just a shade darker. With Marcus, his smile might’ve caught my eye, but his eyes were what pulled me in closer. They were so warm, but there was always an edge of… mystery, I supposed is what best described it, even if I hated that word. *His dark and mysterious eyes glinted with danger…* I shook myself out of those thoughts. I’d be fucked if I started thinking of him as some character in a Harlequin romance paperback.
“Banff sounds wonderful.” Mountains, spas, coffee on a balcony overlooking the valley? What wasn’t to love?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dart across the corner of the cafe. Something scaly. Rax? I sucked in a breath and jolted back; she never came out in the day.
“Nina?” Marcus frowned with concern.
I tried to focus on myself. My jacket smelled of coffee and the light remains of the floral perfume I’d put on early this morning. The lights overhead were warm. Late October sun filtered through the windows. In the background, the stream-wand of the espresso maker hissed. This was real. I was here.
“I just need to use the washroom.” I pushed back from the table and wound through the cafe. In times like this, the whole world went from distant to overwhelming too quickly. Marcus was right. I should talk to someone.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door to the washroom and flicked on the lights. Straight across from me was the mirror. In the top corner, there were two words written in black: NINA. RUN.
---
/r/liswrites | 2020-05-06T12:27:52 | 2020-05-06T12:21:32 | 274 | 156 |
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