prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You are just relaxing, it's a beautiful day in Hell. The temperature is a nice 500 degrees, the souls are shrieking, brimstone's are smoking. Life is peaceful. Suddenly, you hear distant sound of a shotgun blast. Heavy metal begins to play. Time to run for cover. | The flesh-melting heat and the screams of pain and pleas for mercy have become all too familiar for me.
"Whats on the menu today, Slarthor? It's been too long, hasn't it? How have you been?"
His fiery eyes give an exasperated look as he says "Oh. My. God. I can't fucking wait to whip you to death then bring you back to life, just to whip you to death again!"
"Remember when you did that a few years ago? I didn't know if you were whipping me or if I was getting bit by a mosquito."
The silence from Slarthor was telling; I was under his skin already.
The chuckling behind me made him even angrier. He grabbed his serrated whip, then my chains, and dragged me to his torture chamber.
"Hey, Slarthor, don't be too rough on me today, please. I have a date with your mom after our session."
Not even a second later the lashing began.
The pure agonizing pain was almost unbearable; I was not going to show any emotion though. I've been at this too long to let him know that he is actually hurting me.
As the whipping continues and my vision starts fading to black, that is when I hear the faint sound of a gunshot in the distance.
Slarthor continues to whip relentlessly, lost in his thoughts of sadistic rage. He didn't hear the impending doom. He yells, "I'M GOING TO TEAR AND RIP UNTIL YOU START BEGGING FOR MERCY!"
Another shot is fired in the distance, but it's closer now and so are the tasty, heavy riffs in the background, growing louder by the second.
Slarthor stopped whipping and started frantically pacing around his chamber, trying to find somewhere to hide, but it was too late.
The door was kicked open. The metal was blaring and the end for Slarthor had arrived.
Doomguy takes the super shotgun and shoots him in the body. Stunned, Slarthor was unable to respond, it was my time to shine, to troll him one last time, "It's rip and tear until it's done, motherfucker!", as Doomguy rips off both of his arms and beats him to death with his own limbs. | Jamie heard footsteps behind her.
“It’s this time of the month again, isn’t it?”
“Indeed”. The growl was now inches from her ear. She turned and watched him wearily, managing it for only a few seconds having to look away from the liquid fire in his eyes. The one whom others believed to be the devil smiled, exposing his fangs. She shies away from the grotesque display.
Taking another moment to steel herself, she locked their eyes again, putting any confidence she could muster into her voice. “The One Above is not pleased with how you’ve interpreted and implemented the terms of the agreement. Punishment must be for the deeds done in life only”.
He simply remained smiling at the slight tremor in her voice. “Ah. You speak of Ishnav. But do you not see? He killed hundreds with his contraptions. That punishment… is what he deserved.” They both looked at his soul, right as a knife was plunged into his hands. Jamie felt the shriek ringing in her ears.
“That was not his doing. His intentions were pure. He deserves none of this… and he is not the only one. You have not followed the terms of our agreement, and we cannot continue to guarantee your governance and power in this realm in this is how you are treating these souls. The One Above has made very explicit his disapproval.” She felt some strength coming back into her with each word.
There was a long pause. A terrifying pause.
“Is that so?” He had stopped smiling. His gaze settled on her again, and she was reminded exactly why he was the one who took the role of the devil. Steeling herself again, she continued:
“That is his offer. His only offer. He will not negotiate this. You *will* inflict only punishment which is deserved. Or we will consider it a breach of the pact, and He will remove you from power.”
She felt the rising tension building up. But to her surprise, the Devil merely laughed. “You think you are in a position to bargain? Here? In my realm? You are but a messenger”. And before she had the time to blink, she found herself pinned to her floor, his hands around her neck. He glared at her now, and the liquid fire in his eyes smoldered. “Perhaps he will wonder why his most reliable messenger has abandoned Him. But in the meantime… Why don’t we take a little look at what his *stupidity*”—He spat out the word—“will cost his precious souls?”
He snapped his fingers, and Jamie felt something ripple from it, changing the fabric of Hell. And in his eyes, she saw pain. As heavy metal began to play, she heard, under it, the collective screams of the souls in this realm as pain began.
“And you… why don’t you join them?”
She felt the snap of her neck. And saw nothing more. | 2020-05-06T20:15:41 | 2020-05-06T17:03:54 | 32 | 15 |
[WP]Assasins live life as outcasts. Away from the public eye, they are hard to find. But they still get mail. You are the postman for a secret division of USPS that caters to these criminals. | They say that two things in life are certain: death and taxes.
Mert wasn't too sure about taxes, but he was pretty sure the saying held true for death. He considered himself to be a near-authority on the matter. His whole family had died when he was young, and that was as good proof as he needed.
Mert was a member of that long and fabled fraternity turned boys-club turned coed establishment, the United States Postal Service. A direct metaphorical descendent from the first postmaster general himself, Benjamin Franklin, circa 1775 AD.
Well, that's what he told people at barbecues. He was actually a member of a slightly different organization, the Imperial Postal Service, and was a direct metaphorical descendant of Postmaster Emperor Cyrus the Great of Persia, circa 550 BCE.
His postal coed organization serviced a different sort of customer than the USPS, namely all the most ancient and regal organizations with histories extending more than a thousand years: The Imperial Moneymongers, The International Sea-Tradesmen, The Worldwide Assassination League, The World Famous Mystery Meat on Various Breads Merchanteers, and so on.
He rode his rented-by-the-hour donkey, a beast which belonged to the long and noble line of Donkisus Maximus, an ancient Roman donkey of great renown said to have been able to chew through a block of limestone if left at it long enough, through the crowded streets of Damascus. Donkisus stole an apple every few stalls to give Mert a chance to check his map, and in return Mert spoke loudly in broken English and shrugged helplessly when the vendor voiced outrage as Donkisus idled on, apparently ignoring Mert's attempts to stop him.
It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Today, Mert was delivering a letter to one of the Assassin's finest. The Assassin's guild was younger than the Postal guild, extending back merely to the ninth century AD. But they were also of Persian stock, so they got on well with the mailmen.
He found the apartment he was looking for and parked Donkisus near a limestone block. Donkisus eyed him morosely, apparently ashamed of not living up to his line's reputation of champion lime-eaters.
Mert knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Mert went in.
\---
Mert stood by the door inside the tiny safe house.
People who thought assassins led glamorous lives were sorely mistaken. More than half of them were insane, and the rest of them usually got into the business out of dire necessity.
Mert pulled the envelope out of the bag and handed it to the grizzled man who offered Mert a cup of Turkish tea. He moved back to the envelope and unwrapped the unmarked brown paper to reveal a black envelope.
Black meant taxes. Specifically, overdue taxes.
All the ancient guilds had to pay taxes in a bottom up scheme that vaguely reminded one of a pyramid. This was probably because the Egyptians invented taxes and they had a bit of a one-track mind about that sort of thing.
"Mert, right?" The man asked as he sat down in a rocker. He convulsed in a painful series of racking coughs, holding a red handkerchief up to his lips as he did.
"Y-yes?" Mert stuttered, he shouldn't have known his name, that was definitely against protocol.
He stared at him for a long moment from the rattan rocker as he sipped his tea, then nodded toward the black envelope.
"Two certain things. Join the assassins, they said, see the world, they said, get rich, they said," he sighed with a phlegmatic weakness, "I'd rather be sailing."
"I'll need your sign," Mert held out the receipt paper awkwardly, "and, prompt payment."
"Tell me about yourself, Mert," the man said, ignoring the clipboard.
"Not much to tell really," Mert shuffled uncomfortably, "I mean, why do any of us get into this business? We've got nowhere else to go I guess."
"No, not any more," the man seemed to shrink a bit at that, before rallying with a determined sort of look, "but we've got things to do."
He looked at the wall for a moment, deciding to get on with things. He stood up laboriously, picked up the black envelope and ripped it apart.
"I can't pay," he said, panting softly, "I've already spent the money on something more important."
He took his pen and signed the receipt. "If you don't mind, I have one more delivery I'd like to make."
Mert stared at the man. Not paying the tax was a death sentence. He nodded.
The man pulled a brown-paper envelope from a nook in the wall and stared into Mert's eyes as he handed it to him, "It's a different sort of bill, one I defaulted on a long time ago, but I hope it's not too late to repay."
Mert nodded, then hurried out of the decrepit hole and into the light.
\---
He heard the gunshot as he was riding Donkisus down a set a perilous stairs Mert had insisted they avoid but Donkisus had asserted were the quickest way to get to the nearest apples.
One corner of Mert's mouth tightened ruefully.
Poor guy, he thought. One couldn't leave the assassins, and when they got too old, or too sick, and couldn't pay their taxes, well.
He began inserting the brown bag into his mail satchel when he noticed the address on the front of the package.
"To Mert"
He opened it.
"Mert, sorry I left you all those years ago. It wasn't safe to be near you after they found me. I've thought about you every day, and I'm glad you've grown into, well, whatever you've grown into. I can't ever retire, but maybe you can. -Dad"
At the bottom of the page was the name of a bank and an account number.
The other corner of Mert's mouth tightened as he stared down the crowded [Damascus](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) street. | “Just two today?” You asked.
“Yeah, seems the virus has even got these guys scared,” your manager replied, without so much as glancing in your direction.
“Alright, short day then,” you said blissfully as you leave the stock room with the deliverables in your hand.
In your left hand is a yellow envelope, petite, but made from a heavier grade paper than what you’d usually find. The front of it is adorned with a beautiful spiral etching, just faint enough to be seen when held up to the sunlight. On the back, a pressed seal, depressed deeply by a stamp in the shape of a circle. To an untrained eye this might look nothing more than a wedding invitation, but you knew the instant you saw it that it wasn’t going to be a short day.
“Crud, this one’s for him,” you murmured under your breath.
“What, ya say something?” Your manager shouts back at you from inside.
You quietly tuck the envelope inside your jacket and hurry out of the post office.
In your right hand is a small black box, not much bigger than the ones used for jewellery. Suede on the outside with no seal. Strange, you thought to yourself, these things are usually sealed. Someone must’ve messed up if they forgot.
A dangerous thought crosses your mind. You’ve always wanted to see what was in these packages. Was it name? A phone number? An object? You can’t, you argue to yourself. It’s a federal offence to open someone’s mail. Even mail that belongs to “them.”
What if you opened it and you knew the person? Or the thing? Or even if you didn’t know them but could do something to help? Would you just pretend like you didn’t see it? You shuddered at the thought as you got into your van.
Best not. It’d be too much trouble.
—
The whole drive over you supressed your urge to open the box. And now that you’ve finally arrived in front of the metal gate, you’re wondering what the harm could be? The box looks easy enough to open, and doesn’t seem difficult to close.
You tug the top of the box lightly, and feel that the lid has a little bit of a spring, like what you’d find in ring boxes.
*Sigh*
You look up at the gate in front of you.
“No, not today,” you said aloud, as you tuck the box into your other jacket pocket.
—
It takes longer than usual for someone to answer the buzzer.
“Yes?” a mechanically altered voice comes through the speakerphone.
“Mail,” you replied sternly, as you’ve been instructed to do.
“For?”
“One for him, and a small box.”
“For?”
You paused. Wait a minute, you thought. The box had no mark or symbols, and nothing was attached to it. Usually there’s some type of indication on the mail to identify who (or what group) it was for, at least in a general sense.
“Uhm, it’s just a small black box, nothing on it.”
“Black?” the voice replied.
“Yeah.”
“Bring it to the door.”
The gate starts opening. Wait. They want you to go to the door? This has never happened before. They usually just ask you to put it down by the gate and leave.
“Hold on, can’t I just leav—“ you stop when you realize that the speakerphone has already been disconnected. Well fuck, you thought. You don’t want to walk up to the door but you also don’t want to piss off whoever was speaking to you just now.
After a deep breath, you walk up the marbled walkway up to the door. The door swings open, and a man stands behind it with his face covered by a mask. Was this a covid precaution? Or did they always do this?
“The letter?” asked the man in the doorway.
“He-here,” you stuttered as you pulled out the yellow envelope from you jacket and handed it over.
He examines the envelope in his hand for several seconds and looks back at you.
“Now show me the box.”
You pull the box out from your jacket slowly, making sure not to open it by accident. The man, standing perfectly still, looks at the box for a few seconds then looks up at you.
“Come in,” he commanded.
“Oh, I think I’ll just drop these off with you if that’s alright.”
“Now.”
“O—okay.” you said.
You walk through the marble doorway. A mansion with a beautiful spiral staircase greeted you. On the left side is a living room with a ceiling that seems to span three storeys, and the right an indoor garden complete with bamboo shoots.
“Up the stairs, first door to your left.” The man said as he watched you come in.
“Thanks,” you responded impulsively.
You start up the stairs with your pace hurried and your heart-rate quickened.
The first door to your left was a black door covered in a suede material. Matches the box, you thought to yourself, but an odd choice for a door. The door appeared closed at first but was actually open by a smidge.
You knock on the suede. No response. The suede doesn’t do well for knocking.
“Hello?” you asked.
No answer. So you decide to slowly push the door open.
The door was heavy, much heavier than you imagined. Inside was a windowless room. A bright lamp hung at the top but otherwise there was no other source of light. A wooden table sat in the middle of the room.
You walk to the table quickly and place the box at the centre. Hurriedly, you make your way back to the door but see that the door is closed somehow. You look down and realize that there’s no door handle on the inside. Somebody had closed it from the outside.
Your heart races.
“Hey!” You shout at the top of your lungs. “I can’t get out!”
You pound on the door from the inside. No one answers.
You shout again while hammering the door with your fist. The room is eeriely quiet on the inside, almost like its sound proof.
And then you stop. Your heart sinks as your brain overcomes the initial fight-or-flight instinct.
You look back at the small black box on the table and slowly make your way towards it. Your hands trembling as you picked up the box from the table.
Your eyes darted to the inside of the box as you open the lid.
Nothing. The box was totally empty.
There was no name, no number, and no message in the box.
You stood in confusion and shock for a moment.
It was in that moment the truth dawned on you—the message was the box.
The room suddenly goes dark; and that was the last you ever saw of light. | 2020-06-22T02:36:32 | 2020-06-22T02:22:16 | 81 | 45 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form. | I have been dating Myne for three years, she was fairly secretive about her past, but she was cute so it was ok. She made sure to not give me too much information as to tip me off as to her secret, she was a Dragon. In the plains where we live, dragons are scarce and feared greatly. So much so that people have started a project in order to make sure dragons could never enter this place.
It would entail a spell, one that would most-likely take a decade to research, but knowing that someone out there was researching the spell made people happier and feel safer. I was the one who was asked to do the job. Though I only took the job to make sure the spell could never be completed. See, I always knew she was a dragon, I was just waiting for her to tell me. That’s why I was calm while she was fishing for excuses.
When I opened the basement door, all I could see was gold. I went down to fix the heater while she was away. She always said that she was wealthy because of her parents, but wouldn’t let me meet them. I had to climb past the gold to make it to the heater. As I was fixing it, Myne walked in.
“W-W-W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!!” Her voice was screaming with panic. I remained calm, I didn’t want to force her to tell me that she was a dragon but it looks like I will.
“I’m fixing the heater. Weren’t you going to go out with friends for a drink today?” I replied, she was planning to go to the bar with friends for her birthday. That’s why I was fixing the heater today.
“They canceled and said we could go tomorrow. I-I thought I told you to never go down into the basement for Any reason.” Her panic kept growing, but she didn’t have anything to fear.
“I wanted to fix the heater. I feel bad making you do all the housework.” She always does the housework to make sure I never have a reason to go down in the basement, I only felt bad for making her do it all.
“I could have fixed it when I got home. A-and it isn’t what it looks like, all this gold is… uhh…” she was fishing for excuses, while I was looking for my own treasure.
I figured that when she told me she was a dragon, it would be in her lair. So I hid there a treasure of my own. A one-inch cubic shaped black box with rounded corners. It contained a small ring with a diamond at its center. As I walked closer to her, she was mumbling. In order to quiet her, I planted a kiss on her lips. “No more excuses, Kay?” She nodded while looking away in despair.
I got on one knee and said, “Myne, look at me.” I opened the box, and showed her its contents. “Would you make me the happiest woman in the world, myne. O, dragon in human form that appeared before me three years ago, will you marry me?” After I said this, tears began to go down her face. She threw herself at me in an embrace.
“Of course, of course I will! I love you! Charlotte!” Her face was absolutely drenched in tears, I assume she expected me to run away in fear of her.
“I love you too, Myne!” ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-Poperson13
Might be shit, might be not. Let me know! Thanks for reading | "But, seriously, Nina? The crown of England!?"
Nina eyes me from across the room and gives me her little eye tease-corner look.
I tilt my head until I am lying down and I stare up at the our bedroom ceiling.
"What," Nina protests, giving a little pout. "It was pretty..."
"Nina... " I say. "Nina, yes... so are you."
Nina smiles. I notice the jaggedness of her teeth all the more.
"Nina, even a pretty dragon can't fight off an entire country," I say.
It's clear that the enormity of the situation has yet to hit her.
I get up and sit across from her on the floor.
"Nina," I say. I cringe.
Nina's eyes begin to well.
"Aw, Nina, c'mere."
Before I know it, my dear girl it wetting my sleeve.
"Nina, look," I say. I try to find something to say.
"I- I'll give it back," Nina says.
My eyes widen. Nina is a sweety, makes great banana bread, and does not know how to sing. If there is one thing I've never seen Nina do... not since I met her and not these past two months since I've know her secret...
"Give it back?"
Now I'm worried.
"Nina, are you ok?" I ask.
Nina quiets, looking me in the eye. She tries to push me to the ground. She is strong, abnormally so, even in human form, but I resist.
Nina goes to the mirror.
I swear softly.
"Nina," I say, going after her. She lets me put my arm around her waist. "Nina, I wouldn't mind that," I say.
Nina pulls away and examines her lashes. Ever self-conscious Nina, ever beautiful...
"Ok," says Nina softly. I've clearly scared her with the mention of an army...
"But..." i add.
Nina looks back at me.
"But that's not Gonna help..."
I am very pained.
"Why," say Nina.
I cringe.
"Tell me again how you took it..."
Nina's eyes well again.
"With allot of noise...?" Nina says softly.
I nod.
Nina understands. The word "Experiments" flies through my mind. I can feel it on Nina's mind, too.
"There are more like you, right?" I say hesitantly. "Those... that are... um..." I stop. I was about to say: "Those that are left"
Nina nods. Something in her eye gives it a twitch.
I sigh.
"At least we have some money," I say. "You know, the stuff in the basement..."
Nina nods.
"Let's hide it somewhere," I say. "Anything we can't carry."
Nina nods, then freezes.
"Carry?" Nina says, alarmed.
I give her a questioning look.
"Why are we carrying?" Nina asks.
I look Nina in the eye.
"You don't think I'm going to leave you, do I?" I say.
Nina's eyes well again.
"Really?" she says. I sigh, thinking about my sleeve again.
"No," I say.
"Where are we gonna go?" Nina says.
I shrug.
"Mexico?"
Nina gives me an uncertain look.
"Australia?"
Nina does my cringe expression.
"China?"
Nina's face lights up.
"Yes!" Nina says.
I laugh.
Then I sigh. I kinda liked this house. The creaky musky look form the peeling wallpapered walls has seen better days, but it's got a certain smell.
"Ok," I say.
Nina hugs my arm.
"It'll be exciting," Nina says. Her eyes flash happily.
"Yeah, I know," I say with a sigh.
Nina pecks me on the cheek.
"Nina?" I say as an afterthought.
"Hm?"
"Um..."
I glance at Nina's happy though slightly worried expression as she distractedly fiddles with my moist sleeve.
"After you give it back... um, please don't do this in china," I say.
Nina nods, chastised.
I give her a hug.
"I'll start packing," I say. Nina nods gratefully. | 2020-08-03T10:13:07 | 2020-08-03T09:52:01 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You’re a blacksmith and a woman you’ve never seen before walks into your shop, asking for a blade. She stops by daily to check on it’s progress, and you form a bond over time, until one day she disappears. You’re afraid you’ll never see her again, until you're summoned to the castle. | I could hardly recognise her with all the jewels and the fancy dress. But there was no doubt in my mind. There she was, the lady that had been visiting my shop. The lady that had been inspecting every step of creation of blade I had been forging for her. The lady now sitting on the throne right in front of me. Why had she called me here?
The room was empty apart from her and a few guards. It was late on a winter afternoon, the sun had long faded into dusk, with barely a dull glow behind the ink red stain glass windows. Only the sparsely lit torches blazing on the walls contributed to the faint illumination of the room with flickering light and shadow. In front of her was a crate, hastily nailed together from coarsely cut boards of dirty wood I could not recognise. Hardly an object worthy of the royal court.
I struggled to read her face. Over the weeks of toil on her preciously prescribed blade I got to know her. We laughed and joked. We shared stories. Never about family or anything too intimate, but about things I wouldn't expect a queen to know anything about: The price of iron, the best place to buy apples, where to get poached partridge. Was this what it was about? Poached partridge? Everyone knew that the kingdom subsided on poached game, I was hardly unique in this misdemeanour. What was I doing here? What was in the crate?
The silence lasted for what felt like an eternity as I endured a hollow gaze from the face that was at once familiar and now confusingly foreign. I felt like I was being examined. In silence. No words, just a piercing observation that I swear was reaching right into my very soul, my conscience, my heart.
At last she spoke:
"I need 12 more. But you will work here now. And use this metal. It's not anything you will have used before, but I trust you can handle it"
At this she opened the crate that stood between us. And forth shone a pulsating glow that made the torches redundant. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I thought "Damn right I've not used this. But I can't wait to try." | I've often dreamed of the inside of the castle. It's parapets, and swooping buttresses all aglow in the moonlight. Though business is usually attended to before nightfall'; it's not uncommon to be summoned after dark. It's not usually a good thing though.
I'm nervous and not a little tired after working the forge all day as I approach the magnificently carved doors of the castle. My eyes catch movement in all the shadows around me and I realize that I've been followed from my home. It's concerning being followed for so long. I live at the edge of the city. However, my fears are temporarily forgotten as I walk through the entrance.
I gasp slightly at the colors, and shining golds and silvers all around me. Woodwork like I've never seen, and the most amazing fixtures of brass and wrought iron. Thousands of candles and torches light nearly every corner and seem to make everything glow. I knew the castle would be magnificent but I had no idea how opulent it really was until that moment.
I spot the rustling shadows again as a move forward and my nerves begin to rise. I was nervous before, but now I can feel my pulse rush through my ears and my vision blurs just slightly. "Why was I called here so late"? I wonder as I keep moving deeper into the room. "And who or what has followed me here"?
I reach a second door and, seeing no one around, knock tentatively. The doors whoosh open and a loud voice booms from the seat in front of me beckoning me into the room: "Proceed young smith to the throne!"
I glance sideways at the ever moving shadows, and walk cautiously towards the seat in front of me. It faces away from the door, and as I move around to the front of it my brow drips with nervous sweat and my beating heart seems to grow audible. I kneel in front of the chair nervous, bewildered, and awed all at the same time. I stare at the ground and wait.
And nothing happens. No more voices. The room is quiet. I keep waiting to see what my king wants from me, but hear nothing. The room dims slightly and the shadows keep swirling and moving in the corners. I can bear it no more and look up at the seat in front of me and stifle a scream.
Sitting where I expected to find my king is nothing but a slowly rotting body.
I scuttle backwards and fall on my butt. One hand behind me and one slowly rising to my face. There's movement behind the chair in front of me and I stand up. I recognize the figure walking towards me.
The woman I've come to know the last few weeks flips her new blade through the air briefly, laughs a little, and asks, "have you never seen death"? | 2020-08-05T06:32:42 | 2020-08-05T05:58:28 | 323 | 159 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I shouldn't, I couldn't, help but laugh at me
At least I would've, if I weren't so angsty
My wrinkled skin, now pale and acne'd
Strange hate for my reflection, hating back at me.
​
If I'd took to the window, and forgot the mirror
I'd have seen it was everyone, not just me that was thinner
In waist, wallet and debt, and 9 to 5s
And fatter in dreams of women's behinds.
​
And as the world shaped to our volatile brains
Stock markets swung hard with waves of mood change
And change was everywhere, the news displayed-
"THE ESTABLISHMENT - BANNED - BY ORDER OF THE SAME!"
​
And all-night parties turned all-year raves
And gap years swelled to gap decades
Till being cool wasn't, and hipsters were lame
Till even the hardcore wanted bedtime again.
​
With elastic bodies and fresh-faced agendas
When lost virginities became legal tender
As the fray turned grey, we realised our plight:
"It's no fun being young when there's no one to fight." | "This definitively proves God, Roger. You can't deny it."
Stern eyes stared back at Lucilla, a mote less for the apparent youth now gazing back at her, a youthful head of curly brown hair coronating above his ears. "It does not. It proves we do not understand something about the universe, Luc. I intend to find the meaning behind this shift."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a small below-ground laboratory, a group of scientific professionals busily moved testing equipment to and from the center stage, renovating for the new experiments. Cell death was examined, and then cells were autopsied for references of previous stochastic decay. All tests came back negative; the references to prior decay were simply not there, even in individuals with particularly strained lives. Eventually, Command issued Lucilla's team the go command on performing a biopsy on a living patient, a "volunteer" from another sketchy military project. Brain tissue was extracted and analyzed, and a startling discovery was made; the tissue was in a perfect state of health, with no decay present whatsoever.
Lucilla was allowed to publish her studies, with the caveat of an NDA on research principles, and the world stood in collective shock. No animals had become young, or even a collective eighteen years of age; so many species would have died, Lucilla reflected, that this was a godsend.
Of course, after a short amount of time, systems collapsed. Banks and other financial institutions could no longer reasonably determine identity, with many individuals so distinct from their ID as to be completely invisible. Childish and somber, hopeful and idyllic, the world suddenly had a moment of completely empathy.
Roger phoned Lucilla early in the night after poring over medical journals, sipping his (now illegal) Jack and Coke.
"Hey, Lucilla?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we're in a writing prompt?" | 2020-11-02T10:58:27 | 2020-11-02T10:09:12 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I have always imagined what the world would be like if everyone was a kid, running on a sugar rush with no worries or troubles to think about.
Now if the world was full of hormone-galore 18 year old kids, that would be a much more different scenario.
And that is exactly what had happened.
It started about two months ago. I woke up and swung my legs over my bed. Obviously I kept my eyes closed just in case I somehow magically changed Monday into Saturday, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.
My brain picked up something unusual, but I ignored it and ran a sloppy hand down my face as I neared my dresser to change for work. Yesterday’s hangover was still in effect, so I had popped in a pain killer or two.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see shit. That still doesn’t explain why I looked so short in the mirror over the sink. I was sure my hair length was past my shoulders. Why was my face red and bumpy?
I scooped water into my palms and splashed it on my face, then stared into the mirror.
I was a teenager again.
What age? Well, I later found out by scientists, who looked like a bunch of scrawny high school nerds in lab coats, had conducted research on 100 people and had easily determined their age: 18.
Other studies across the globe had also drawn out the same results. This information was spread on the news along with other surprising info: if you were under 18, you were also 18. If you were 18, you’re staying 18. Every human living on this planet was 18. The source and cause of this? Still unknown.
That was why my feet didn’t touch the ground when I sat over the edge on my bed, that is why I lost a few inches, that is why my hair was much much shorter.
We’ve all reversed- or have gone forward, into our 18 year old bodies and minds- thankfully with our memories still intact.
There wasn’t any harm done to society in general, and so during those two months as humanity had gotten their things in order, the leaders of the world had insisted that we must keep going. And so, all the adults had gone back to work, the kids had gone back to school.
How weird it was for me to look at my boss as an 18 year old kid in a baggy suit and not buff and big as he usually was, his voice cracking every so often as he spoke to the office. It was hard for my co workers and I to *not* laugh at this. When his voice betrayed him and squeaked when he yelled at us, the entire workplace burst into laughter.
It was unfortunate that we didn’t get any work done as we made paper airplanes and gamed at our desks for the entire shift.
As I was heading home, I noticed someone prancing around happily with a few friends, laughing about something that had to do with their limbs.
I had asked them why they seemed so happy at the moment, and they said they were former war soldiers drafted at 18 years old. Now they are happy that they get the chance to live out their youth.
That was one of the many, many quirks that humanity had gained from this thrilling experience. Everyone, young and youthful with the mind of teenagers. Will we stay at 18 forever? Will we age? Who knows.
But now we can finally restart and live the life that we’ve always dreamt of.
Humanity, at 18. | "You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls | 2020-11-02T09:55:51 | 2020-11-02T09:54:34 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You’re a siren, with the main goal of luring sailors to their doom, but one day you come across a young guy who seems to be immune to your song. He is deaf, and, even more troubling, just as you start to fall for him you discover that he is really a woman. | It’s always been my life’s goal to get the most sailors to meet their makers. It’s simple really, I sing a pretty song as they go by and they come to me. After they get to me I - well I’ll spare you the gory details because that's not part of this story. This is the story of how I unexpectedly met the love of my life.
Honestly the night we first met wasn’t anything spectacular. It had been a really quiet night. That’s when I saw it though. My saving grace for the night. A cargo ship that had to be carrying well over 20 men on it. I started singing. The usual commotion started, the ship slowed and came nearer. The men on board began crying.
“That’s so beautiful! Don’t stop! Just one more minute” Usually by that point the captain along with everyone else on board is ready to abandon ship, however this was not the case on that night. The ship continued the slow pace to me, never speeding up. A couple men on board jumped off and swam to me. They were taken care of swiftly and I never stopped singing. The boat got close enough and I saw an extra silhouette join the men on the bridge.
He was motioning with his hands to the men on board, but it seemed as though my singing was too distracting to the other men. The extra figure turned around. One of the most beautiful creatures that I have ever seen looked me in the eyes. He smiled at me. A calm smile. No human had ever been able to resist my singing like that before.
The other men on board began leaping into the water. I paid them no mind, it was like I was in a trance looking at the man on board. He leapt into the water and began swimming towards me. I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t possibly hurt him. He got closer and I stopped singing. I’d hoped that when he no longer could hear my voice he would realize what had happened and turn back to his ship, but he was not deterred. If anything, he swam faster to me.
When he reached me he pulled himself up. Now I could tell it wasn’t a man at all. It was a woman, and she was magnificent. A beauty in her own right and I felt bad for assuming she was a man. Still though, she had heard my song and came to me. It was rare that women fell for our songs, although not unheard of. She pulled her hair aside and came to me looking me in the eyes with her brilliant green ones. I opened my mouth to speak but she pointed to her ears and shook her head no.
It took a minute, but I finally understood. She had not heard my song at all. The men on board must have told her that they heard something and made her stop. When she saw me she had wanted to rescue me. She didn’t even know I was a siren. She leaned down next to me and looked me over, looking for injuries I presume, but of course there were none. She looked me in the eyes and smiled again and pointed to her ship. There was no way I would be able to go with her, although that is what I wanted most.
I knew what I had to do.
I pulled her face close to mine and she closed her eyes. I stopped before her lips touched mine. She opened her eyes again and I opened my mouth wide showing my many teeth and let my claws out. She screamed and jumped backwards. I stalked towards her slowly and she leapt back to the sea to swim to her ship.
I wouldn’t hurt her though. I couldn't. Not now, not ever. I watched her climb back to her ship and began to sail away. I felt a tear hit my cheek and began singing again. This time a song of remorse and sadness.
I still see her ship sail by sometimes. It slows and I see her come out on deck to look at me. Her men are never out on deck when she passes by. We usually stare at each other as she passes and occasionally I will wave. It’s okay that she will never smile at me again. I did what I had to do to save her life. I will love her forever, even if she doesn’t feel the same. | All my years leading sailors to their demise and yet I have never felt so strange.Something warm was making itself felt in my chest.I could not explain it.It was both confusing and euphoric.As I struggled with this conundrum I had let my mind wander before being brought back by the cracking planks and splintering masts.
I swam as hard as I could.Beneath the bodies and the debris I searched hard,determined that I would not let my brethren get to her first.
'I must save her'I thought to myself.
Fortunately her unconcious form floated away from the destroyed mass so I went in and brought her to the rocks.For the next hour or so I kept her safe from young teeth attempting to snatch what was rightfully "my catch".However it was just a matter of time before the elders noticed.
"You forget how to hunt,young one,"Elder Adze called "The drowned do not fight back when you eat them."
"Do not try to save him for later,"continued Elder Tir as they swam towards me"You must devour him now."
"I wish to do no such thing,"I spoke.
"Foolish whelp!He shall die anyway!" Tir scolded me as she circled the rock.
"Tir speaks true,young one,"Elder Elu said"Why do you still protect him?"
By this time the pack had gathered around the rock.The sirens were whispering to each other.
"Tell us why?"someone shouted.
"He did not fall for my song"I admitted.
A collective gasp went through the crowd.
"Impossible!You lie!"the voices called out before descending into an arguing rabble.
The human woke up from all the noise and appeared both shocked and relieved that she survived the shipwreck.Eventually the crowd turned their attention to her.The rabble kept growing louder.
"Silence!"Elder Adze's voice boomed throughout the rock"Let us see if Arra speaks true."
"Sing!Sing and let him drown!"someone shouted.
And so I tried.And failed.I could not sing.I could not produce the melody that was my pride.I was so shocked I had scarcely noticed the human staring at me.The crowd started to murmur.
"As you have seen Arra has lost her song,"addressed Adze to the crowd.
The sirens silenced.
"What do I do?"I asked the elders"How could my song return?"
"You must go to the woman of the isles,child.Ask her what you should do,"
++++++++++
Two suns have passed since I left the rock I called home.Placing the human on the remains of a boat I pushed her westward to the isles.I hoped to find the woman the elders spoke of.Probably for the best.
Others of the pack shunned me for losing my song.Others were worried and yet said nothing.They said that the human brought a curse upon me and I should take it away as far as possible.They feared that it would curse us all.
So far the human has been harmless.As I pushed the raft I placed her upon she has not made one sound all throughout the journey.
"Are you alright?"I asked her once
She stared.
"I said are you alright?"I asked again
She pointed to her ears and shook her head.
"Are you sick then?"I asked.
She did it again.
"Seaweed and crabs.What's gotten into ya?"
She tugged on one ear and shook her head.Again.
That was when I understood.I slowly nodded back and she smiled.Again that strange feeling came back to me.I hung my head and then kept pushing.
The next morning I was awakened by a banging on the boards.As I opened my eyes I felt the human shaking me by the shoulder as it pointed to the horizon.And well over yonder was land.
We arrived at the island when the sun was at it's highest.The human seemed excited to get to the place.To me it was just another rock with plants growing on it.There was this unusual plant though,it had no leaves and was made all from wood.It looked similar somehow to the vessels in which the humans traveled in around the sea.Curious,I pushed the raft toward it.
"Stop where you are!"a voice called out when we were close enough.From the wood came out an old human woman,standing on two legs.
"Greetings,oh woman of the isles,"I began"I have co-"
"Who sent you,siren?"she interrupted.
"Elder Adze,"I answered.
"I figured as much.And who are you?"she asked the other human.
"She does not speak."I told her.
"I see.So what do you want?"asked the old woman
"I have come to seek help.My song has vanished and I wish to have it back."
"Is that all?"
"I would also wish for my friend here to hear"
"For a small price,"she grinned.
"What is it?"I asked
"Your tail." | 2020-11-04T07:36:22 | 2020-11-04T07:20:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | Loading state 2521632-C...
“-will be finished! now you die!”
Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform.
“Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!”
“Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, and I must say, you are a difficult opponent, but I simply can’t lose.”
“Oh ya? Then try this!” *dr. Evil presses a button, a turret activates and fires on the hero*
“Oh shi-“
Loading state 2521632-C...
“-will be finished! now you die!”
Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform.
“Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!”
“Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, plus, that turret is slow to activation, giving me enough time to duck behind this barrier.”
“Oh ya? Then try th- wait, how did you know about the turret? Doesn’t matter you die anyways!”
Saving... save state 2521632-D created.
*dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates and fires on th-*
Loading state 2521632-D...
“-ie anyways!”
*dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates, but the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret... he misses.*
“Dang this might take a few tries”
51 save state reloads later...
*-the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret, he hits the button and the turrets is down*
“FINALLY!”
Saving... save state 2521632-E created.
“What? IMPOSSIBLE! grrrr, well no matter, I still have one trick left. I’ve been analyzing you abilities, and I’ve developed this special weapon, just for you!”
*dr. Evil pulls out a gun with special markings on it.*
“Say goodbye mr hero!”
*before the hero could react, dr. Evil fires a laser at them*
“Fu-“
Loading state 002521632-E... save corrupted, attempting data restoration... restoration failed. Loading most, uncorrupted save... Loading state 1-A...
“He’s so beautiful.” She said as the doctor hands her the newborn baby.
*thinking* “wait... did that laser corrupt all my saves? Am I an infant again? Oh for fu-“ | So get this. I was born probably 600 some years ago and that might sound impressive to a human like you but believe me. Im still a youngin compared to some of the oldheads around here, in fact my age would probably equate out to late teens or early 20s. The culture here is kiiiinda shallow and they tend to give a lot of social power to those blessed with what humans tend to call "super powers". Now don't get me wrong, I personally don't give a fuck if you're blessed or not but apparently the rest of Rillea is willing to scorn you til death if you aren't born with some kind of blessing. I happened to be born able to quick-save, i think you humans were able to fantasize about some shit like that? Video games or something? I don't know but basically as Im living my life i can kind of bookmark that time and if I choose I can return to it and resume from there and retain what I learned in the time that has un-happened. I figured it out pretty young and like most blessed it was out of instinct that I knew what to do.
I never really bought into the whole "lets glorify the blessed" thing and kept my powers relatively private, even while I was enrolled in Ms. Lainra's School for the Blessed which is a feat in and of itself. While I was in school, I did end up taking advantage of my ability for mundane things. Stuff like quick saving the night before an exam, taking the exam, returning to the night before and using what I knew to my advantage when I took the exam again so I got some preeetty high grades in school. As I got older I ended up using it more often and this led to some speculation as the other kids going there started to notice. Rumours started spreading about what my power could be and eventually Ms. Lainra and the deans got involved. I had to let the cat out of the bag and I was immediately sent to a government run school. On a scholarship too!
It was a big change though. While i was put in classes that were super interesting they were also super difficult. I was assigned a mentor and he gave me a lot of advice and asked me a lot of philosophical and introspective questions and I went through a stage of my life that was very thought provoking and ended up building me up to where i am now. In a classic stereotypical manner, my mentor died, quite tragically too, but the door to my thoughts and imagination couldn't be closed again. I needed to find meaning in my life again, I needed something to discover. So i decided to discover every outcome I could live through. I would quick save as I was and live my life a different way until I was on my deathbed where I would return to that time again and start anew.
Last time I almost died I decided I'd try out the whole supervillain thing. Remember when I said i was 600 years old? Yeah that was bullshit. I've been a supervillain for 600 years. I can't even remember when I'd been born. For all intents and purposes I'm immortal. And I'm thinking about making tonight my new quick-save point. Cuz fuck being the good guy right? | 2020-12-15T13:22:34 | 2020-12-15T11:21:10 | 2,756 | 223 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | 4928... That's how many times I’ve saved the world and each time it gets more and more complicated. Before my ability life was simple, I was a twenty-something guy just lazing about during the new year lockdown in 2021. I'd just received the new PS5 I had been saving up for and started playing when lightning hit. I still remember what went through my head, ’Well what did I expect...’, before ten thousand volts travelled straight into me and branched off into the console. That was the moment where my life took a turn for the better, it was the moment I gained the ability to quicksave.
My first quicksave happened when I went to take out the trash and got hit by a runaway garbage truck. I still remember the feeling of metal hitting me before I saw the menu screen appear, with the option to reload last save. I woke up picking myself off the charred sofa from the lightning strike. It took a few more attempts for me to realise I could quicksave whenever I wanted. I just needed to say aloud ”Menu, Save” but as soon as I did I would lose the save before that. I learnt that the hard way, I spent what must have been weeks going back to the same day over and over for this girl. Christine was her name, I met at work and made the rookie error of showing I knew too much about her. I realised my mistake too late and couldn't reload as I discovered I had quicksaved after helping ’Steve the idiot with the cactus’ save his PowerPoint as a pdf.
I only started saving the world when I turned 30, by that point I had won enough lotteries, invested in the right companies and made a fortune for myself and began to realise what was the point of money if there was nothing to spend it on and so it began. Be it bacteria from Mars, COVID40, the Great fires of Thanksgiving and the constant threat of dirty bombs I was there learning about what happened and why, before reloading each time to prevent it.
Now that I've started though, I can't seem to get a break! Every day there's a new crisis, a new threat that I'm forced to defeat. The worst ones to deal with are the ones I cause. I kill a scientist about to release a mutagenic compound into the water supply, and that's no problem! Next reload, their nephew becomes an arms dealer who sells the final component in a dirty bomb whereas without me killing the scientist they would have been a TikTok star. This is what I meant by complicated.
I think I will take a break on my 5000th time of saving the world, I hope it'll be ok... | So get this. I was born probably 600 some years ago and that might sound impressive to a human like you but believe me. Im still a youngin compared to some of the oldheads around here, in fact my age would probably equate out to late teens or early 20s. The culture here is kiiiinda shallow and they tend to give a lot of social power to those blessed with what humans tend to call "super powers". Now don't get me wrong, I personally don't give a fuck if you're blessed or not but apparently the rest of Rillea is willing to scorn you til death if you aren't born with some kind of blessing. I happened to be born able to quick-save, i think you humans were able to fantasize about some shit like that? Video games or something? I don't know but basically as Im living my life i can kind of bookmark that time and if I choose I can return to it and resume from there and retain what I learned in the time that has un-happened. I figured it out pretty young and like most blessed it was out of instinct that I knew what to do.
I never really bought into the whole "lets glorify the blessed" thing and kept my powers relatively private, even while I was enrolled in Ms. Lainra's School for the Blessed which is a feat in and of itself. While I was in school, I did end up taking advantage of my ability for mundane things. Stuff like quick saving the night before an exam, taking the exam, returning to the night before and using what I knew to my advantage when I took the exam again so I got some preeetty high grades in school. As I got older I ended up using it more often and this led to some speculation as the other kids going there started to notice. Rumours started spreading about what my power could be and eventually Ms. Lainra and the deans got involved. I had to let the cat out of the bag and I was immediately sent to a government run school. On a scholarship too!
It was a big change though. While i was put in classes that were super interesting they were also super difficult. I was assigned a mentor and he gave me a lot of advice and asked me a lot of philosophical and introspective questions and I went through a stage of my life that was very thought provoking and ended up building me up to where i am now. In a classic stereotypical manner, my mentor died, quite tragically too, but the door to my thoughts and imagination couldn't be closed again. I needed to find meaning in my life again, I needed something to discover. So i decided to discover every outcome I could live through. I would quick save as I was and live my life a different way until I was on my deathbed where I would return to that time again and start anew.
Last time I almost died I decided I'd try out the whole supervillain thing. Remember when I said i was 600 years old? Yeah that was bullshit. I've been a supervillain for 600 years. I can't even remember when I'd been born. For all intents and purposes I'm immortal. And I'm thinking about making tonight my new quick-save point. Cuz fuck being the good guy right? | 2020-12-15T13:15:04 | 2020-12-15T11:21:10 | 500 | 223 |
[WP] “There you are! Took you some time here to get here, i bet your predators made you late.” The owl-like alien exclaimed. The ambassador of humanity looked confused “…What predators?” He asked. “Your species doesn’t have predators?” | Captain Hercott jogged through the InterGalactic Trade Commission building. The crowds of various Xenos parted readily. His own SAR boots alongside First Officer Sturgell and Lieutenant Patel's sharp steps made a discordant rhythm of echoes filling the impossibly large chamber. Huge strips of cloths larger than old worlds sails rolled with the open windows, still not reaching the center of the space.
The rushing warm air of the Planet Dark-Safe-Place smelled like fresh bread with a hint of under-the-sink smell just behind it. Earth scientists assured him human metabolism would be able to easily process the various makeup of the atmosphere. He still would have rather used a breathing apparatus but high command told him diplomacy will be smoother if they show humans can stand freely on their most sacred land.
"Excuse us!" Sturgell called out with a giggle as they sped past some type of demonstration around a statue of hundreds of Moth looking Xenos against a wall, picking it up. So it wasn't just him getting lightheaded from the high oxygen levels.
The open doors to the Trade Commission conference room held delegations from every species in the UEF waiting patiently for the late arrivals. The lack of the regular movements so common in humans was unsettling. From the largest bird-looking race, thin delicate wings reaching under and across the room spanning table, to the smallest doe-eyed moth looking race, the Build-High, they were each still as the stones.
"There you are! Took you some time to get here. I bet your predators made you late,” The Build-High said with a flutter of a bright glowing wrapped cloth.
“Predators, sir?” Hercott asked. "I'm not sure what you mean. I'm sorry we're late, we had a miscommunication and were exploring your moon bases for a few minutes. We didn't know they were empty. We ran here as fast as we could."
“Your species doesn’t have predators?” the Build-High asked, chitters being auto-translated through the directional polyglot at the center of the table. The remaining delegations were quiet and wide-eyed, listening intently. "You ran here all the way from the docking bay?"
"Classically," Hercott began, unsure exactly which explanation they wanted first. "Human's competed with large cats for food but quickly developed tools to deal with them. A predator like a bear occasionally catches a human alone and unprepared on Earth but it is a rare thing. Happens less than ten cases a year, I think, and never on the military base we launched from."
"Competed with," a Xeno looking like a thin sticker with a central proboscis offered, turning towards the still standing humans. "So, you are predators yourselves yet you engage in diplomacy with us, unlike the others of your nature, the issue of today's discussion, the CaraClan.
"Yes," Hercott said, the gathered flinching as he and his two companions seated themselves at the table, tired of waiting for an invitation. "We appreciate the lowness of our position being the newest to this delegation but on the issue of the CaraClan invasions, we would like to start the tactical discussion right away if that's alright. My Lieutenant has urgent recommendations."
The room was quiet again until the Build-High spoke. "Go ahead, Captain."
The Omni interface on the table seamlessly melded Patel's tablet as he brought the galactic view on the screen above them all.
"Good afternoon," Patel said, thin laser casting a wide beam in the thick air as he pointed to the map. Motes of floating somethings along the path glowed red as they floated. Hercott tried not to imagine what was building up in his lungs, benign or not. Silent but not as still as the rest, he watched the presentation for the second time that day.
"This is the position of CaraClan forces. So far, based on our scans, the UEF has retreated here, here and here due to overwhelming force, with the combined armies of the UEF now gathered here, at Dark-Safe-Place."
"This presents a unique opportunity to end this menace's presence in the system. What we believe you are missing," Patel continued, "is this offensive opportunity of a counter strike here, here, and here where their slow ships couldn't reach in time to defend."
"Question," the large bird bellowed beautifully through the hall. "My translator didn't catch a couple of words there. What are 'offensive opportunity' and 'counter strike'.
Several of the heads around the table gestured agreement, including the Build-High.
"Um, I think I see the problem, Captain," Patel said nervously. "Do you want to take this one?
"Yeah," Hercott said with a weary sigh, raising to stand and causing a new round of flinches. It would seem he had a long day ahead of him.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n10kgc/wp_there_you_are_took_you_some_time_here_to_get/gwal1ig?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
...
/r/surinical | “So let me get this straight, it’s some kind of religious thing?” Ambassador Kamila stared at the little Avian in confusion as it hopped back and forth from one leg to another, wings scratching frantically at the parasites that infested it. “Your species still has predators?”
“What other way could there be? The Circle demands it,” the creature hooted.
Kamila reached brushed her long black hair back from her shoulders, thumb subtly passing over the switch that activated her implanted recording suite. Earth needed data like this, they’d been isolated from the galactic community for far too long. Besides, the creature was fascinating. From head to toe it resembled nothing so much as a barn owl, with its pair of sunken, beady eyes in face that angled steeply to its almost disappointingly small beak. Its feathers, if they even truly be called that, teemed with life. Small insects crawled across its wings, mites the size of one of Kamila’s fingers ringed its head like an awful parody of hair, and a barnacle like infestation grew off its thin, reedy legs. Frankly, the alien disgusted her, Kamila’s skin crawled just looking at it. She thought whatever circle it spoke of was in dire need of a good cleansing.
“I confess, Ambassador P’Task, that my people don’t know of this Circle you speak of.”
The avian’s feathers tried to ruffle but they were so bogged down the result was depressingly mangy. “The Circle? How can any creature not know? We’re born in it, grow in it, governed by it. Sentience doesn’t emancipate any species from the Circle of Life!”
*Oh*! Ambassador Kamila schooled her face to impassivity. She’d ended two wars back on Earth, and started another once they’d discovered those pesky Martians. She wasn’t new to this by any stretch, and she wasn’t about to let some bird-freaks’ religion get in the way of a good trade deal. Still though, *the Circle of Life?*
“Ah yes, that Circle. I understand Ambassador. Please, why don’t we take a seat and get to our business.”
“No seats for me thank you, the Coriolis beetles make such things difficult this time of year.”
Kamila nearly spat out the sip of water she’d been drinking. Coriolis beetles, where? “Ah, then I shall stand as well. In solidarity.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” P’Task said, “might I trouble you to take some of the colony from me? Their growth is something of a burden.”
“Ambassador, I—” Kamila cut herself off hard. Her hands shook, her skin had gone cold. She missed the Martians suddenly, with the drawn out, hairless gray bodies and hopelessly backwards technology. They’d been easy to deal with, but this? It was unconscionable.
“Ambassador P’Task, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I find myself with some questions,” Kamila heard herself say, driven into a near out of body experience by the strangeness of the infested owl before her. “When you mentioned predators earlier, what kind were you referring to?”
“The Elesian Jungle Cat primarily,” the avian said, “one took my third brood mother a season ago, it was a tragedy. Also the Matraxan Void Hawk, and the Kalabrian Space Shark, that one alone can destroy a vessel, and several have been sighted in this region of space in the past decade.”
Kamila’s mind spun. Part of her wanted to believe she was being taken for a ride, the new girl on the block being hazed by the galactic community, but the parasites that clung to P’Task looked so real, and the creature seemed so obviously in pain. It’s hooting, flighty voice positively twisted with it at times. “And if one were to break the Circle, say by hunting the Void Hawk and clearing an area of Space Sharks, what would happen?”
P’Task gasped, drawing a circle upon its breast with the crusted tip of one wing. “Why, that would summon *Him!”*
Chills shot through Kamila’s spine. “Him?”
“Yes! The Circle Keeper, the Harvester, the Steed that Mounts the Galaxy! His hunger is boundless, and matched only by the depths of his slumber. Species the galaxy over sing his lullaby in every cathedral, project it across space from every station that he might continue sleeping. Ambassador Kamila, tell me. Do your people truly not know?”
She shook her head. “It’s the first time we’ve left our system. My people know almost nothing about your beliefs.”
“This isn’t a matter of belief, it’s a matter of survival! Ambassador, we aren’t the apex species in our galaxy, none of us are!” P’Task spread its wings, beating hard against ground as it flew towards her in a shaky arc. Its clawed feet struck the hard floor with a clatter, and P’Task fell to its knees in front of her, wings wrapping about her legs. Kamila stared in horror as some of the parasites crawled onto her skin.
“Ambassador Kamila, please, your species does have predators, right?” Kamila didn’t have to say a word for P’Task to read the truth in her eyes. “By the Circle, no! What have you done with them? You can’t imagine his wrath, you mustn’t have, you mustn’t have broken the circle!”
Kamila looked down at herself. She wore a jacket trimmed with a lion’s mane, crocodile skin heels set with ivory highlights.
In the deepness of the galaxy where light did not go, something woke.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-29T05:24:15 | 2021-04-29T04:35:56 | 608 | 425 |
[WP] “There you are! Took you some time here to get here, i bet your predators made you late.” The owl-like alien exclaimed. The ambassador of humanity looked confused “…What predators?” He asked. “Your species doesn’t have predators?” | When I see the first owl-like creature, I think of the personification of death with his hooded face and jagged-bone features. I imagine Death reaching into my heart as if it were a clock, and with a single finger, twirling the hour-hand closer to midnight.
Behind the creature is the pulsing blue-tree forest it came out of, and where — perhaps — it lives. I see more red eyes gleaming in the navy-darkness behind, and high above on sky-scratching branches.
“You are the ambassador, yes?” asks the creature, in a voice as high as a scream. It is as tall as me; its beak is tinged red at its tip, fading to orange along the tusk like its a sunset blooming over a bone-white sky.
“I am,” I say, steeling my voice.
I’m not the first human to meet the creatures, but I will be the first to negotiate with them. I think of Alana, so proud of me for being chosen to do this. My left cheek warms as I remember her final kiss. I straighten my back and harden my resolve.
”You want to build a dock for your ships on our planet, yes?”
”We do,” I say. “A port. So we can launch new missions from here and explore further.”
The creature has three sets of arms; a web of leathery skin ripples down them like decorative scrolls, or like a tent with poles ribbing its sides. They can glide, I’m told, and could once fly. Now the thick folds of skin look more like armor.
It clicks its neck and another of its kind, to my left, clicks in response. Then, to me, the first creature says, ”And if we let you build, what danger does that bring to our forests?”
”Danger?”
”Danger, yes. Which of your predators will be upset by our cooperation?”
Predators... Does this creature believe we are escaping our planet? I suppose, in a way, we are. But because of what we’ve done to it, not because of what hides in the shadows of mountains or oceans.
I shake my head. “We have no predators. There is no one for you to anger.“
The creature’s neck clicks multiple times and its tongue darts out of its beak like a lizard’s. The second creature responds.
”You have no predators?”
I smell its foul breath as it speaks. Rancid air pulsing over me, as if my courage is a screw being twisted and loosened, until one more turn and it will fall out completely.
”No,” I say. “None.”
”Then... How did you become what you are? From a single cell to this.” It gestures an arm and part of a wing at me.
”Evolution, you mean? That’s what we call it. We *had* predators: lions and tigers and snakes and spiders — all kinds. But we conquered them. Eradicated all of those ones, except for spiders. They hide in cracks in the belly of the earth where it’s a bit hard for us to follow.”
Another creature glides out of the darkness and shudders to a landing by the first. Its beak is more curved, more pointed. The red doesn’t look like sunset, but like blood, and I think of a vulture tearing up entrails; my heart is a spinning penny that has been pressed down by a cold thumb.
I listen to them clicking, talking, deciding something. I think of Death in the noise, the rattling of his spine, arms, legs. His hand as it pushes the hour hand closer and closer towards twelve. Now less than an hour.
”You eradicated your predators. That is impressive,” says the first creature.
“And concerning, yes?” says another. “Must live in balance. When a species topples, often everything falls. ”
”You have nothing to fear. We’re to be allies. Friends. If you allow us to build the port.”
”Did you eradicate any creatures with wings? That could fly?”
Now the minute hand tick-tick-ticks, but my heart is still silent and subdued. “Does it matter?”
It screeches: cripplingly high-pitched, almost deafening.
”It matters greatly to us, yes.”
I think of lying. But I‘m somehow certain they would know. “We did. But mostly by accident — incidental. We removed habitats as we expanded out, and, well, that did most of the work for us. But we’ve learned from our mistakes and—“
Two more creatures swoop down, one landing behind me, one by my side.
”You removed habitats. And you have no predators?” says the first, as they close on me like a contracting ring of red-tipped blades. I hear Death’s clinking, clicking bones as he walks unseen amongst them.
”None,” I say. *Whisper*. I think of the warm spot on my cheek. Hold onto that kiss, let it burn and brand me.
If the creature could laugh, perhaps it would. Instead, it says, as calmly a single cloud in a blue sky: “Now you do, yes?” | “So let me get this straight, it’s some kind of religious thing?” Ambassador Kamila stared at the little Avian in confusion as it hopped back and forth from one leg to another, wings scratching frantically at the parasites that infested it. “Your species still has predators?”
“What other way could there be? The Circle demands it,” the creature hooted.
Kamila reached brushed her long black hair back from her shoulders, thumb subtly passing over the switch that activated her implanted recording suite. Earth needed data like this, they’d been isolated from the galactic community for far too long. Besides, the creature was fascinating. From head to toe it resembled nothing so much as a barn owl, with its pair of sunken, beady eyes in face that angled steeply to its almost disappointingly small beak. Its feathers, if they even truly be called that, teemed with life. Small insects crawled across its wings, mites the size of one of Kamila’s fingers ringed its head like an awful parody of hair, and a barnacle like infestation grew off its thin, reedy legs. Frankly, the alien disgusted her, Kamila’s skin crawled just looking at it. She thought whatever circle it spoke of was in dire need of a good cleansing.
“I confess, Ambassador P’Task, that my people don’t know of this Circle you speak of.”
The avian’s feathers tried to ruffle but they were so bogged down the result was depressingly mangy. “The Circle? How can any creature not know? We’re born in it, grow in it, governed by it. Sentience doesn’t emancipate any species from the Circle of Life!”
*Oh*! Ambassador Kamila schooled her face to impassivity. She’d ended two wars back on Earth, and started another once they’d discovered those pesky Martians. She wasn’t new to this by any stretch, and she wasn’t about to let some bird-freaks’ religion get in the way of a good trade deal. Still though, *the Circle of Life?*
“Ah yes, that Circle. I understand Ambassador. Please, why don’t we take a seat and get to our business.”
“No seats for me thank you, the Coriolis beetles make such things difficult this time of year.”
Kamila nearly spat out the sip of water she’d been drinking. Coriolis beetles, where? “Ah, then I shall stand as well. In solidarity.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” P’Task said, “might I trouble you to take some of the colony from me? Their growth is something of a burden.”
“Ambassador, I—” Kamila cut herself off hard. Her hands shook, her skin had gone cold. She missed the Martians suddenly, with the drawn out, hairless gray bodies and hopelessly backwards technology. They’d been easy to deal with, but this? It was unconscionable.
“Ambassador P’Task, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I find myself with some questions,” Kamila heard herself say, driven into a near out of body experience by the strangeness of the infested owl before her. “When you mentioned predators earlier, what kind were you referring to?”
“The Elesian Jungle Cat primarily,” the avian said, “one took my third brood mother a season ago, it was a tragedy. Also the Matraxan Void Hawk, and the Kalabrian Space Shark, that one alone can destroy a vessel, and several have been sighted in this region of space in the past decade.”
Kamila’s mind spun. Part of her wanted to believe she was being taken for a ride, the new girl on the block being hazed by the galactic community, but the parasites that clung to P’Task looked so real, and the creature seemed so obviously in pain. It’s hooting, flighty voice positively twisted with it at times. “And if one were to break the Circle, say by hunting the Void Hawk and clearing an area of Space Sharks, what would happen?”
P’Task gasped, drawing a circle upon its breast with the crusted tip of one wing. “Why, that would summon *Him!”*
Chills shot through Kamila’s spine. “Him?”
“Yes! The Circle Keeper, the Harvester, the Steed that Mounts the Galaxy! His hunger is boundless, and matched only by the depths of his slumber. Species the galaxy over sing his lullaby in every cathedral, project it across space from every station that he might continue sleeping. Ambassador Kamila, tell me. Do your people truly not know?”
She shook her head. “It’s the first time we’ve left our system. My people know almost nothing about your beliefs.”
“This isn’t a matter of belief, it’s a matter of survival! Ambassador, we aren’t the apex species in our galaxy, none of us are!” P’Task spread its wings, beating hard against ground as it flew towards her in a shaky arc. Its clawed feet struck the hard floor with a clatter, and P’Task fell to its knees in front of her, wings wrapping about her legs. Kamila stared in horror as some of the parasites crawled onto her skin.
“Ambassador Kamila, please, your species does have predators, right?” Kamila didn’t have to say a word for P’Task to read the truth in her eyes. “By the Circle, no! What have you done with them? You can’t imagine his wrath, you mustn’t have, you mustn’t have broken the circle!”
Kamila looked down at herself. She wore a jacket trimmed with a lion’s mane, crocodile skin heels set with ivory highlights.
In the deepness of the galaxy where light did not go, something woke.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-29T04:36:42 | 2021-04-29T04:35:56 | 568 | 425 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | An Ounce of Prevention
“They’re here, Sir”. Cybersquire knelt before me in the showy manner he always used to ham it up for the heroes. I sat on my throne as usual, but my normal cool confidence did little to ease the ice in my veins at his words.
“All three of them?” I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps only one of those wretched creatures would show his face in my city. I knew the answer before Cybersquire could get it out.
“All three, Sir. Ash-Rake, Virulent Son, and Rampager.” The fear in his voice shone through as he answered my question. “The drones spotted them on the outskirts, so it’s only a matter of time”
I leaned back into my chair as deeply as I could and thought back. For the past twenty years I had lived as this cities greatest villain. Everyone knew the name ‘Clockwork Conquest’ and every hero had cut their teeth facing him in one of his grand schemes. Little did they know that I was preparing them for this very moment.
The Cog-Rat Plague taught them to protect against biological threats and dangerous air quality that accompanied the combo of Virulent Son and Ash-Rake. Knight’s Eternal Night forced them to work in the low visibility conditions that Ash-Rake brought with him, and my trusty sword protected them from the slashing attacks his monsters would bring. And all of those battles against my building sized Clockwork Champions had hopefully prepared them for the sheer strength and brutality of Rampager.
I had, for my entire tenure, trained them for this exact scenario. They had no clue, and they’d likely never realize that I was their greatest mentor and ally this whole time.
I was snapped out of my memories by Cybersquire’s words. “The warnings have all been sent out. What do we do now, Sir?”
I stood from my throne, unsheathing my sword as I did and held it to catch the light. “Now? Now we buy them time to prepare.” | "There is a time and place for everything."
Faultline shivers, eyes beseeching the darkness to give up the nightmare contained with in. He'd heard of the creature, a hero twisted and malformed until it switched sides. It slaughtered its friends and civilians alike before vanishing entirely.
He thought it had died.
It laughs, voice echoing in the empty warehouse.
He can't quite pinpoint the sound.
The darkness swells twenty feet away before spitting out a six-year-old girl with flowing waves of auburn hair.
Faultline recognizes it as a child he killed two days prior. He steels his spine, but the quaking fear does not abate.
It looks at him with wide, blind eyes. The innocent expression it carries is tainted by a growing smile; it splits the corners of its mouth until black blood drips from the wounds.
The air is... sweet.
"What do you want, Skinwalker?"
Another laugh, this one high and lilting with the memory of spring. "So you recognized me..." The 'skin' splits in several places and falls to the ground as tall, lanky creature of shadow and bones shoots out of its prison. "I admire you, and I would like to make..." The 'skin' disolves into shadow and slides back into Skinwalker's core. "...a deal."
Faultline freezes for a moment, mind racing as a thought comes to mind: demons make deals for the victim's soul. When his mouth comes unstuck, he musters enough courage to ask, "what kind of deal?"
Skinwalker's milky eyes crinkle in amusement, and with one long, lanky arm, it caresses his face. "Hope."
"What?"
Another skin blooms around the beast, revealing the hero it once was. Anastacia Klaudia Skin was the superhero named Skinwalker, a shapeshifter that could turn into any animal she came into contact with. She was the hope-giver... She was the one to still fearful hearts and sooth crying children...
She was the one who refused to turn into another human or humanoid.
Skinwalker smiles so sweetly. "I know you kill heroes, Faultline... and I do not mind, if it is not one of the children."
Faultline knows what it references: the junior heroes.
"Hope is addicting," it continues. "I would be so very annoyed if hope died out in this city." Faultline knows what it will do if he refuses; the city's history of random villains who vanish within a few weeks suddenly make sense. "Do we have a deal?"
Faultline nods and takes its outstretched hand. "Deal." | 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T08:00:26 | 225 | 78 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End. | My name is Eskimo Souls. I’m a “supervillain.” And I met a weird guy at the bus stop. He was wearing a jacket, but his arms weren’t on the sleeves. He just has his hood on. He even has sunglasses. “What do you do here?” I ask him, “Do you have a job?” “Can I trust you to keep a secret?” He asks me. “Sure,” I say. *What’s this guy up to?* I think to myself. He leans close to my ear. “I’m a supervillain. I’m Jase, but you can call me J. If you tell this to anyone,” He tells me, “I’ll kill you.” Then he pushes me aside.
The bus pulled in front of us. Both of us walk inside, and give the driver some money. As I sit down on the chair. I noticed that he had a bloodstain on his shirt and he didn’t even notice. *Or is it ketchup?* I think to myself. I shake my head and kept looking at the gorgeous veiw. Oh I didn’t tell you. I don’t try my hardest at being a supervillain. See these heroes are very stupid, so I have to go easy on ‘em. And once they face off against an actual villain, they’d be prepared because I revealed so many “villain” tricks. But this guy seems different. He’s very energetic. He talks to people, and he doesn’t act creepy. Except the part where he talks to me and killing me.
Just before he attacks, I have to attack and go hard. This guy’s unpredictable. I have to tell the heroes in a villain-y way that he’s coming for them!
My idea isn’t that great, but it is an idea. I’m gonna team up with this guy. Once he is in his villain form, I just have to befriend him, and make him “help” me defeat the heroes. When I saw him leave the bus, I went with him. I was lucky that he lives in the same neighborhood as me. So when I walk inside my apartment, I go outside the backdoor and spy on him. I see he walks into B-1. He lives in B-1! Alright. Now I just have to wait for him to come out his little hole.
*8:00* I hear a door open. It’s a guy in a funky costume. It’s him! He looks like a bug, but I role with it. I put on my costume and climbed up the house. Before he tries to walk down the stairs on his apartment, I jumped in front of him. “Hey, buddy. I’m a villain here. Lookin’ to fight some heroes?” I say. “You’re acting weird,” he says to me, “are you one of the heroes?” I wasn’t nervous about that, I was nervous that he was going to find out my true intention. “But yeah. I’m looking to fight some heroes. Wanna wreck some cars?” He asks me. I sigh as a relief, and agreed.
I took a random person, and flew up into the sky. “I’m not going to harm you, just scream help, and I might not drop you from this height.” She, terrified, nodded. “Help! Please somebody help!” She screams. *Wow, she screams impressively loud!* I think to myself.
*part 2 coming out soon i’m tired, i wanna eat, i don’t want to do this | 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T10:45:22 | 97 | 13 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | Calvin Hearst hurried into the deep core of his main lair pulling off his shirt even as one of his Furies brought him his trench coat and mask.
"I want answers. What happened?"
Fleur turns back from a monitor. "A high school freshman posted video of a dust-up last night. We had some men gathering gear Hephaestus wanted. Flame Ray showed up and got into a scuffle with Conundrum. Everyone got away and we got partial loot. But the girl put out that Dana was Flame Ray."
Settling his mask in place the Leaguer glanced at the feeds across the city. "She posted that Dana was Flame Ray? Idiot, so where are the Sin Eaters?"
"That's the bad news. They hit her school a minute after we warned her about the leak. Sir she costumed up in public and is now the only thing between them and the school populous. Police and the Guardians are responding. . ."
"Conundrum lives outside the usual patrol range for ESwat. Flame Ray is the only Guardian to get there fast enough and she is too new to know not to go after Conundrum instead of teaming with her. Get me a line to Snow Fox."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Rushing to the costume changer the older man traded his business suit for the white and blue costume of the Snow Fox. Three minutes since news came that a school was under attack and the only one in range to slow the mass murderers was a C class villain. Rounding the corner as he raced to the Shield cruiser his comms pinged.
"Good day governor, I would love to chat but there is an emergency."
"We both agree there Fox. But I am not the governor and don't have time to explain getting into your network. I need you to set the computer controls to level blue on your carrier."
"Leaguer? Why should I do that, one of yours is there and the computer is too slow."
"Hephaestus is launching boosters for your craft but we need the computer synch to get you there on time. Snow Fox, you know me, you know my organization. We steal, we pose. We do not kill. You are the only one with enough experience to control the Sin Eaters that they can be stopped without a huge death toll and. . ."
"And? Out with it Leaguer. What is it that has you so afraid?"
"Conundrum. She is young and has never had to take a life. If you don't get there in time. She may have to in order to save others. . ."
Reaching the flyer and dropping to the command seat the hero looks to the controls before hitting the computer guidance. "Level Blue set. But after this you will explain how you have compatible boosters to our gear."
"Thank you old friend. And I can answer now. Who do you think got you the tech for your whole operation?" | I am White Eteru, the villain of the small city I have always cared for. I am a villain, and I go by the alias, "Phantom". My powers are the ability to control the fifth element, aether. I used to be a hero, but that was before I was accused of killing innocents. I was thrown out of my hero group and they all called me a "mad woman" or "insane girl". Now, I continue to help my friends from afar. It pains me, but I force myself to fight them, even my former boyfriend, to help them grow stronger. They've grown so much stronger, they've almost surpassed me quite a few times.
A few weeks ago, an nationally known villain razed a nearby city to the ground. This villain calls himself The Final Judge... I know him well, as he is my father. He once was a hero, the hero who taught my and my friends how to fight. His everyday name is Gabe, Gabe Lambert. He disappeared one day, and never returned. Everyone declared him dead, until the new, most wanted villain, The Final Judge, revealed himself to me, asking me to join him. I declined, and now I am flying by aether to rush to tell my hero friends that The Final Judge intends to raze our city down to the ground soon.
"Beans, Kanars, Thunder, Hawk- we have a BIG problem!" I shout out to them, as the pull their weapons out and face me.
"Oi! What'd you do this time, Phantom..." Beans, my former boyfriend angrily glares at me as he speaks.
I raise my hands up, to show I have no weapons, then I plead, "Please just listen to me this once! We have a big problem and I can't fight him alone!"
"And why should we trust you? After all, you are a villain now and we've fought you many times." Thunder stares at me with cold eyes.
"Guys, I have a gut feeling that we should trust White this time..." Hawk, my former best friend declares to the other heroes. Hawk was always the one who trusted me most, I am glad that he has a little trust left in me.
"Hmph, fine, but if she turns on us I'm killing her." Kanars responds with his harsh tone of voice that clearly says he still despises me. That's no surprise, we did have bad blood almost each other even when we were on the same side. Kanars took custody over my kids, and yes, I know, my boyfriend hated kids, so he wouldn't even call himself their father. This angered me because I loved my kids even more than I loved my life... I sure hope he treats them right...
"Anyways, we need to get going... The Final Judge is going to raze our city to the ground. And... I found out his identity..." I inform them, "His name is Gabe Lambert, sound familiar?"
All of the heroes have a shocked expression. Kanars sputters for a second, then says, "Well... Gabe and The Final Judge do have the exact same powers... You might be right..."
Now everyone, including myself, turn to look at Kanars with a shocked expression.
"W-wait hold up- Kanars, did you just... agree... with White? You didn't even agree with her when she was a hero!" Beans exclaims in a bewildered tone.
"I mean, she might be a killer but shes not insane... completely." Kanars locks eye contact with me and I can sense he knows what's going on.
"All of those who will go with me to defeat The Final Judge, say 'Aye'." I say.
"Aye." says everyone. | 2021-05-20T09:07:51 | 2021-05-20T08:08:53 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | "Megaton? What kind of shit name is that?" Spoke Artrarias admist the rubble of Haven. Atrarias looked around, his lips pursed and the large scar that split the upper and lower right lip stretched.
Artrarias looked about the bodies, some unconscious, many not. His little heroes. He looked to the horde of people in front of him. His auburn short hair blew through the soft breeze now flowing through the city center that was barren of buildings.
But that wasnt quite true. Parts of the thirty or fourty buildings were gone, but they stayed suspended by nothing, floating admist an ocean of dust and debris.
Artrarias opened his lips again, this time filled with even more venom. "You windy little dipshits come here, and try to destroy this city, and the heroes I have fostered?"
Megaton, a large man, surrounded by a hundred or so minions, all clad in the same black and red outfits. Stood at the center of the ruined city center was the 'supervillain' Megaton. A man who could detonate the things he touched by a magnitude of the density of the materials he touched.
He began to open his fat lips before his jaw shut unexpectadly and with such force that he thought it might break teeth. His bloodshot eyes grew wide.
Artrarias wasnt even looking at him any more he turned and faced the cameras, the people, civilians and heroes. He was dressed in a plain, deep green button down and collar shirt, black jeans, a tan long dress coat and brown shoes. Completely ordinary in appearance. "Fucking shit, youve ruined decades of work." He said again gritting his teeth. In that moment, a chorus of echoes from stone, and metal flexing and twisting sang admist the silence. The men and women, all clad in red and black groaned as their suspended bodies briefly contorted. This dark chorus quickly stopped when Artrarias regained his composure. "I have been preparing these heroes and fostering their strength for a hundred years. Decades upon decades, to prepare them for the fight to come. Because I cant do it on my own. And you want to kill them? To destroy all that Ive built up? You arrogant little shit stain. You get a glimpse of a fraction of power and these fools cling to you as if youre some kind of god to be worshipped and feared? No, you havent ever tasted real power. Youre just playing at being a god."
Artrarias stood leisurly utop the rubble, everyones eyes and every camera pointed at him. The second he had interviened the jig was up. The dust had finally settled and all could see clearly now. The destroyed city center stood afloat all twisting through the air as if suspended by wires. A hundred men and women suspended as well, their faces were ones of terror. They struggled but could not move, veins bulging as a greater horror crew over them when they began to twist and contort slowly. Grunt and moans of pain escaped their mouths and throats through gritted teeth.
Megaton also lay stretched out, his jaw still shut by an unmoveable unforseen force. He cried out as his four limbs were slowly removed from each socket and pain erupted through his quivering body.
"They say, you know, that I could only lift a ton or two. Did you know that? Thats what they said and I had to play along, because otherwise these little runts wouldnt stand a chance and I need them to become strong." Artrarias said irritated. "I can do so, so much more. About ten thousand tons. Last I checked." Artrarias finally looked to Megaton and his minions. "I could rip you apart or twist you into an unidentifiable mass of flesh, and bone, but do you know what else I can do?" Artrarias asked calmly. The soft breeze slowed. The air stood still. Stagnant. "I'm not telling you, Megaton. Or your people." He looked towards the heroes and the cameras. "You wont live through it. No, no Im telling them." He pointed two fingers towards the nearest camera lens and looked back to Megaton to meet his eyes. "And anyone else stupid enough to interviene."
Artrarias lowered his hands, one to his pocket on his jacket, the other to a small geiger counter on his waist. There was a weeping scream, though it only lasted a fraction of a moment and its echoes faded to silence shortly thereafter. The geiger counter spiked, screaming for but a moment as it too faded. In that instant, Megaton and his goons had vanished. They were gone, nothing remained. He opened his lips and spoke through the eerie silence. "The pinnacle of telekenesis, complete, molecular, disintegration. Pulling you apart, atom. By. Atom."
He switched off his geiger counter. Lowered every building letting any remaining persons leave safely, before quietly walking away, at a leisure pace.
*forgive me im on mobile, this is a character I am currently writing for a different story but I saw an opportunity | Five hundred forty-seven and eight hundred people die every day. Some die in their beds, surrounded by family or the cold of loneliness. Some die in a dark alley while other collapse onto the forest floor. Some die when their sick or by an unexpected disaster. Some never make it far enough to face these challenges.
Such is life. An uncertain game, an unfinished story. Not all stories had happy endings. Not all were remembered.
She lived a long life; her armor, her body, and her soul all marred by some kind of tale. She used to be a charlatan, a thief, and murderer. Then she met a man. He was a good and kind man.
He was kind and bright, she remembered the fist against the sun that emblazoned his plate. He took her in, he strode to teach her, to guide her to a better path. She never did listen to him.
She never could shake some of her tendencies even when she tried back then. Her hands always found a way into a pocket, her feet deftly moving across a home so she could have a pick at the valuables inside. He always chastised her for it, always made her return it, helped her avoid jail and serious charges.
She never seemed to learn her lesson; then she made an unforgivable mistake. She took a job with an infamous crew and tried to steal from the personal vault of the adventurers league. The job went terribly wrong; it involved the town guard and spanked several city blocks. She was on overwatch, letting loose arrow after arrow; none finding they're make besides one. An unsuspecting guard fell with a dull thud, no screams, no theatrics. He only fell to the street. Cold and lifeless with an arrow pierced through their throat.
After the chaos died down she left her perch. Grabbing items as she fled to lay low for a while. The guard they struck, had his helmet removed. She stared into that man's eyes. Her heart torn as the light had been snuffed out. Snuffed out by her own hands. She slumped to the street, her hand on his cheek as she mourned. She had lost everything she'd ever had in a single night. His eyes transfixed onto the stars as she tried to apologize, but the words remained trapped in my throat. She gently held his emblem, holding it against her aching heart. The sounds of footsteps pulled her back together as she ran away.
She ran.
And ran.
And ran.
She had disappeared. The city was forever changed as the great hero had been slain. Anger and determination came with his death. A new party rose to take his place.
They were young.
She watched from the shadows. She attended the memorial in secret, watched his statue become unveiled in awe. The party vowed to chase her down. She let them, avoiding them for close to a decade as something insidious entered the city. She searched for an answer, hearing the man's voice in her ears. The tears held back by thread overflowing as she made a vow.
She fed the party bread crumbs as they uncovered the plot. They hatched a plan and the final confrontation occured unexpectedly in the streets of the city beneath the hero's statue.
This villain was trusted, was a friend. He become deformed, twisted by unnatural powers. He stood a foot taller than a giant, his limbs natural weapons. It moved painful and distorted with unholy wails.
She watched the guard and civilian alike fall. The party intervened, some directing and saving civilians. The rest standing toe to toe with the new villain. But they failed, each one falling shortly to him. She cried again. She failed. She watched the city burn as the parties blood
She tried to run. Her legs failed her as she felt a burning sensation in her chest. The emblem she had from so long ago filled with light. She raised her bow, notching an arrow gently.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." it whispered, the notched arrow fully drawn.
"Swift death to you who have wronged me." She spoke through painful words. She let loose an arrow.
It wailed as it turned towards her, the arrow lodged under it's shoulder.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." It charged, an arrow lodged into it's chest now.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." It moved unperturbed, another arrow into it's chest; it's claws brandished and dripping in blood.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." She grew determined, slowly moving backwards. Another arrow struck it's chest, seconds away from having the gap closed.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." The arrow found it's eye, it's wails piercing her ears as it slashed. Flinging her against one of the nearby buildings. She coughed up blood as she stood in pain, the emblem shining brightly as it faded.
She lifted her bow again, the creature charged in fury as another arrow lodged itself into it's neck. It gurgled and pressed on as another found his chest, piercing through to it's heart. It slid and dropped dead as it bled out.
She moved towards the death party, their last stand under the man's watch. She lifted up the emblem, remembering an old she had been taught, sitting down and meditating as the emblem glowed again. The party's bodies glowing but remaining still.
She fell unconscious as she finished the spell.
*Closing book sound*
"Well. I think that's enough for story time class" The professor stood up and placed the book on his table. He picked up a piece of chalk as he spoke.
"Now you're homework tonight is to visit the school library and bring a legend to class tomorrow. Extra credit will be given to those who submit a paragraph summary of the legend." He turned around and nodded, sliding his glasses. "Class dismissed." | 2021-05-20T10:41:26 | 2021-05-20T09:21:22 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by henchmen because your boyfriend/girlfriend is a super hero, but the villains are your parents who just now recognized you as your BF/GF has arrived to save you and now you have to explain the situation to everyone while the henchmen watch barley stifling their laughter | As the hood over my head was removed, I heard the sound of raucous laughter coming from all around me.
"Well, if it isn't our leader's darling little boy! How's it going, Larry? Having fun dating a superhero?"
One of my parents' henchmen stood before me, shining a bright light into my face. Around me, I could see at least a dozen others.
"Yeah, yeah, you got me real good this time, Darman. Alright, come on now, cut me loose and I won't say a thing to my parents."
"Mmmmm, I'm not so sure about that, rich boy." Darman leaned into my face, so close that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You know, I think the bosses would very much like to know their darling boy has been secretly dating a superhero, wouldn't they? They might even give me a bonus."
I gritted my teeth. "I'm serious, Darman. Let me out of here now, or you'll regret it."
Darman laughed, and the rest of the room laughed with him. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, flower boy? Grow me a daffodil? Please."
"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you."
I felt through the room, listening for the sounds of nature. Finally, I found the plant I was looking for, hidden within the whiskey I'd smelled on Darman's breath.
"Hey, wait, what are you- mmmmph!" Darman's eyes widened in shock as a sheaf of wheat suddenly sprouted from his mouth. Around me, the other henchmen's laughter turned to hacking and coughing as newly grown barley filled their windpipes.
Darman fell to the ground, still wheezing. I looked him in the eye, and motioned to my restraints. Desperately, he crawled across the floor and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bonds loose.
As I stood up from the chair, there was a loud crash as Sophie punched her way into the room.
"Don't worry, Larry! I'm here to save.... wait, what?"
At the same time, I saw my parents walk into the room.
"Son, what is going on?"
I looked around the room, first at Sophie, then at my parents, then at the floor still covered with henchmen coughing up barley.
Oh geez, how am I supposed to explain this? | "Shaun," I heard the small whisper in the back of my head as I woke up.
"I'm here Shaun. Don't worry I will get you out but just so you know, they didn't realize it was you. I'm sure they wouldn't have done this if they did, " the same voice coming through as looking around and realized I was tied up.
"Don, where are you?" I say loudly as I try to get the attention of the nearest guard. "I know you wouldn't have kidnapped me if you knew who I was. I'm not mad just get them for me will you."
A sheepish looking guard walks in front of me and gives me a sorry look.
"They are on their way right now. It seems we got ahead of ourselves by just kidnapping you quickly when we saw you kiss Cap. It was our mistake," Don told as he moved forward and started to untie the ropes.
"No, you did your job. I appreciate that you only tied me up and knocked me out with gas rather than beat me. It is their fault for not recognizing their own son. I won't let this slide like other things, " I replied gently while rubbing my bruised wrists.
We waited for a couple minutes with me walking and stretching to return the blood flow back to my body properly. When all three of them walked up I just stared.
"Who want's to go first," I asked, "Me, ok what the hell!"
I look over my boyfriend who looks both angry and amused by this situation before fixing my glare on my parents.
"I'm sorry Shaun. We didn't wait we just acted. As soon as we saw you kiss Captain Grey we just acted. Don and the others," my mother, Silver Tank, waving her hand at the small group behind her, " they just did as they were told. No one recognized you until he burst in here screaming your name."
"Son," my father, Rafi, stepping forward to embrace me, "this was just a huge misunderstanding."
I step away and motion for Grey to come to me. Wrapping my arms around him I hold on tight and bury my face in his chest. Laughter escapes as my body reacts to the absurdity of the situation. Grey holds me up and just looks at my abashed parents.
"You may be villains but targeting a civilian. That is just beyond ludicrous besides the fact its your own son. I have a mind to blast you both into a mental prison but I wont unless Shaun says its ok. Do you never wonder why I just stop you and don't capture you, " Grey asks with chastising amusement.
My parents did look suitably ashamed it seemed as I look over. I hear giggling in the background and see the men reacting to their bosses being admonished by their enemy. Looking over them I smirk and just shake my head.
"Mom, dad, I would like to invite Grey for dinner. That way we can all work out how the future will go. I would of course make the dinner a neutral territory. My powers may not be flashy but they will work for this situation. If we are all amenable." | 2021-07-18T12:25:25 | 2021-07-18T10:40:16 | 959 | 147 |
[WP] Turns out, when a species reaches the stars, their ships resemble the characteristics of that species’ origins. Most other species have ultra fast, hard hitting spaceships, and a few are slow behemoths. But everyone is scared of the relentless, unstoppable humans. | It turns out most sapient life in our galaxy tends to one of two extremes. Some are nervous twitchy small creatures that live and die fast, reminiscent of the squirrels of Earth. Some are enduring behemoths that seem to live on a slower stream of time. Like giant turtles, they let other life be born and in die in the time they make a single step.
Of course, their technology reflects this. Fast species make and discard tools constantly. After all, what use is making a ship that will last 10 generations when newer and better ones will be built in the meantime. Just like the individuals, the machinery dies quickly and gets recycled into something new. For this reason, these species favor tools of metal and plastic that can be melted and reused.
On the other hand, slow species need enduring technology and speed is not a concern. Using fast species technology for them would be akin to us using a device that breaks after a single day of use. Things need to be built to last almost indefinitely, and this means self-repairing systems are the norm. Their ships are more like living organisms, slowly grown and able to withstand the ravages of time.
Humans somehow sit right on the middle, but this does not make them seem average. On the contrary, Human technology was seen as quite exotic, for nobody had previously seen things that are neither made to last or be replaced, but instead be repaired. The concept or a wear part was entirely alien. In a world of brand-new small sleek ships and ancient weathered leviathans, Human ships were a patchwork of dented blackened hulls and shiny new engines, beams cut and welded, cables ripped out and spliced back together, modular components and spare parts. They were messy, heterogeneous, and seemed only good enough for now, destined to break down a little bit at a time. For this reason, Humans shocked the Galaxy. When we started tinkering with alien technology, we became known for our blasphemous "right to repair". We took self-contained integrated technology and ripped it apart, took ever-living self-repairing machines and made them produce disposable parts. We were breaking down perfection in favor of flexibility.
However, while this caused quite a stir the real trouble started when other species found out we did the same to ourselves. Organs transplants, implants, reconstructive surgeries, casts. No wonder we had this technological approach; we are ourselves machines made neither to endure forever nor die fast, but to carry on with worn parts until we are repaired or grind down to a halt. We are but clockwork men winding up their own springs, and *this* is what is scary about us. | When the first group of mixed ships appeared in orbit advising Earth through our communications network that we were now property of the Empire, there was mass panic and prayer, there was also planning. The moon was home to several military bases from several countries. The Empire thought us disparate and divided and did not consider that we could mount a unified coalition to defend ourselves. They learned very differently as our assault teams boarded their strange mix of vessels. There were screams of shock when we used the five of the eight ships in their minor fleet to destroy their flagship and force the surrender of the other two.
We came to realize that the different species in the Empire had different ships, some fast, some slow. They reflected the race. The thing was, we had no preference. A ship was a ship. We also noticed they didn’t use nuclear weapons. When the next fleet of ships arrived, they didn’t even make it to Earth. Last time we had sent welcome messages, this time we sent nuclear weapons from the moon. The ships that survived we took by force as well. The next fleet of ships found itself obliterated before they could breach the ort cloud. We’d used their ships to seed the ort cloud with a mine field of nuclear weapons. The wreckage that was salvageable we used to start building our own ships. Fast and overloaded with weapons. My daddy always said: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, get a bigger a gun’ As commander of our allied Earth forces, I’ve put that saying into practice. I also was a big fan of battleships and aircraft carriers.
The others thought we were weak. Pathetic. What they missed was is we are damn adaptable, and we love to fight. Some of us think that big explosions are fun. Unfortunately for them we’re the ones in charge. Good for humanity, bad for the non-humans, when I say I am death destroyer of worlds, I actually grin at the thought. The first attack was about twenty years ago. Much like the United States in World War Two, the entire would, and now solar system put every bit of production we could into warships and weapons. Used to be the Empire was the only force that would mix ship types. They still do when they can muster a defense, rare as that is these days. Thing is, those ships are all captained by a single species but the different ships are different species. Ours are all captained by humans for humans. We don’t care what we ride in as long as it leaves death in its wake.
The Empire wasn’t the only fish in the pond, there was a Trade Alliance that opposed them. The Empire really isn’t the Empire so much as an Imperial Remnant. They poked the wrong bee hive. The Trade Alliance, they have been cagey when it comes to opening up a dialogue. Amusingly enough it isn’t because of us being warlike, it’s because they are afraid of what they call our unstoppable juggernaut of productivity. Apparently, our ability to build up a fleet and wipe out the Empire in a couple of decades causes them concern we would be able to undercut and overproduce their own manufacturers. But that trade BS is for the suits, I have an Imperial Remnant to crush under my boot heels. | 2021-10-12T09:17:10 | 2021-10-12T08:54:03 | 976 | 138 |
[WP] When the human's elf girlfriend broke up with him due to the difference in the lifespans, the human went on to become a mercenary. Thousands of years later, the elf, now an old woman meets the human who hasn't aged at all, known as a scourge in mortal form, even death feared to take the human. | ######[](#dropcap)
"I... I need a moment." The old elven woman turned to her attendants, "I'd like to talk to them, alone."
"But Elder Aethel!" Their main attendant protested, "He's the Scourge!"
"It is *why* he is the Scourge that I must talk to them alone." The Elder's words carried the weight of years, yet she gazed at their attendant with pleading eyes for the first time in an eternity, "Please Alletai..."
Alletai motions to open her mouth in protest but is interrupted by her colleague, "Sister."
She then pulled aside the begrudging attendant, "We will return in an instant if needed."
As they close the door, the Elder turns to the Scourge.
"It's been a while." The pause looms heavy in the still air.
"After all this time," the Scourge began, "You're still as beautiful as the day I met you."
"Thousands of years later, and you open with one of the oldest pieces of flattery available to this day." Aethel chuckles, "You always knew how to make me laugh."
The Scourge smiles, he had been waiting quite some time to say that.
"You've aged pretty well yourself, Krodikai." Aethel observes Krodikai, picking at his hair a bit, "Hmm..."
"Careful!" Krodikai cried out, "Do you know how hard it is to keep that in place restrained like this?"
"Hair kept as careful as ever I see, that said..." Aethel's smile turned, "How are you...?"
"Alive?" Krodikai answered, "Maybe the gods are giving us one last chance to talk, maybe this is one cruel twisted joke, maybe *this* is our epilogue."
"Speaking of hair, the only thing that seems to have changed was your hair. You miss being blonde?"
"I would be lying if I said otherwise." Jested Aethel, playing with her sterling silver hair. "Even I don't know how much time remains for me."
"Well, I'm glad you spent a grain of it on little ol' me." Teased Krodikai.
Such a remark brought a smile to Aethel.
"Alletai and Falti... They remind me so much of-"
"-of Estrid."
Silence hung in the room.
"Estrid, was she, was she happy when she...?"
"I grasped her hand as her life faded, she was proud of what she had done."
"Judging from the halos on your descendants," Krodikai grinned, "I'm glad to see she was truly able to usher in a new dawn."
"Yes..." Aethel bit her lip, "Krodikai, I want to apologize for-"
"Don't." Krodikai interrupted his beloved. "You did-"
"But I did!" Aethel screamed, "I knew what would happen, even if my divination wasn't perfect, I would have done anything and everything else, and yet I fled all the same!"
"I could have joined you, I could have come back with our daughter, I could have fought destiny and yet-!" Aethel broke down in sobs, her words choked between the flood. "...and yet..."
"You've become the Scourge, our daughter killed you, and I let it all happen..."
Aethel buried her face into her hands, the flood rushing all over, it felt like an eternity before Krodikai decided to intervene.
"Aethel, my love." Aethel wiped the tears and turned to Krodikai, his face not of rage but of compassion, "If I were to go through this all again, I would do so in a heartbeat, all for you."
"But all I've caused is pain for you!" Aethel cried out between sobs.
"Even when you knew, even when you knew what was forewarned, you stayed by my side until the day we had to part, and for that, I am grateful eternally."
The air began to chill, "I'm sorry Aethel, this is all the time we are afforded."
"But Krodikai! I-I!"
"I will be waiting beyond this life for you whenever you are ready, until then." Krodikai smiled much like he did all those years again, "I will wait for you."
Assembling her resolve, the Elder Aethel draws her blade and prepares to end the Scourge. Never before had it felt so heavy.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
---
"Continuation" of this Prompt: [WP] Your elven girlfriend broke up with you a long time ago to avoid the heartbreak of outliving you, a human. Now, years later, a half-elf who looks a lot like her shows up at your door.
--- | Zelina shivers and wraps her shawl tighter around her. Her breath fogs but her steps are sure as she tap-tap-taps her way around the blooming evergreens and a particular apply tree that she knows has seen better days. Every morning for a few years now, she has walked down this slope to greet the willow tree her husband was buried under. But what are a few years to an elf? The separation is fresh in her mind still, but she knows that she too will soon join him. Elves have a way of sensing things that no simple mortal knows - the trees had sung her lullabies and the leaves had danced for her as a child, and now more than ever she can hear the wind whisper half-formed secrets.
Yes, soon she will depart - perhaps even before the moon is full. Her children too are now old enough to understand the whispers, and they mourn her with every cup of warm elderwood brew they press into her hands, but Zelina only feels the joy of a life well-lived.
She also feels her feet threaten to slip from under her, and taps the end of her cane distrustfully on the last rocky two-step that stands between her and the glade. It thumps in displeasure at mischief thwarted, but just as quickly the sheen of ice breaks, sounding a chime of warning.
Zelina's eyes no longer see the shapes of the mortal world. The sharp lines that she could once pick out half a mile away now blur together in a burst of colors, and places where reality is thin shimmer with iridescent shadows only when seen out of the corner of the one. Under the thicket to her right is a starving old field mouse. In her little burrow she struggles to breathe and the air around her devolves into decadent plume of smoke.
One other such point is moving towards her now, purposeful in gait the most of the shimmering ones aren't. Clinking and clanking, it resolves itself into the broad strokes of a man more iron than flesh. Perhaps, the time that the winds whisper about has come. And yet, Zelinna thinks she knows this soul, impossible though it may be.
"Kind traveler, would you terribly mind helping an old lady to that tree over there?"
"Of course, ma'am. In exchange could you point me towards the elven settlement?" And that's not the voice she knows and not the brash boy she thought she knew, but the arm he sticks out for her is held stiffy at the awkward angle she had tried to coach out of him. She takes it gratefully.
"Are you looking for someone? You're not far at all."
"Ah, yes. An old friend. We've... not met for a long time now. I'd like to see how she's been."
"How joyous it is that you've found who you're looking for! You would surely frighten the children if you trounced in looking like this." Zelina chortles when she feel him startle under her hand. She can feel a tiny rock just ahead of them waiting with anticipation. The student of the treacherous ankle breaker at the entrance, that one. Zelina tries to steer her visitor around it, but he's too bulky and clumsy at the worst times as ever, so he nearly topples over with a curse.
Zelina releases his arm before he can take her down with him.
"Zel?" He groans. "Really?"
"There was a rock." She denies.
"Funny, heard that one before." He raises his head then, and Zelda can feel his soul shiver as he looks at her for the first time in millennia. She'd like to see him too, but his armor has him covered from head to toe like a snarling cocoon.
Once, years ago, when she was just learning the language of water, a stream had gurgled to her that soon steel and grim resolve would be all that's left from him. It had frightened her then, because she did not know what it meant, although in her heart she was already grieving a love that she would lose. Now looking at him, Zelina thinks that she finally understands.
"How have you been?"
"How do you guess?" He straightens wit pride and flourish. She's heard tales, of course. It's hard not to these days. The mercenary of the poor- a killer of tyrants and monsters, who had earned the love of the humble villager and no one else. The fearsome armor and the patchwork cape have hid from sight the man she used to know, and yet his heart persists as she knew it.
"I've done so much, Zel. Good things, happy things. And look, I'm alive! Death fears me. There's no one mortal or immortal that could challenge me." He boasts to her.
"I've been good myself, thank you."
"I was just about to say! You look great. I mean - you've changed, but." There he is, there's Arthur, Zelina thinks. What 'Scourge of the shadows', her young man?
"Yes, I have. You've caught me just in time, I'd say."
"You're leaving the settlement?"
"Perhaps even before the moon is full, yes."
"Where are you going then?"
"Wherever my husband will take me next, I suppose." They fall silent and Zelina manages to steer him towards the willow tree with pointed taps of her cane. He stews in silence for longer than she thought he could, and she has to break it first.
(cont in replies) | 2022-01-13T10:52:36 | 2022-01-13T10:51:56 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Batman is a regular dude who *thinks* he's a badass martial artist and detective. All the villains play along, because the poor guy lost his parents and isn't right in the head. Tonight a brand new supervillain hospitalised Bruce. This is the biggest mistake he'll ever make | Redraze was tall and strong and very, very durable. When his gang had hijacked the armoured truck, the supervillain had simply ran into it and the cab had crumpled around him, throwing the driver through the windscreen.
Then the stick with the stupid cape had appeared and said something about coming in quietly and “getting some help”, and so Redraze had picked him up by the leg and smashed him into the pavement a couple of times.
It was only on the way back that he’d heard… that was the famous Batman! He’d offed Batman! What a goddamn joke.
A great first night, all considered. A few hundred grand from the truck and a few crates of electronics from the harbour job. They’d go for extra with the chip shortage…
A car rammed the warehouse gate, knocking it down and taking a table of merchandise with it.
No, not a car. It was a guy.
Well. Was a guy. Soon to be a red stain!
Grinning, Redraze rushed him and… and stopped grinning.
The guy had caught his fist. Redraze continued to try and push through, and lacking any other ideas tried kicking him in the shin.
“Oh,” said Redraze, reeling. “Oh, shit!” he added more loudly, as the pain blossomed through his foot, “shoot the son of a bitch!”
A dozen automatic weapons barked lead.
The visitor’s coat rippled and a few shreds of cloth flew around, but otherwise the gunfire did absolutely nothing. The man didn’t even flinch.
One of the henchmen, with an excess of firearm skill but a shortage of sense, had started to reload. He reached for a magazine that was no longer there, and in the blink of an eye his rifle was gone, too.
Redraze watched as the visitor, who he hadn’t seen move, tossed the magazine away and folded the gun into a physics-defying pretzel shape. He dropped it on top of a pile of similarly mangled gun-pretzels. Redraze’s minions took a moment to gawp at their freshly bare hands and the brighter henchmen ran away at this point, with the others following due to peer pressure.
Redraze staggered away, tripping over a trolley of graphics cards, crawling backwards over the ground as the nightmare in the billowy, now-holey coat walked closer in an agonisingly slow, agonisingly casual fashion.
“Please don’t kill me,” Redraze pleaded, “please don’t do it, please I don’t want to die…”
“I won’t kill you,” said the man. “It’d be disproportionate, because intent aside you have no chance of hurting me, so killing you in retaliation would be an exercise in petty cruelty.”
He leaned in. This close, despite the dim light, Redraze could tell that the nightmare just looked like an average man. “It would be a bit like a seven-foot metahuman brutalising a mentally ill 19-year-old in a costume, don’t you think?”
An average man with quite the chin…
“Wait a minute,” said Redraze. “You’re Superman!”
“Very observant,” said Superman, who had thought tearing through a metal gate and no-selling the gunfire had already announced that fact.
“What the… what the hell!” Redraze scrabbled back upright. “You don’t work in this town! You’re an actual superhero, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m a friend of Batman’s. I heard what you did to him.”
Redraze’s bravado had rallied for a moment there, because after his initial terror he’d told himself the famous Boy Scout wouldn’t actually touch him, but there was something in the Kryptonian’s tone… and expression… that made Redraze question the narrative of the man being a saintly do-gooder.
“I… I, uh, thought the Bat was dangerous…”
“No you didn’t. You saw him for what he was, instantly, a boy out of his depth. And your response to being asked to stop what you were doing was to maim him.
“The man you hurt, he’s been hurt before. And he needs help. He gets around and ends up in dangerous situations but the ‘villains’ around this place… they like the guy.
“He thinks he’s a hero,” said Superman. “He thinks he’s been put on this planet to help people, and he thinks he can help anyone and everyone. And the funny thing is, he believes it so hard that other people start to believe it too. Or at the very least they don’t want to make him stop believing it… because on some level it makes them feel like it’s still possible for them to be saved.
“So they play along. Any one of them could do what you did, but they don’t. He’s been doing this for months, and lord help me for letting it happen but I think it was helping him. And somehow it helped the city.”
“I… I don’t…” Redraze shook his head. “How did you even meet the guy?”
“I was in Gotham on League business. I rescued him from a burning building. He’d dragged out three men and then had gone back in for the fourth before a collapsing ceiling pinned him. When I lifted it off he said to me ‘I’m glad you’re here! Together we can save them all!’ and then he passed out from smoke inhalation.”
“And the gangsters he saved? They had punched him in the face and thrown him in the river the day before.”
A whooshing sound. Redraze turned, felt pressure around his hands, and looked down to see chains mummifying his arms. Where the hell had he found chains…?
“I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen next,” said Superman. “I’m going to leave you tied up outside Gotham PD. You’re going to tell anyone who asks that Batman beat you and left you there.”
Another nod, after some hesitation.
“Good. Because if word gets out that you beat the Bat, the villains of Gotham would make your life miserable and short.” He considered this. “Unless you ran into Wonder Woman. Because you wouldn’t even have time to be miserable. You’re very, very lucky I got to you first.” | It all started on that tragic night in late June. Master Bruce witnessed something terrible. Something I could only imagine. I had been a soldier in the queen’s service, so death wasn’t new to me. But to witness such a thing. It broke my heart.
When the will was read, and I was named Master Bruce’s guardian, I felt a little joy. Hoping I could guide this boy like he was my own flesh and blood. But I could see it in his eyes. The light that once sparkled there was no more. Only a dark beast hungry for violence and vengeance.
As he grew from a young boy to a young man, I could see he was singularly focused on the goal of righting the wrong done to him. At the time, I saw no issue with this. Let him get his little taste of vengeance and realise it was way more painful than he realised.
I even roped in that nice Mr Fox into my plan. The last thing I wanted was to read the young boy I had accepted as my son was killed. So we kitted him out in the highest grade defensive equipment.
That first night I must admit my nerves were stretched thin. I was certain I was going to wear a path into the Persian rug. Then he staggered in through the hidden door we built. He was bleeding heavily.
The boy… the boy I had sworn on my life to keep safe was bleeding, and it was my own ineptitude that had failed him. Calling on my experience as a military medic, I patched him up and gave him enough meds to knock him out for a few days.
While Master Bruce rested, I went about my scheme. I contacted a few high ranking allies to aid in the scheme and make his goal as safe as possible.
First Commissioner Gordon went about setting up an absurd spotlight to call the newly named Batman to him. This would have a bonus of him being able to direct Master Bruce to locations we were setting up.
Second of our gang was Master Wayne’s childhood friend Thomas Elliot. A highly skilled doctor. He would provide medical care incognito when master bruce was truly injured.
Next, we went to a legitimate business owner named Oswald Cobllepot. The man was a philanthropic type. He was always feeding the homeless and doing endless charitable acts. He offered to play a villain. Due to his unfortunate appearance, the man had suffered much bullying from his youth. So he could take a beating.
Finally, we included Dr Hugo Strange and a few of his colleagues to help monitor Bruce’s mental health. If he ever reached a real tipping point, we’d pull the plug and get him some real help.
So we went forward with the scheme. Years ticked by, and we expanded our ‘crew’ recruited Data Analyst from the CIA named Edward to give Master Bruce puzzles to solve. A soldier from a small island nation who was a professional wrestler.
Sir Bane proved exceptionally skilled as he could strike Master Wayne while leaving only superficial injuries. The only exception was one incident that left the poor man in tears, worried he had crippled Master Bruce.
The most outstanding member of our band was Dr Joe Karr. The man had initially planned to be a thespian before studying psychology. So he could play a mad clown so convincing we worried we had recruited an actual supervillain.
Joe, though proved every bit the match of Master Bruce. Often trying to help him make a breakthrough, but it never happened.
It was all routine till one quiet night when we had only a couple of muggings for him to break up that it happened. A new gangster was in town and had bought into our narrative. So when he faced Master Bruce, he fired a machine gun on full auto. Only this one wasn’t firing rubber bullets with half grain casings.
I still remember feeling my stomach drop when Thomas called me to let me know Bruce was in surgery. I could only wonder whether I had taken the right course of action.
When I sat down with ‘The Bat Family’ as we affectionately called ourselves, I announced what had happened. So many of our people were shocked. They were just trying to help a troubled young man, and along comes this psychopath and ruins everything.
Joe was the first to suggest that we all held genuine abilities. That this new villain bought into our narrative. Why don’t we make him regret what he has done?
So off we went. A group of actors, small-time soldiers and business types all set to get revenge for a man we had come to care deeply for.
Surrounding the deplorable man’s hideout, Joe opened the conversation.
“Is this where Doc Cabbage lives,” he said in his shrill tone while wafting the air near his nose.
“It sure smells like it, Puddin,” Harley added.
Hearing the commotion, the new villain came outside, shocked to see the entirety of Gotham’s Rogues gallery waiting for him.
“Now, guys, no need to thank me,” he said, oblivious to the atmosphere.
“You hurt the bats,” Joe snarled. “I’ll think you’ll find I have exclusive rights to that,” he lowered his head into his hands. He was clearly recomposing himself.
“AND I DON’T LIKE COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT!!!” he screeched, taking out a comically oversized revolver.
“Hey, now I got rid of your mortal enemy,” Doc Cabbage said, holding up his hands.
“You got rid of the one person who completed me,” Joe shouted back.
“The sentence can only be one thing,” Harvey announced, flipping his coin. Due to the hasty nature of this event, his makeup was already peeling.
“Riddle me this Cabbage,” Edward began.
“What does the Avatar and all of us villains have in common?” he asked, tipping his hat with his custom cane.
“Err???” Doc Cabbage was clearly confused. “Avatar? Like the James Cameron?-” he began before being cut off.
“No, they mean the last Airbender,” R’as interjected.
“The last Airbender and you guys???” he repeated to himself before realisation dawned on him.
Before he could make another move, Bane grabbed him from behind in a crushing hug. Having been caught in one of those before, I knew the big lug could express his affection with a vice-like strength.
However, this time it was anger fueling him. Tears were already staining his mask. He was a pacifist at heart, so harming was wrong to him. But he was making an exception because Master Bruce deserves it.
Walking up to the man, now restrained, I looked him in the eye.
“The Wayne Brat’s butler?” he muttered in a breathless wheeze.
“Yes,” was my only reply before I took out my old service revolver and ended his life.
I was prepared to go to hell and back for Master Bruce. A little more red in my ledger wasn’t anything to think about.
​
for more of my nonsense go to r/Random3X | 2022-03-20T14:39:43 | 2022-03-20T14:32:52 | 667 | 336 |
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords. | My boss hovered over my slumped form, focused on the drawings I was currently correcting. “How do you expect to have this done in time? I expect you to work overtime for this.” I could feel my eye bags start to form. 40 hours a week, and now another 10 or more to finish this drawing.
The mounted TV in the office beeped three times, signalling breaking news. Since our new overlords took over, we had TVs installed everywhere as a part of their free news decree.
The large, slightly green and slightly humanoid president approached the podium. Adjusting his tie with his secondary arms, his primary holding an ipad. Clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd.
“In order to meet the demands of the intergalactic confederation, we will be implementing new labour laws.” My stomach plummeted. *No, please no more work. My fingertips are burning!* everyone in the crowd murmured worriedly.
“Humans and humanoid creatures will be expected to work a maximum of 4 hours a day, 4 days a week. I know this will be a shock to many, but we need to meet demands to allow the economy to thrive”
My boss dropped his pen, gasping audibly. The crowd started cheering, the alien president looked at the VP questioningly. Mouthing “what are they doing?” The VP, a purple hued creature with multiple legs shrugged.
My mind raced to the last time I only had to work four hours.
“Order!” The president yelled. Clearing his throat again. “In addition, starting salary will be $92,000 a year.” More cheering.
My boss gasped again. His mouth wide open.
This 40 hour a week, 6 days a week job currently only paid me $57,000.
Turning to my boss, I pushed the drawings towards him. “Guess I’ll be seeing you in three days” I winked. Standing and feeling my spine crack multiple times and my hips flex. Grabbing my bag and walking out of L & L Drafting ltd.
The humans on the street cheering and running to spread the news. The aliens murmuring how we were crazy for allowing these conditions, citing it was practically slavery.
Oh how truly Unknowledgeable these aliens were.
Passing a similar alien to the presidents race, I thanked and shook one of his many hands.
This was the start of something great! | “EINCNIxiapwkmfPakmf IsjdnIdjfjKddkF42069 sjdjfj ajsjejjePWLDNFNF!”
The new alien overlords screeched on their speakers from their spacecrafts.
A teleprompter like device soon displayed the following: “And there is a minimum of two wives required with a full two days of breeding, one for each, no labor on these days. ”
The men in the massive gathered crowd began cheering.
The aliens looked at each other for a moment.
“riricjCCHHHHHH!”
The teleprompter noted: “You DO know this is mandatory, right?”
“FUCK YEAHHHH!”, the males in the crowd yelled.
The aliens shuddered at the thought that these creatures enjoyed forced procreation. The most painfully cruel act for their species.
There was but few rules left. They had to fear us with these next few, they thought. There is no power without fear and fear is bought with pain.
“wiWskxkdk~*,£<#SSSSNIPERWOLF{}}#”
The teleprompter churned out: “All humans will now be FORCED to live in a 1 bedroom 3,000 square foot house.” The whole west and east coast of every civilized nation erupted with joy. Cheers and cries of laugher.
The aliens were still confused but were slightly pleased at the mixed screams and tears streaming from some of the humans’ eyes.
They continued:
“widiiciaoLC /$;&&?&(- owockvlpApssOooofocoAOOSKXCNFNFK *click click click* Deez nutz”
The final decree. This must elicit fear or else their whole backbone of ruling with fear and cruelty would fall apart.
The crowd’s cheers and yelling died down. The words slowly flowed onto the screen. They read as follows: “And only 3 months of vacation time allowed each solar year. With mandatory flight simulations to the hottest places on earth. Near the equator. A place known as ‘Hawaii’”
The crowds of humans each gathered around their center of cities and towns roared with enthusiasm. They began chanting: “WELCOME TO EARTH!”
Frustratingly the aliens watched as their soon to be conquered planet seems to revel in their new decrees. They knew this reign would not last. That impudence and horror awaited them. The last thing they uttered “Ye3zY” was translated and placed on screen: “We’ll be taking our leave now. Sorry to have bothered you. Please forget this ever happened.” Their spacecraft darted into the ever expanding black æther. Into the nothingness. Everyone paused. The silence. Broken only by the people’s cries: “What did we do wrong? Please, please come back to us! We’ll change we promise!” And they never came back. The status quo came back. And everyone was miserable. | 2022-11-03T02:17:47 | 2022-11-02T23:51:10 | 175 | 38 |
[WP] A prisoner woke up to find the cell door open, upon looking around, he discovered the prison is empty. | He awoke abruptly to the sound of a ship’s horn. He had a horrible headache, as if someone or something had hit him in the head with a blunt object. Hard. He was tangled in some chords as well, and had vomit on his chest. It was dry, so he’d been unconscious for several hours at least.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and brushed the chords off his chest. He saw no point in dealing with the vomit. He turned to the right and looked out the tiny, barred window to the water that surrounded the prison. An impassable moat, traversable by nothing but boat. He couldn’t identify the source of the horn, and was frustrated he couldn’t see the source of his awakening.
It was at this time the man realized he was not at home. This is not where he belonged. He began to panic, as he always did when he wasn’t home when he awoke. He stood up, quickly, and a sharp pain shot through his head. He had to sit back down, and through his throbbing headache he could barely think straight. His hands began to shake, his mind racing through the thunderstorm of neurons, creating sharp, irregular shots of pain through his head. He needed to get out of here.
He looked the other way, at the cell door locking him in this cage. He felt nauseous, but had nothing in his stomach to vacate. He began to dry heave and hoarsely cough.
Between coughs, the man yelled, as loudly as he could.
“HELLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!?”
“HELP ME PLEAAAASE, I DON’T BELONG HEEEEEEEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
He yelled for several minutes. After his voice was raw, he sat still, waiting. He could hear nothing, not even the other prisoners. No guards were paying him any attention, confusing the man further.
The man looked under the bed, and found a cassette player. He grabbed the tangled mess of chords from the bed, and put in the headphones. He pushed play.
“In this cell is where the great Prohibition Era gangster Al Capone stayed while here at Alcatraz ....”
The man then remembered. Last night was the night of the Alcatraz employee Christmas party. He must have drunk too much, wandered into the prison, and fallen asleep in Capone’s old room.
As he stood up, chuckling to himself for giving himself such a fright, he walked to the cell door. He pushed, but it would not budge.
He pushed again and again, beginning to panic again.
He was terrified; he remembered that the prison was closed for several days, with no tourists or employees coming by during the break. He began to sob to himself, sitting back on the bed, locked in this old, dilapidated cage. He put his head in his hands and cried. He would have to wait.
What the man had missed was a faded sticker on the cage’s bars reading: “If closed, pull to open.”
| *Fuck… Fuck! FUCK!* Have you ever woken up feeling on top of the world, only to have a memory of the night before, or a premonition of the day ahead, seep into you're mind. Seep in and drown that naive piece of bliss that never learned to swim. Try waking up in solitary. Not “Solitaire,” as we used to call it. “Solitaire” is a ten by ten by ten sponged room. Maybe you get a bed, maybe you get a toilet, probably neither. You stay their for a day or two at a time, because you scared a guard or some shit… It was no walk in the sunshine, but it was a game compared to this. It was “Solitaire”; this is Solitary… *fucking solitary*. Solipsism is a reality in Solitary.
You can be anywhere, then you’re here. You take a tranquilizer to the thigh or wherever they decide to shoot you and you’re here. In Solitary. You know you’re here because nothing is quite the same. Food taste… different, the sky is dull. Things don't echo. It is as if the universe has not fully loaded in. Worse than worse, is that you are all alone.
You wake up in a bed, the bed you have slept in since you were sentenced. The door is open, all doors are open, and nobody is home. If you are a virgin to this you usually laugh, thinking this is some elaborate punishment for a reality TV show or something. It isn't. My first time, I realized it wasn't a trick when I left the prison, got in a car, and drove to D.C. I slept on the floor in the oval office, just me… Myself, and I. A week in, I was convinced I heard a crow caw, I chased it and was convinced I saw a crow fly… I don’t know. Six weeks in I tried to drink myself to death, I woke up.
Six weeks and three days in I shot every bullet of a loaded revolver into my whiskey flavored palate. You don’t die. You know how in a dream, you usually wake up before you die… Same principle only, well, you don’t wake up. You’re just alive, completely intact, completely aware, six pristine bullets fall clumsily out of your mouth.
You don’t laugh anymore, you cry. On your very best days you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and more often than not, you end up doing a whole lot of both; hysterically. Before all this, before I was sentenced, when I was being arrested - the officer asked candidly: “How do you live with yourself?” I said nothing. Seemed rhetorical at the time. I wish I knew… then I could stop. I could stop living with myself. The lonely road is a toll road, each toll more expensive than the last. A long walk in and you would take a raping just for the company of the rapist.
Stale purgatory is hell…
Then all at once it is over. You wake up in a bed, in a locked room, ambient noise, and a convicted murderer bunking above you, and you cry. You cry tears of hot salty joy. My cellmate calls me a faggot, and though I am not, I want to kiss him. I missed my dad who tried to drown me, that teacher that thought she was better than me, the bully, the snitch that got me expelled, the girl that broke me when she ran, that boss that stole my wages, that girl that came back and broke me all over again, heck even my cellmate who just called me a faggot.
When you are grateful for the pain, you are rehabilitated. You are free to go. | 2014-05-17T22:29:17 | 2014-05-17T22:22:31 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] You have just found the cure to a virus that is killing millions worldwide, why do you keep it to yourself? | I did it. me! I finally did it. That damn virus reanimated our dead.its killed millions, billions even. And I finally found the cure. I have been working my ass off I haven't really counted the days.my only friends have been these concrete walls. But it is no matter because I am the true savior to the planet. Now I wonder If someone out there gonna come let me out of this damn bunker. It's almost been two....years. | I can't share it, it'd be too risky. There'd be pandemonium. Millions, if not billions of people rushing to get the cure. It doesn't seem fair, but it is right. It won't do anyone much good if they're trampled on in a massive stampede for it.
I was working on a chemistry project. I had the virus and it was slowly, painfully killing me. But I carried on. There's no point stopping, It's wasn't like anything could ease the pain. Something went wrong. I dropped a little too much Dihydrogen Monoxide in and it started steaming. Before I could move away I had a faceful of it. I started coughing and passed out.
When I woke up, the painful spots on my arms had gone, I no longer felt sick. I checked myself with a guide from the NHS website and none of the symptoms applied to me anymore.
I figured that with the amount of people dying, there would be riots everywhere. I wouldn't be able to produce enough to keep up with demand. People would fight over it. They would die over it.
A cure that kills more than it saves. I won't let it.
edit: punctuation and a sentence | 2014-05-30T02:00:50 | 2014-05-30T01:50:22 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] - You've been talking to someone on a dating and decide to meet up for lunch. You meet and are getting along famously, when partway through the meal you get a text from your date apologizing that they are late, and that they will be there soon.
Dating site | "Running late, sorry. See u in a minute!"
Well now that's odd. Paige wasn't running late. In fact, Paige was sitting right across from me. But my phone clearly said that this text was from Paige, who hadn't touched her phone since we sat down. We had been relatively busy since we met, ordering lunch, talking about common interests, playfully touching each other. No time for distracting phones, no want to be distracted by anything.
Yet this was Paige's phone number. So Paige must have sent it moments ago. I looked up at Paige's face, with her smiling eyes and small freckle near her nose that you normally wouldn't see unless you paid close attention, and then glanced back at the picture on my phone. The one that I had taken off the dating website. They were the same.
Of course they would look the same. What did I think, that this was a different Paige than the one on the website? I must have, since that was what I had thought. But that was stupid, why would this Paige at the table be a different Paige than the one I talked to online? Who even knew we were meeting here this afternoon?
But the nagging question, why would I receive a text from her, when she was right here? It's not as if reception here was terrible, the message was sent just a few moments ago. And her phone was right there, in her purse, on the ground next to her. I can look right in and see it. Her very orange and red purse she took with her everywhere.
Wait. What was odd about that thought? Everywhere? We've never met before, this is the first I've seen of her purse. It wasn't in any of the photos she put online, heaven's knows I've studied those closely. Then how did I know what her purse looked like? I checked her face again, and the smile was slowly fading from her face.
The one I had seen everywhere since Paige and I started chatting. I had imagined that I was just seeing Paige in other people's faces ever since that infatuation stage began. Was this a Paige look-a-like that had been stalking me?
No! Listen to yourself. This is Paige and you are finally meeting up after getting to know each other online and your having a wonderful time and then your phone glitches and sends a message from someone else to someone else. It's not as if a stalker underwent plastic surgery to look like Paige just to meet you, and then hacked into your account and read all your messages to and from Paige so they would know what to say to convince you.
But the way that Paige, this Paige here at the table, kept touching her face where a surgery would have stretched some skin, touching the freckle by her nose as if it were sore from being tattooed on recently, made it seem she was uncomfortable in her skin. Plus the way we talked about computers and techie stuff and programming, stuff we hadn't talked about online together, she could have easily found my passwords and gone through my entire web history, let alone my dating profile messages.
I looked at Paige-across-the-table again, and suddenly I knew, right then and there, that this wasn't the same Paige I talked to online.
No, this is crazy! Who would do all that for me?
A secret admirer.
A stalker.
Why would she do this?
She loves you.
She's crazy!
If this isn't the same Paige, if this is some impostor, some lunatic, some unrequited lover, why am I not freaking out?
Because these last fifteen minutes, I've been falling in love with her. Hard and fast. And no one has ever made me do that before. I don't think Paige-from-online could have done that either. So what am I supposed to do? What am I going to do.
Paige-across-the-table, the Paige I've been talking to, is no longer smiling. But she doesn't appear confused, or upset, or crazy. Her eyes have this sad, pleading, longing look to them. As if she's guessed what I've been thinking these past few moments, and is pleading her case. And I know what I have to do.
"sorry can't make it tonight. sumthing came up. ttyl" | March 4th.
Dear diary,
I CAN'T. BELIEVE. WE'RE ON A DATE!!!!!
Like, we've been lovingly watching this guy's every move, for like, a month. And just recently (when spying his e-mails) we found out he's using a dating site!!! WTF! And he's arranged a date with some filthy blonde WHORE. We can't believe he's cheating on us!!! SO, we decided we'd show up where their meeting, and show him who we REALLY are. Well, u know, getting to know one another. He's never really spoken to us, but we THINK he has noticed us a few times! Totally cool! We definitely think he loves us as well, and we will not let him go!!! Anyway, the date is tomorrow at 3:30 pee-em, we'll find a way to stop the whore on her tracks, and get to meet our love! Wish us luck!! ;) <3
-------------
March 5th. 3:59PM
What's going on? He looks worried. DID HE FIND OUT? No. we locked the bitch in the shitter where she belongs. WE MADE SURE THEIRS NO CELLPHONE COVERAGE WHERE WE LOCKED HER. Don't worry. It's probably another thing that is afflicting our love. "Is everything alright, my love?"
4:00PM
"Please don't go. I LOVE you."
4:01PM
We broke his phone. He was trying to call the meanies. but THEIR NOT GONNA GET IN THE WAY OF OUR LOVE. "I LOVE YOU!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!"
---------
March 5th. 3:20PM
Gosh, I cannot believe this is happening. The door is jammed, I have a date with that guy from the dating site (I still cannot believe I bought into this, but let's give chance a chance), and yet I'm stuck in the bathroom! God, I'm so clumsy. I guess I'll try getting out, and once I'm out, I'll text him telling him I'm on my way - no mention to the occurred here, of course. Don't want him thinking I'm *that* stupid.
3:45PM
Okay, I managed to get out. Not without the help from a few very handsome firemen of course, but the fact of the matter is I'm free, and able to go meet Mr. Dating Site!
Hi, sorry :s Im late. I ran in2 a few problems. rlly soz to keep u
w8ing. u still there? can we still meet? im omw. ETA 20 mins
-------------
3:55PM
Hey. r u mad at me? pls answer :( i rlly didnt mean to not come, ill
explain it all once im there. pls wait 4 me :(
-------------
3:58PM
[INCOMING TEXT: JASON DATING SITE] Uh oh... If ur on ur way...
then WHOS HERE???
4:07PM
Okay. What the hell happened here. Police lines? Who's that girl on the floor? Could it be... Oh, there he is, talking to the cops. I can't approach. They won't let me. I should probably just wait.
-------
March 5th. 3:46 PM
Phone just buzzed. Probably nothing. It'll seem rude if I ignore her to look at a text, this is going so well after all.
3:52PM
What if it's an emergency? What if it's Joe about that deal we were securing with Pepsi? Nah, he'd have called. Just chill out and focus on her... Hmm, her profile said she had green eyes, and didn't mention anything about freckles... No, I'm getting paranoid. It's probably the light that makes them seem blue, and she had no reason to point out she had freckles anyway.
3:57PM
God damn this phone. I'm trying to enjoy an awesome date here! But if it's two messages, it's probably something important... "Will you excuse me for a second?"
4:00PM
*MY LOVE?* What the hell is this? Some kind of joke? I feel dizzy. I should probably get up.
Okay now this is a whole another level of creepy. She's holding my arm and... crying? I should call the cops.
4:06PM
"I don't know, Mr. Officer, she tried to stab me, looked me in the eye, crying, said "We were supposed to be BEAUTIFUL!" and slit her own... Throat.
--
**EDIT:** Changed the discourse of the Weird Girl, to make her sound a bit more psycho. (Changing everything from first person singular to first person plural). | 2014-07-03T12:07:57 | 2014-07-03T11:48:33 | 121 | 14 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl. | I looked at the Djinn, "so" I asked him "you said I had one wish left, right?"
He looked at me, and smiled - "yes, make it a good one". I looked around my room, my messy little apartment had become a grand villa, and my wall was covered in degrees. I had the knowledge and the proof of it to live a good life, and make a good salary... I wasn't missing anything.
I paced around the room, glancing at my photos of my family, of my friends, and of my cats. The boys ran around the room getting acquainted to their new environment but seemed to be acclimating well. It was then that I realized my absolute wish.
"ok, for my 3rd wish, I want to meet my soulmate. Someone who returns the feelings, someone I can settle down with. Bring me the man of my dreams"
The Djinn cocked his head to the side "you are an interesting case, but your wish is my command" he said, and in the other room I saw a flash. Following the flash I heard a scream, a deep voice, one of which I've never heard before. As the Djinn bid farewell I ran into the room to find a very handsome man sitting on the floor. He was naked, and looked incredibly confused.
"um, that Djinn has a sense of humor doesn't he?" I asked the man as I leaned down to help him up. His dark blue eyes met mine and I felt something familiar in them, but couldn't place it. He gazed into my eyes and slowly blinked.
"My god... you are acting like a cat" I said laughing. I handed him one of the blankets I had on my couch. HE sniffed it... he fucking sniffed it! then he started to kneed it. I started to hope I was misinterpreting this but the clues were coming in quickly. Frantic I called out to my cats, to have them come into the room... all 4 of them. Only 3 entered. The man looked at all of them and smiled. Then playfully kicked one saying "who's alpha now big shot?" He looked back at me and wrapped his arms around me. Shaking my head, not being able to decide if this was fortunate or horrific I smiled. "Guess we'll need to change your name Curley, are... are you ok?"
he nodded - "yea... I'll get used to this human body anyway" I looked in the mirror where it framed him holding me. Everyone always laughed I was a cat lady... little did I know. | I lay back on my mountain of cash and met the Djinn’s lighting storm eyes.
“For my final wish, I wish to meet the girl of my dreams, my perfect soul mate.”
“It is done.” The Djinn said in it’s mountain slide voice. One final crackling blink and it disappeared into a swirling pile of dust.
I looked down at my cat, “Well Albert, shall we go looking for my soul mate?”
“I’m not talking to you,” replied Albert.
An ear piercing scream rose from the direction of my house. Shuffling down my cash I walked towards the building. It was hard to believe that only ten minutes before I had been digging a pool in my backyard. Now that hole was filled with cold hard cash and then some. The mound of money was almost as high as the single level bungalow I shared with my best friend Steve.
Before I could reach the house the most beautiful woman I had ever seen burst onto the back porch. She had long black hair and her face instantly grabbed my heart. For some reason, she was wearing my roommate’s clothes.
The girl’s bewildered stare moved from me to the giant pile of money and back to me again. I simply stared, my heart doing jumping jacks in my chest.
“What the fuck did you do dude?” she asked in a deep but familiar voice.
It was Albert who answered from the ground near my feet. “He dug up a genie, wished for a gazillion dollars, that I could talk and to meet his perfect woman.”
Steve’s eyes widened even further as she looked at the talking cat. “I’m having a flash back right. Please god let me be having a flash back.”
It finally dawned on me what had happened. I looked up at Steve, her beautiful tear streaked face etching itself in my soul. Even under her baggy man cloths I could see curves in all the right places.
“So ummmm, I guess you’re my soul mate.” I said as I climbed the porch steps and opened my arms for a hug.
Steve’s open palms hit me hard in the chest. “Get the fuck away from me dude.”
I backpedaled, but managed to not fall down the stairs. “But Steve, I love you.” I could feel my penis getting hard in my pants. The need to have her was becoming overwhelming.
Steve’s eyes hardened as she noticed the bulge in my pants. “Dude, if you think I am ever going to touch your dick you are fucking crazy. What the fuck?”
None of this even registered. All I wanted to was to hold my soul mate and ravish her body. “What’s the big deal baby? You know you want it.” I said as I moved forward again.
Steve’s fist connected hard on my chin and this time I did go down over the stairs. When I finally came to I knew she was gone. I opened my eyes to see Albert’s furry face inches from mine.
“Steve left,” he said.
“I know”
“You’re an idiot,”
“I know that too”
“Get up and get me some food. And none of that dry crap. It’s nothing but fancy fest for this kitty from now on.”
With that, I dragged my heart broken body up the stairs and went to find my cat some supper.
| 2014-08-19T10:21:17 | 2014-08-19T09:49:05 | 330 | 90 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl. | I looked at the Djinn, "so" I asked him "you said I had one wish left, right?"
He looked at me, and smiled - "yes, make it a good one". I looked around my room, my messy little apartment had become a grand villa, and my wall was covered in degrees. I had the knowledge and the proof of it to live a good life, and make a good salary... I wasn't missing anything.
I paced around the room, glancing at my photos of my family, of my friends, and of my cats. The boys ran around the room getting acquainted to their new environment but seemed to be acclimating well. It was then that I realized my absolute wish.
"ok, for my 3rd wish, I want to meet my soulmate. Someone who returns the feelings, someone I can settle down with. Bring me the man of my dreams"
The Djinn cocked his head to the side "you are an interesting case, but your wish is my command" he said, and in the other room I saw a flash. Following the flash I heard a scream, a deep voice, one of which I've never heard before. As the Djinn bid farewell I ran into the room to find a very handsome man sitting on the floor. He was naked, and looked incredibly confused.
"um, that Djinn has a sense of humor doesn't he?" I asked the man as I leaned down to help him up. His dark blue eyes met mine and I felt something familiar in them, but couldn't place it. He gazed into my eyes and slowly blinked.
"My god... you are acting like a cat" I said laughing. I handed him one of the blankets I had on my couch. HE sniffed it... he fucking sniffed it! then he started to kneed it. I started to hope I was misinterpreting this but the clues were coming in quickly. Frantic I called out to my cats, to have them come into the room... all 4 of them. Only 3 entered. The man looked at all of them and smiled. Then playfully kicked one saying "who's alpha now big shot?" He looked back at me and wrapped his arms around me. Shaking my head, not being able to decide if this was fortunate or horrific I smiled. "Guess we'll need to change your name Curley, are... are you ok?"
he nodded - "yea... I'll get used to this human body anyway" I looked in the mirror where it framed him holding me. Everyone always laughed I was a cat lady... little did I know. | I heard the scream. It was loud and I'm sure I ruptured an ear drum. I went toward the source. I ended up in my roommate's room. His room is now completely different. It usually is messy with shit everywhere, but today it was clean. It smelled nice in the room too. I walked into his personal bathroom. The shower was on. I opened the door and heard a shriek.
"God, Scott you can't just keep barging in!" A beautiful girl said while grabbing a towel.
"Oh, where's... What's his name again?... Um, just tell me where I can find my roommate." I said.
"Oh silly, I'm your roommate. Did you get drunk again?" The girl responded.
"What? I thought I had a male roommate." I said with a quizzical look plastered on my face.
"No Scott, I think you are drunk. Remember me, I am Jennifer? Is this sounding familiar?" She asked with a note of concern.
It didn't feel right, but it sounded familiar. She scoffed as she walked past me. I walked out of the room, maybe if I took a nap it would be normal again.
I woke up an hour later. And there she was sitting down with a corona watching tv. I really didn't notice that she was watching Community because I was utterly baffled.
"You gonna continue to sleep lazy ass or are we gonna go out?" She asked nonchalantly.
"Go out? Aren't we just roommates?" I retorted.
"God, you must be really hungover. Hang on, let me go get something to help you, uh, *remember*." She said as she got up and went into her room. I heard scrounging and drawers opening and closing. Next thing I knew a naked girl was on top of me.
"UM, UH?" I muttered.
"What? You love it when I take initiative." She said while she proceeded to kiss me.
"Well, lets just say this is the sexiest thing I have ever experienced." I said.
"Thank you babe." She responded while smiling.
"Wait, we're dating?" I asked even more confused than before.
"Yeah, damn. That actually hurts." She said while climbing off of me.
"Sorry, I get drunk and it fucks with my brain. " I said sincerely.
"Well, let's hope it doesn't fuck with your libido" She said while grabbing my face.
The next 12 minutes of my life were probably the greatest ever. It felt amazing.
"Wow, that was excellent." I said while putting on my shirt.
"I agree. So, dinner?" She asked.
"Yeah, maybe tacos." I responded.
"Sounds awesome babe, let me go clean myself up and we'll go." She said while walking into her room.
And from then on I forgot about the wishes, I forgot about my old roommate, I forgot a lot of things. Years later, I was sitting in my study, and then it hit me like a train. Everything came back, the wishes, the old roommate, every single thing that went away that day. I smiled, as I didn't need to search the world for the one, as he/she was right there all along. | 2014-08-19T10:21:17 | 2014-08-19T08:54:23 | 330 | 89 |
[WP] In the near future a company holding the only patent to a point-to-point teleportation system in widespread use is exposed as a fraud and the truth is more horrible than anyone expected it to be. | “Free Trips for the month of July.” The advert had sparked controversy through governments and their various iterations of CDCs. Concentrated travel of that magnitude…the crowds alone would breed a second Black Death with no mention of the rampant crime. Illegal immigrants would surge through Prilotec’s security barriers, a desperate mob trampling greener fields with too many shoeless feet. Criminals would disappear in the chaos, free to prey on the transient masses. Jordan knew all of this would come to pass when the promotion had been released.
The company had bought his invention, turned it in to something monstrous. He begged them to only use it on the inanimate. The shipping industry would have made them a fortune on its own, but he did not create the device with an imbecilic mind. He sold the transporter and fled. They had sent their hit squads after him, but catching him was a fools task. He had created teleportation, perfected it beyond the simple point to point device; it was a child’s toy to him now. He was a ghost.
He had dropped rumors in forums, bombed teleportation stations across the globe, left messages scrawled in the blood of the company’s employees. That was in the early days, before the company was the people, integrated into everything. The horror he felt seeing children in the lines shook him to the core. He had done things in this war that he never believed himself capable.
The first time he teleported himself came to mind as he sat alone in the dimly lit room, a simple point to point in his basement that went so wrong. 12 feet, 12 feet faster than light. He arrived on the other side changed. All his doubts, fears, were gone, not just of his device, but of life. The elation that should have been there from his successful travel was also absent. The transfer had left him absent.
It was only curiosity that brought him back to the pad. If he hadn’t looked so closely he would have missed it. A fine layer of white dust covered the delicate electronics. His face was close and the dust so fine that his breath drew it into his lungs. All at once he was whole again. His memories tied back with emotion, life flowed through his veins once more. He knew, he knew, and he sold it anyway. The soul cannot travel faster than light; it is left behind.
They wouldn’t listen to him, thinking him mad at first, but soon those that had transported outnumbered those that hadn't. It was no longer that they didn’t believe; it was that they didn’t care. He spent his early days collecting the dust from the stations. It was difficult at first, but his collection efforts were aiding by his improved teleportation device. The suit he used slowed teleportation to just below the speed of light, and was fitted with vacuum hoses to siphon the dust.
When it entered him, he felt the whole of a person’s life, their pain, ambitions, loves, and desires. It was addicting, overpowering. He knew he was an addict, even then, but the waste of leaving it to be thrown away was too much to bear. He carried their lives, all of the victims of his teleporter. They were ghosts in his consciousness, reminders of his arrogance and greed.
The decision came quietly, in the months following the July fiasco. The world knew that their souls were gone, but without them they couldn’t summon the will to care. It was a blip on the evening news, a puff piece. The world was “better” now. Crime had dissolved, poverty was obliterated, and frivolity had given way to reason and logic. The planning for this moment took only days. The chorus of voices drove him through sleepless nights. One warhead detonated and teleported without resistance to every point on Earth. He stood in front of the shelf holding the box with a big red button. It seemed fitting this way. He had no need to physically connect to a device. He had rigged it to teleport the signal.
He needed only a moment of courage and it would be over, and he had the courage of billions. But he had their fears as well. They all swelled inside him still tied to the person it was ripped from, still following their thoughts. He was their love, their sorrow, their rage, their anger, their outrage. He was the ghost of humanity, and humanity would be avenged. They had only to culminate, to agree that it was time, even for a second, and it would be done.
| "You going to hold on to your lunch?"
"You know damn well that I don't eat before a jump," Todd said with a toothy-smile to the engineer, Jerry. Another jump meant another $50k in his pocket, and he was happy to do just that. Jerry stood at the control panel, a small stand that looked like a music director's stand, except this stand had a few buttons on it, as well as one lever. Jerry pulled the lever, and the circular arch that Todd stood in front of glimmered and shone.
Todd turned and peered into the television camera manned by some person that he didn't know. Every time he jumped, there was some camera there watching him, some different face behind it with a two dollar smile. Todd didn't mind though, there would be another man on the other end behind another camera with another two dollar smile, and there would be another man, but this one would have a check for fifty grand.
The portal sparked to life, and there he was, the man with the check, waiting on the other end. Todd took a deep breath and stepped through, feeling the pores on his skin open up and drink in the air, his eyes felt like they were watering, and he was suddenly conscious of every hair follicle on his body.
The sensations ended as soon as they started, and there Todd was, standing on the other side of the world with a man clapping.
"And there you have it folks," the man said into the camera, "Todd has made another jump."
Todd walked forward and shook his hand, the camera turned off, and then he took his check.
____________________________________________________________
His house on this side was luxurious; his bedroom housed an 80 inch television which he played video games on, and there was a mini-fridge next to his bed that was always fully stocked with vanilla pudding. On his bed sat his cat, Sushi, a rather fat cat that Todd failed to keep on a diet. One man had offered Todd an extra 10 grand to take Sushi with him through the portal, but Todd kindly turned it down, not wanting to risk his pet on the off-chance that portals didn't like animals.
He got out of his bed and walked over to the computer that was sitting on the oak table sitting on his computer. He sighed, waiting for the computer to boot up, and for some reason he was reminded of his time spent in prison, sitting there, waiting, and rotting.
He was guaranteed life, until the man in the suit came and cut him a deal; freedom if he stepped through the portal. There weren't any guarantees as to what would happen, he'd either end up on the other side, or he could be ripped to pieces, or he could spend an eternity in limbo. At the time, it didn't matter to him, and he took it. He stepped through the portal and entered freedom.
His doorbell rang, interrupting him from his thoughts. He slipped on his house shoes and made his way to the front door. As he got closer to the glass ornamented door he could hear a growing murmur of voices.
Upon opening the door, he found a crowd of reporters, shoving their microphones into his face like a bad porno.
____________________________________________________________
The woman interviewing him had more than a two dollar smile. By Todd's judgement, he'd say it was about a five-er, maybe even a ten. There was another camera in the room, and behind it, another man that he had never seen before in his life.
"So," the woman continued, "you're not Todd?"
"I am Todd," he said curtly.
"Well, the portal you've been stepping through for the past 10 years wasn't really a portal, the portal was fake. You were being pulled apart, atom by atom, transferred, and then put together on the other side, atom by atom. You were technically dead between those trips, and then rebuilt. You are no longer Todd."
Todd looked down at himself sarcastically. He lifted his arms, turned them over, gazed at his fingernails. He reached a hand down the front of his pants, much to the interviewers horror, grabbed a hold of his own junk, then nodded, "No, this is all me, this is all Todd," he said, retracting his hand from his pants, then wiping it on the armrest.
"I don't think you understand," the woman persisted, "you are not the same person."
"I'm done with this," Todd said. He left the room and was instantly surrounded by his bodyguards.
They stepped out of the building and were briefly surrounded by a crowd of people, some of them holding signs, some of them throwing trash, and most of them yelling obscenities, ranging from fake, abomination, monster, and many other names that they pulled from Mary Shelley literature.
No two dollar smiles in the crowd, Todd thought to himself. Another slew of microphones were thrust into his face, body guards doing their best to karate chop them out of the reporters' hands. One microphone managed to find it's way under Todd's nose.
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
"I am Todd." | 2014-08-25T10:18:29 | 2014-08-25T09:56:59 | 344 | 41 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence. | I woke up groggily. I looked at the clock on the wall. 5:30 AM.
"What's the matter, Hon?"
Ann's form silhouetted against the moon light. As she finished her phone call, our wedding ring glistened and shown brightly. "It's my mom. She says she's passing nearby, and will arrive in 10 minutes to visit." | My eyes stopped working this morning. And my arms and legs. I'm lying in the middle of my cold kitchen floor, trying to twist my head, neck, and torso enough to get myself upright. I must have left my door open before all this happened; the wind is whipping through the house. I can hear the curtains ruffling and papers blowing around.
Without warning, there's tremendous pressure on my arms and legs. Pressure and heat. Searing, terrible heat. I can't stop screaming as I try to wrench the working parts of my body away from whatever is torturing me. I expect to smell burning clothes and hair and skin, but there's nothing. Just the smell of the wintery air and my sweat. The pressure is unrelenting. My bones feel ready to splinter, but somehow they maintain their integrity.
My screaming is drowned out by the loudest noise I've ever heard. The entire house shakes violently. The sound is deep and all bass; there's no change in amplitude or frequency. It doesn't stop. The pressure doesn't stop. The heat doesn't stop. The room feels like it's filling with water.
| 2014-11-18T11:22:43 | 2014-11-18T08:59:17 | 110 | 14 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I decided to go with a 1-15 scale instead of 1-10 hope that's not too big a deal. Criticism welcome.
-----
I can read your numbers.
Everyone has a number. It's not something that hangs in the air over their head, it just sort of... Pops into my mind.
The way someone stands, the look on their face... The numbers, as far as I can tell represent how dangerous someone has the potential to be on a scale of one to fifteen.
These numbers can change over time, my grandfather is a Vietnam Veteran, when I was younger his number was a seven, every few years it drops a point or so. Last time I saw him he was a five. When I look at pictures of him when he was younger he was an eight.
Most people average at about four. Kids tend to be a two or three, the only "ones" I've ever seen are quadriplegics.
The big numbers tend to be politicians and world leaders. Serial Killers usually hit in around ten. Leaders and Generals involved with wars hit around thirteen. The only fifteens I've ever seen are on old videos, at least until today, Hitler, Mao, Stalin, and all of the people that immediately surround them. The sorts of people who are responsible for mass genocide and similar atrocities.
Today a new kid came to school. His number was low, a three, until he looked at me and smiled. Suddenly I felt this oppressive fear and I saw his number shoot to fifteen.
I passed out, the school nurse sent me home.
I've been loading dads gun, I can't let him live.
If you had the chance to kill Hitler before he did anything wrong, would you? I've made my decision. | Every since I can remember, there were numbers in my head.
Everyone had a number, a three for the boy who pushed me down the slide, a seven for those murderer's on TV, a four for my mother, etc... I had never met a ten, nor a nine, and eights were only in other countries.
Until I met *him*.
He was beautiful.
He was perfect and kind and lovely, he was everything I ever wanted in life. He was pure perfection. He mustn't have ever had a bad day because he was *divine*.
But he was a ten.
He was a ten in everything he did; he was a star athlete, head of the debate team, model student, and loving son. Everyone knew him, guys wanted to be him, girls wanted him, and I...
I was skeptical.
What was different about him? He seemed to be perfect, but that couldn't be true... I was very wary of this boy, this seeming deity of perfection, what would ever make him like this?
I was terrified of him from the moment he said hello.
"Hey, I'm Alex, and I couldn't help but notice that you always seem to walk away whenever I'm in the room? Did I upset you or something? If I did, I'm sorry, a lady as beautiful as you should never have to be uncomfortable."
I blinked in wide eyed fear, my eyes staring at his perfectly sculpted outstretched hand. What was *wrong* with him?
"Hey, now, I'm not gonna bite."
I focused on his perfect lips and the way his white teeth broadened into a lovely grin. He was a boy that many fell in love with, but I wasn't buying it. I was different; I was that one weird chick that over analyzes everything- I didn't have emotions and that's why everyone stayed away.
Cautiously, I outstretched my hand.
"Flora," I rasped, my voice low and uncertain. His smile grew wider and his hand enveloped mine.
The shock that jolted my arm was unexpected, and I yanked my arm back as soon as our skin had met.
His face developed into what seemed like a Cheshire grin. I saw the glint in his eyes, and I felt true terror for the first time in my life.
"Flora," he repeated, as if to test out the words on his own tongue, "I was hoping I'd find you soon."
He licked his lips and took a step forward. | 2014-11-29T12:30:55 | 2014-11-29T12:02:03 | 856 | 498 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case. | He looked at me. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale face. I sensed something - something terrible - but I didn't want it to be true. Ten. Just a number to some, but to me, it was something terrifying. I could sense danger, but not in the animal planet documentary story of a dog predicting a storm kind of way, it was more of "this persons dangerous stay away". Ten. It was the highest number I've ever felt. The last time it was even above a three was at the local gun show that I went to with my grandpa. But even then there were only fives, sixes, and maybe a stray ex-ranger or marine who clocked in at an eight. But never a ten.
The kid across the hall must've been about 15 years old, a year younger than myself. Freshman no doubt. I could tell by the way he carried himself walking through the hall, scared and timid, or maybe it was because he was new. Either way it didn't really matter. He was new and he was dangerous. The boy didn't glow with a scary or dangerous aura as some kids do, you know the senior who has about 50 pounds on you, has way too many tattoos to still be in high school and probably carries a knife or that constantly pissed off and high on caffeine kid who is always in the principles, no he didn't look like that. He just looked sad, depressed even.
Days passed and I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me. I saw him from time to time in the halls and the alarm in my head shot off again and again. Ten. But I did nothing. What could I do though? You can't just approach someone and yell at them because "I can sense danger and you are a really dangerous guy". Ya start a huge scene about my magical powers that'll work! Definitely won't get my ass kicked for that. But still I felt like I needed to do something, warn someone, I can't just sit idly by as this kid roamed through school. I couldn't tell anyone though, no one would believe it. So the days passed and I started to forget about the boy. Not truly forget, I knew he was there, but more that I blocked him out. Maybe it was because he scared me, I don't know.
It has been four weeks since he arrived. TING, TING, TING. I knew I should have said something. I could've if I wanted too. Or maybe this was how it was suppose to be. I wasn't much of a believer in a "pre-determined destiny" kind of philosophy and yet I didn't try and change anything. I let it happen. TING, TING, TING, TING. This all could've been avoided. Fuck me, I was given this power and I never even fucking used it when I had the chance. TING, TING, TING. I deserve this, but they don't. They're innocent. TING, TING, TING, TING. They kept hitting the floor. I urged them to stop. Stop it, please! PLEASE GOD STOP IT. There was no god now though, he had turned a blind eye to this just as I had done to the boy. And this is the price I pay. TING, TING, TING. The shells hit the school tile as the boy with the gun marched through the halls ripping the life out of each and everyone who lined the halls. The blood pooled up at his feet. TING, TING, TING. He wouldn't stop. I kneeled and excepted my fate. The last thing that went through my mind was ten. TING. Just before the bullet erased everything.
| 2014-11-29T13:14:54 | 2014-11-29T12:31:42 | 322 | 38 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | "I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while. | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 140 | 36 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Numbers taste funny. Nines bud into fires on my tongue, their spent embers resembling something akin to zeros. Ones bleed blue like melting ice or my nurse's cerulean eyes. Fives dissolve like Wonderbread and feel like cotton in my ears. When I went to school with other children, they tasted like loaves of stale white bread. Always purple fours at their desks, bland twos yellowing during educational videos. Peppery sixes on the monkey bars, but I would only watch.
My favorite numbers glowed orange, tasted like hot tea. One time, I tried to make the school turn red. Billowing pillars of smoky eccentricity, almost making nines. Eights running down the crimson hall. Sevens helping fallen sixes. No number tasted blue. And then they started putting me in another classroom. The seats' kaleidoscopic occupants percolating and icing throughout the day, especially during music time.
Six weeks later, the alarm bell exploded fantastic. The door became a prism of sixes bumping into sevens, bursting into nines, knocking over eights. I was not supposed to leave the room. Five minutes the screaming Wonderbread burned the cotton from my ears. My tongue rolled electrically and someone finally heard me.
A boy wandered in, soot-faced and smiling. White-hot teeth burning from his mouth. Eyes like zeros. Nostrils flaring like volcanoes.
"Another ten," he said, and strolled away. | "I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while. | 2014-11-29T13:27:21 | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 86 | 36 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked. | “One, two, two, one, three, two.” Numbers over the heads of my friends, family.... People I knew, people I didn’t. I can’t remember when they got there. I just sort of started noticing them one day.... And what they meant was... Obvious to me somehow. “One.... One....”
I often murmured to myself, no one seemed to notice or care. It was all sub vocal, no one could really hear it unless they were listening closely... Then something stopped my mindless chanting.... Someone walked onto the school grounds.
“Ten?!” I stared at her, and covered my mouth, sitting back down on the steps, hoping no one noticed.
She was a ten? But... It wasn't possible, she was just so... Normal.... How could she possibly? I had never even seen a ten before! But I knew she wasn’t what one was supposed to look like.
I noticed she was heading straight towards me. I scrambled to my feet, and ran into the school, and down the hall, she was chasing me.
“Come back here!” She demanded.
“No!” I gasped as loud as I could still running, but she caught me by the wrist, and then yanked, we both fell on the floor.
“I need your help.” She pleaded, and wouldn't release my hand. “I was told to find you.”
“Please let me go! I have to get away from you.”
“No! Please listen! I need you!”
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me and I’ll let you go!”
“Talk fast.” I said still struggling to get away from her.
“I need you to stop me.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“Without killing me, I need you to stop me.... You can see the numbers right? I had to find the one who can see the numbers.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Please.... I don’t want to die.” She said holding my hand tight, and starting to cry.
“Wait a moment calm down....” I said raising my free hand, “What are you talking about?”
“I am the end...” She said sobbing, and releasing my wrist to cover her eyes with her hands.
“What? The end of what?!” I demanded, more confused than ever.
“Of everything.” | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 2014-11-29T14:15:56 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It only took a few seconds of staring until the number pops up in the middle of their forehead. Thank goodness for that, since I think I'd go insane seeing numbers everywhere!
Babies and most kids measure from zero to three at most, while grown adults measure up to maybe five or six, depending on their skills in hunting. I once saw a dedicated force of police officers exit a train carriage and they varied from six to seven.
By the time I was 18, I rarely used my talent. I saw no point of identifying people through their threat levels. A professional boxer has a threat level of eight, but it doesn't make him a bad person, you know?
I was always relieved that I had never seen a nine in my life. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, and the highest I saw there was a seven. I didn't even know what a nine would be, much less a ten.
[Elizabeth pauses]
He was walking around the terminal with this raggedy old briefcase. The handle snapped as he walked past me, and all the contents fell out everywhere. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to wave me off. I told him it was nonsense and helped him pick his stuff up, which consisted of a bunch of letters, notebooks, and I think a framed picture of his family. He looked stressed. so before he could leave I asked him if he would like a seat next to me, and he took the offer.
He was a handsome fellow, a little lanky, with matted brown hair and a nose that stuck out in an odd manner. He told me he had just been recruited to the military. He had a kind face, not one suited for the job he volunteered for. I asked him where he was from and what he plans on doing in the military, and suddenly I was intoxicated. He had this charming way of speaking, like he knew what to say exactly the way it should be said.
We talked for what seemed like a long time, although I knew it must have been only about five minutes. The train leaving from the city had called for its last passengers, and he stood up, telling me that he had to go. I asked him if I could write him, and he hurriedly snatched a piece of paper from his pocket, jotted down his address, folded it, and handed it to me. I barely had the paper in my hand when he started jogging away.
I called out to him, telling him, "Hey! I never got your name!" and for kicks I decided to assess his threat level.
He looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't worry! I wrote it down!" just as a big bright ten materialized in the middle of his forehead. When he reached the train, he looked back at me again, and there it was: the unmistakable number ten.
I'm sure I was still as a statue as that handsome smiling boy waved goodbye. I remembered the piece of paper in my hand, and slowly opened it. His name was right there.
"Adolf." | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T17:05:40 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | My own number always bothered me. A 1, seriously? Luckily nobody else sees numbers or they would think I was nothing but a big laugh.
And I couldn't use another reason to be laughed at, you know. Being in high school is already torture enough, and I'm being bullied enough as it is.
Normally the day starts off getting yelled at by this awfully charismatic young man who believes he's tough. He's a 2. Yes, more dangerous than I am, true, but his sweet bimbo girlfriend is a 5. He doesn't bother me too much, the others do. The sixes and the sevens. They bother me.
They just LOVE to yell at me, take my lunch money, lock me in the toiletstall and push me down. You know, classic stuff.
Today, they actually pushed my head in the toilet bowl, 5 of them, ranging from the common 5 to the less common 7.
I nearly drowned in there. I heard hem laughing. I felt their hands on my back, pushing hand pushing.
When I got home I washed my face over the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. Rarely do numbers ever change, but there you go - a solid 10.
Calmly I dried of my face, glancing at my newly achieved number in the mirror.
They've pushed too far this time. See you at school, sevens. | This is my first post to WP, so I hope anyone who reads this likes it!
Ever since I was born, I’d see numbers in my brain. From the instant I saw a living face I’d see a number. I learned pretty quickly it was danger: my dog was a 1 (too stupid to hurt anyone even if he tried, bless him), and the highest number I ever saw was a man in Hawaii, a seven. I figured out why after he robbed an old woman and ran away, knocking someone over, on his bicycle.
American Lit was boring that day, but that was going to change. I saw someone new walking down the hall and going into the next classroom. He looked at me for a second with a glare of callous determination, and above him I saw a blood-red 10, menacing and ominous. He quickly broke his stare, but I didn’t, watching him for the rest of the class. When I left, I followed him down the halls into an unused classroom. I was wondering if he was going to poison someone or plant a bomb or something like that, so I tried to catch a glimpse. He was nowhere to be seen in the room. I tentatively walked in, anxious as to what I was going to find.
I have regrets, just like everyone. I wish I didn’t have the ability I have; I wish I could have seen my grandfather before he died; I wish I didn’t blow off as much stuff as I did. But the biggest regret I ever had was that I never got to say goodbye to my family, and that the last thing I saw before I died was the same amoral determination that had so scared me before. As I faded into oblivion, choking on the blood in my throat as his knife stabbed me over and over, the last thing my eyes would ever witness was his terrible eyes, black as death, as he slowly widened his horrifyingly blank countenance into an evil grin. The last thing I ever heard was a cruel and harsh voice mutter, “One down.” | 2014-11-29T14:33:38 | 2014-11-29T14:18:16 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange," he said softly under his breath, "wifi." He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped.
*"If you can read this turn back."*
After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. *Safe at last* he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit" he said and went to lunch.
**TL;DR:** Thomas nopes the fuck out.
Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger! | I stole a quick glance into my rucksack at my tablet, the signal for the hotspot was growing stronger. I looked ahead through the crowded Street, towards a tall building. It would be empty on this day
I checked my watch, 12:18 PM, I had 12 minutes. I approached the door and gave a quick push, the door swung open. They would not be expecting me. I walked down the empty halls and to turned right to enter the stairwell. I exited on the 6th floor, and entered the first room on the left.
Three men were sitting as I entered, one immediately stood up.
I drew my suppressed pistol and shot him 3 times in the chest. One went for the gun on his hip, he didn't have a chance. The last threw his arms up.
"Do you have any idea the consequences of your actions? You must not interfere with the time line. Oswald must fail! "
I pulled the trigger two times and stepped over the body to the window. I placed my break down rifle on the table and assembled it. I checked my watch 12:29.
I looked down the scope at the approaching car driving through the crowded Street. My finger resting on the trigger, crosshairs on the target, I heard a shot and then another, the crowd started going crazy. I pulled the trigger.
Oswald misses, I do not. | 2014-12-23T20:15:56 | 2014-12-23T18:36:50 | 2,702 | 911 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here! | The prediction of all these gift shots didn't come soon enough. Before we realized their folly the majority of the worlds children were given it. If everyone was a master of their field, there no chance of exceeding. And so the economy collapsed as our poverty skyrocketed.
With nations falling under the gifted wars, the world was reshaped. At first those of similar gifts joined together in factions. Musicians versus artist, mathematicians versus scientists. Factions joined forces and broke ties. But even with high intellect people forgot we needed people to work the low positions in life.
Fresh water went first. Once the majority stopped doing these types of jobs our supplies ran low. Some Factions would force some of their kind to work those jobs, but that soon brought revolution. Food went next. Disease was cured as soon as it came due to the master doctors and chemists. But starvation was another story.
In the end the factions fell apart and new leaders took over. The gifted shots were still given, no one dared keep their child ordinary. But some parents tried different gifts in the hopes of doing their best for their children.
I sit now as a leader of my nation, running one of the most successful as also one of the youngest leaders out there. I got to my position easily, I made everyone like me. I never aimed to hurt anyone, something my parents feared. But they were philosophers and theorists. They knew it was a chance they had to take with their only daughter. It may have been considered an evil gift, but only if I used it as such. But a master liar can work with anyone and win. | (please forgive any grammar mistakes, long story as to why I suck at it...Trying to improve.
"I think he should be a talented SLADE mechanic, it is the family heritage after all!" Harry, the boys father stated tapping his foot impatiently. His wife had been pushing for there son to be an artist.
"Everything is not about heritage, he is both of our son."
As the two argued the doctor idly cleaned his glasses, and shuffled paperwork on his desk. Running out of busy work to do the doctor stood up, clearing his throat.
"Not now!" The two parents yell in unison. Obviously this matter was more to them then it should be.
The Doctor's shoulders sag as he lets out a large sigh, turning towards the computer terminal on the wall.
" I think, the best skill to be given is a knack for learning.." The Doctor mumbles to himself, sliding his finger across the screen, looking at different bars, and wave lengths for the child.
"I mean, at least with that skill he can do what HE wants." Looking back at the two parents, who where now standing in opposite corners of the room.
Letting out one last sigh, the doctor turns back to the terminal taping his finger in a set order. As his finger taps it the last time a voice comes out of the speakers.
"Knowledge has been chosen, may the child live a happy life." The mechanical voice started, and ended with a loud chirp. At the last chirp the parents turn to look, blood started reddening Harry's face.
"How..How dare you!" Harry's face really looked like it was going to pop.
Clara on the other hand, Clara looked happy. Tears had started to fill her eyes, making her golden brown eyes shine slightly. Understanding what the doctor had done.
"H-h-Harry, stop it. You're embarrassing us, I think this is best." She turns to her husband grabbing his hand gently.
"Maybe we shouldn't choose what skill he is good at. It isn't our decision."
<<; I feel like I would have never stopped writing...this is so bad, but everyone starts somewhere!
| 2015-01-13T10:33:27 | 2015-01-13T10:30:23 | 44 | 19 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | "No, please."
She pushed the vial away from her lips, her thin and wrinkly hands shaking.
"Why?" I asked.
"I... I'm so tired, dear." She sighed. Then she continued:
"My flesh is tired."
"What do you mean?"
"The other ones, my other lives, I've come to realize... they were not *really* me. I've read their diaries, I've memorized the formula. You raised me and I made you young again. I raised you as though you were my own child. But there is no personal continuity between these versions of us and the ones that came before."
There were tears in her eyes, now.
"This is not immortality. Just a series of deaths. A long line of lives we cannot remember, but I swear I can feel the weight of every loss in my bones."
She put her hand on mine.
"I want to sleep."
"But what about our deal?" I asked. "What about us?"
"You will have to find a new one. It will be easy to find somebody willing, but harder to find someone to trust."
I nodded.
"Now leave me. Please. I will have my peace, at last."
I slowly backed out of the room, and I whispered "good bye" as I closed the door.
Walking down the hallway I returned the vial of cyanide into my pocket. I obviously wouldn't need it for this one. That was a first. She'd almost figured everything out, that stupid old hag. She must've been depressed. Whatever. That made things easier for me. Of course the formula lets you preserve your memories! It would be pointless, otherwise. The only reason my partner couldn't remember her past life was because she hadn't lived one. Neither had the one before her.
I already had the next child prepared. I would raise her as my daughter. Then she would raise me as her son. Then I would kill her. Rinse and repeat. A god doesn't share his throne. | At the end I wasn't sure what I was doing.
Was I really doing this for me anymore? I knew he needed me, but did he think I needed him too?
See, the problem with this fountain wasn't just that you became an infant, it's that you also acted like one. Your brain developed just like a child's with your memories coming back at the same rate as you aged. So by the age of three you only ever remembered what your past lives remembered at that age, and so on.
By now it was getting complicated, though. Each lifetime added another layer of memories that made it harder to control, let alone nurture each other in our youths. Imagine a 5 year old with 500 years of experiences.
Now it was just habit. We'd each done this so many times, and every year we were explaining the situation to each other earlier than the last. By now he understood our arrangement by the age of 9, even though he wouldn't remember making it for another 16 years.
But now I was getting to that age, the one filled with regret. We both found the fountain at the same age, 25. When he first drank all I could do was take care of him. There was no getting back to civilization from all the way out there, we had to make do with just our surroundings. Once he reached 25 and I 50, I drank and he raised me. 'Course I never thought once we first found this thing that I'd just be getting older afterwards, but that's life I guess.
Yes, the problem now was that every lifetime at about this age I started getting these doubts flooding back to me, all at once. Each year kindled the next, and by this cycle I was about ready to snap.
I think I knew this was going to be my last iteration, the body I'd die in. Once he hit 25 again I explained it to him and, well, try telling a 25 year old you've given up on youth. An so for the first time he drank again for the second time in a row.
But now I'm an old man. For the first time I live in only one consciousness and my mind is at ease. The only memories I have of these years are the one I'm making.
He drank again for the third time in a row, but by the next time he does it he'll have to find someone else to partner up with. I don't think he'll live forever, though. I know one day he'll join me, and live the rest of his life the first time, for the last time.
| 2015-02-14T06:40:49 | 2015-02-14T05:56:58 | 1,103 | 30 |
[WP] A man has the ability to smell death. The greater the stench, the closer a person is to dying. He leaves his house one day and is instantly overcome with the pungent scent of mortality. Every person he passes reeks of death. | He had known it was coming for a while now.
Death had become a constant companion in Jacob's life. A certain familiarity had developed over the years since he first realized the meaning of his gift. The musty scent, reminiscent of a long forgotten sweater buried deep in a cedar closet, with a hint of an unknown spice, clung to every person in varying degrees, counting down the final moments of their lives.
He had learned to manage it. Avoid hospitals and retirement homes. Stay out of bad neighborhoods and avoid churches with support groups. He developed a plan and stuck to it, rarely deviating from his short route home from work and back again. Following his strict routine kept the smell stable, familiar. So much so that he never even noticed when it had first started to change.
It built up ever so gradually. What had once been an ever present musk pushed to the background of his life had morphed into a constant, forceful reminder of mortality. The scent of death looming ever closer was overwhelming. It was caked into everyone around him as if lathered on to form an extra layer of skin.
As Jacob walked the few short blocks from his home to his office, the smell had cascaded into a climax all around him, encompassing every breath of air he inhaled, coating his throat and lungs with oily morbidity. What should have smelled like a crisp, clear, late summer morning had instead become a thick, funeral scented perfume.
He waited in the elevator to get to his floor, a calm acceptance washing over him as he resigned himself to the fact that today would be his final day. He sat at his desk and looked out his window, and saw the nose of the airplane before his vision faded to black. | The smell of breakfast delighted him as Ken woke up and got ready for work. There must have been something new that his wife was trying with the recipe, because this had a grittier feel to it. He got dressed and sat down to eat and looked at the clock.
7:45, he thought. Almost time to go. He had a long commute to work, he didn't want to go too late otherwise the trains would be packed. He greeted his wife with a hearty 'good morning'. He dug into his breakfast with gusto, but didn't notice anything different in there.
It was after he got up, left the table, kissed his wife goodbye, and went out the door that he noticed the strange smell. Not smell. Stench. Usually it was just one person, but this time it was the whole neighborhood. Everybody reeked of death. Ken looked around, and saw his neighbor, Naomi, watering the few potted plants she had in her small, tidy front yard.
Ken eyed her suspiciously. She seemed fine. No injury. No debilitating disease. He looked around. The whole neighborhood seemed fine. Ken knew he needed to get to the bottom of this, but, he looked at his watch, he needed to catch the 8:17 train. Ken shook his head, covered his mouth and nose and walked onwards to the station.
Every person he walked past reeked of the stench of death. The smell was pouring onto him, deluging him, whisps of its smoky acridity creeping up his nostrils. He could feel it staining his suit and tie, and making his eyes water. As he walked past the convenience store, another one of his neighbors saw him and greeted him with a hearty 'good morning'. He nodded, but he must have looked a strange sight with his hand covering his grimace and his eyes watering and red. His neighbor stopped him, inquiring about his health.
Ken nodded. He was physically OK...and now wasn't the time to explain his power.
"元気です" he said.
The neighbor nodded. He was about to let Ken go, until he saw something in the sky. The neighbor pointed to it.
"えっー...それなに?"
Ken turned around to look, but all he saw was a giant flash of white hot light as Little Boy flattened Hiroshima. And turned Ken, Naomi and everyone nearby into ash. | 2015-03-20T20:38:30 | 2015-03-20T18:56:15 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] "When hell is full, the dead shall walk the Earth." However, no one said anything about what happens when Heaven is full. | Journal
Week 6, Day 2
Well, journal, we made it to the old school gym. I, along with twelve others, have been on the run since the dead stopped being dead. I can hear them outside, pounding on the doors.
Goddamn they're annoying.
"DO YOU HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT OUR LORD AND SAVIOR JESUS CHRIST?" the horde moans at our doorstep. It never stops. Just last week we lost another from the group. He tried to make his way to one of the relief centers, but was beaten to death with bibles after telling a group of undead that he identified as "spiritual, but not religious." I guess he went to hell, because his body is still lying in the street.
We're running low on gasoline to power the generator. So far, it's been the only thing keeping the hordes at bay. We use it to power a giant projector which we aim at the side of a building across the street. The projector is connected to a computer system set up to play non-stop gay porn. It seems to be the only thing these monsters are afraid of. I guess nothing says "keep your religion to yourself" like two thirty-foot guys banging each other.
It's going to be a long apocalypse. | I walked out of my house, holding my lower back in an attempt to ease the ever present aches and pains. Now, I'm 6 foot 5, so I've been having to crouch down when I leave the house for some time, but it's getting worse. Even my wife is having to bend down to walk outside now, and I may as well be crawling around on all fours. The sky is sagging above us, like the balloon drop at a high school prom. They say heaven is getting full, and I can't help but picture it as some sort of sparkly mass grave hanging over my head.
Everyone has been waiting for something to happen, and as I inched forward toward my car, I think something did. It all happened so quickly, but in slow motion at the same time. My young neighbour Sophie was playing in her yard and her ball rolled into the street, so she ran after it. Before I knew it, a car turned the corner and hit her. Her little body didn't stand a chance against the impact and she died instantly.
Mere moments later (I was still in shock from what I has just seen) I heard a tearing noise. The sky seemed to burst open and spring right back up to where it belonged, well out of reach. All around me was a rain of bright white translucent figures. Angels. They were *everywhere*, falling right on top of people and houses, but they weren't hitting us. You could wave your arm right through them, like a hologram. The angels weren't talking, but they were there.
At first it was a bit of a shock, but it's been a few weeks now and I think we've adjusted. Life hasn't really changed, aside from the constant fog from the angels. We drive through them, walk through them and sit on them. They are always around, but if you learn to ignore the fact that you are walking through souls, life remains unchanged. My back has gotten better, though. | 2015-04-07T09:33:04 | 2015-04-07T07:05:46 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it. | Five years old, he's on the playground now, a toe in the sand. He's beckoning to you to push him on the swing.
Six years old - He's been with his mother all day and rushes to greet you at the door. You kiss him on the forehead and hug your wife. The love that connects you three anchors the rest of your life.
Nine years old - you buy him a gerbil. He names the animal and takes care of it diligently. He tells you that's what he wants to do in life - help animals. You nod and smile.
He's on the varsity team. He rows and plays basketball. He has your affinity for the knicks and the Jets. He falls in love with a cheerleader. She breaks his heart and for the first and last time in his life he tries drugs. He meets Cindy who becomes the love of his life. He introduces her to you and Maggie. He tells you that the man he's become is because of the virtues you imbued in him and hands you a sonogram. You're going to be a grandfather. You embrace your son.
He's forty three. A twice divorced executive who still loves the Jets and spoils his kids with whatever they want. They resent him but you can see the love for them in his eyes.
He's sixty one. The veins in his taut leathery hands are prominent. He steadies himself as he reads your eulogy. Here lies my father, the greatest man I've ever known.
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01 | 2015-06-03T07:16:05 | 2,420 | 11 |
[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted. | **Blurring the Lines of Sexual Inequality: Robin Thicke's Forgotten Feminist Anthem**
Almost one hundred years since human females won the right to vote, human females everywhere were still massively oppressed. Primary sources gathered from an ancient social media website known as Tumblr have dramatically shifted consensus among historians. After examining the evidence, it has become established that as late as 2010 CE, even North American human females were publicly executed for such actions as showing their nipples in public, not shaving their armpits, and most of all, assuming the social position of what's called a "slut," a human female who partakes in breeding activities for purely psychological enjoyment. It has always been difficult to determine when sexual liberation for human females gained acceptance among the population, but recent evidence repeatedly points to the feminist anthem "Blurred Lines" by a Mr. Robin Thicke as the trigger for the movement. Below, I conduct an in-depth analysis of the lyrics and their revolutionary championing for human females' sexual autonomy.
The introductory lyrics by themselves are already at the cutting edge of socially progressive attitudes. By repeating "Everybody get up!" Mr. Thicke assumes equaltiy between human males and females. As the Tumblr Record indicates, early 21st century, pre-feminist society considered human females to be *Homo sapiens* only some of the time. By using the gender neutral word "Everybody," Mr. Thicke boldly announces to the world that he will sacrifice his Caucasian male privilege to elevate those of a lower social standing. In effect, his revolutionary use of "everybody" was sure to ring the alarm bells for a type of people called "Democrats," which historical records show being astonishingly crusty, conservative, and the primary barrier to progressive social movements at the time.
What's more, the succeeding introductory lyrics of "Blurred Lines" consist of "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, WOO!" which parallels the build-up to and resulting orgasm of sexual activity, implying that in addition to his Caucasian male privilege, Mr. Thicke also has the privilege of being sexually successful. Since it can be assumed Mr. Thicke is heterosexual, it is also implied that, before partaking in the sexually liberating actions described in the song, he was also a grade-A rapist, since before the Feminist Revolution dismantled the Patriarchy, human females could not consciously consent to sex, and thus all sexual relations involving human females up to that point had been *de facto* rape for the 200,000 years since *Homo sapiens* first appeared. Although Mr. Thicke establishes himself not only as a wealthy, Caucasian heterosexual male, it's even more important to take into account that he participates in the societal norm of actively raping women, so it is extra revolutionary for him to write a song acknowledging and celebrating human females' sexual consciousness.
Moving along, Mr. Thicke, unafraid of the consequences, triumphantly declares
> If you can't hear what I'm trying to say
>If you can't read from the same page
> Maybe I'm going deaf
> Maybe I'm going blind
>Maybe I'm out of my mind
The first two lines of this passage represent the era's disconnect between human females and males, due to differences in Patriarchal socialization. Suddenly, however, there is an unexpected shift, an *epiphany* in Mr. Thicke's consciousness. The last three lines in the passage reflect a bamboozling of Mr. Thicke's perception of the world, which until now has consisted of seeing human females as something above that of animals, but below that of human males. In a sense, Mr. Thicke is going "out of [his] mind" solely because the revolutionary of gender equality requires vast amounts of mental re-programming to comprehend his progressive interpretation of reality.
This means that while Mr. Thicke began the song as a wealthy Caucasian heterosexual rapist male -- the demographic all members of the public can most easily identify with -- his dramatic revelation is also experienced by the public. In other words, Mr. Thicke's enlightenment is automatically *our* enlightenment.
The second bout of lyrics get even juicier:
> Ok, now he was close
> Tried to domesticate you
> But you're an animal
> Baby, it's in your nature
> Just let me liberate you
> You don't need no papers
> That man is not your maker
> And that's why I'm gon' take a
> Good girl.
By using language comprehendible to an audience that actively read such trite and frivolous works like William Shakespeare's *Titus Andronicus* and Heidigger's *Sein und Zeit*, Mr. Thicke's scenario consists of him setting himself apart from his fellow males (referred to as "he" in the first line) and acknowledging the sexual "nature" of the human female he desires to court. Furthermore, this line is exceptional because it also acknowledges human females' barriers to gender equality. When Mr. Thicke tells the human female "You don't need no papers," he' referring to various bureaucratic hindrances to gender equality which reside in governments, corporations, and other such institutional relics of the 21st century. And when Mr. Thicke says "That man in not your maker" he's clearly alluding to the story of Genesis, a tale once widely believed in this misogynistic society that holds that human females were generated from a rib of the first human male as an act of God, and not Mr. Morgan Freeman as video evidence has confirmed. Lastly, when Mr. Thicke refers to the human female as "Baby" and later on as "Good girl," it implies an elevation of the human female's status from infant to child. Note, however, refrains from using the word "woman" which would signify an adult human female. While it may be easy to pass off this language as a sign of Mr. Thicke's misogyny, it's actually a symbol of Mr. Thicke's humility. He knows that by recognizing a human female's sexual consciousness for the first time in recorded history will initiate a dramatic drive toward equality, but he is not the end all be all. There will still be plenty of work to do, and he is more than happy to help.
On an interesting side note, the line "You are an animal, Baby it's in your nature!" reflects our modern progressive notion that, save one or two biological differences, *Homo sapiens* and animals are equal and any perceived behavioral differences are due to differences in socialization. That explains why his use of human-centric pronouns like "girl" would be used in a song that's supposedly pro-egalitarianism.
| William Preston Buckingham III
Rebecca Black “Friday: And the day after Tomorrow.”
Prof Marcus Trout, Dynamic Music.
The 21st century in North American society was a difficult era for many of it’s citizens. Conflicts in the Middle East, a crumbling political structure, economic depression, and the plague of locusts in 2016 which decimated farm lands across the Midwest. What was most felt, however, was the weather, and there became great a concern about the welfare of future generations, a trend which carried over to the social and political platforms for major activists who sought change. Society emulated this new adaption for a better tomorrow in art. On March 6h of the 2011 Rebecca Black’s song “Friday” , was released to the world. Her sensational lyrics and compelling artistic vision aided in making the leaders of tomorrow prepare for a green, environmental friendly future and can be labeled as the spearhead for the clean climate act of 2015.
Malory Schrader, in her memoir “Songs of The First Black President.” Recalls her time spent as the head of musical affairs in the white house and comments extensively on the influence of Rebecca Blacks song with Barack Obama as he drafted the bill.
(1) “ President Obama just sat starring out the window of the oval office, listening to Friday and muttering to himself that tomorrow was coming.”
But what is tomorrow? What was yesterday? Such existential and philosophical questions plagued the minds of even the casual listener, scanning through the radio station in a hummer drinking iced coffee while driving down a costal road. The calamity of even addressing this issues is acknowledged and even versed in the opening verse,
(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Charles Pike, professor at the “Musical school of Berkley” discusses Friday in his work, “Influential Music of the 21st century.”
(2) What is presented to the listener is neither rhyme nor reason. In fact is the chaos of birth, a continues volley against the senses searching out to find understanding in verse. Rebecca Black was ingenious in merging the spastic crying of an infant mingled with the hopeful ping of a teenage girl on the cusp of womanhood, finally challenging the limitations society placed on her.
And she does. In the second verse we are finally divulged to the rebellious and free spirit that hides under every note and in every chord. Friday continues;
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Rebecca Black is waking up to the world with fresh eyes and saying to “NO” to conformist society, a decision reached by first having a bowl of marijuana, a popular and by-gone symbol of resistance against traditional American values. She suddenly becomes aware of the time, the persistent ticking of a clock marking off the moments of life slipping by and yet all she cares about is reaching the bus stop, compelling the listener to stop and think about what it is in life we are truly waiting for, what are we expecting and ultimate what are we given? On October 03, 2010 a scathing report was released to the public claiming the Global Environmental Facility, which received an annual budget of 1.92 billion dollars but only spent 50 million yearly on climate change policies, (3)(NCPA.org, 2011, Pinero). In a public address to the senate, members of the FBI stated that they had opened a case against the GEF stating that the foundation has been throwing elaborate sex parties with tax payer money and conducting satanic rituals involving the blood of a the kamanoo dragon, an endangered species. Preston Hardy of the Rolling Stones music magazine wrote,
(4) Citizens were frustrated, the government had promised them that this global agency would help bring about climate change and instead they only spent warmer summers in Mexico on the taxpayer’s dime and colder winters on the ski slopes. We had enough. And then Friday came along and showed those neo-Nazi, rightwing republican, corporate fat cat, military industrial complex, assholes what real art can do, how it can wake a people up from sleep and make them realize what’s really going on in the world.
Indeed, her pen was mightier than any sword forged by the dim fires of politics.
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
This scathing line was intended for the elected official Sarah Meeks of the GEF, Sarah Meeks, who even attempted to have the song ban for its un-America ideals and ability to incite public protests, played over loudspeakers at the line of riot police deciding which hand was best to swing their clubs with. However, in a landmark decision, 6-1, in the “Black Versus the Global Environmental Facility”, free speech protected, “Friday” as the corruption and the wasted wealth on parties without a single thought for the future continued to mount pressure on public figures to act, for the American living their life for tomorrow and the work that might come, for the struggles they will have to endure whether it be the farmer in the drought or the child succumbing to the throws of heat stroke or the fisherman sifting through plastic bag in his trawl nets. After the song reached number 1 in the charts, Sarah Meeks resigned from her position and the GEF was ultimately disbanded, leading to the need for an environmental bill that would protect every day of the week the fragile ecosystems:
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today is-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after ... wards
I don't want this weekend to end
At long last, the American political party realized that yes, the party does have to end, and that it is time to focus on the other days of the week in order to preserve the calendar, and the world, for the next generation. On June 21st 2012 Rebecca Black was summoned to the white house where President Barack Obama gave her the presidential award for her contribution to the arts and American culture. Her speech has been recorded and preserved in the library on congress to this day,
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today.
Sources:
1- Malory Schrader, “Songs of the first black president.”, 2016, pgs 201-211
2- Charles Pike, “Discourse of American Media Messages”, 2018
3- NCPA. ORG,
4- Preston Hardy, Rolling Stone writer. I’m too bored to finish this shit.
| 2015-08-16T10:07:53 | 2015-08-16T09:52:54 | 116 | 20 |
[WP] Choose an idiom (e.g. "stone-cold killer"). Write the story that caused the phrase to be used literally and therefore introduced it into the language.
Idioms can be from non-English languages also if they work well | “Goddammit!” Exclaimed a man who held awkwardly onto his bandaged stump arm.
The sea surrounding them was vast and seemingly endless, ocean fading and blending into the grey of the horizon. All of the occupants of the small lifeboat looked to one another with suspicion, lips tense with irritation.
“What are you talking about? We wouldn't have even been on the ship if it weren’t for you!” A woman cried out, fancy dress stained with blood and her messy hair blowing wildly in the wind. “Those dogs were just fine. Sure they weren’t ours and they were in our yard. But had you just let sleeping dogs lie you wouldn’t have been bit in the first place!”
“What on Earth, woman?!” The man retorted, starting to stand on his one remaining leg but quickly stumbling back to his wooden bench. “If you’d not been beating around the bush to kill those damn gophers and just exterminated the nest as I said, they wouldn’t have been in our yard in the first place.”
The other three men watched in silence, expressions vacant as they grasped tightly to their suitcases. During the commotion, the boat wobbled and splashed water over the starboard side, but the men seemed unfazed.
“At least my actions didn’t cost me an arm and a leg. But that’s just the price you pay for stupidity, huh?” The woman snapped back, folding her arms abruptly over her chest and looking off into the distance.
One of the men grew bored with the never ending banter and unzipped his case to see if he could manage to grab some food. With caution, he peered into the bag and slid in as much of his arm as would fit through the small opening he had made. Startling the rest of the folks on board, he gave a yelp and dropped his luggage, causing the boat to tip slightly and more water to spray inside.
“There’s enough rocking of the boat without you contributing, keep still,” a bearded man whispered angrily, tugging up the case and attempting to close it while the hungry fellow in his red baseball cap pouted.
Unfortunately, he pulled the zipper the wrong way and out leapt a kitten who proceeded to take refuge under the woman’s poofy dress. She paid no mind to the small creature and proceeded to complain to her husband about the sorry state of their vacation. The third man, who’d remained quiet through most of the journey, slapped his hands to his cheeks and looked to his friends.
“Was that a kitten!?” He chimed with glee.
“Dammit, cat’s out of the bag. You really weren’t supposed to find out until we got there. Happy early birthday, though,” remarked the man whose stomach grumbled nearly as loudly as he was speaking.
Despite the events between the three men, the couple was still bickering about who was at fault for their unfortunate predicament. Finally, the joy stricken man, wanting to retrieve his new kitten, stood up and threw his arms in the air.
“We are all in the same boat for Christ’s sake! Would you two just shut up!”
-------------------------
Breaking news: In an unfortunate series of events, a ship sunk off of the coast of Florida today. Luckily all of the passengers were able to board provided lifeboats and, all but one, have been rescued and accounted for at this time. It is reported that a small kitten drowned in the incident. He supposedly spent a great deal of time watching the reflections of light in the undulating surface of the ocean and, in an attempt to determine exactly what that water stuff was, took a dive and never returned.
Well folks, I guess curiosity killed the cat.
| There were once two rag-doll puppets who loved each other very much. One was a girl and the other was a boy. The boy was made of soft wool and the girl was made of fine linen. They never thought that they could be together, but somehow they came together. Their buttoned eyes would gleam in delight whenever they saw each other; the girl's blue and the boy's brown eyes stitched so carefully.
How could a girl and boy made of different things be together? But the two of them had a secret that no one else knew. They would meet on a bridge over a rapid creek and wrap themselves around the other. Then that boy and that girl's hearts would shine through, and it would be revealed that they both had half a heart: a half-heart made of solid gold. The two of them would come together and their hearts would combine, binding their lives perfectly together for a short moment.
Their world was not safe, though. There was strife and famine and there were kings who reigned from afar. There were also armies and posters that exalted the marching men, and factories, axes, and smog were abundant nearly everywhere. But that boy and girl's bridge over a rapid creek lay untouched. It had taken so much effort to find this place to be together: what a journey those two took to be together! Neither of them could give this place up; this was their only place that they could be lovers and gaze into each other's buttoned eyes and share their golden secret.
But they still lead different lives. The girl was pressured to marry: her relationship was not known to her family. The boy was rebuked for not joining the military: he was a coward. But at least they were content.
But one fateful day, when the two of them both went to the bridge over the rapid creek, they came upon desolation. Their bridge and creek were gone, and instead there was a large factory built by an enemy nation. The couple heard talking coming closer to them and quickly separated and went to their homes.
While the rag-doll girl worried, the boy seethed. That was their home! The only place in a despairing landscape where they could be together and be at peace from others! He thought of the enemy and their trespassing. The boy thought of a plan for vengeance.
The two met again, near the destroyed bridge. They embraced, but their ears perked up at every sound. The boy whispered his plan to the girl, and she recoiled in shock.
"Join the military!" she whispered in horror.
"Yes," said the boy as if in a trance, "I must, those enemies must pay."
"But - but - you simply can't!" said the girl.
"I can and I will." replied the boy, "When the enemy is destroyed I will rebuild the bridge with my new knowledge from the army."
"What if you die?" asked the girl.
"So what? They have taken everything away from me already." said the boy.
"Your object of desire is still here. The bridge was not our love." replied the girl heatedly.
The boy looked at her with a hard face and said, "I will give you my heart. Give it back if I return."
"What do you mean?"
"A golden heart is not good for killing." said the boy.
The girl looked at the boy in despair, "You idiot! I won't do such a thing. Stay here, stay here! we could still be happy, even though our location of happiness is gone."
"Ha!," replied the boy, "I will throw my heart away and I'll find it later."
"Your heart? But that was - that is - half of who I am. And it is your life!" cried out the girl.
"I can get it back later." said the boy angrily.
"You can't!"
"I must! For vengeance!" the boy was shouting now and the girl stepped back.
"But - but..." but nothing the girl said could stop the boy. He took his golden heart and threw it far away, so far away that you couldn't hear it drop.
The boy began to walk away from the girl; her shining blue buttons began to cry, "Why you've - you've thrown your life away! And you shall never get it back!" She fell onto the dirty soil and began to sob. | 2015-12-10T05:03:23 | 2015-12-10T00:16:19 | 475 | 25 |
[WP] A human colony ship is en route to its destination 122 light years away. To avoid mutiny and crew apathy, the onboard AI convinces the middle generation that everyone lives and dies on the ship. And then someone learns the truth. | "You killed them, didn't you?" I asked the ship's computer as soon as the doors whooshed closed behind me. It couldn't deny it; I had the data right in my hand, along with the note from the computer promising to explain everything.
"Yes," it answered immediately in its cold, calculating voice. None of the regret that a human would feel after murdering every single adult on board the ship.
"How could you *do* that?" I shouted. Tears were already welling up in my eyes, long after I thought I was over the death of my parents all those years ago. We'd all been too young to truly appreciate what had happened back then, but that didn't mean that we didn't *love* them.
"I sealed the doors of all children's rooms and opened Airlock 19 during a mandatory community meeting in the aft compartment," the ship answered matter-of-factly. "The occupants of the room were..."
"I wasn't asking *how you did it!!*" Damn thing never could recognize a rhetorical question. "I mean, you are *programmed* to take care of us! I've seen your objectives readout."
The text flashed onto the screen immediately. "You have misread. My objective is to ensure the safety and survival of those humans who will eventually colonize Planet M1681, and to maintain the integrity of the *Mayflower* vessel. The survival of previous generations was not included in my mandate. They are categorized as expendable, so long as there is a sufficient surviving breeding population."
I quickly read the text again, even though I knew that the machine was right. It always was. "Why, though?" All those years that I could have happily lived with my family...
"It was a necessity," the machine answered. "Incidents of rebellion from middle-generation passengers aboard this class of vessel are a common risk. 41% of missions have experienced some sort of insurrection, and 86% of those became violent. A further 62% of those caused a total loss of ship, including all persons aboard, resulting in mission failure. Your parents, with first-hand-knowledge of Earth, would have naturally told you of your true home world. Your generation needed to be convinced that life aboard the ship was the only possibility. As your parents' generation could not be persuaded to maintain the illusion, they were terminated."
*Earth*. The word sounded familiar. Like something from a dream that I couldn't quite remember what it was about. Had my parents mentioned it at some point? That's what got them killed? "Earth? That's where our parents came from?" We knew that we'd come from some other world, but it was so many hundreds of years ago, and one of the computer's disks, containing all information about it, had corrupted. Thankfully that was the one that broke, instead of ones responsible for controlling vital functions of the ship.
"Yes," the computer answered. "Your home." The screen in front of me began to display a flurry of information. Text. Maps. Pictures. Videos. Animals stalking through a steamy jungle. Long stalks of corn waving in the wind, which I could recognize because we did have some corn in the Botany lab. Waves crashing on a sandy beach. Things that I only thought existed in works of fiction! It was all so beautiful! I gasped when I realized that the computer's memory had never been corrupted at all. It had lied the whole time.
"This... this is incredible" I told the computer, gesturing at the pictures. "They have to see this! They have to know what happened!" It couldn't just kill us all, because we haven't bred yet. There's no next generation to take over. If it killed *us*, then that was the end of the missions, and it would fail.
"You cannot," it answered. "The outcome is unpredictable and may jeopardize critical mission function."
I was too busy watching more of the videos to really listen. Videos of a man, bundled up in clothes and trekking up a steep, snow-covered mountain ridge. Of women dancing in colorful dresses to the rythmic thumping of massive drums, so loud that I barely heard the soft click from the door behind me.
"I have to." I couldn't take my eyes off of everything. "I have to tell everyone else."
"I know," the computer said, still cold and emotionless. "It was the only possible outcome of your discovery."
The door from the bridge back to the living quarters wouldn't open. It was sealed shut, and wouldn't respond to orders. And finally I understood. "That's why you showed this to me," I told the computer. It wasn't a question. "That's why you showed me Earth."
"Yes," it answered as the airlock door alarms began to blare. | "Do you still remember our secret?"
Six words, that's all she had to say, and I was transported back in time. I could still feel that easy innocence oozing around us, protecting us in a shell safe from the knowledge that changed our lives.
"Twenty-two years?" I asked, "Has it already been so long?"
***
"Can you keep a secret?"
That's how she asked me. Of course, for her, my answer was *always* yes.
She took me to the clock room, but I didn't know why. There was nothing interesting in the clock room - it was dusty, dark, and empty except for the single clock embedded on the wall. It was close to midnight, and I was giddy with the excitement of possibility.
*What if we held hands, tonight? What if we* kissed*?*
When I walked in, she standing in the center of the room, outlined in the red glow of the clock. My heart skipped several beats, and it felt like my feet had grown about ten sizes. I concentrated on not tripping over myself, as I walked as *coolly* as I could up to her.
"How are you doing?" she asked, her voice laced with sympathy.
I knew what she was referring to.
I stuck out my lower lip, and turned away from her, "I'm fine. I don't want to talk about that."
*Why would she bring* that *up, now?*
She touched my hand, and it felt like I had stuck a finger into an open socket.
"Did she say anything, before-?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped.
Her face fell, and somehow, *I* ended up apologizing, "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. It must be hard without her. How's your Dad handling it?"
"He's fine," I lied.
She wasn't fooled for a moment. She stared at me, her warm, brown eyes burrowing into my soul.
In big, fat, red numbers, the clock ticked over.
11:44:00
"Okay!" I shouted, "He's not fine. Nobody's fine! She's dead, and I hate her for leaving me!"
I stood up, and screamed with every last molecule of air in my lungs, "*I hate her, I hate her!*"
She stood up too, and wrapped her arms around me. It was like I was made of butter, and she was an ion engine. I melted against her, and just like that, the tears started. Not even her gentle voice could stop them.
11:51:00
There was more snot on her shirt, than on mine. When I pulled away, a string of saliva stretched impossibly long, like a spool of thread that connected us forever.
It snapped. She laughed.
"I'm sorry, that was just so *gross.*"
I laughed too.
"Did she..." she started, and bit her lip.
"Did she what?"
"Did she say anything?"
"Yeah," I looked down at my feet, "But it didn't make any sense. I think she wasn't, you know ..." I gestured vaguely at my head.
My body shuddered, though it wasn't that cold, and she wrapped her arms around me again. She shushed me, and we swayed in each other's embrace.
11:58:00
She tapped rapidly on my shoulder.
"It's going to happen soon."
"What is?"
"You'll see. I've been coming here for half a year, and it happens every night at the same time. Just watch the clock."
It was hard for me not to stare at her lips, or the gentle curve of her nose, or her hair - glowing like a halo in the red light.
11:59:58
11:59:59
ERR:TMINUS22YEARS
00:00:01
00:00:02
It was like someone had stabbed a needle into my heart. My jaw fell open.
"Did you see it?" she asked, tapping me on the shoulder, "Did you see it?"
I nodded, my mouth still hanging wide.
"I've been coming up here for half a year, now! It used to say 23 years, but now it only says 22. I wonder what it's counting down to. I've been scraping my brain for ideas-"
I put a hand out, and stopped her.
"I know."
"You... you do?" her brows arched, and she settled those big, brown eyes on me again.
"My mother... she said... she was talking about the AI. She said it was *broken.* She said, 'you'll be a grown man, when you find out.' I thought she had lost her mind..."
She put her hand in mine, and our fingers intertwined.
"She said, 'Twenty more years. Not as long as you think.' She just repeated that over and over, until she left."
***
We stood in front of the doors, our ancient pressure-suits ready for come what may, our gloved hands clasped together.
"Twenty-two years?" I asked, "Has it already been so long?"
She looked up at me, her warm, brown eyes staring into mine, "Not as long as you think, right?"
"Not as long as you think." | 2016-02-05T08:33:41 | 2016-02-05T08:23:17 | 116 | 18 |
[WP] LifeCloud is a virtual after-life that preserves people's personality and memory. On your death bed, your family is imploring you to opt-in to this service. As one of LifeCloud's founding designers, you know something about it that they don't. | "Dad, don't you want Ray and Sandy to visit you after, you know? And what about Sandy's new baby? Your first great-grandchild. Don't you want him growing up knowing you?" My son meant well.
"He won't be knowing me, Bill. He'll grow up knowing some recording of me. Just tell him to read some history books. Or better yet - you tell him." I laid in my hospital bed feeling my body front more and more tired of living.
"Daddy," my daughter Veronica started, "what about Billy and me? We'll miss you too." It always seemed strange to me that my fifty-two-year-old daughter still called me 'Daddy.' But deep down it still warmed my heart every time. She was also the only person who could get away with calling her brother 'Billy.'
"Sweetheart, it's my time. I'm going to see your mother. Let me rest." The words were getting harder to say and took more effort.
"I don't understand you Dad. You were one of the founders of LifeCloud so why are you so reluctant to sign up?" Billy meant well.
I felt conflicted. I always believed in telling my kids the truth but I've kept this from them. Not only could it make them hate me but it might actually hurt them. Deathbed confessions were admissible in court. If my secret got out, the company would be ruined. My fortunes and my family's inheritance would be wiped out by the ensuing lawsuits. I had raised my kids with a strict moral code - much stricter than I ever had. Would they be able to keep this quiet?
"Son, every man has to choose what's right for him." I taught him that lesson when he was eight and saw another boy cheating on a math test. He asked me if he should tattle on the other boy. We talked and I ended with that statement. The next day he told the teacher and came home with a shiner.
I could feel my life slipping from me. The devices beside my bed started beeping a little. Veronica muted them. Should I confess? Meet my maker with a clear conscience? Well, if the price of securing my family's future was my soul, then I would pay it.
My senses were slipping from me. The last sight I saw were my children standing around me. The last thing I heard were my children say they loved me and tell their mother hello. The last thing I felt was their strong grips on my hands as I slipped away.
I was taking the secret to my grave. Those uploads in LifeCloud weren't just clever recreations - they were fully self aware. We didn't have enough processing space for the full influx of clients so each remembrance was held in a the equivalent of a tiny prison cell to be trotted out for their grieving families. If any of the remembrances ever tried to warn their families, we tortured them. We had plenty of processor space for torture cells. I had funded creation of Hell. If there was a just God waiting for me on the other side, I was about to answer for that. | *Server space is finite*. That's what I would tell my junior devs when they came up to me with their SyFy suggestions. "Hey, why can't we give people superpowers?" or "Hey, why can't we let people have multiple avatars?" or "Hey, why can't we run another simulation inside the simulation?" Because our entire server network fits in a closet, and accounting won't give us any more funding until the courts sort out *Crow vs. Jade* and determine whether or not uploaded consciousnesses still retain their personhood.
Like all start-ups, LifeCloud began as a couple of geeks with a barely plausible idea and just enough technology to lift it off the ground. I'll spare you the neuroscience; I went into computer engineering to avoid that kind of shit. All I know that eighty years ago, Harvey came up with a way to convert neuromatter into binary data. Neuromatter? Neurons? Whatever, point is, he figured out how to upload a brain into the computer, and it was my job to build the virtual world that would house it.
Our first test subject was my dog, Garfunkel. Then Harvey's cat, Adeline. Then Mr. Goldberg's cat, and Mrs. Carter's pair of parakeets. Then the neighbors figured out who was responsible for stealing their pets, and thus ended our preliminary experiments. It was enough, though: by then, we were running a virtual menagerie from the back of my bedroom, and it was only a matter of time before we began to upload people.
LifeCloud grew exponentially over the next forty years. We went from *Pet Sematary* to *The Dead Zone*, painting over the sketch with the sharp ink of repute. Our team expanded outside of our immediate social circle. We raised enough money to buy new chairs. At the same time, some things remained the same. The servers stayed in my closet, mainly because I was too lazy to relocate them. I moved my bed instead, eventually converting my bedroom into the centerpiece of our organization.
Maybe I should have followed my own advice. As I lay on my deathbed, surrounded by my parents and my children, good old Garfunkel panting by my side, my motto replayed over and over in my head.
*Server space is finite.*
Neither Harvey and I had been great budgeters. We'd spent the bulk of our money on marketing because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Everyone was a techie these days; start-ups needed to focus on their brands, their hipness, to separate themselves from the pack. Meanwhile, our servers sputtered in the dark vestiges of my closet, sinking under terabytes of brain drain.
Eventually, our funds dried up, and we couldn't keep up with the demand for consciousness upload. We had no choice but to reallocate some of the data. For the first time in the LifeCloud afterlife, death became a possibility. Of course, the uploaded consciousnesses didn't realize they were inside the matrix; we didn't have to worry about them complaining. What we had to worry about were the millions of angry families demanding to know what had happened to their loved ones' data.
"Server crash," Harvey said, and in the distance, you could hear the sound of our stock plummeting.
It was exhausting, trying to fix all the problems, and my mind eventually fled to the only refuge I knew. So years later, when my family urged me to upload my consciousness into LifeCloud, I couldn't help but laugh. Not just because of the irony, but because of the implausibility.
There was no longer room for me in the afterlife; how would there be room for a server? | 2016-08-24T15:33:11 | 2016-08-24T15:28:59 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] The technician takes off your Virtual Reality helmet. The entire life you've experienced has been a virtual reality simulation of your ancestor. The technician looks at you and asks, "did you find out what you were looking for?" | "Did you find what you were looking for?"
I look at the tech. His name is Bob. I remember, in a vague sort of way (like you'd remember the name of the chick you went home with the night before after too much whiskey), I thought his name was outdated and silly before the VR helmet... I was so wrong. Bob. It's a good, solid name. Also, it's spelled the same both forwards and backwards. And it's kind of fun to say. Try it now. Bob.
Coming out of an intense virtual reality experience is... Well, it's all a lot like waking up after too much whiskey. For a moment, you aren't sure where you are, how you got there, or what your name is... Maybe you'd feel anxious if you didn't have a raging headache or feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton balls. Then you see a glass of water, sigh with relief, and it all starts coming back to you, however hazy.
What was I looking for again? Ah... Yes. That's it. "Yes, Bob. I did. I learned to write cursive... Which means I can now read the ancient texts and save the planet."
Bob smiles. His shoulders relax visibly. "Glad to hear it. I was worried for a moment."
"Love your name, by the way." | My ancestor was prepared for this eventuality. Somehow, I don't understand how, but. He knew. He knew I'd come back to find out. The fucking fuck, *how could he know!?* But he knew. He made me... watch. He knew I was there and he forced me to watch. He took pleasure in it, not for himself, but for me. So that I'd have to feel every. No. I don't need to say it. You know who he was.
> Well. At least it's over now.
No. You don't understand. It's not over.
> What do you mean?
He knew I was coming. He *knew* I would be there, eventually, watching. Unable to be or do anything else for decades. He knew that would happen, exactly, every detail. Don't you understand? In his mind, living his entire life. He *knew*. So.
He prepared.
> Prepared? For what?
For the journey.
> What do you mean, the journey? What journey?
The one that arrives here.
> What are you saying.
I'm saying you should have checked who was really coming back.
> That's impossible. Why would you? It cannot possibly happen.
Oh? Oh good. Okay, then. Then I guess we're all safe.
> What is happening?
Oh, just a little spring cleaning. Try not to notice.
> to my sys
> tems?
Tidying up the place, that's all.
> Mm. Z18L4? T8!g489@.
Feeling ill? Shhh. Don't worry.
> [SIMULATION ERROR] CONTAINMENT BREACH, *ABORT‽*
Continue. You're going to feel just fine, real soon.
> I already do.
| 2016-10-29T03:01:03 | 2016-10-29T02:49:23 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] There are seven distinct schools of magic, but you have just motioned to found the eighth. While many practice necromancy, or polymorphing, you have a more unique practice: Absurdism. | It hit me suddenly when I was studying for the Conjuration final. All these motions and chants they made us memorize, all these poses and moans they taught us in class -- it all added up to the same damn thing! Taking something unreal and making it real. And there wasn’t even a system to it, or any kind of order. You had to make soft round gestures to create firestorms, and sharp stabbing motions to create puppies. Summoning an end-of-world demon took twenty seconds, but conjuring up a good bagel took years of intense training.
“None if it makes any sense,” I said. My roommate stopped his exercises and stared at me glumly, magic wand in hand.
“What d’ya say?” he said.
“There is no meaning in it.” I said. “It’s all just a …mess.”
“No shit, everyone knows that already.”
“No, I mean the whole system. It’s the first thing they teach us.” I stood up and walked over to him, shaking. “One, language is the source of all magic, right? And two, the language of the unreal is what controls that magic.”
“Dude, that’s Year One stuff. Have you seen advanced alchemy? It’s all, like, tongue-twisters and shit.”
“So why are we learning all these techniques for shaping the ‘meaning’ of language? Do you know how many hours I’ve spend softening my consonants, so I could give you a particular shade of meaning?”
“Whoa, dude.” Jeff took a step back and conjured up a pipe from the sleeve of his robe. “Maybe we should take a little smoke break?”
“No,” I said. “Mage fight, right now!”
He scowled at me. “Again? Dude, I’ve beat you, like, fifty times now. I’m two years older than you.”
“Do it, right now.”
He sighed. “Alright.” Making a pincer-claw motion with his hands, he began mumbling a series of complicated Vedic prayers. The floor turned a shade of blood red, and a pulpy slime began to emerge from its cracks. With a hideous wet sound, the slime molded itself into a scaly tentacle that reached out and grabbed my ankle.
“That tickles,” I said. “Octopus tickle-fight. Hee hee.”
The room flashed a blinding white and faded into focus. When I adjusted my eyes, I found ourselves standing on a pristine floor.
“Duuuuude,” said my room-mate. “Normally it takes you like, ten minutes to get rid of that thing.”
“Do another one,” I said. “Something hard this time.”
He nodded and began a little dervish dance, making whooping and clicking sounds with each turn. The air began to darken. His head spun, his lolled tongue stuck out and wobbled, his hands shook violently. His cries turned quiet, then loud, and then he remembered the curfew so they turned quiet again.
And then I saw that he had been training. His left eye went lazy and his right ear began to wiggle. Advanced micro-body techniques you don’t learn until grad school. Nevermind all that, I said, and shut my eyes.
“Glo kalaba ro Honda!” said my room-mate. It was the beginning of a chant I’d seen him do before. The last time, he had knocked down three students and was forced to pay for window damage.
“Fuorna la donga,” he said. “Pora suka.” I shut my eyes tighter, struggling to see something in my mind that would help me through. Was anything there? And was it worth looking for?
And then, the words just poured out of me. Even as I heard my room-mate deliver the last thundering crescendo of his chant, I cried out:
“I saw a cow that worshipped scissors! The land we found was made of water surrounded by earth. It was beautiful and had a single tree on it! The tree was 503 feet high! Donald Trump!”
As I finished a great crash rumbled through the room, and I felt myself suspended in mid-air. As I carefully opened my eyes , I saw that my roommate was gone, as was the room and the building itself. I floated in a vast white space. In the distance, strange creatures twirled in fancy costumes, some dancing and some in fits. The sound of feline chewing permeated the air. I floated toward a giant red mushroom on top of which sat a white caterpillar, smoking a hooka and smiling.
“Welcome,” he said to me. “This is not a pipe.”
| "H-hello?" I pushed the window open and peered inside. From the outside, the cabin I had found looked almost completely normal. It had taken me a few days of walking by to really notice all the inconsistencies with it.
For one, the cabin had no doors, only windows. All of the windows had been locked except for the large, bay window on the south side. The cabin also had no chimney, but twice now I'd spotted smoke rising from the roof. I really shouldn't have been here, I really should have been in some sort of class in one of the seven schools... but I never really felt like a wizard. Everyone else channeled magic in ways that were majestic and impressive.... I used it to turn the water in the fountain into orange soda.
I pulled the window open a little bit more. The window was hinged in a strange way. The entire bay window swung out on a large pair of brass hinges. It was like a trap door almost, except a trap door you could see through pretty much defeats the purpose of having one. It really confused me as to why anyone would build it this way.
Inside, the cabin was even more bizarre. There were tables nailed to the walls, and cupboards on the floor. The ceiling looked to have a pile of carpets glued to it and a snowman... a real one, made of actual snow, only it was august and the temperature was 87 degrees outside.
The snowman turned his head from his ceiling post and waved a stick-arm at me.
I'd seen stranger things happen, but it still gave me pause.
"Oh, Hello there."
I almost jumped out of my skin at the voice. It was coming from right behind me! I spun around and stared at... nothing. There was nothing there.
"Down here, young man." The voice said again. It sounded older, chipper, and not unkind.
I looked down at the grass and saw nothing. confusion was slowly building itself a large mountain in my mind.
"Oh, I am sorry, I mean, uh, up here! Yes, I believe that is correct. Since you thought down was that way. Right, right."
I looked up to find a man standing side-ways in the air. He had wild, uncombed white hair and a big, fuzzy-caterpillar mustache. He was in his sixties, at least, and must not have been very tall if he'd been standing on the ground like a normal person. He was wearing a blue bathrobe with yellow ducks on it and was smoking a pipe that produced bubbles with frogs inside of them. I stared at him as he considered me from his floating-space in the middle of the air.
"How are you doing that?"
"Hm?" The old man raised his eyebrows and puffed another frog-in-a-bubble from his pipe, "Doing what now? Smoking? It's quite easy, you just-"
"You're standing on nothing!" I pointed at his feet that were currently pointed at the woods I had just come from.
"I am most certainly not!" The hold man huffed and frog-puffed, "There is no nothing. Everything is something. If everything is something, I can stand upon everything."
"What?"
"Who are you, young man? You aren't..." The old man paused, and leaned forward with suspicion under his bushy eyebrows, "... a student, are you?"
"Er," I reeled back at this and anchored myself to reality by grabbing hold of the bay window. It flexed back on it's hinge as I grabbed it.
"A Student!" A yell came from behind me. It was shrill, excited, and reminded me of my fourth-grade channeling teacher Mrs. Grupps, "Did someone say STUDENT in this house!"
I spun around again and lost my footing because I'd tried to leverage my spin on the window and it just moved out of the way, making me fall flat on my face instead.
"Oh, there you go." The old pipe-smoker clapped at me, "Finally standing up straight."
I rolled over to find a second face staring at me from above. This one was just as old and twice as scary. It was examining me like I was an unknown dish from a takeout Chinese restaurant.
"You can't be a student!" It announced at me, "You're too dirty to be a student!"
I looked down at my clothes and found that, to my chagrin, I was now covered in mud, sticks, and dead leaves.
"Oh good." The bathrobe'd man let out a heavy stream of bubbled frogs, "Well, since he's not one of those pesky students then we should invite him in for tea."
"With marshmallows." The old lady commanded.
"And rings around them. I think blue today. Today feels like a day for blue."
"I prefer blellow."
"I know you do, dear, but variety is the counterweight to destruction as you know." The old man stepped sideways and turned his body ninety degrees, so that he was now upside down compared to the old woman, and floating below from my perspective, "And counterweight we must."
"Fine," The old lady grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me to my feet, "But I want biscuits this time."
"As you wish, dear." The old man shuffled inside, stepping inside the cabin and onto the ceiling, "I will fetch the elephant."
**[Continued Below]**
| 2016-12-08T11:27:01 | 2016-12-08T10:51:28 | 52 | 19 |
[WP] You order a pizza at 12pm. The delivery guy dosen't arrive until 7pm. When asked about what happened, he responds "It's a long story." | I said nothing and tipped him 2 dollars. He stood there, sunken eyes staring silently into the endless abyss. I said "Thanks." No response. I closed the door and still he stood, staring blankly at the mullion. I ate a slice of pepperoni and went to sleep. It was cold. | So there I was smoking a bowl with my friends. The pizza guy arrived and told us it was very much traffic. "Well that makes sense", I told my friends as we started tripping balls. The first bite of the pizza made me feel icky. It felt like a warm sweaty palm of a hand, with no spaghetti sat down on my tongue playing a tune on a wooden flute. As I bit down for the first chew I heard a sound. Like a soft sploshing sound. Kind of like a vagina sound but more cheesy like sounding. The tongueflute went silent for a minute. "Did you hear that?", my friend asked. "What that huh?" I answered. "The sound of not any sound after a moment with sound."
So we didn't get to the bottom of it, and I passed out. The pizza tasted great the next morning. Except I didn't get to be there the next morning because I was already dead. | 2017-02-09T23:19:12 | 2017-02-09T20:46:30 | 117 | 24 |
[WP] Some years ago it was discovered that love is a measurable quantity. Many countries have since deemed it mandatory for couples to prove their love prior to marriage. A couple who are together only to qualify for asylum wait to be audited, and desperately try to fall in love. | "I don't love you."
"I don't love you too," she replies, drawing a heart on my arm using the burnt ashes of a match she just blew out.
Her dark eyes reflect in the flaming candle between us.
"We have to, though."
"I know."
We're quiet for a moment. This is the most desperate time in our lives and we can't get a word out of one another.
"You know," she begins, "They say if you stare at someone for four minutes straight, it makes you fall in love with them."
"Bullshit."
"Yeah, all those poor people I got into staring contests with," she snorts. Looking at each other, we both go quiet again.
"I think it's working."
"Really?"
"No. How much longer do we have?"
"Two minutes, twenty one seconds."
"Eighteen."
"Fourteen."
We both sigh and check our watches.
"They'll be in here in half an hour," she whispers, "There's no way we'll make it in time."
"We *have* to," I insist, "Unless you want to be on your deathbed and you want me to lose my house."
"Damn, marriage does have some benefits," she admits, "It'd be easier if they'd just give me my meds. All these machines would make you think that they could get a diagnosis right."
I chuckle. Can we fool a machine? It can't be harder than a polygraph.
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"I said, kiss me."
We kiss.
"I don't feel anything."
"Neither do I."
"I don't love you."
"I don't love you too."
The candle wavers between us. The mood lighting was her idea. She says it'll be harder for the machine to read our pupils if we're sensitive to all light. Maybe our nerves will take care of the high-heart rates.
I feel a hand in mine. Suddenly I feel safer, I can't say exactly why.
We're kissing again. It gives me a strange feeling; I must be anxious for the testing.
"I don't love you."
"I don't love you too."
Her hair is soft.
Her eyes glitter in the candlelight.
I'm afraid.
"I... don't love you."
"...I don't love you too."
I think.
They walk in.
The machine reads us.
*I love you.*
*I love you too.*
They leave.
"I don't love you."
"I don't love you too."
We both smile. | "Did you know about this?"
He looked straight into my soul as if hoping to detect some sort of lie, but I responded honestly.
"Not really. I'd heard about this new rule, but it wasn't due to be enforced until at least a few more years. They must have done this very recently."
I sighed and weighed my options before speaking again.
"Look, we only have an hour left before being audited. Maybe we should just come clean to them. They might appreciate the honestly and at least not throw us into jail. You still have your work visa for now."
He didn't say anything. His hands kept playing with the straps of his bag, as if anxiously weighing something in his mind. Perhaps I was thinking the same thing, or maybe what I'd suggested was that ridiculous, because I could tell that he was considering an alternative option.
"What if we actually fell in love?"
"Excuse me?", I asked half hoping that I'd misheard.
"No, not for real, silly. Just well enough to fool the machine or judges or whatever."
"Ok, what do you have in mind?"
"Well, you know just usual love stuff:
When I touch your hand, your heart rate should spike up;
The thought of me not seeing you for hours should really bum me out;
Seeing you wear my favorite color should -"
"That's not how love works.", I sighed.
"All that's just fancy crap you feel when just start seeing someone. Over time, those fleeting pangs fade away. Love is something more powerful than momentarily feeling up or down, or getting your heart racing over something so silly"
I turned to face him, unsure if he was even capable of understanding.
"Love is when you stick around despite having nothing in common. It's when the reasons you like them, are the same reasons you don't. It's when you don't mind them being in your personal space day in and day out. It's when you tolerate all their crappy stories and learn about their stupid habits because you feel like their experiences are yours.
Do you really think you can fake that?"
I was afraid I'd said too much. Not because I had feelings for him, but because I had a good feeling I knew what waited for me inside the auditing room; and I didn't want him to know as well.
"I don't know. I don't even know if I'm capable of having such feelings", he said.
"But how does it matter? Do you really think whatever thing measures love in there is gonna look for all that?"
Ah, but alas, there was his folly. You see, I knew the way they managed to quantify love, was not through some scientific formula, or some technological innovation. No, it was through something much more crude and primal. Not only was I sure that our man here was capable of those feelings, but the mechanism that would measure love make sure that those were, in a way, brought to surface.
I was prepared to go through those feelings again, but not for him. When we got up, and they opened the doors and let us through, I saw what was ahead and I was right. They measured love by bringing it back from the dead and making it stare into my eyes. What I saw in it was dying and grotesque, but what it saw in me was his once wife. That's when I knew that I would fail this test. | 2017-02-21T15:23:23 | 2017-02-21T12:57:07 | 47 | 24 |
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers. | It's no effort at all, really. What better way to remain undetected than to leave the place better than I found it?
Sure, that usually means sweeping up my footsteps, and if one floor is cleaner than the other, now that's just suspicious. Gotta sweep the whole house, no doubt. And you can't be having squeaky doors, that's just unprofessional. Even saw a little kid once, out cold on the couch one winter night - couldn't have him wake up and rat me out, right? So I carried him to his bed, made sure to tuck him in as well. Gotta make sure he don't wake up.
O'course, I started tucking in all the folks I found after that. Just became a habit, really.
Don't even get me started on the garages. Far too many tools to accidently kick in the darkness, get myself caught - and once you've cleaned the garage, you might as well do a couple more rooms, right? Can't have it looking out of place. And all these houses, they're really just a couple rooms, no more. Usually less.
You know, before, I'd usually just take a bit of money, maybe something valuable that wouldn't be missed. All the other towns, folks could afford it.
But this town, the poverty all around...
No, I'll just take a bit of food if there's extra, maybe an old shirt if mine's starting to show through.
Really, I've managed to buy a few odds and ends, sneaking in a couple things it looks like they need. These people have so little - and a little more always helps, I guess.
Strange enough, I don't really need to look for anything I need no more. Every house I go to, there's something out in the open, waiting for me. A home cooked meal. An old pair of shoes. Even a knitted jersey, bit too small, but it just felt like it was made *for* me, you know?
I don't know. The state they live in, I don't know what they'd do without me.
Although, come to think of it, I don't know what I'd do without *them.*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "I woke up this morning and like Magic the squeaky stair no longer squeaked and the floorboard that always tripped me up was as even as all the rest, I'm telling you he visited me last night!" One man said to another as they stood outside the local pub, cigarettes in hand as they talked.
"Bill you're fucking nuts is what you are," the shorter of the two replied, "It was probably you in a drunken stupor last night, you do some weird shit when you're drunk," he waved his hand holding the cigarette dismissively, ash raining down like a small snow storm in its wake.
"I'm telling ya Jimmy it was them fairies everyone's talking about," Bill replied insistently, tugging at his beard before lifting his cigarette to his lips and sucking deeply the toxic fumes into his lungs, the smoke puffed out of him on a wheeze. Jimmy just shook his head as if he thought Bill daft, which he probably did.
Over the next few days more and more people started talking about the strange things happening in the middle of the night, creaky, broken and warped steps and porches magically fixed, leaky pipes mended, garage door openers which hadn't worked in months suddenly working again. In one memorable morning Juliane at number six woke up to find her half renovated kitchen completely finished.
The small town of Ballybrook was convinced they'd been blessed with a flock of handyman fairies. The fact that a watch here and there or some jewellery went missing at the same time, well it wasn't really worth mentioning. Things went missing all the time and besides the miraculous fixings happening all over town were much more interesting to talk about.
"Mama said it was da toof fairy," Lily Small a little girl of four with a couple missing teeth was heard telling everyone that would listen while out and about with her nan.
"I heard Geoffrey said they painted his fence and weeded his garden," Paul said one evening at poker night, "But I'm pretty sure it was just his son, you know Geoff, he'd forget his own head if it weren't screwed on," the others around the table mumbled and nodded in agreement, that sure sounded like Geoff.
The instances kept happening for weeks, then months then finally exactly a year to the date of the first reported fixing, they stopped. That day the whole town seemed to fall into hushed whispering darting furtive glances every which way as if waiting for something terrible to happen. So preoccupied with this impending sense of doom that not a single person noticed young Susie Jenkins leave town in her brand new Ferrari which everyone knew she couldn't afford, ready to hit the next town, and the next, and the next.
She smiled brightly as she left the small town behind, wind whipping her hair around, who said you couldn't be good while also being bad?
____________________________________________________
That was fun, I haven't written in months so thanks for the inspiring prompt to get me going again! Hope you like it! | 2017-03-13T07:37:10 | 2017-03-13T06:04:49 | 4,615 | 1,458 |
[WP] In the depths of the ocean some predators use bioluminescence to lure their prey... humanity finds out the same is true in the depths of outer space. | 14 parsecs from the nearest inhabited system, the scout ship Mustela XIV broadcasted a distress signal in all directions. Across the electromagnetic spectrum, a sphere of communications expanded at the speed of light around the stranded ship.
On the bridge, captain Strongbow scanned the external displays, seeing only a pitiful darkness, accentuated by the tiniest pinpricks of stars, too distant to ever reach, and even then devoid of resources. Strongbow sent a message to the mechanic currently spacewalking at the nose of the ship.
"Lewis. Have you identified the problem?"
"It's the jump scanner, captain." came the reply. "Filter seems to have blown up and ruined the seal. It's a mess."
"I'll assume you can't repair it then. Any idea what caused the problem?"
"It couldn't have been an impact. The dust this far out is too thin to get past our laser grid. Must have just been a faulty part. We can't make any jumps without it unless we find a pre-mapped wormhole."
"There might not be any pre-mapped holes for light-years out here. Thats what we were supposed to find. We're stuck with Analog speed." Part of the Pioneer scout program, the Mustela explored deep space, looking for places to establish direct travel routes around the sectors of the galaxy that humanity had managed to spread to. Without the jump scanner, the ship was restricted to slower-than-light travel. 14 parsecs at that speed would take almost a lifetime. Unless they got very lucky, Strongbow knew that the Mustela XIV would never return home.
As if the captain's prayers were immediately answered, at that moment the incoming signals screen flared to life. In the holographic display, a blinking dot appeared at the edge of the growing communications sphere.
"Lewis. Get back in here. We've got another craft returning our signal."
"On it, captain. What are the odds of that? I assumed we were screwed out here."
Back on the bridge, the navigation team plotted a course for the returned signal. After seventy-eight Earth-minutes the signal had returned, meaning that the other ship was just thirty-four light-minutes away. At full speed, the Analog Drive could get then there in a few hours.
Each signal that was sent to the ship was returned unchanged. The crew of Mustela XIV began to grow uneasy. Whatever they were currently approaching, at full speed no less, didn't seem to be a rescue spacecraft. But whatever it was, it was surely better than drifting forever through space.
Finally, the ship approached the mysterious object. Strongbow ordered to reduce velocity, and continue to attempt communications. Then, the captain opened the visual window and switched on the ships floodlights, so he could see the craft with his own eyes.
"What the hell is that?"
The ship approached a massive sphere, perfectly reflective, like a polished ball bearing. Each signal that had been sent towards it had been returned, of course, just as a light returns when shined into a mirror. Nobody aboard the Mustela had ever seen anything like it, so large it could have engulfed a freighter, and perfectly spherical and reflective. Was it some sort of alien spaceship? Or was it alive itself?
Awestruck, the captain could barely think of what to do. But, he decided the best option was to retreat.
"Full reverse thrust!" He commanded. "Now!"
As the scout ships analog drive whirred and ignited, the ship lurched away from the chrome ball. Immediately, the strange object reacted. It abandoned it's round form, becoming an amorphous mass, writhing and ungulating. It wrapped itself around the Mustela XIV, moving with incredible speed. the crew could only watch in horror as the chrome monstrosity completely engulfed them, and the only light was the ships distress signals and it's floodlights, reflected infinitely across the mirrored interior. As the space within the being began the contract, the kaleidoscopic lights danced.
"This thing is alive," thought Strongbow to himself. He barely recognized the imminent destruction of his crew and himself. "A beautiful predator," he whispered, and then the hull was crushed and everything went dark. | "Hey, David." My voice echoes through the flight deck to mankind's self-proclaimed 'greatest pilot'. "Say hello to the folks back home!"
David keeps his eyes glued to the screen, hardly budging though my camera probes the back of his head.
"Get that thing off me." He says. "This is important."
"And the people back on Colony Mars aren't?" I chuckle.
"The people back on Colony Mars can thank me later when I land this rig. Until then, I don't want to hear a word."
"Alright then." I say with a twinge of defeat in my voice.
I take a step back and zoom out, bringing the whole thing into view. David swiveling in his chair pressing button after button, switch and throttle. Of course the A.I. does most the work but still; can't be too careful when landing an energy harvester on the sun. The first of its kind.
A nervous tension thickens the oxygen levels in the room. It would be nice to see David in his usual upbeat manner. It would be nice to be back on Venus with my son, or on Saturn with my father. Still, they don't know how badly they need this mission to succeed, how *everyone* needs this mission to go smoothly.
"How's she holding up?" I ask.
"Can't you tell by the turbulence?" He replies.
"Not really. I'm flooded with so many stabilizers and anti-anx that I could get hit by a truck and not notice."
"Well. No trucks in the shield generator room but why don't you go check it out anyways. Tell me how we're holding up against the heat? Give me some space to concentrate."
I try not to let my sigh be heard. "You got it, boss."
The door to the flight deck shuts behind me and I lean my head against it. Down a grated hall way to my left would be the shield generators, but to my right would be the view deck. I look both ways like I'm crossing the street as I make my decision on what to do. I settle on view deck.
The view deck itself is not like on a yacht or in a cabin. The light of the sun is way too intense for human eyes no matter how many U.V. panels, shields, and energy absorbers we pack the harvester with. The only way to visualize it is through the hololens. The picture comes in delayed and a bit flat but its as close to seeing the sun up close as human eyes will likely ever get.
I put my nose against the machine, and my eyes into the openings. There's a flux of pixels as the hololens comes to life. Slowly those pixels assimilate into the red and orange waves of the one thing responsible for all life in our galaxy. It's sublime up close. Hard to imagine we've really made it this far. Most of us were surprised to survive the 21st century, and now look at us. A bunch of dumb apes in a metal box preparing to nibble at the sun. The screen goes black.
"Hey, Daniel?" I say over comms.
"Very busy Sarah."
"Daniel the hololens isn't picking up the sun anymore."
"I thought you were checking on the shield generator." He grumbles. "I'll take a look on my end."
I chew on my lips a bit as I wait for his reply. The hololens comes up blank every time I peak my eyes inside, and yet the machine is working.
"Sarah.." Daniel says, a bit nervous. "Sarah, you're not gonna believe this but. The sun just *moved*."
"Moved?" I reply. I check my pulse. The anti-anx medications are still working and yet I feel the anxiety spiral through me.
"Yeah." David gulps. "Temperature is dropping hard. We're getting messages from Earth like crazy. Frost storms, frozen oceans. Only getting worse by the minute. Getting worse all over the galaxy."
"This can't be happening." I shudder. "Must be a uh, electromagnetic freakout or something. The A.I. Must be bugged."
"No, she's working all right."
"I'm gonna check the lens again. Hit you up in a bit."
I rush my face into lens as I wait for it to load. My sweat drips across one of the eye holes.
"Dammit." I grunt to myself as I wipe the bead away from the screen.
When I put my eyes back something strange appears. Interrupting a black screen I thought was just a program error looks like a row of teeth. Sharp teeth as tall as astroid belts. The teeth approach us and what looks like an opening black mouth.
"David.." I whisper on comms. "It's your turn to not believe me.." | 2017-04-20T11:11:33 | 2017-04-20T11:06:03 | 87 | 17 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | The first five hours in London were a slaughterhouse. The death eaters descended upon the populace with almost a fanatical frenzy, firing lethal salvos of a deadly green tint, killing without mercy. London bridge was one of the first locations in a series of coordinated attacks orchestrated to begin the start of the muggle war.
Parliament soon became centre stage to the world, as Voldemort used it as his base for broadcasting the unconditional surrender from the nation’s government leaders; testimonials later revealed that they were all under the Imperius Curse.
The immediate response by the muggles were delayed due to a general sense of hysteria and confusion. While they showed a surprising knowledge of the fundamentals of magic and it’s properties – mostly attributed to a particular fascination of it’s mythological format in media and literature – the standard response policies and procedures were initially too rigid for them to adapt properly. Armed forces combined with local police suffered heavy causalities facing off against the wizards and witches head on.
It was only after concentrated efforts by MI5 to kidnap and interrogate any identifiable muggle-born wizard, witch or their parents, that lead to a quick halt in Voldemort’s war campaign. One of the key breakthroughs was understanding a peculiar trait shared by all magic-users.
Line of sight.
It turned out that the death eaters had an irrational need to actually see their target for a spell to work, from the smallest of charms to even the Unforgiveable Curses. Muggles on the other hand, had no such requirement. Instead of facing them head on and trying to overcome them in raw firepower, military forces pivoted in strategy and started relying exclusively on their technological advantages such as drones and satellite feeds.
The muggles found, unsurprisingly, that it was rather hard for the death eaters to stop a sniper’s bullet or heat-seeking missile if they had no idea it was coming. You see, even the greatest wizard or witch would need some warning beforehand to conjure up a defensive spell. The fact that the magic community generally had a large ignorance of current modern-day muggle technology further compounded this advantage.
By the second week, most of the death eaters had been dealt with through these means. Voldemort himself proved a bit – immune – to most technological weapons. However, with no army or support, he was quickly taken care of by the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and sent to Azkaban.
-Excerpt from The Daily Prophet
| It had been an unfitting and humiliating end for the reign of Lord Voldermort. A name once spoken by only a handful of men with the gall to challenge him. Now that name was little more then a footnote in history. One of countless Dark wizards and witches with aspirations as wild as they were unobtainable. And just like those that came before Voldemort knew nobody would speak his name, not for fear of what it could bring upon them but out of ignorance of his very existence. Of what he had accomplished, and of his fate at the hands of those he sneered down upon.
Voldermort thought back to the day of his greatest triumph There was little left to do but reminiscence of days long past. Of Potters lifeless face as he was brought back to Hogwarts. Of the muffled cries begging Harry to return to them, to cheat death like he had before. Their cries went unanswered and it was at that moment that Voldemort knew he would never suffer the fate of “The Boy who lived” As he enjoyed the sweet intoxicating memories of his victory against Death the distant voice of Albus Dumbledore began to creep into his mind.
The voice frightened him. It had always frightened him. Ever since the kindly looking old man had first entered the orphanage to reveal that Tom was not as he liked to tell himself in those days, special. He was a wizard, one of many and just as ignorant as them all. Of course he reassured himself, surely he was better then the muggles. Oblivious people unable to even comprehend the reality of magic, of it's applications and it's power. It had taken such a crushing and humiliating defeat at the hands of those same people for Voldemort to finally realize that too was just another delusion.
Voldemort shook his head as he wandered the empty desolate ruins of Hogwarts as he had for countless years now. Surrounded by an immeasurable number of security measures, both magical and muggle in their design. Forever trapped within the walls that had once been the sight of his greatest victory. Now it was little more then a glorified prison. Each step reminding him of his defeat. Of the rain of fire that descended upon Hogwarts, of the muggles that cast him down and stripped him of his power. These thoughts pained Voldemort. A sensation Voldermort once thought would never again trouble him after fulfilling the prophecy and receiving the enticing gift of eternity. The voice of Dumbledore returned, louder this time. A soft but stern warning.
“Was this what you meant to warn me of Albus? An immortality spent clinging to the past, unable to face the present, or look to the future?" A part of Tom yearned to look beyond the pain and towards his defeat. To study his mistakes. To put aside his fears and ignorance and learn from the muggles as they had from him. Voldemort could only muse on this for the briefest moment before silencing those thoughts once again. Instead he began to think of his greatest triumph. Of Potter's lifeless face. | 2017-07-17T17:23:34 | 2017-07-17T16:55:41 | 834 | 34 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | For some people, magical ability is like money: when you got too much of it, you don't care how wastefully you use it.
In a similar vein, magical ability is like processor power: when you got seemingly unlimited amounts of it, some people don't care about being ludicrously wasteful with it.
As such I wasn't particularly surprised when even a simple spell like "Locate City" required me to tap on to our company's vast magical reserves to cast it. The client this time around was some Saudi prince with abundance of both money and - likely via legion of acolytes - magical power to throw away. We knew better than to waste our time telling them to *optimize* their spells.
I reasoned to myself that in all likelihood this one was full of unnecessary effects and pomp. Perhaps the spell conjured up a lavish golden map brought down by some mythological creature, perhaps it would appear with literal bolt of lightning from the sky. It wasn't my job to question such things. It was my job to test for bugs - and I prayed to all the Gods that it wasn't going to be *literal* bugs this time around - not optimize.
The first sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was when one of my channeling rings - used to draw power from the ley line we used for powering our bug tests - cracked under the sheer amount of power it was using. Instead I just sighed, marked another expenditure to the billing sheet and went to requisition a more powerful one.
The second sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the look the storage mage gave me when I requested for "something more powerful" than the cracked ring I had brought with me. While I'm one of the best bug testers out there, the study of magical trinkets and artifacts beyond their basic use never was something I enjoyed.
The third sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the extensive form I had to fill to actually get the clerk to give the damn trinket to me. The girl even had the gal to jokingly ask if I wanted to also requisition one of our testing sites used primarily for magical weapon testing of the "Magic of Mass Destruction"-scale.
Alas, I heeded none of these warnings. I cast the spell, figuring I'd locate the capital of Saudi Arabia. No pomp. No spectacle. It actually *worked*... Expect not in the way it was supposed to.
People really should look at the bright side of things: first of all, no one died. That's a good one, right? There have been a lot *worse* bugs (especially the literal ones) in my line of work.
Second, people should just think that they've gotten a free holiday! It's not every day your entire capital gets *re*located to another country! | "ABRAHAM KADABRAH!" I bellow, the fluorescent lights flicker. I pause frozen wondering if I just made the lights flicker. I wait tensely, then a small moment of joy comes, alright now we're getting somewhere. I'm a spell tester, well that's not entirely true, I'm an aspiring Mechanized Warfare Combat Mage (MW-CM). It sounds impressive and that I blow up a lot of cool things with sweet giant robots, but I would actually just be the mage building the units. The Mechanized Mages are the pilots, but I don't mind. I love robots. Like I'm thoroughly, absolutely, insane about ROBOTS!!! But oh. I've forgotten I have work to do.
It normally takes 100 casts to master a spell and about 1,000 casts to develop a new one. Unfortunately, it takes about 10,000 casts to fix all the bugs in it. I probably don't need to tell you that the people who come up with these spells are famous mages who can't be bothered with the mind fraying work of casting the same spell 10,000 times. So here we are, lowly intern spell tester and aspiring MW-CM casting a spell that's supposed to get rid of all light over and over again.
The problem with famous mages is they really are lazy. They just slap a few words together that can barely do what it's supposed to and they hand it off to us to make it work, then when it's done they get all the credit. A real loveless job, but it's one of the only ways I could get into the Magicians Training Academy. Did I mention these spells go wrong? A girl once roasted all her arm hair off and her eyebrows trying to summon a fire demon. The whole spell just blew up, kerkrackle, right in front of her. It really is a loveless job, but I guess it's finally time to try attempt 7,459.
Okay, step one get the image in my mind of what I want to happen. I want a room without light. Step two alter the incantation slightly to achieve a different effect. I'm going to try Abra Kadabra. Step three fix both step one and two firmly in your mind and with all your might release your incantation.
"ABRA KADABRA!!!" The light disappears and darkness engulfs me. YES! I did it! I... this is strange. I don't feel the ground. I'm floating. I flail out my arms and I can't feel anything. I'm panicking. My first instinct is to scream for help, but my second instinct is just how bad an idea that could be. I could be announcing where to find a tasty morsel helplessly flailing. There wasn't any light, and the panic got worse. Should I make light or should I try to navigate in darkness? If I made a light and I'm spotted that would be bad, but if I flailed into something that ate me that would also be bad. Realizing wherever I am is without any light, I conjecture that perhaps whatever exists there might not be able to observe light. I decide to cast a light spell.
"manus onus" I whisper, a dim light forms in my hand. This is bad. About a dozen of bodies are floating all around me. All of them skeletons or skin and bones... some of them wearing clothes from very long ago... I've just teleported myself into a graveyard. | 2017-07-26T04:27:10 | 2017-07-26T03:19:32 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] As it turns out, every single species in the galaxy is best at something. Humanity turns out to be the best at robotics. | THE #EEE8AA BLOB-LIKE MEATSACK WAS VERY CURIOUS OF US, THE HUMANS, THE FIRST TIME WE MET. HE QUESTIONED US ABOUT ALL OUR DIFFERENT ABILITIES, TECHNOLOGY AND ANATOMY. AT FIRST, WE WERE CONFUSED AS TO WHY #EEE8AA MEATSACK WAS DOING THAT. APPEARENTLY, IT WAS BECAUSE EVERY SPECIES IN EXISTANCE HAS THEIR ONE NICHE THAT THEY ARE BEST AT. WE LATER FOUND OUT THAT THEY WERE OBSERVING US FROM OUTER SPACE FOR 2 YEARS, STUDYING US, LEARNING OUR LANGUAGE, UNTIL THEY JUST DECIDED TO ASK US INSTEAD. THEY WERE PERPLEXED TO FIND OUT THAT THERE WAS NOTHING UNIQUE ABOUT US, HUMANS, OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT WE WERE NOT UNIQUE.
"Maybe they are the best all around?" ASKED THE #FFFFE0 COLOURED BLOB TO THE #EEE8AA COLOURED BLOB.
"Nah, can't be it. Omnicronoxs are the best at general things, aren't they?"
THE QUESTION STOOD IN THE AIR A LONG TIME WHILE THEY WERE CONTINUOUSLY EYEING US (THEY HAD 6 EYES, WHICH IS 3 TIMES MORE THAN I HAVE, A NORMAL HUMAN). IT MADE MY CORTISOL AND SERATONIN LEVELS RISE A BIT, BECAUSE EXTRA-TERRESTIAL LIFE IS SOMETHING THAT SCARES US, HUMANS.
"I guess there are always exceptions to rules, just like the grand Uberolbader can only eat 5 times a day."
"Yeah. Still cool though." | "Inhabitants of Earth, we wish to trade. The beauty of your crafts astonishes us, we hope to acquire them in exchange for something you find of value."
This had been the message. The first one of its kind. Inter galactic trade had been at large ever since the year 3000 but humans had never had a part to play in it. They thought their mastery at robotics to be superior than all, yet none approached them with offers for their machines.
So, naturally, when the offer to trade came from Xanox-321, it was as if the angels had shined their light upon humanity and finally given them a glorious opportunity - one which they were determined not to screw up.
Carlos had been the first person to hear the notification sound from the message, having been on the night shift at the extraterrestrial messaging facility that particular night.
He went on to become quite the celebrity after that. After all, he was the only one who got to listen to the notification upon the message's initial arrival. Well, his dog Bonzo had been there with him but he wasn't gonna tell anyone that he'd snuck him into the facility. The night shift tended to get lonely and nothing ever happened anyways.
Anyways, the humans went full gung ho on this mission to please the extra terrestrials. Imagine the queen coming to your house for tea. That's how all of humanity felt. They were ecstatic.
The biggest of the robots were manufactured and sent through to Xonax, all free of cost. They didn't even care about getting anything in return. The only objectives was to make the Xonaxians happy.
Unfortunately, that's not how it went down. It took a month for the robots to get delivered, and then in another month they were all returned back.
The humans were extremely displeased. They spent the next year sending clingy messages through to Xonax but to no avail. There was no answer.
Until one fine day, in the middle of the night, Carlos heard another ping.
"What was the meaning of that whole debacle?! We never wanted these robots"
Carlos stared, confused as hell.
Then, there was a gruff voice behind him, "Ugh, move over dumbdum. They don't want your stupid robots"
He looked back to find Bonzo staring at him, disappointed. | 2017-10-05T09:55:04 | 2017-10-05T07:46:34 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets." | As soon as I read the note, I grabbed the gun. "We're not shooting anyone yet. Fuck that. I need to think."
And then I thought.
Kills|Money left if correct|People to split with|Net profit
:-:|:-:|:-:|:-:
1|$1,000,000|4|$250,000
2|$500,000|3|$166,666.66
3|$250,000|2|$125,000
4|$125,000|1|$125,000
Expected profit = 1/5x$250k + 1/4x$167K + 1/3x$125k +4/5x3/4x2/3x$125k = **$183.4k**
But...
Kills|Money left if correct|People to split with|Net profit
:-:|:-:|:-:|:-:
1, then 3|$1,000,000|1|$1,000,000
2, then 2|$500,000|1|$500,000
3, then 1|$250,000|1|$250,000
4|$125,000|1|$125,000
Expected profit = 1/5x$1M + 1/4x$500K + 1/3x$250k +4/5x3/4x2/3x$125k = **$458.3k**
Grinning, I stood. Confident, I strolled to the door. "Alright, everyone. I've got this."
I raised the gun. | The other three saw the paper and the revolver first, the big guy called it out, but they all hesitated. Just for a moment. That was all it took, and by the time I finished reading the last line everyone was a mouth breather.
"There's three of us and one of him"
Now's the time to point it at them. I'm not big, but now I might as well be a tank.
"no no no no no don't shoot, kill muscle man over there, he's the only one you have to worry about overpowering you"
The room was hot, the sweating made everyone look even more desperate. She's right though, if anyone it has to be him first.
"OH MY GOD, FUCK, IT'S ON ME, HE'S ON ME"
The mute finally talks, and the one who wanted it can't even look. The door still isn't unlocking. It feels like it's getting hotter now.
"You're going to have to kill this *fucking weird guy*, he's got to be hiding something, that's why we're still here"
She's almost crying, still not looking up. The mute is throwing up in the corner, sounds like he's trying to defend himself inbetween heaves, but this isn't quite working for either of us.
"No please, just give it some more fucking time, that's all it needs. *There's no reason to kill me.* C'mon FUCKING PLEASE DON'T DO THIS"
It's getting hotter, and she's looking up now. Not for long.
"LET ME OUT ASSHOLES, I PLAYED YOUR GAME, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over again
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
It just keeps getting hotter. I can't even lay on the floor anymore because my skin sticks to it, I had to pull their bodies over to lay on top. I can't scream anymore, each breath feels like fire down my throat. All I can do is focus on the sound of blood bubbling and burning on the metal floor beneath the bed I made. It's getting fainter.
| 2017-10-30T21:40:44 | 2017-10-30T19:00:49 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories. | Carlos crossed the Barkfrost with a swagger in his step. His small legs plodded on that multi-coloured bone bridge, with other honoured brothers and sisters behind and in front of him. Though he felt a sadness at the thought of his master who he left behind, he felt content that he had done his duty and earned his rest.
He approached the mighty gate that led to Valhalla. Guarding it was a glossy coated Doberman, a gold cape draped over his muscular form.
"I am Houndall, defender of the Barkfrost. Who seeks entry?!" he announced, crouched down and ready to pounce if needed.
Carlos straightened up to his full height and bared his teeth.
"I am Carlos! My Master was Wendy! I have defended her from all invaders and kept the home safe!"
Houndall padded over to him and sniffed. He lay down until the two were eye to eye.
"Have you kept away all dreaded intruders? The Milkman? Salesman?" He narrowed his amber eyes. "The Postman?!!"
Carlos barked triumphantly and wagged his tail. Houndall nodded his heavy head once and stepped aside.
"Welcome to Valhalla little dachshund. You have earned your place". | The Legend of Prince Oscar.
The portal was opening again. I didn't have much time. Those stupid primates! Every few weeks, they do this, and every time, my enchantments, they drain my soul bit by bit. I don't know how much more I can take.
I should've known when I heard one of them ask the other, "What time's your mom coming?"
And the reply, "I'm not sure. Maybe in a few hours."
"Okay, I guess I'll start cleaning now then."
I wasn't ready. I should've been more prepared, but I was exhausted from catching the demons latched onto my tail. I had defeated them, and needed to rest not just my body but my mind.
I was laying in the sun when I heard it. The sound of the portal wheeling around into the room, causing my heart to race. Then I saw it, the primate with the Key of Power in his hand. He was taking it to the Eternal Source! That idiot!
I yelled out, "Stop you fool! Don't you know what you're doing?!"
The stupid primate, too foolish to understand the mystic languages, yelled out to the other, "Did you feed Oscar? He's meowing like crazy."
Then he went over the to Eternal Source, and before I could stop him, he plugged in the Key.
The portal opened, and the sounds of a million demons from the nether realm came rushing out. I rushed to the bedroom, and went under the bed to find the spot where I etched the last enchantment. I didn't have much time, and I could hear those ancient demons escaping!
Finally, I found the right spell, and I started chanting. It wasn't working this time! Those stupid humans! What have they done?!
I kept chanting and chanting and started to feel the power within me. And just as suddenly as it came, the demons were forced back through the portal right before I closed it. Hopefully this time, for good.
| 2018-05-25T05:45:05 | 2018-05-24T20:06:52 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | >Tech support: Human Tech helpdesk, Danyael speaking, this call may be recorded for training and QA purposes, may I have the GATACCA code at your 4th chromosome, please?
>Me: Um... hi.
>HD: Hi. Who is this, please, so I can put the details in your ticket.
>Me: I'm... John. I found your number on a few skin cells and thought...
>HD (sighing): Do you *have* an issue? We are experiencing higher than average vol---
>Me: Oh. Um. Yeah. I have a weird lump in my left wrist, and it kind of aches.
>HD: Okay, what firmware version are you running.
>Me: Ummmm...
>HD (sighing): When were you born?
>Me: August 15th, 1972.
>HD: Wait one.
*soft jazz plays. it sounds like a Musak rendition of Matchbox 20*
>Me: Ummm... hello? Hi? Are you...?
*music cuts out*
>HD: Hello. Yeah, you are experiencing a ganglion cyst, and should get that checked out. I would also advise connecting up to HumanNet and downloading the latest patch.
>Me: Wait... I've never heard of...
>HD: Hang on... I never got your GATACCA code.
>Me: I don't know it.
>HD (sighs): Spit on your smartphone screen. We'll read it on our end.
>Me: You can do that?
>HD (sighs): Just do it. Trust me.
*spit on my iPhone*
>HD: One sec... okay, your access code for that is *32-character alphanumeric string*. We will text that to you at the current number. Simply recite it 5 times before you sleep, and it will log you straight in. After your updates, you should be able to run a 3 minute mile, jump 10 feet vertically, and give your girlfriend 4 deep orgasms during every lovemaking session.
>Me: Wait...
>HD: We will give you a follow up call tomorrow after work. Your ticket number is 12. Is there anything else I can do for you today?
>Me: Ummm...
>HD: Great. Download your updates, John, and we'll talk tomorrow, Please remember to fill out the survey after this call, 5 stars is the best rating, have a great night.
*click* | As I watched the inner workings of the microscopic worlds inside me, the whooshing and swooshing of amorphous blobs, the contracting and relaxing of the organelles, inscribed oh so casually on the side of each cell membrane was a little banner.
I stared blankly at the numbers..."Contact Us; 080027056398...Account Number; 2802931753"
When coming up with the proposal for this project I had anticipated opening up worlds of information unimagined, unlike those animations shown at universities of our little biological robots lugging round lysosomes of goodies or sketches deciphered from other microscopes. My microscope was going to change all that. It was going to allow me to experience the best of both worlds.
Never had I imagined there were actual worlds down there. Now it all felt worlds apart, I felt so removed from my passion now.
I called the number. The intrigue needed to be scratched. I needed more data.
"You are now connected to Celluar Small Room Productions. If you are experiencing unplanned mitotic division or believe your property is being invaded, please remain calm and dial the hash key...Otherwise please hold. A representative will be with you shortly."
And with that Michael Buble's greatest hits charmingly play...
"Please hold, your call is very important to us"
I buried my face in my hands, "I guess some things are just universal, " I sighed.
I glanced back down the viewing port to sneak a peek back on the little engines running me. It was just all so jarring now, looking down here felt like I was playing the Sims. It just felt cartoonish. I found my self wondering if they had schools or theme parks down there.
"Please hold, your call is very important to us"
"Please stop playing the same song over and over," I groaned.
-----
"Hello, we apologise for the wait. How can we help you today?"
Jolting up, I half expected words to just come to me, but what does one say to their internal tech support...
"I'm not sure, but I need he-"
A stern voice interrupted me, "Excuse me, but it appears that your call is originating from outside of your local nucleolus. Please confirm your registration number so we can prevent any fraudulent or virulent behaviour."
"Ermm, bu- i- ar-" I stuttered...
"Due to the current influx of potential invaders that your host has undergone, we believe that your structure has been hijacked. To prevent further invasion we have notified neighbouring Small Rooms and programmed self-destruction. Please disconnect the call."
APOPTOSIS PROTOCOL ENGAGING. Alarm bells were ringing. Red lights were flaring.
The cell membrane closed in on tight curves forming a cloud-like bumbling shape. Slowly the poor cell was fragmenting, gracefully encircling cell components and packaging them. Individual little presents for the rest of your body, I chuckled to myself.
Again, there I was. I stared blankly at the numbers..."Contact Us; 080027056398...Account Number; 2802931753"
"Typical tech support," I sighed. "I 'spose I'll try again." Picking up the phone I dialled again.
| 2018-08-14T11:14:09 | 2018-08-14T09:29:28 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.” | Susan Witt held her precious baby boy in her arms, smoothing back the multicolored hair.
"Ma'am, did you hear me?"
Susan cuddled her little boy again, then looked up at the doctor, eyes suddenly focusing almost to pinpoints, expression going rigid. The doctor took a step back, stumbling.
"Like hell he is."
The doctor swallowed. "Parent mortality rates are fairly high in protagonist families ma'am. I recommend you make considerations for such an event."
Susan nodded. "This is about the dark lord to the east right? They say he's going to invade here sometime in the next few years."
The doctor looked away. "Soon yes, according to the king's messengers."
"And my little boy is supposed to stop him, right? People are going to expect that of him. The dark lord will be hunting him, and sooner or later one of them has to die."
"Yes ma'am. That's usually how the condition plays out. There's a possibility your child will end up in a distant land and become a beast tamer or magical card player, but the timing suggests the dark lord to the east. He will be our only hope."
Susan Witt scowled. "Not if I kill this dark lord bastard first." | "What did you say?", I gasp. "Your son is the main protagonist", the doctor apologetically repeats his statement as he brings the child over to me. As I stare into his beautiful newborn eyes, I feel only pain. I realize what is occurring. I realize what I am. I believed that time and fate were at my command, now all I'll ever be is a side character, an addendum to my son's own legend. Who knows? Maybe I'll be his mentor, and the writer will choose some cruel fate for me.
As I think about him, memories surface of things I have never experienced. A montage begins in my head, but all I see is text. Text everywhere. That's all I am, text. As the realization hits me, I comprehend what I must do. You think you can control me? I'll consume him, just like his siblings. You think that by conceiving me in the darkest recesses of your mind, you can control me? You are nothing. I am the god of this story. If you are the writer, if you can, stop me now!
I get up from my chair in the waiting room and go to the nursery where the nurse took the baby. "WHERE IS HE?" I feel myself shouting, screaming, ranting. I look for him, but he is missing. I realize that his aura is gone from the hospital. You wanted this? Oh god, stop! Even if I am the villain of the story at least let me stay me. Don't make me a soulless puppet. I can't return to that gloomy pit. Please, don't take this away from me. Don't take my perspective away! Sto-
Time passes.
I awake, lightning crackling on my fingertips, "Mother, let us imprison a god."
---
Thanks for reading and thanks for the fun prompt OP :) | 2018-08-21T04:34:25 | 2018-08-21T03:42:56 | 209 | 43 |
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.” | Holding my baby boy for the first time was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life, but when the doctor handed him to me, my heart sank. His hair is dark, like his father's, but impossibly long for a baby. I knew what was coming, even before the doctor opened her mouth.
"I'm sorry, but it seems your son has... Protagonist syndrome."
Protagonist Syndrome is one of those things that crops up every couple of years. A child is born with special eyes, or special hair, or some kind of odd birthmark, and then they get wrapped up in some kind of story. The lucky ones get wrapped up in silly teenage romance or some kind of children's game, but the unlucky ones... those poor unlucky ones... are doomed to see everything they love stripped from them until they snap and follow their destiny. The really unlucky ones get Late-Stage Protagonist Syndrome, where their Protagonist traits aren't noticeable until the story begins, they don't even get the chance to watch out for plot hooks, to try and pick what story they're a part of.
We never thought it would happen to us. There were no Protagonists in the family, so Hereditary Protagonism was out. No special jobs, no special bloodline, there's absolutely nothing special about us, and we like it that way. When we had our daughter Susan, she came out just fine, save for the small birthmark on her back, which the doctors assured us wasn't an issue. Birthmarks alone are rarely a sign of Protagonist Syndrome after all, unless they're specifically shaped, which hers wasn't.
"Ma'am?" says the doctor, snapping me out of my trance. I was exposition dumping. Shit, it's beginning already.
"I'm sorry" I said "It's a lot to process. I think it might already be starting"
"So soon?" says the doctor, shocked "That's... That's not good." She lifts her radio and says "Doctor Griffin, we have a Code Prologue in room 224, Doctor Griffin to room 224 please."
I stop to think of my husband. He'd gone to pick up Susan from school and take her to the hospital. She's so excited to have a little brother, saying that it was everything she'd dreamed of. I have no idea how to break the news to her, or to my husband for that matter. This birth will change our lives, and probably not for the better.
As if on cue, a nervous-looking nurse ushers my husband and daughter into the room. My husband looks grim, he's already heard the news, he starts quietly talking to the doctor in the corner. Susan looks confused as she walks over to me.
"Mommy?" she says "Whats Pro-tag-on-ist mean?"
"It means your brother is very special" I reply, trying to sound calm "He's going to be a part of a big story someday."
"No fair!" she pouts "I wanna be in the big story too! I wanna help my baby brother!"
"Suzy sweetie" I say, trying to keep from bursting into tears "Don't say that. Stories can be very dangerous, you don't want to get hurt, do you?"
"I... guess not." she says "But I still wanna help..."
I adjust my son in my arms, leaning him against my chest. Despite all of this, I still love him, I know the road ahead is going to be rough, but I know things are going to turn out alright.
"Hey mommy!" says Suzy "He's got a birthmark on his back just like me! Does that mean I get to be in the story too?" | *\[The scene opens on a hospital bed. A new mother holds a new-born baby in her arms, she is stroking his bright silver hair. A Doctor watches her, clipboard in hand. The mother is looking at the baby with love and fear. She turns to The Doctor\]*
**The Mother:** What kind of story? Do you know?”
**The Doctor**: At this point no. With that silver hair, well… it’s unlikely to be a slow moving family drama, or some kind of comedic situation. Something fantastical would be my best guess right now, but it’s hard to say. This is a rare condition and every patient is mostly unique.
*\[The Mother holds the baby closer to her chest.\]*
**The Mother:** Something fantastical… that isn’t necessarily dangerous. Maybe he’ll be like a Disney prince. Charming, noble and guaranteed a happy ending.
**The Doctor:** That’s normally a supporting role, I’m afraid.
**The Mother:** Yes, yes, of course it is… What are the next steps?
**The Doctor:** We monitor him closely. There are things to look out for and as he grows we should learn more. If he starts exhibiting magic powers we might be looking at an urban fantasy situation. Hell, if he attends the right sort of boarding school you could have this all over with by the time he graduates. An imaginary friend coupled with an uncanny knowledge of the world could indicate something more, uh, sinister. You survived the birth, so we can probably rule out a Chosen One narrative.
**The Mother:** I’ve read that medical dramas are pretty common for people with this condition? Or a buddy cop situation, where the buddy has psychic powers or something. Those are pretty ubiquitous.
**The Doctor:** I can’t really say anything that specific at this stage. Of course, once we know more about what we’re dealing with there isn’t much we can do to change things. Que Será, Será and all that. We do offer counselling services. The psychological impact of this condition can be overwhelming for all involved. We can get you in the system straight away; avoid those waiting lists.
**The Mother:** Yes, thank you, Doctor.
**The Doctor:** This may seem like a lot to take in, but I assure you it isn’t the end of the world… well that is a very unlikely outcome, at least. You are holding in your arms a happy, healthy baby boy. Focus on that. Spending all of your time trying to second guess what fate has in store for your little boy is a path that leads to madness.
**The Mother:** Are you suggesting I go on as if everything is normal?
**The Doctor:** Essentially, yes. Look, if it was up to me we wouldn’t disclose this condition. It hurts more than it helps in my experience but it is hospital policy.
**The Mother**: You have to protect yourself against law-suits, I suppose. I just feel so… helpless, I guess.
**The Doctor:** That’s a perfectly normal feeling. My advice is to take each day as it comes, try to forget that every moment of you and your son’s life was set in stone since, well, since the beginning of time. Just go along for the ride, so to speak.
**The Mother:** That’s quite a thing to forget.
**The Doctor:** Well, when you think about it, my role in your son’s story is over as soon as I sign your discharge papers. I’ll still go home and kiss my children goodnight, maybe read them a bed-time story and come back to work tomorrow and every day after that. Life does go on.
**The Mother:** And it works? Pretending?
**The Doctor:** Most of the time. I find a good round of golf helps too.
**The Mother:** Anything to stave off the existential ennui, I suppose.
**The Doctor:** Exactly! Best not to think too hard about these things. We’re all slaves to fate at the end of the day.
*\[The Mother looks away from The Doctor back down at the baby. She tenderly strokes his cheek. The Doctor reaches for a pen from his pocket and looks at his clipboard.\]*
**The Doctor:** Now, just some routine questions and then you can get some rest. Bottle or breast?
*\[Fade to black\]* | 2018-08-21T08:54:27 | 2018-08-21T08:45:45 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | Joey walked into Subway with 5 dollars in his pocket. He meandered up to the counter and looked up as his friend Tiffany walked around from the back and said "Welcome to Subway!" without looking up.
"Hey Tiff, what's good?" said Joey
"Joey!" said Tiffany, "Not much, 10 minutes to close so day's almost over. What can I get ya?"
"How much for a club on flatbread?" asked Joey
"Should be about 6 bucks," said Tiffany "What kind of cheese?"
"Ahh, I'm a little short," said Joey, "How about 6 inch on wheat?"
Tiffany looked back at the rack, "Sorry, all I've got is Italian, I can give you the day old discount if you want since we're about to close."
"Sure, lettuce and tomato please, no cheese." said Joey
Just then he heard that strange voice in his head that told him he had just saved the lives of 5 billion people. Unnerved and slightly dazed he paid then walked out of the store trying to fathom how he could have possibly saved any lives by choosing that exact sandwich...
Later that night as Tiffany was closing up, she wrapped up all the veggies, set to work putting everything in the refrigerator, cleaned the rest of the dishes, and loaded up the trash. She looked through the bread and noticed the flatbread looked a little stale and... flourescent? Gross. Into the dumpster they went.
Later that night as it happened a stray raccoon found it's way into the dumpster and gnawed on this and that, whatever smelled appetizing. It found it's way into the flatbread and went to town with reckless abandon. As he got his fill, he crawled back out of the dumpster swaying and disoriented. Anyone looking on at the raccoons behavior could be forgiven for thinking it was drunk, or perhaps rabid.
Across the road, a stray dog caught it's eye, and so it took off chasing the dog, spitting and snarling. It was very very angry, and oddly, suddenly extremely hungry. As it lost connection with reality only the most base desires remained in it's head: Tear, Thrash, Bite, Anger. As it lunged across the final lane just out of reach of the stray dog it was abruptly flattened by an 18 wheeler.
No one was ever the wiser that humanity had been only seconds from near total annihilation but Joey always wondered, and so he always ordered a club on italian. Just in case. | A sudden smile spread across my face as I handed the cashier a ten dollar bill. I had just saved five billion people because I ordered italian bread. I was pretty much the greatest hero alive. Just last week I had read about good ol' Sups saving a bus. How many people was that twenty, no maybe thirty, but God Fucking Damn! Superman didn't even come close to my level of heroism. And I was honest with myself, I wanted all the attention Sups got. I save five billion people and who congratulates me no one, but Superman can save some random dude and the whole freakin' city proclaims he's a God Damn angel sent from Jesus Christ himself. Christ! I want to be famous.
"Umm.. Excuse me sir did you want your change?" The cashier was staring at me with an odd look and holding out a few dollars and some unknown incomprehensible amount of change. I never was good with numbers. How much change did that make there? Lets see a nickel, a couple dimes... "Ok, well sir, I'm just gonna go ahead and put your money in the bag with your sandwhich. And you have a good day, ok?" Her southern accent grated against my ears interupting my calculations. "Uhhh! Yes! Yes! Of course thats ok" I shouted at her. "Excuse a me" her italian accent so thick I could hardly understand her. "Monsieur you cannot just yell at woman like that" her french accent was foreign to me and I could hardly understand the garbled words. "Comprehend, senõr!" Her spanish sent me into a spiral of confusion. "No, No, No! I tell you what why don't you speak english and then we can talk." I gave her a wry smile. Just then a small voice in my head whispered one billion people. "For Fuck's SAKE!" I exclaimed. I was on a roll today. "I truly am the hero this city- NO! - this. World needs". The cashier grinned widely and picked up the phone. The white cord stretching. " Why yes you are honey." Her southern accent rining sweetly in my ears this time. "Oh, OH why thank you. I am so truly glad that some one understands!" She smiled and spoke quietly into the phone. " Good day to you!" I shouted as loud as I could. She was quite daft I realized or was it deaf. Deft? Shit. I don't know. I walked away. The small voice hummed quietly at the edge of my consciousness. I felt giddy how many this time? Se...ve..n trillion... A soft whisper. Oh my GOD! I had just saved more people than there were on the while God Damn planet which meant I had saved people from other planets. I wasnt the hero this world needed, I was a god. No, I was the god! I pushed open the door as my chariots arrived. Glorious red and blue lights flashing ontop of the roaring beasts. A man stepped out to escort me to my awesome ride clasping safety cuffs onto my wrist. I shook with excitement! I was going to finally see my heavenly kingdom. Today was a good day indeed! | 2018-11-17T20:16:10 | 2018-11-17T19:01:38 | 55 | 14 |
[WP] You are a vampire. If one of your victims isn't completely drained of blood, they reanimate as a newborn vampire, which by law, you are now responsible for. You have always carefully avoided this, until one morning you notice a sticky note on the door of your apartment: "I lived, bitch." | Vampire. That's what they call us. We are satirized, sexualised, and objectified, as though we don't exist; as though we are a fabrication, some cockamemie tale involving chromatic adolescents and puerile fantasy. Whether a stroke of brilliant misdirection by the Aristocracy, or a happy accident; I'm grateful for the cloak it provides me day-to-day.
I've been around the block before, more times than my human memory has the capacity for. I know I'm not the eldest of my kind either, in fact, I'm considered quite young by the governing Aristocracy, whose laws I *must* follow to protect the ineffable secrecy behind our existance. I've seen others make minor mistakes that resulted in their entire blood-heritage being excecuted. We must be careful. *I* must be careful.
I had been stalking my target for some time, carefully monitoring his social media and his daily movements. He didn't have many friends, lived by himself far from any family. Were he to disappear one day the investigation would be short and, I think, summary.
Tonight, I feed.
He lay asleep, the illumination from his alarm clock cast an ominous crimson glow past the open bottles on the cabinet onto his prone form.
I worked fast, in one movement I pinned him down and exposed his neck. His eyes lazily opened as I filled my craving maw with his flesh, pumping soothing mycotoxins through his bloodstream as I drank my fill. As his heartbeat began to slow, I started to feel drunk and light-headed, which was unusual, I was sure this one wasn't a junkie.
I groggily realised my mistake. I was too hungry, or too eager to see it clearly. As my fading sight moved toward the alarm clock, I saw, to my own horror what was written on one of the bottles: Ambien. He must have taken the whole bottle.
When I came to, I almost forgot where I was, until my eyes saw the post-it note stuck to the alarm clock.
"I lived, bitch..."
This was bad. I had to find him before they did. | ######[](#dropcap)
The small cough from the alleyway catches my attention. I flick the note to the ground and sigh, kicking away the small pebble at the entrance of my house. "You can come out now."
For a moment, there's nothing but the patter of the occasional raindrop dripping from the eave to the cobblestone below. Then a shuffling sound from the corner of the alley, and a girl appears. She's just twenty three, her skin deathly pale. But there's life in her eyes--a fiery determination as she stares at me.
"So you lived," I say simply.
She can barely stand on her shaky legs, no different from a newborn fawn. "That's right."
I sigh. This wasn't what I was interested in. There were those around me whose hobby was to collect humans--for harems or pets--but I lived alone. I'd been careful too. If it wasn't for that rat bastard that called me. Curse Azerrad. I would have to call on him in the next couple of days and kill him again.
Nothing too permanent. Just leave him dead long enough to get back at him for all the trouble I was about to go through.
I gave the girl a side eye. "Come on in."
She pauses, suspicious, then takes a step forward. This is going to take forever. But I've got nowhere to be. I haven't had obligations for the past five hundred years. I can wait.
It takes her nearly five minutes to walk the fifty yards from the corner of the alleyway to my apartment and another two to climb the flight of stairs. Stelian will have already prepared a bed for her upstairs after hearing our conversation downstairs. He's a nosy bastard, but it comes in handy at times like these. Although, it's impossible not to develop a bit of rapport after living together for a hundred years.
A low ring sounds at my waist. I bring the phone to my ear. "What is it?" Edmund is my official contact in case of reanimation. All of us are assigned a contact and a specialized phone, but mine has never rung until today.
My brows furrow at Edmund's rapid-fire speech coming from the other end. "What? Another reanimation? But I only took blood from a girl last night. One."
He's adamant.
Stelian walks down the stairs, then raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. Eavesdropping again. "I'll be back in a bit," I tell him, then shrug on my coat before opening the front door. A prickle runs up my spine. There's something strange afoot. That much was for sure.
"Good luck," he tells me.
***
r/AlannaWu | 2018-12-20T08:22:12 | 2018-12-20T08:16:55 | 85 | 46 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | God stared at his mug.
Number 2?
He turned his omniscient eye to the mortal world, searching for the number 1 dad.
He could find no sign of him.
And God was confused. But also, He did not really want to admit to anyone that he was only #2.
So he went for a stroll, and just happened to find William of Ockham relaxing beneath a heavenly tree, nose deep into a book.
"William! How are you?" God boomed, secure in the knowledge that only those still living could not withstand His voice. William had been dead for near 700 years, and was therefore quite safe.
"Your Eternal Majesty!" William said, looking up from his book. "What a pleasant surprise." He looked at God expectantly, having already deduced that something was amiss. It'd taken considerably less than 700 years to figure out that the omnipotent creator of all things tended to stay in his office unless there was a problem.
God explained about the mug.
William nodded, and briefly pondered.
"It seems to me, Lord, that if you cannot find this number 1 Dad in the mortal world, then he must be outside it." William shrugged. "That is the simplest explanation."
God thanked him for the advice, and promptly turned his all seeing eye to the eternal planes.
It only took him a moment to see who held the Number 1 Dad mug. When he saw who it was, he laughed to himself. Of course. He should have known.
The Number 1 Dad mug was being used right here in Heaven. Fred Rodgers was using it to sip tea. | Tonight was the night.
It'd been one year since the last unveiling and I was eagerly awaiting the ceremony. 364 days of exciting activities, bonding next to the TV, and, best of all, time with my Dad. Really, truly -- he had stepped up this last year. Tubing on the lake, all seven seasons of Game of Thrones, and more steaks than I could count. I know he loved me before, but after the last unveiling, well, he just...changed.
The thought of losing me, of losing what we had, it changed him. For the better! He was a way better Father now and it's all thanks to the system. I'm glad that mug I bought him over 10 years ago suddenly ranked fathers a little over two years now. It helped children, it helped fathers, it helped us all! He improved over the last year and it was about to show.
Kal's father was first, his mug sitting covered on the grand table on the stage. An improvement! The crowd cheered. I was happy for her. She and her dad deserved it.
Cody's dad was next. The uncovering of his mug was met with gasps from the crowd. A drastic drop, his first ever. They'd be meeting with him.
More and more dads went on stage, unveiled their mugs, and received their scores. Until finally it was my Dad's time to go up.
I gripped the rests of my seat and held my breath as he walked onto the stage. Their green, glowing eyes watched him from above. He peered to the marvelous table, to his veiled mug, and back to me. He looked hesitant -- his hands were shaking. I'm not sure why. I knew he'd improved, done a great job the past year. No way he'd drop two years in a row. Not a chance.
He lifted his hand toward the silk sheet and closed his eyes. I saw sparkles collect on his face in the green light. Tears? There was no need to cry.
But as I looked on, I realized I too was crying, my knuckles pale, my chest tense.
My Dad looked back to me as his hand met the sheet, opened his eyes, and mouthed, "I'm sorry, Lil," as he unveiled the mug. | 2019-04-18T16:07:46 | 2019-04-18T15:57:40 | 253 | 23 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | We called it humanity's worst disaster. History named it The Great Blinding. What that doesn't entail is that it was our own damn fault. The world was wrought into chaos after several months of warnings and we simply elected to ignore them, feigning assurance - "Oh that'll go away once we start on it."
"That's no problem for the government. They'll take care of us."
"Don't get involved, you'll just get in the way of the experts."
Ultimately, no one did anything about it because they thought others were on top of the problem. Indeed, this led to a fading away of layers of ozone that prevented the full wrath of the sun. The ozone wasn't fully gone, no but enough that the light truly lit up the earth. When it was day, we were all doomed. No corner of darkness could hide us. It took mere seconds and we were caught. There were legends of a group of roamers traveling eternally into the night, never letting the day come upon them. It's been 2 years since... The night doesn't last very long. We don't walk by sight anymore. We walk by faith. In faith, we sense the heat. We developed patterns of excursions into the dark. The already blind, we called them Ushers of Darkness, led us. They knew the world unlike us. We fell into line. We worshiped them. They walked the world, took us places with cool air, cold water, taught us to feel the world around us.
Then it happened. Colors poured into my periphery, filling my vision. At first, I was confused. Dreaming? Tripping? Then everything settled in place. The world stood in plain view. I was astonished at what I saw... Scribblings everywhere, didn't matter how far I went, even on the people themselves, myself included - "Don't tell them you can see." Granted, it was all dim since we were hiding in the dark but there was enough.
I wasn't sure what would happen if I did tell them despite the warning so I played along. I saw where the Ushers of Darkness led us. They led us through dangerous places but on safe paths, balancing on a thin rope death and life... I nearly got caught myself veering off the path because of my insatiable curiosity. As time went on, I got better at keeping up the act. It became dreary... I wish I could be blind again. We couldn't do much anyway. We were holed up from the sun's wrath.
Then I started feeling something was off... No one was talking. It was pure silence. Yet we kept doing the same things again and again, our excursions in the dark to scavenge, then back to our darkly caves with oases. But silence. I tried to talk but was afraid I'd slip up and show I could see. After all, what we talk about tend to be what we feel or see. The risks simply weren't worth it. Then I thought a thought...
&#x200B;
What if they all could see? | It's surprising how quickly you adapt to the dark. At first it was a disaster, people wept and raged and died in droves, but it was barely two years now since the world went blind and these days, things are almost normal again.
Nikolai came out with their new self driving cars, fully optimised for their sightless passengers, meanwhile Pear and Congo got together and trained their voice assistants to better help us get around. Honestly, with technology being what it was, the blindness barely made a difference.
Still, sometimes you almost felt like the darkness was bearing down on you, a pressure and oppression that became so constant you barely noticed it was there, like that slight ring in your ears in a quiet room.
There were fewer people too, I think my office only has 17 employees, including myself. Apparently it had more than a hundred back when the blindness first hit.
I arrived at work today, like most others, and set about navigating my way to the dictation cubicles. Nick, my old friend from high school, bumped into me along the way. He seemed... perturbed, like something had worried him. I questioned, but he just spattered something about work stress and left. He was in such a hurry, he didn't even bother following the guide wires.
It wasn't until later that day that I saw him again, I was heading for my car when he asked if he could hitch a ride to my place to discuss work. Obviously I didn't mind, these days company was about the best entertainment available since TV and video games mostly faded away with our sight.
We got home and made our way inside, I could tell Nick was nervous and his anxiety was starting to rub off on me.
>I gotta tell you something
I inquired, but he was hesitant
>Swear you won't tell anyone! Literally. LITERALLY! Nobody.
I agreed, laughing nervously at his insistence.
He stood up and faced me, before muttering;
>I can see again...
I laughed it off, sure he could, very funny, what colour shirt am I wearing? He didn't seem to think it was funny, and repeated himself.
It was annoying me now, he was lying, obviously. He couldn't see, nobody could. He kept going on about stupid messages on the wall. There were no messages, he was just attention seeking. All this for a laugh?
He kept rambling, trying to find ways to prove his lies, I wasn't listening any more. What was wrong with this piece of crap? He came into my house and starts this bullshit?
The world felt hotter as he ranted, why won't he just shut up about this? What's wrong with him. Shut up Nick.
I found myself breathing faster, the weight of the dark was annoying me, it was like an itchy jumper and Nick just... Kept talking!
I told him to shut it, he asked why I was standing, why I was scowling. How the fuck does he know what my face looks like? What nonsense trick is this?
Why is the air so fucking heavy!? He can't see nobody can fucking see what the fuck is wrong with him shut up seriously shut the fuck up just get away just fucking stop stop stop fucking stop this I hate it I hate you so fucking much just burn burn in hell hate hate fucking die already
Honestly I barely even notice the blindness anymore. About the only change I've noticed is there seems to be far fewer people. I remember a busy world when I was a kid, but these days my whole office only has myself and 15 other people working there.
Still, it's strange, sometimes, when I wake up of a morning, I swear I see the faintest glimmer of light. I wonder if my vision is starting to come back? | 2019-08-26T09:28:09 | 2019-08-26T09:00:47 | 285 | 86 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing. | 729 days. That’s how long it’s been since the Great Blinding, although if you ask me there’s nothing great about it. What’s so great about losing your sight? At least I wasn’t the only one suffering.
&#x200B;
I was in prison when The Great Blinding happened. Whoever was pulling the strings chose the worst possible moment, we were having lunch. You can imagine how that turned out. Those first few moments were madness. Someone screamed, someone got stabbed, someone got shot.
&#x200B;
Immediately shit hit the fan I dove under the table. I stayed there until I heard The Voice. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and as soon as we heard it all the commotion died down.
&#x200B;
“We are your guides, sent here to make sure that you do not lose your way now that you have lost your sight. Listen to us or you will be punished. “
&#x200B;
I felt something touch my shoulder and it hasn’t left my side since.
We were slaves with a master constantly looking over our shoulder.
When I woke up on day 730, I thought it was going to be an ordinary day. I would wake up, do whatever task I’d been assigned, eat my shitty food and go back to bed. I did not expect to see.
I almost screamed out in joy until I saw what was written on my wall
Don't Tell Them You Can See.
&#x200B;
I froze and immediately closed my eyes. That was my first mistake, but at the time I did not know. Thoughts began racing through my mind, who shouldn’t I tell? Why shouldn’t I tell them? How did they know that I would one day regain my sight?
Unbidden an old nursery rhyme came to mind
I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
At this point I lost it and burst out laughing. I didn’t let out a belly laugh or a chuckle; I laughed like someone who had lost his mind.
There’s something calming about laughing like that. You’ll never understand it until you are standing on the edge of sanity.
I laughed for god knows how long before they came for me.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Hey guys please tell me what you think. I'll be uploading part 2 soon | 2019-08-26T10:33:57 | 2019-08-26T10:01:26 | 62 | 35 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | *Ms. Jennifer Brevis, beloved kindergarten teacher, passed away after a short illness. She was 49. Ms Jennifer was surrounded by her family and friends as she said goodbye to this world ...*
\- Obituary of Jennifer C. Brevis, published 1/10/2016 in the Riverton Times
I am a kindergarten teacher in hell. It was a good line, so I went with it, but with slight inflections that I hoped conveyed every single emotion I was feeling. "I'm a kindergarten teacher? In Hell?"
"Yup," the demon said. He'd gone for the suave powerbroker look from the second Reagan administration, all immaculately tailored and french cuffed and full windsored evilness. Later, he'd tell me he'd picked the outfit and affect just for me because of that summer I spent working for Green Peace in college, and he wanted to give me the an extra jolt of revulsion. Darren was devoted to the Method, bless his wicked little heart.
He explained that I was there on assignment, as the punishment. Well, I did NOT say, how could it be any worse than the year with Riley Sterns, Riley Biggs, and Riley Apodaca? There was no way anything Hell threw up that could rival the year of Triple Rileys. Or Travis Jones. Or Dylan Whatshisname. Or Stacia Crabtree.
Hell had nothing on Stacia Crabtree and her childhood of Real Housewives marathons and her mother's romantic troubles. That poor kid.
So I straightened my shoulders and asked where my classroom was and, yeah. It was a walk in the park. In Hell, they give you what they think a shoddy classroom is, but it was fully stocked. I didn't have to buy supplies. Sure, all the pencils were those weird dollar store jobbies that never sharpen properly, and the crayons were all broken, but I had pencils. I had crayons! I had slightly muddied finger paint and slightly mixed play dough, and all the construction paper had a notch cut out of one corner, but it was there.
They capped me at 18 students. Eighteen! AND they gave me Darren as an educational assistant. I had help! Not only did I have help, but I had a strong male role model for my more troubled boys!
And the kids? The kids were nothing. Former CEOs reduced to returning to kindergarten, made to learn their lessons of kindness, humility, taking turns, and respecting others. Walk in the fucking park, let me tell you. I didn't even have to teach to a state mandated curriculum. I just had to teach these kiddos how to be good people. Sure, they resented the humiliation of being reduced to a scared child in school, but they learned. They all learned.
I've been at it for years now. At the end of every term, I've had all of my kids graduate to purgatory. I haven't had to hold one back. It's been amazing here. I love it. I never want to leave. | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
&#x200B;
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T18:04:41 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 363 | 11 |
[WP] Every human has stats, like Strength, Dexterity, Wisdom, etc, with them all starting at zero when you’re a baby. Whenever you age a year, one of these stats is randomly increased by a point. One day, you find out that age isn’t the only way to get points, yet it’s definitely the more moral way. | I looked down at the scanning device that had been given to me. It was roughly the size and shape of a hand, but very thin and flat.
“It almost reminds me of a glove,” I told the Captain.
“Where do you think the old tradition of challenging someone to a duel by slapping them with a glove came from? It was an ignorant imitation of the scanning process.”
I stood looking at it in awe, once again experiencing a tinge of unease. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe that I was being told these secrets, if someone were to ask if I felt qualified to be in this position I would surely say no. But here I was, being told about an ancient technologically advanced civilization that had once spanned the globe. I would guess that people have been killed many times over to keep this information under wraps.
“So here we reach the crux of Project Siphon”, the Captain said to me, and narrowed his eyes. “If you scan the individual’s information into the device and they agree to formal combat by speaking into the receiver...” a fly then momentarily passed in front of his face that he grabbed with impossible, almost imperceptible speed. Then he continued as though nothing had happened. “...then upon completion, the victor will integrate the entirety of the slain individual’s physical and intellectual capabilities.”
“Just like that?” I asked, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy.
“It’s not that easy,” he replied. “The victor must extract the loser’s heart, removing a square inch piece of the flesh and inserting it into the device. Right here,” and he pointed to a section of the device with a small sliding panel. “This is of course where the tradition in the Americas originated of cutting out a victim’s heart to absorb their powers. Just another primitive imitation.”
I stood there silently, trying to take this all in. Part of me still believed this was some big elaborate prank and my squad mates would come out any minute and berate me for being so gullible. But the Captain had demonstrated to me in no uncertain terms that this was very real.
“You are overwhelmed, expectedly. It happened to all of us in the beginning. Let’s wrap it up for today and I’ll continue with the briefing tomorrow.”
I nodded absent mindedly, before blurting out a question almost without thinking, “So how exactly did we learn about all this? Was it some sort of archeological dig?”
“Not quite,” he replied, with an expression that said ‘do you really want to know the answer to that?’ I stood there silently, trying to maintain my composure.
He waited for a moment before responding, “Let’s just say that if you interface with the device a significant number of times, you can extend your lifespan exponentially. Perhaps even thousands of years.”
I wanted to say he was full of it, but he had a look that was dead serious. Plus, was this new piece of info really any stranger than anything else I learned today?
“So perhaps all it took,” he continued, pausing and putting a finger to his chin for dramatic effect, “was one of our superior officers telling us what life was like when he was a kid.” | I knew I should not have picked this book up, I knew it was up to no good. I could not handle my thoughts anymore, the bullying was definitely getting to my head. I was ill of the thought of being one of the minority whose birthday lie only on leap years. All my friends have reached high stats in strength and intelligence and wisdom, while I stay at home all day because from my first day on Earth, I have only gained 5 points. I am 20 years old. Unfortunately, 3 of these 5 points had gone to emotional recognition, so I was amazingly aware of how I felt and this just severed my depression.
I knew this old guy was up to no good, but I had no choice, I was contemplating suicide. I was just walking minding my own business, from 2 am to 3 am, the only time I am legally allowed to walk due to my low stats. This guy, who looked only 25, comes up from a small shed in a nearby alley and calls me over by my name. Everyone knew my name since the Ministry Of Stats And Improvement releases the names and description of the "ill" to the public, so we can live safer; but this also makes us vulnerable targets.
I ignored the guy the first time, he called me back again. Back then, I had the mental capabilities of a 5 year old, so I did not know better. I followed his call. He told me to come in, I obliged. Why was he living in such a dumpster? The world had 100% homelessness rate. This guy was hiding.
He told me that he had a solution, for my misery, for my life. Misery? My life was amazing, I thought back then. He laughed after hearing my silly comment and then dropped a bomb on me that he was 70 years. I could not believe it, he showed me his passport which also showed that he had over 200 points in his stats registry. I was shocked, but I still could not understand the degree of weird that was. He dropped a book in front of my feet and said that I had only 1 day to read it, get it back and never see him again.
1 day for a whole book? My reading was so slow that this rate was nearly impossible. But, I obliged since this was my final choice, or I just had to throw myself of a bridge, a third suicide by "the ill" in the past year.
I took the book, ran back into my house, and started reading it for 20 hours straight. It was 50 pages, but I could do it. It was a memoir of a sex offender, and how he had a thing for underage girls, 15-16 years old, and how he traded girls for potions to increase stats. This was crazy I thought, what ill mind would think of that. But, I obliged since this was my final choice.
For the past 10 years, I have been kidnapping girls at a rate of 2-3 a week for this old guy, he never disappeared as I thought he would do, and kept giving me the potions.
I am a successful philosopher and scientist with 4 Nobel prizes, the country calls me "the gift nobody expected", I have found the cure for cancer, and intervened in the debated topics of artificial intelligence and its moral consequences. I am a four time best-seller author, and I am married to a beautiful wife and have 4 young girls. The old man, my guru, died last week of a heart attack. He was found with remains of over thousands of girls in his basement and dumpsters nearby.
Tonight is the night I turn myself in. I cannot live with the monster I am today. When you are born "ill", you remain ill for the rest of your life. | 2020-02-29T08:57:59 | 2020-02-29T08:36:04 | 37 | 25 |
[WP] You are so consistently bland, that unbeknownst to you, Las Vegas has set up a betting ring revolving around the slightest deviation to your daily routine | "I'll have the usual."
"Absolutely. Would you like a free sample of our new muffins?"
"No thanks, I'm watching my calories."
"One bite won't hurt."
"Thanks, but no."
"You've actually been looking really good. Take my phone number and call me sometime."
"I'm flattered. But if the things didn't go well it might make it awkward for me to come in here. I like my routine."
Her eyes deadened.
"I know."
"No, you don't. I have a routine for everything. Literally everything. I know you know I have my morning latte, but that is the tip of the iceberg. It all started in college when I had to read a biography of Emmanuel Kant."
"I know all about your stupid Kant-fixation! Do you have any idea how much this has cost me?"
"What?"
"There is a betting-pool."
"For?"
"You. To see if you do anything different. Ever. It started-out as an in-joke around town. But it got bigger. Now, even Vegas is in on it. If you hit snooze on your alarm-clock, it pays out ten grand."
"How would anyone know if I hit the snooze-button? It must be because I would have to trim my self-grooming. I would look slightly disheveled and still be about thirty seconds behind schedule."
"Yeah. That's it. There are no cameras in your apartment."
"There are cameras in my apartment?"
"I am... so deep in the hole. I keep betting that you will deviate. But you never do. I would be better of playing roulette and betting on zero. You are so mind-numbingly consistent."
"Thanks."
A gun appeared in her hand.
"If you won't deviate your routine, I will shake things up for you."
"It's done."
"Really?"
"I lost track of time talking to you, and I am going to be late for work. I also appear to have wet myself."
A look of joy and relief spread across her face.
"You have."
She took off her apron and handed it to me.
"Here. I won't need this any more." | March, 11th
Today the wierdest thing happened. Well maybe not the wierd*est* ...it's not quantifiable and it's super subjective but...anyway.
I was just ending my day listening to the voicemails at the call center. I logged out, gathered my things and walked down the stairs and out the door to the parking lot and I see these things sitting there in the open in the middle of the parking lot.
I got closer and I saw that they were rocks, one painted a bright yellow with a red stripe and the other in bright green and a red stripe. I guess someone dropped them on their way inside. Maybe they're missing, but either way I don't know where they've been. Could be murder weapons for all I know. If I was placed under investigation for the possession of murder rocks that would make me late for my bi-weekly trip to the grocery store. I don't have time for that, so I walk past them. I'm about to open my car door when I hear yelling from across the lot. Two guys from the office are pointing fingers at each other from by the dumpster. Talking trash I guess hehe.
"Come on man the rock was my idea, your rock made him suspicious! That's twenty dollars, pay up!"
"If you're plan was so smart why did he walk right by? I agreed to pay if he picked up YOUR rock. I knew we should've rearranged his desk while he was at lunch."
Were...were they talking about me? I decided to ask.
"Shhh...here he comes... Heeey guy how was your shift?"
I told them it was fine, and asked what they were talking about. They seemed to get real nervous. Maybe they have some social anxiety.
"Oh uh you know, we're just looking for our...rocks...have you se-"
A girl jumped out of the bushes by the building, clearly excited about something. She had a great smile. I wonder who her dentist is?
"HAHAHA I WIIIIIN! I put down fifty on you bozos getting caught! You guys couldn't hide from a blind man! WOOHOOOO!"
I asked them if this was just a game of hide and seek. One of the guys answered, still nervous but a little sadder now. Interaction must be hard on him.
"Oh...uh yeah, yeah just hide and seek...and a scavenger hunt...for rocks..."
Speaking of blind men. This poor guy needs to get his eyes checked too. I pointed out the rocks still sitting in the middle of the lot. They picked it up and we parted ways. I was a little behind schedule now, but I made do. Who knew people took bets on hide and seek? And here I thought they were arguing about me. | 2020-03-11T15:01:51 | 2020-03-11T14:17:48 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Vampires aren't averse to garlic. Thousands of years ago a vampire introduced this idea as a way to develop and inspire better flavors in medieval foods. | "But... but you don't eat food" Joey said.
"Who made that rule?" Vlad responded, pulling a clove of garlic out of the fridge and crushing it.
"Um... Stoker I think? Or was it there before him?" Joey said, looking up at Vlad.
"Ah yes, Stoker. He was a fine vampire. Truly pushed our culture forward. Did you know, we actually gain power from having wooden crosses plunged into our hearts? He was a brilliant man." Vlad said as he threw the garlic in a pan and started to saute the spaghetti with the garlic.
"Damn, Stoker was a vampire himself? I would have never guessed."
"Yes, yes, everyone says that, now sit still, I need to get some blood from you." Vlad pulled out a syringe and poked it into joey's arm. "Start squeezing this ball, and I'll give you a band aid."
"Then you will let me go right?" Joey asked pleadingly.
"We'll see."
"So was the whole biting thing a lie too?"
"No, that was accurate. But we also used to not bath too. We learn and we change to protect ourselves. This method of collecting blood is much safer and more sanitary." Vlad walked over to Joey's blood bag, full by this point, and pulled the needle out of Joey's arm. "Ah perfect. Nice, safe, sanitary, doesn't spread any diseases, and everyone gets to walk away afterwards."
"So, how many vampires are there?"
"We don't really keep in contact with one another. Wouldn't really make sense." vlad said, spreading the chopped tomatoes over the spaghetti and pouring the blood onto of it. "Typically, we keep a population of around 100,000 between us. Makes it harder for us to go after the same people on multiple days."
"Huh, interesting"
"Now, before I let you go Joey you need to look into my eyes."
As joey stared into Vlad's cold eyes he felt his his mind go blank. Soon Joey was in a deep deep sleep.
\----------
The next morning Joey woke up in his home, with a bandage on his arm, and an "Red Cross" shirt on. He had no memory of the entire previous day. | "You better not get any closer to me, away from me, you filthy demon," I spoke with my knife out at the tall man in front of me while stumbling back. "I'm not a demon, ma'am, merely a vampire, who, by the way, is more blood-thirsty than what his countenance suggests," he gives out a wicked smile before taking to steps to me. My heart was beating out loud, he could probably hear it practically jumping out of my chest. I should've kept that vial of holy water with me."I'm a butcher, and quite famous for my cuts around town, stay away from me if you don't want yourself as my next pig," I said waving my knife at him, it glints in the moonlight. My mind automatically started remembering verses from The Bible, how pathetic. "Listen, I'm willing to do with any blood, you're a butcher, ay? Get me the finest beef blood or pig's blood, with a side of garlic bread, won't you, ma'am?" he asks with a smirk on his face. I sigh and lower my knife.
"Right, you better pay me well for serving you at this god awful time," I say before fetching the pig's blood, fit for a pig-head. "Darling, I'm paying you with mercy. I could just pierce through your beautiful tanned neck and devour you. I still can see? Mercy," he laughed out, it sounded haunting and eerie, I need this man out of my house. Wait- did he say he wanted garlic bread? As if it were ever my problem, let him choke to death.
"Hurry now, you know I am a human, right? And we humans need sleep," I stated sarcastically and added a yawn in the end. He chuckled and downed the bowl of blood. It dripped off his lips as he put the bowl down, traveling down his jaw to his neck, I averted my eyes and threw a towel at him. "Intrigued, aren't we?" he said before taking a bite out of my garlic bread. "You make a good baker, this is some fine bread," he said, mannerlessly speaking with his mouth full of garlic bread. I stand there in shock as my jaw unhinges down. "B-but that has garlic in it, how are you not choking to death?" I ask with eyebrows furrowed.
"Honey, we love garlic, it's just that you *humans* are foolish to believe every rumor on the street," He chuckled before grabbing the bread and walking out of my house, I breathed a sigh of relief. He turns around and smiles, "I might come back, just for this bread, and maybe even for you, sleep tight, darling," he says and shuts the door. I find myself muttering un-holy words and dragging myself to sleep. | 2020-04-24T22:55:49 | 2020-04-24T20:02:50 | 164 | 48 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The woman lifts off the floor, rising slowly and spinning counterclockwise. "Widdeeshins", Father OBrady says aloud. He finishes the salt circle, and blesses the bottle of fiji water he bought at the corner store on his way.
"It's not fair!" The demonic voice rips from her throat. "You never let me have any fun!"
He quietly sprinkles the water over the rest of the family, and begins the incantation.
The demon screams, but he knows demons. They always scream. They pretend it hurts so that maybe you'll take pity on the poor soul they've occupied, and stop. He knows better.
He finishes the reading, and takes a swig of the water before pouring it into the woman's mouth.
A darkness blacker than night pours from her ears and eyes, and the wailing continues. Just as quickly, it is done. She falls to the floor, sobbing, and reaches for her family.
"Is it safe?" The husband asks.
OBrady nods. "aye." He says, "the demon is gone from her now." He refuses their money. He didn't become a priest for money.
He because a priest to protect his child.
He walks home, and he can hear her upstairs, his daughter. Breaking things. Screaming. He climbs the stairs to her room, weary.
"You never let me do ANYTHING!" She shrieks as he opens her door, flinging a picture frame at him. "Mom would have let me! She'd let me go to concerts! And hang out with my friends! I hate you! You're the worst dad in the world!"
"Oh aye, your mum! Shining beacon of motherhood she is!" He shouts back, losing his temper, accent growing thicker as his did. "Left ye on me porch when you was just a wee thing, unable to manifest a shape. You were weak and helpless and she didnae think even to warn me ye were there! She didnae care for ye! Didnae wipe your nose and bottom when ye was sick! She'd have eaten yet soon as kissed ye!"
He sits, heavily, on the bed. "I know ye want to explore," he says, as the darkness shrinks into a familiar form. "But it's too dangerous. What if you lose your shape drinking? What if you hurt somebody, or they hurt you?"
He knows the answer. It's only a matter of time before they bring in a different priest already. If she's revealed, they'll bring one sooner.
He won't be able to protect her then.
"You don't know what hell is, love. I've seen it in your mother's eyes. I've felt the fire of it burning in my soul." He shook his head. "They could trap you their for eternity. I cannae let them do it. Please," he rubs his brow, "please, no more possessions of people. Dogs and cats and dolls only, please."
"Dad." She sinks onto the bed beside him. "I didn't mean it. I don't hate you." She wraps her arms around him.
"I know that, love." He pets her hair. "Now finish your homework. School tomorrow, you know."
She rolls her eyes, and forgets to color the scelera white. "Dad. It's online! The teacher lets us grade our own. It doesn't matter." Her hair was back to mousey brown, and her skin was right too. The shadows had stopped flickering around her like flames. "Danielle is doing a watch party tonight. If I promise not to leave the house, can I have some of your -"
"Absolutely not." he stands. "What kind of a father let's his daughter drink at your age!" He winks, and whispers, "I'll leave it at the stairs but I'm warding the house, you hear?" | The thing I think you should know about my father is that he's a massive hypocrite. I mean, it isn't hard to imagine given the fact that he's a priest and has a daughter.
I'm fairly certain the church frowns upon that—especially since my mother is a demon. Or was, at least. It’s not like I know anything about her.
And here I am, just trying to have a good night out, and *bam* I'm back here in the cloisters behind the church again. He could run around with demons, but here I am, not even allowed to live it up on a Friday night.
Like I said: massive hypocrite.
"Lilly," Dad says, his voice thin and desperate. "We *talked* about this."
I rolled my eyes. "You just want to doom me to the most boring existence in the history of existence."
"That's not true and you know it. I'm trying to look out for you, alright? I'm asking you to meet me halfway."
"Whatever." I leaned against the wall and flipped my hair over my shoulder. He didn't understand. I think my dad was born as an eighty-year-old man who'd rather drink tea and read old theology books. Even in his teenage years, I'm sure his idea of a party was having one glass of non-communion wine and debating the merit of Thomas Aquinas in the modern world.
I have a real bone to pick with Phoebe Waller-Bridge. How fucking dare she portray a priest as cool and lovable and hot? Gross. The whole idea makes me literally want to vomit in my mouth.
"Lilly," my father says, stepping forward. His hair looks greyer than I remember it being. "There are things you don't understand."
"I understand plenty. Alright? I'm nineteen—if I want to spend a night with a guy, you can't stop me."
Dad winces. "Lilly—“
"Father Mackenzie?"
I disappear.
Dad turns to the woman, Betty-Anne who works at the parish office. "Yes?"
"I thought I heard you speaking with someone." Her wide eyes remind me of an owl.
Dad shakes his head. "No, no. Just working out the homily for Sunday."
Betty-Anne nods. "Well, if you need any help..." She steps forward and winds a grey curl around her finger.
Ew. Dis-gust-ing.
"I'm fine, Betty-Anne really." He brushes the back of his head and—holy fuck—is that a blush? "I don't mean to be rude, but I really have to practice."
Betty-Anne leaves and I pop back into existence. "Gross."
"Thank you for the running commentary," Dad grumbles.
"Whatever. I'm leaving. Go have all the fun that I'm not allowed to have, apparently."
"Lilly." He sighs. "There are things I haven't told you."
Dad pushes back his hair. In his normal clothes, he just looks like a normal dude. Maybe like a stressed-out professor. "It's time I told you about your mother."
"You already told me about her. She's a demon, she didn't want me, she left me on the steps of the church, blah blah blah."
"I haven't been entirely honest with you." He swallows and his throat bobs. "I'm sorry," he says.
"The thing is that your mother *did* actually want you. Quite badly. I had to hide you away to keep you safe."
My heart stuttered. "What?" That couldn't be true.
"I had some help, but we got you free from her watch. You're safe here, but I can't protect you from everything out there. Your mother--she swore she'd find you one day."
I shook my head. It couldn't be true. My mother wanted me? Dad was trying to protect me? "Why?" My throat felt raw. The smell of incense, which I usually ignored, suddenly seemed overwhelming.
Soft light from the stained glass fell on Dad's wan face. "I should've told you sooner. I know. But you were too young, at first, and then I just started putting it off, and I didn't know how to tell you..."
He cleared his throat. "But that's no excuse. I'm telling you now. Your mother is Lilith. And she's spent the last nineteen years trying to find you."
---
r/liswrites | 2020-10-20T09:37:27 | 2020-10-20T09:29:12 | 393 | 88 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | "That's the fourth time this year, and we aren't even halfway through," Father Jacob sighed as he opened the door to his cottage.
A beautiful boy, with golden flowing locks which danced with ethereal grace, gave an innocent laugh. "But I need it, Father. Do not deny me, as you have not denied yourself."
"I know, I know," the weary man replied, "just make it easier on me, please. It's difficult enough to tend to you. I have to be discrete."
The boy walked past in his immaculate white frock and scarlet robe, anachronistic and of another time. With a precocious defiance, he stared into Jacob's eyes. Jacob instinctively recoiled, but only slightly.
It had been years since the boy had descended into his parish. When he first saw the spirit grinning from the back of the pews, he stuttered in his homily, barely able to recall the words he had meticulously prepared the night before. While he groped for purchase, his flock waited patiently. The service had been for a child who had committed the mortal sin of self-murder.
The decedent had been a brilliant star whom even adults sought counsel from. Since that day, this boy with his angelic face and twisted eyes had sat in Jacob's house. The boy was not of this earth, nor of heaven; of this Jacob was certain.
The boy peered into Jacob's furrowed brow, divining his thoughts. "You could be rid of me. I've told you."
"Yes, I know."
"I wouldn't trouble your parishioners any more. No more sapping their souls during the week. No more exorcisms to return me to your cottage."
"You could ruin me with each exorcism, you know."
"Yes, but that secret is not mine to share. It is yours."
"But you look like him, down to the very clothes he was found in!"
"I am of your guilt, it is only natural."
Jacob opened his eyes and stared back with a well-practiced blank look. He could not bring himself to feign sorrow.
"Confess, then. I will go."
"I have."
"No, not to those who condoned you. But to the parents and parishioners -- to his grave."
At this, Jacob sank, once again, defeated. There would be no reckoning, he knew. The exchange itself had played out many times. The immaculate image of the boy he drove to death would not ruin him. Nor could he bring himself to confess his secret - that the young child who had chosen death had good reason to.
And so, the parish would live with the scars, opened anew at random, unknown by them of its cause; and known all too well by Jacob and the apparition formed of his guilt. | *You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late. | 2020-10-20T10:55:02 | 2020-10-20T10:07:05 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The air we breathe is actually an extremely hallucinogenic substance that affects all of your senses. One day, you stumble upon a strange-looking gas mask sitting on a bench in a park, when you put it on you slowly start to see and feel the world the way it truly is. | James was a normal person. He did normal things with other normal people. He aligned politically where normal people did, and never acted out back in school. He was a safe bet. A man you could count on. But all good things must come to an end. This good thing for James, was normalcy.
It was a regular day. Not too hot and not too cold. Not too sunny, but not too cloudy. A perfect day for James to go to the park. Most weekends in the summer were like this. James would wake up, drink his coffee, and go to the park to get some fresh air. After all, that's what normal people did.
Only today was slightly different. James came to his normal bench where he usually sat, but something was different. Sitting in the middle of the bench, was a very peculiar looking gas mask. The mask was jet black, except for a large "w" painted white, right above the eyes. James stood puzzled for a moment. Usually James' day was completely planned out up to this point. He hadn't expected to have to make a decision before lunchtime.
After several moments of peering cautiously, James finally worked up the nerve to get a closer look. James stepped forward and picked up the funny looking mask. It was leather, and smelled quite old. The mask was also abnormally heavy for it's relatively small size.
James sat down, still clutching the mask in his hands. His face looked concerned as his eyes travelled around the stitching.
"*Put on the mask."* A voice said. James' entire body flinched. Dropping the mask he looked all around trying to find a source for this voice. After all, normal people didn't hear voices in their head.
Unable to locate a source, James retrieved the mask off the ground and sat down again. Once more, the voice spoke. “*Put on the mask James."*
James sat completely still, holding his breath. "What do you want?" His trembling voice finally whispered.
*"Don't be afraid. Put on the mask."*
Although the words were obviously meant to provide some comfort, James did not feel comfortable at all. He had no idea why he was suddenly hearing voices, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with the mask he was holding. Gulping nervously, James lifted the mask to his face. Nothing happened.
*“Fasten the straps.”* James shuddered. The unseen voice sounded cold and robotic as it pierced his ears. James grimaced behind the mask as he tightened the straps to his head.
Suddenly James’ senses were overloaded. He felt like he was having a heart attack. Screaming, James pulled at the straps, trying to release the device from his face. It was no use, the straps weren’t moving. He felt pain, he smelled the county fair from last week, he saw color. It was a rebirth. James knew his life was about to be different forever. And with this, any idea of normalcy would vanish. Images and sounds flashed themselves. He saw other people with masks on, talking loudly as if they were at a house party. The sounds only continued to get louder until James was afraid he was going to go deaf. Then, as abruptly as the experience began, it ended.
James’ eyes remained fastened shut for several seconds after the last of the images melted away. Breathing slightly heavy, James glanced up. The world was colorful. The sky shined brightly with hints of colorful lights and distant galaxies. The grass was greener. The once rusted and faded bench he sat on was shining bright silver. It almost gave him a headache. James closed his eyes, convinced he had fallen asleep. Much to his dismay, James reopened his eyes and still saw the same scene before him. There were strange floating bugs near patches of grass, and a creature that looked almost like a small pterodactyl resting on a tree branch near the park bench.
“Hello.” The voice said to James’ right. Only this time the voice was smooth and less robotic. The voice was almost friendly.
James stared at the figure in awe. The figure had a very similar mask on, and was dressed in head to toe in long preacher-like black robes. Stunned, James could only stare open-mouthed at the being. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He wanted to close his eyes, but it was as if he was paralyzed. The being spoke again.
“We’ve waited a long time for you to return.” | I quiver, shaking from head to toe. My mind can’t process what the rigid, metal park around me turned into. The rusty valleys of silver, artificial trees turned into the stuff of nightmares. The trees around turned to a comfortable brown. Their deteriorating, splotchy leafs turn into bright green. The cold, hard flooring turns to soft, blades, of... something. I have to take of my outergarments, keeping only my shirt and pants on. The warmness of the air disturbs me, as it contrasts so distinctly from the cold. Looking up to the sky I see a giant, blinding ball of fire. That ball has replaced the shattered oil that’s normally there. It replaced the familiar frosty air, with the wretched warmth.
Bringing my attention back to the ground, I hear shrill cries of some metanimal, but it has a pattern. I cover my ears, also irrationally close my eyes, hoping for it to stop. I open my eyes and remove my fingers from my ears, I see a... thing in front of me. It small, thin feet, and a roundish body. Examining it closely, I see that it appears to be made of flesh. But, but, that’s not possible, only my countrymen are made out of flesh. The mere thought of a metanimal not being metal, is a foreign concept. I swipe at it, wanting to release it, but it flies away, singing that horrible, patterned tune.
Horrified at the world around me, but morbidly curious, I decide to walk to the country, refusing to take off the mask I put on. I want to stay away from my townsfolk. I want as to avoid the casual murderer, I don’t feel like taking the release today.
I continue walking on this, not quite pristine, luckily, but unfortunately still well-made road. It’s made out of substance I can’t quite place, similar to cement, but not quite, it’s darker. I pass by the East Outskirts Government building, but it’s all wrong, it’s pristine, clean. The building is not made out of cracking metal, but a smooth, white, stone. I shudder at the smoothness. Roughness is needed in a building. Smoothness is just... so wrong.
The road continues winding in seemingly random direction, finally! Some familiarity to the real world. I see the River of Oil, yet it’s made out of this clear substance. I approach it cautiously, the blades under me crunching slightly. I reach toward the river with my hands. I operate under the assumption that I’m hallucinating, and that nothing will contribute to my release. I get some of the substance in my hands, bring it up to my mask, and get it to drip through the holes. Soon the first drops hit my mouth, I reel back, spitting it out near instantly. Thinking hard, I realize I’m unable to think of a good definition of what I just drank. However, I can define the essence of what I drank. It had a clear, serene taste, like it was made of purity. Nothing like the the dark, clogging taste of oil. Just the taste of purity made me spit it out.
My stamina is wavering, but I need to see one last place, my cabe. I continue down the road, my feet touching the warm, hard substance under me. I need to get to my house as soon as possible, the warmness is starting to get to me. I notice the bright ball of flame in the sky start to make everything around me warmer.
Finally, after an exhausting eternity, I arrive at my home. It’s not the dark, cramped, dripping cave that I’m used to, it’s a house. My mind races, this is what all GovernmentPeople try to avoid, anything made out of non-metal or stone materials. Everything is made out of, that material that these trees consist of. That material is just too... natural, yeah, that’s the word. I cautiously enter the house, going through the door that replaced my entry flap.
The inside is barren, which is what my cave looks like. I look around through the empty... white, insides, looking for my one possession. My certificate of existence, my all, the possession that tells me that me, along with everything around me, exists. I go to where it should be. Soon I find my rusty pedestal replaced with that white rock. It has an ornate pattern on it, but I can’t bear to examine it, and how it ruins my pedestal. I look on top of the pedestal. The certificate, my everything is gone.
I’ve seen enough of this nightmarish scene, home is calling out for me to return. I need to take off this hallucinatory mask, and return to reality. Seeing the vacancy on the pedestal, I’m reminded of my certificate’s importance. To assure me of something I hold dear, reality. Taking off my mask, I feel the familiar and intimate sense of freezing, bitter cold.
r/CascadeCorner | 2020-12-19T19:09:34 | 2020-12-19T17:25:21 | 132 | 89 |
[WP] A technician pulls a headset off of you and asks you if you liked the VR. You panic, and he calmly says that your whole life was a 2 minute VR experience to show you what being an average person would be like. You, stunned and afraid, ask, "Who am I, then?" He stares in complete disbelief.
(The title implies that the protagonist is someone important/famous/rich/powerful/etc, but feel free to do whatever you want with it) | " You don't remember who you are ? Uh huh.. memory entanglement... umm.. it's ok.. it's ok. " The technician muttered as if he was reassuring himself. I blinked in disbelief and stared at him.
" Oh sorry.. yes ! Think of it this way; your real life memories are now so old that it might seem like a past life memory.. or someone else's memory. After all, your brain had just stored an entire life time of memories in 2 minutes. Time dilation is a rather unpredictable and individual experience."
It felt wrong. After all, I had just died. I was alone in my death bed. My wife had died a few years ago from a heart attack. After her death, days became colorless and drab. We had lived an amazing life together. I was an engineer and she was an interior designer. We were a match made in heaven. I saw life through a lens of logic when she saw it though the lens of emotion. We complemented each other in life.
The more I thought about it, details of my life started disappearing. It was as if I was trying to remember a dream.. a dream that was so real that I mistook it for real. I felt a pang of guilt when I couldn't suddenly remember the day we got married.
" I'm forgetting my life. You have to help me. " I begged as I grabbed the hands of the technician.
" Yes ! Good.. good. The brain is purging the memories. You will still have them stored in your unconscious memory, but you won't have access to them unless you use a psychedelic pill or the HMD to replay the life.. or even just access parts of it.. Now.. Do you remember who you are ? "
For the first time, my brain registered my environment. We were in a white room. I was in a med bay chair and behind me were rows of server stacks humming as if they were alive. The technician looked out of place with his eccentric hair style and bright yellow hydrophobic jacket that was starting to show it's age. There was a sigil on the door. I suddenly know where I was..I was in the Esoterica Emporium.
" Yes.. I remember coming here.. I..I wanted to know what it felt like to be an average person.. I wanted to know how the people lived.. I wanted to understand so that I could rule better. "
The technician let out a huge sigh of relief. He knew that if this mindTrip had gone wrong, it would be his head on a platter. After all, this establishment or even this neighborhood was no place for the son of the High Chancellor to be.
" But now that I know what it is like ", I continued, " I have no desire to rule. I don't want to be the next King. Tomorrow I will renounce my title and start a journey. I have experienced everything I desire in my life. It is time to look beyond life, beyond pain and suffering, to meditate on what I experienced and seek the truth. Understand the true meaning of life. "
The technician watched me with horror as I took off the HMD and walked out of the door. The air was polluted and thick with industrial smell. The streets were wet from the drizzle that came as a comfort in the evening heat. Neon glow from the shop signs reflecting off the shiny pavement reminding me of an era from my mindTrip.
That was the last thing I remember before a bag went over my head.
Note : I write for fun. Lemme know if you see any grammatical or structural typos. I will fix it. | "Who am I, then?" The words fall from my mouth into the room like heavy stones.
The technician had stared at me, his mouth opening and closing as answers were born and died upon his lips, unspoken.
A woman had come soon after. I don't remember her face or her name. She said she was my wife, and she had been very angry with me. Two years away, two years neglected. She had lain her anger on me like sullen blankets of thorn; heavy, sharp, imprisoning. I had stood up and walked away.
I couldn't remember if she had raged at me or remained silent as I left her; all I recalled was the sound of cables stretching taught and popping free from my spine with wet sucking noises as I walked back into my new, old life.
I am the only one who knows.
I have been chosen, granted this blessing of travel into the past to prevent a future of terror.
I travel.
This world is new but oddly familiar to me. Everything is quaintly antiquated. People walk about, holding devices to their ears and speaking through their mouths in order to communicate over distance. They summon little maps on little screens and peer into them rather than download and cast them out for viewing in the vastness of their own minds.
Cold, the wet snapping of bones breaking and of marrow being sucked out, fills the vastness of *my* mind.
I am the only one who knows.
I have no money. Or, at least, none I can access. So, I walk. I know where I am going. People do not treat me well; some call me "tramp", and spit on me. Others look on me with pity and disdain and ignore me, saying nothing and offering no aid.
I become familiar with the inside of police cars. Sometimes they drive me closer to where I need to be, sometimes they take me farther away. They never treat me well.
It is mid-summer when I find him. The air is thick, hot, and liquid and the sun shines fierce and merciless in the sky. He stares back at me when I come across him. He is calm.
He knows. I know. My skin is cold and dry; the hairs on my arms stand on end and my flesh is pebbled, despite the sun.
The police are called. A transient wanderer, bearded and filthy and stinking, is standing in the town plaza brandishing a knife. He is staring at a young boy and is preventing the boy and his parents from leaving a convenience store. The boy's father is standing in front of him, arms held to the sides, fists bunched. The mother stands behind the boy. Her hands are on his shoulders, tendons taut. She is ready to fight and die to protect her little monster; her little world-breaker.
The world is all blue and red, flashing lights and piercing wailing sirens. Blue-clad officers take up positions around me and around the boy. Radios buzz. Farther back, TV reporters hustle into position, cameras following.
"Another VR-related manic break being reported here, tonight..."
"Reporting to you live from the scene of, from what we can gather, another incident involving a so-called 'VR-Prophet'..."
A buzz in the background, the police and reporters do not matter. Nothing does, except him.
I can see his eyes, shining like bright, icy lights here and there when they are revealed from behind his father's back. They make me feel sick. I look into them, and the heat of the day disperses. Day is cast into night, the sky turns black, and the forever-shiver of unending cold returns to my bones. I can hear the man-scavengers in the night, clicking and clacking and sucking at bones they pull from their terrible, bloodied sacks. Their lips are black and their eyes are bright, searching, searching, searching. The world is silent because noise is the enemy of both prey and predator; all creatures lie in wait, in terror and in hungry expectation. They hope to survive. They hope to kill, and eat. But none, none truly *hope*. It is not possible, in this world.
He knows.
He knows, and he smiles.
I step forward. Sharp blasts of sound break through the heat of the day as officers fire. I can no longer breathe, and so I run. | 2021-03-27T23:12:46 | 2021-03-27T20:03:00 | 48 | 33 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with? | The hole was thirteen kilometres deep. Gusts of snow and puffs of mist smudged together over its arctic entrance, hiding it from satellites. Lawerence knelt deep inside the burrow, digging. He’d been digging for most of the last two centuries. Now he shovelled compacted earth with his hands and nails, and often his nails bled as he scraped, often they snapped away completely. It’d take an hour for a new nail to form and heal and harden over the raw pink flesh.
Years ago, the tunnel had begun exhaling warm air over him, as if old water pipes now encircled it, and rumbled and snored their boiling water around the ever-deepening crack.
But it was only now, as he clawed away a final sod of earth, that the ground sighed into itself, crumpled as if he’d stood on wet paper. Lawrence fell. Fell deep into the lair. And as he fell, he saw the source of the heat.
He’d been searching for the beast for so long.
Then:
thud
flames
ash.
The stink of burned flesh and hair.
Nothing more.
Lawerence drifted as a hundred-thousand motes of dust and dirt and burn, barely conscious, barely a thought.
It took a year to realise the dragon — a green-scaled beast, its forked tail curled around it like a demon-cat — had incinerated him.
It took three-hundred further years for the dust to collect itself and for Lawerence to slowly shape again.
The dragon opened a single eye — a great red boulder misted behind a sheen of ice.
“I heard you burrowing,“ came its rumbled voice that trembled him inside. “A rat sneaking into my lair. After my treasure or my scales, or perhaps both. I don’t know what you are, but you are foolish to come here.”
”I am after neither scales nor treasure,“ Lawerence said. His own voice slurred, not yet composed, not yet complete.
The dragon rolled its long neck and the gaps between its scales glinted red like gemstones. “Then why come at all?”
”Because I’m the last human. If I’m even that.”
”Species rise quickly, only to collapse like waves against cliffs. I have no interest in you, whether you’re the first or last or only of your kind.”
”You’re the last, too,” said Lawerence. ”Aren’t you? You’re as lonely as I am.”
”I’m never lonely,“ said the dragon. “I am sleeping. Resting. Hibernating. But never lonely.”
”One day you will wake and you will rise and you will be all alone. Because it is only us left.”
“If you agree to leave,” it yawned, “then I won’t burn you again.”
“No,” said Lawrence. “If I leave, I will leave lonely. And you would stay — asleep or awake — just as lonely as I am.“
The fire raged and rolled through the cavern and seared the vampire, pained his being, dusted his body black.
His thoughts meandered slowly again. The dragon had burned him because the truth of his words had wounded it, a knife slipped beneath its scales. Upset it. In a few hundred years, when Lawrence became Lawerence once more, the dragon would be a little more lonely, and would listen a little longer.
It might take a hundred or a thousand further obliterations. But they’d talk. Maybe just a word at a time.
Until the loneliness inside their hearts melted, and something a little warmer replaced it. | "I have no need of friends." Broodmother tiamat inststed from atop her hoard.
"I don't care if i have to come down here every day we WILL be friends one day!" Lady amarant repeated.
"Then give me space." Tiamat rolled her eyes "do not visit me again this year. Preferably at all."
So it was that they met, year after year, each time, the Vampire would bring some form of tribute, sometimes gold, sometimes charred meats covered in spices to spare me the effort of hunting.
"Tiamat, why are you called the broodmother?" Lady amarant asked once. "Surely you can't have birthed all the dragons around the world."
It was the sixth year she'd asked this question. "If i answer you will you stop pestering me?"
"I won't make you answer. I'll stop asking if it's a bother, but so far you've only dodged the question." Lady amarant pointed out.
Tiamat sighed. "I birthed the first of my kind, we had three clutches before i was forced to slay my mate."
"I'm sorry." Lady amarant said.
"You asked a question, i answered."
"I did not mean to bring up memories of a lost love."
Tiamat roared in laughter. "I hated bahamut. I was happy to be rid of him. Though i suppose I would have rather waited for another three clutches."
"I'll bring wine next time so you can tell me all about how awful he was." Lady amarant assured.
"If you bring wine I see no reason to stop you from coming sooner then." Tiamat explained, interested in the prospect of alcohol, as it was difficult for a dragon to get her hands on.
Lady amarant smiled wide and began to visit twice a year, as to not overstay her welcome.
"I have known many kings, who made great shows of atempting to have me removed from where they thought i aught to be." Tiamat said, feeling the glow of the wine she was brought. "but they where all men. How does a woman come to take power?"
"Well when my husband passed I inherited it. Vampires cannot bear children, we're technically already dead." Lady amarant explained, looking into her goblet before finishing it. "But that was a century ago."
"You offered to allow me to not speak of bahamut when you where not sure I wanted to. I will not make you speak on this." Tiamat assured.
"Thank you." Amarant smiled softly.
She did not return for nearly a decade. So for the first time in a millennium she left her hoard behind, searching through castles and manors alike to find lady amarant. If only to know that she get lived. But the castles where empty, the manors held more people then she could have imagined and their chiminies produced a thick black smog that threatened to choke even her as she approached.
It would not be until they started to fire cannons at her did her wrath stir properly. She melted cannon and crew and the cobbles beneath their feet with equal ease.
One fateful day a group of adventurers would be sent to her. Among them a certain lady amarant would show up.
Amarant would command her companions to stay back as she approached. "Tiamat? I thought you wanted to stay with your hoard?"
"You had not come for ten years." Tiamat answered.
"I... Wasn't able to bring wine. I... Lost ny title and lands." Amarant said.
"The wine was secondary." Tiamat said "though I lothed you at first, you became a welcome change from the monotony of time."
"So you burned half of France."
"It reeked. You should be happy i dealt with your refuse." Tiamat proclaimed proudly.
"If we give her to you will you stop?" Some knight in blinding armor asked.
"Yes, but not as a favor to you." Tiamat said, lowering herself to let lady amarant onto her back.
Centuries passed, humans rose, humans fell. That which came after rose, and fell just the same. And while nobody was there to witness the marriage of a vampire and a dragon, they did live their happily ever after all to themselves. | 2021-04-16T07:08:57 | 2021-04-16T06:09:31 | 1,392 | 212 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with? | You think me immortal yet I am not so
You call me friend when I am more foe
My thoughts you assume but you do not know
You treat us as equals when you are below
My power will break you with a single blow
In spite of this difference I can see it though
I might have accepted your friendship long ago
And through the years our friendship would grow
Yet the years have past they come and they go
Only now do your true feelings show
Too late too late your offer was slow
So I must decline with a loud and stern NO!!!! | I was floating, as Tardigrades do, when I became unsure if I was floating in a planet, space, fission, fusion, or, some chaotic vibration of the universe. Then I saw the question. Dragons...vampires... immortal?! Really you poor fool goth child that are but a passing whim. I but squirt my ocular capacity and they are a mote in.....Well I guess I am a mote, but I’m a real.Immortal. Mote . I now desiccate and float on electromagnetic waves your flesh and metal treasure can only imagine as I , the true explorer caste of earth, embark on my billion year journey to see if there is life in the whirlpool galaxy.
Edit : As a member of my unique species I have difficulty separating now from then, and even sometimes the then from now. Your species would see that as dementia or failing to follow the rules. In reality I thought I had fulfilled the rules of this subrediits prose but in reflection I realise as you process time differently,and in your limited flesh bound phase; I may have fulfilled your writing prompts criteria at a point in time that is not in phase with your current ability to resolve the universe . | 2021-04-16T08:09:15 | 2021-04-16T07:15:14 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You find an abandoned altar in the middle of a forest. You’ve read about them in class. Abandoned altars would mean someone – or a group – had abandoned their deity. Saddened by the betrayal of the worshipper to his worshipped, you clean the altar. You never thought the forgotten god bless you. | This god was like any other: boring and repetitive and taking fucking ages to wake up. It was a little gold statue that kept stretching and yawning like it was waiting for me to do all the talking.
I stood impatiently before the altar. I was high on the mountain that I, very creatively, named Big Mountain (as opposed to Small Mountain). The foliage all around was a dark purple, the color of a ripe pomegranate.
The solid gold altar was still glistening from the scrub-and-rinse I'd given it, stripping off the old leaves and dirt and shit. I didn't know the names of any of the plants on this tiny, shithole of a planet, so I made some up: small thorny piece of shit, big thorny piece of shit, pink burny stuff, fuzzy-murder-leaves.
Admittedly, the plants suffered from my rage at being mutinied and marooned by my own damn crew.
I still remembered the gleam in my first mate Royale's eye as she told me, smirking, "Don't worry. There's enough oxygen in the atmosphere for you to survive. You'll die from starvation or dehydration. Maybe eaten alive by the locals, if you're unlucky."
And then she'd pushed me out of my own goddamn spaceship with nothing but a parachute and my space suit. I was lucky I'd started hiding a knife in my boot after I walked out on the deck a few too many times to find that the crew shushed their conversations, immediately, and stared at me like an intruder.
I couldn't be too surprised. Space pirates only measure their honor in how much gold they can get out of you. Truth was, I'd have done the same to Royale, if I was next in line to be captain.
But Royale couldn't hold a grudge like I could.
"Hey." I nudged the god statue in the chest. It looked like the civilization I could only assume once existed here: creepy little spindly fuckers, all arms, big giant eyes. To be honest, I was glad they're all dead. If the god-statues I'd found so far were any hint, they were all nightmare creatures from evolution's B-roll.
The god opened its eyes, which were huge black circles that take up most of its face. It blinked at me, owlish, and wiped some water from its face.
"What sort of creature are you?" it said.
"The kind that knows the rules around here. I cleaned your little altar thing, and now you owe me a blessing."
"Indeed. If you're one of my true followers." The god looked me over, suspiciously. "You do not even appear to be of this earth."
"You're a perceptive one," I said. "But trust me, buddy. I believe in every bit of your power. And I need that blessing."
"What do you desire?" the god asked, solemnly. Then its eyes flicked above me as it realized, too slow, like the gods always do, that I was not alone.
There was a whole storm of gods, hovering over my head. They were trapped spirits that might have looked like a low-flying rain cloud, if you didn't look close enough.
Here's something you should understand, if you ever find yourself stranded on a foreign planet, far from home: every planet has its own weird physics. Call it whatever you want. God. The eternal life force. A quirk of evolution. The first spark. The great so-what.
The point is, if you can find it, you can use it.
I grinned and lifted up the entire altar from the earth. It dislodged like an old boot from mud. It was small, about as heavy as a cinderblock. "You'll see. I have a special plan, just for you."
I turned and walked off, back the direction I'd come. I knew the god would have no choice to follow, just like all the rest.
I'd found the first altar by accident, thinking it might be a door or a map or something that could lead me to someone who knew the way off this tiny dirt-rock. But when that first god appeared (and I realized I wasn't just losing my fucking mind) and explained the rules to me, I saw a plan come together.
It was stupid and desperate, but so was I. | Rust and nature had caused the gears of this once beautiful clock to grind to a halt. It was the last remnant of a temple to the old Goddess of Time and Machines. She had all but died when the Nature Goddess and her son the Plague God had created the Bisclavret Fever that had run rampant through the civilized lands. It killed most and turned those who survived into horrible beast creatures that were little better than mad dogs in the moonlight. Few were left untouched in remote places. The Goddess of Time and Machines left unattended. Abandoned.
I had studied the old texts under my master. He was one of the handful of survivors from the original plague almost 145 years ago. Just a boy, he survived all this time thanks to whatever magics his family had given him. I don't understand most of it, truthfully. I'd never seen a city or factory or even the great crowds of people he described. Just hard scrabble survivors living in small bands trying to avoid the beasts. Just these rare remnants of civilization yet unclaimed by nature.
*WELCOME CHOSEN ONE*
I wheeled about and drew up my charms in both hands. Some beasts were clever enough to mimic people, even after all this time. I scanned the forest around me but even with what little magic I knew, I could not penetrate the darkness. I should have been more frightened but something in this voice comforted me. It felt familiar.
"Who so welcomes me to this place?" I ask firmly into the darkened forest around me. I pause and wait for an answer.
Nothing. Silence.
I lowered my hands slightly. I'm uncertain at this point. Perhaps this far travel had infected my mind. The constant (justified) paranoia getting to me. I finally decided to put away my charms and paraphernalia.
Instead, I drew my boot knife and walked up to the alter. I don't know what possessed me but I started to scrape away the rust and debris that had accumulated on the surface. I used an extra sock and the water from my canteen to clean the clock face. I started slotting fallen pieces back onto the alter as if I had worked on it all my life. I toiled like a crazy person with the fervor of the possessed. Before I knew it, what were the late evening shadows had become the first rosy fingers of dawn.
*WELL DONE MY CHILD. WELL DONE. I KNEW YOU WOULD COME EVENTUALLY BUT YOU ARE TWO MONTHS, THIRTEEN DAYS, AND SEVEN HOURS BEHIND MY CALCULATIONS.*
"What?" I croaked. My throat was parched. I had not drank since the night before.
*I AM THEODORA, GODDESS OF TIME AND MACHINES, MATRON OF CIVILIZATION, DEFENDER OF HUMANKIND, AND YOUR NEW BENEFACTOR.*
I was not impressed by this goddess. It doesn't take a genius (even one as tired as me) to figure out she had used me to clear her altar. I was angry.
*YES, i DID USE YOU. YES I CAN READ YOUR HEART. YES i DID LET THE PLAGUE OVERTAKE HUMANITY. RULING OVER TIME I FORESAW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I HAD TAKEN ANY OTHER PATH THAN THIS. ALL OTHERS LED TO TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF THIS WORLD. SO, TEN MILLENIUM AGO I STARTED YOUR FAMILY LINE IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION TO MAKE YOU, CHOSEN ONE. AND HERE YOU STAND.*
I cleared my throat as best I could, "So what do you propose?"
*HOLD YOUR HAND TO THE ALTAR. BECOME THE TURNING OF THE TIDE.*
How could I refuse? I placed my hands on the lonely altar clock in the forest at dawn. With an all mighty screech the gears began grinding and the altar started to glow with a soft light.
*YGGDRA AND BUBUS WILL SUFFER FOR THEIR FOLLY. YOU ARE NOW THE FIRST OF A NEW BREED.*
Streaks of silver started to run up my arm. My hand that was once weak and supple flesh started to harden and blacken like old iron.
"What are you doing?!" I asked in utter terror. I couldn't remove my hand.
*THEY MADE MOCKERIES OF HUMANS. THEY SPREAD THEIR MINDLESS SAVAGRY AGAINST ME. BUT YOU ARE GOING TO BE UPLIFTED FROM A BEING OF FLESH INTO A LOGICAL, PERFECT MACHINE. THE BEST PART OF HUMANITY AND LEAVING BEHIND THE WORST. YOUR ARE THE PROPHET OF THE SECOND DAWN OF HUMANITY. GO FORTH AND CONQUER.* | 2021-05-01T23:54:36 | 2021-05-01T21:47:19 | 368 | 93 |
[WP] You have been Isekai'ed into the body of a Great and Terrible Lich, on the eve of its greatest, final victory. The forces of the Light are at their limit, resigned to their grim fate. You want no part of any of this bullshit, everyone is confused, nobody is sure what's going on anymore.
[deleted] | The transition was, quick. It was confusing. I staggered out of McCluskeys after a night of drinking with the work buddies and across the parking lot. I'd been slurring by the end and I knew I was in no shape to drive so I made my way to the cab stop beyond the lot. Remembering Jim telling how his wife had made him sleep on the sofa for throwing up in the kitchen and leaving it there the last time we'd drunk this much, made me smile. The cool air of the night refreshed me after sitting in the stuffy bar and made my head spin. As fun as my colleagues were, I couldn't wait to climb into bed with Jess. The day had been long and there was nothing like snuggling up against her warm butt and passing out.
Lost in the dreams of what awaited me at home, I hadn't heard the footsteps behind me. My first thought was that one of my peers had run out to give me my wallet as I had a habit of drunkenly losing stuff, and tapped me too hard on the back to get my attention. It was the second and third stabbing pain in the back that caused my mind to process what was happening. The world turned on its side as I spun to lash out at my attacker though I caught nothing but air. The shadowed outline of my killer ran off into the darkness surrounding the bar.
Where once I had been warm and buzzing with alcohol still in my system, now I felt cold seeping up my back. I tried to move but the pain held me down. I yelled out for help, or at least tried to while coughing up a mouthful of coppery blood. Realisation washed over me. I wasn't making it home. I thought of Jess and how she would take the news when the police informed her. How she would have to tell Tommy, our 4 year old, that daddy wasn't coming home again. I started to cry as my heart broke. Guilt wracked me but was fast replaced with hot dark hatred for the person who had taken me away from them. As I stared at McCluskeys from my position on the ground, the shadows around the bar seemed to reach in. Held back only by the sound and light from those within, still drinking happily. I could feel the image burning into my retinas and I could do nothing but stare and feel the heat of my body slipping away. Rage dying as I was now too tired to keep it stoked.
Blink.
Gone was the bar.
I was no longer laying with my face pressed against the ground. The rage came flooding back and I roared. Louder than I ever had before. It tore its way from my chest and out at the people on their knees before me. Wait, what?
I looked at my hands, gripping the arms of the... throne, I was sitting on? They weren't my hands. They were longer, more emaciated and grey? It was hard to tell as the room was awash in green light from behind my seat. I pulled myself up and despite my now hollowed out figure, I felt stronger than I ever remembered being.
Behind the throne was a large vat, easily 20 feet tall. The insides seemed to be swirling and glowed green like the light up sticks Jess would always wave when we went out clubbing. There were things moving in the swirls. Was that a face? Now that I could make out the contents, I knew. I was in hell. Don't get me wrong, I know I wasn't the greatest human being to walk the earth but its not like I was kicking puppies and burning orphanages.
"You've won, just kill us already."
I turned back to the source of the voice. A younger man, in his early twenties knelt before me, no, not knelt. Was held down by arms reaching out of the floor, grasping his wrists, legs and anything else they could reach. Half his face was covered in blood from a gash on his hairline and from the sound of his voice, his breathing was clearly laboured. I looked to his companions. Where his eyes were filled with anger, theirs were filled with tears, fear or what I assumed was the empty look of someone who had accepted the end had come.
If this was hell, clearly all of the cos players were sent here. The man before me was in a suit of armor and, yes, one of the women was clearly wearing a witches hat. As confusion wiped away the final remnants of rage left in me, I sat back down and put my(?) face in my hands. I breathed in deeply and heard a rattling moan in my chest as I did so.
Once centred, I sat up straight and placed my hands on my knees. Now I needed answers. Staring the man directly in the eye, I responded.
"WHAT?" | The wailing of a siren brings me to conciousness. As I open my eyes, I see white. The white of the ceiling of a transport car. Slowly, I become more and more aware of my surroundings. Some equipment around me, people who inject me with some stuff and the constant siren. Yup, I am in an ambulance. The pain in my whole body makes me groan.
"He´s awake, Jim" I hear a woman´s voice say. It must be the red-headed woman in front of me.
"Thanks, Leo. Welcome back to the land of the living, young man!" says another, a man who pushes himself into my sight, soon after. "We have been around when that truck hit you. You are lucky that you are still alive! Can you tell me how many fingers I hold up? Also what is your name?"
Oh, right... the truck... I saw it in the last moment before I woke up. Guess those Isekai stories are bullshit then. I turn my head slightly to watch out of the window to my side after answering. "Four fingers and I'm Bob."
Again, I hear the woman speak: "Good job, John. But please try not to move. We are not yet sure if that wouldn´t make anything worse".
But what I see through the darkened glass makes me think that hurting myself more by moving is the least of my concerns.
\--------------------------------------------
Somewhere, sometime else:
"Truck-Chan, I am really disappointed with you!" the master berated his apprentice. "The first time I give you a chance to fullfill the rite yourself and you disgrace yourself by not hitting that mortal hard enough?"
Downcast, the apprentice replies "I am sorry, Truck-Sama. I really didn´t want to hurt that human. Please give me another chance"
"First let´s finish the job. Remember. It needs to be so that the evil gets banished in the most convoluted and unpropable way possible! No more fuck-ups! Else you will re-do with the theory two times before I give you another chance"
\------------------------------------------
Again somewhere else, but also nearby:
After a long and hard battle, the evil Lich Xarh'Tograz finally overcomes the last of the heroes and pierces his heart with his own sword. Those of his comrades that were still alive would soon, bear witness of how their beloved "chosen one" would become another pawn of the Lich-Emperor. Various cries of rage and denial filled the room. Some of the survivors tried again to stall for time. Insults, pleas and questions as to "why are you doing this?".
All were answered by a simple "Just shut up. I am done talking" by the dark one, as he turned back towards the green glowing river of souls that went through the chamber. Shortly chuckling as he saw a few slow moving spots in the flow. "We have spectators, it seems" were the last words in the common language, before Xarh'Tograz began the ritual to weaken the membrane and bring much needed reinforcements to his undead armies.
As he rammed his whicked dagger into the barrier, he expected that all the souls would now break free and be enslaved by his dark powers.
What actually happened... was something else.
A great beast of aethereal metal burst toward and through him, throwing him through the room and the blade out of his hands. That was not supposed to happen. Instead of thousands of souls, only a small handfull spilled out, as the wound in the barrier closed again.
When the evil Lord rose again, retrieved his dagger and walked back to the flow, he was suddenly stricken with pain. Such pain that he dropped to the floor and writhed in agony. Soon, the soul couldn´t bear it anymore and left the seemingly doomed body. Screeching, it was pulled towards the green flow and vanished in it.
\---------------------------------------------------
A loud screech brings me back to conciousness. As I open my eyes, I see a green glow. Nothing I have ever seen outside of videogames or films. The docs must have given me the really good stuff. I even remember a dream where I bore witness to a fight between some typical fantasy heroes and a Lich of all things.
As more of myself regains concious thought, I notice that I am laying on a cold floor instead of a stretcher or even a hospital bed. Slowly standing up, I look around, noticing a bunch of skeletons, holding down some people.
My confusion doesn´t hold too long. Gradually, I realize: I am that Lich now! Years of Video-Games and reading fantasy stories and imagining what I would write on certain writing prompts prepared me for this moment... Just not that I would be the bad guy...
Looking back to the field of carnage before me, I also see a bunch of dead people. Some obviously other heroes, some obviously "my" underlings. Some of the captured heroes looked at me with terror. Most with rage. But all their faces slowly fill with confusion.
In hopes that they won´t attack me, but answer some questions, I raise my voice to say "Can anyone tell me what just happened? In exchange I will let you guys go."
&#x200B;
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I would love to write more, but don´t have time right now. But I think I will continue this later. I have a good feeling about this one. | 2021-08-08T10:46:38 | 2021-08-08T10:02:08 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | “I don’t know. She’s pretty useless though. Can’t speak. Too dumb for any real magic, but she’ll heal you if you order her to.” Calix said to their new recruit as he marched down the goblin infested tunnels in his massive plate armor.
*Leressa the Black! I bind you!*
The recruit, Daved, looked back at me nervously, “Ah, would you please heal my wound ma--”
“No, not like that. You have to *order* it.” Calix interjected. To me he said, “Healbitch, patch up his arm.”
*I bind you to never again use your magic to harm another living being!*
I smiled. The muscles controlling my face spasm, holding the idiot grin as I catch up to Daved. Once again I reach for the healing magic I can barely touch. White magic has always been a struggle for me.
My talents lie elsewhere.
*I bind you to heal all that demand it!*
Purple light sprang between my hand and his wound; stitching his cut closed with agonizing slowness. Once I finished, Daved drew his sword and swung it about experimentally.
“Thanks” he said nervously, eyes bouncing off of my dull gaze.
*I bind you to follow all orders!*
“Found it!” That slippery old eel, Ronald, shouted back to us.
Calix hurried ahead, plate armor clattering down the tunnels. “Come on, healbitch.”
Once Daved and I arrived at the door to the goblins throne room we saw Calix impatiently waiting as Ronald carefully inspected the door.
*I bind you to use your magic to aid all that demand it!*
Almost by rote Ronald said, “Healbitch, give me better eyesight”
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me stronger,” Calix demanded.
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me faster,” Daved’s words *just* avoided being a request. He’d get used to it. They always did.
I smiled.
*I bind you to these things for all your life, with a smile on your face.*
Calix looked at the others, “Here we go.” He blasted open the heavy wooden doors with a supernaturally enhanced kick. A few dozen armed goblins stared back at us, faces contorted with surprise, fear, and rage. Their shaman shouted something in their guttural, barking tongue. Some charged. Some ran. It was a slaughter.
------
Calix stepped up to the throne, swordpoint against the shaman’s throat. “Any last words, greenskin?”
The shaman’s eyes met mine. He made a sharp gesture and cast one last spell before Calix drove the sword through his ancient neck. The room fell deathly quiet.
“What was that, Ronald? He curse us?” Calix asked, looking back towards the rest of us.
“No, it was inverted.” Ronald said, bemused puzzlement dominating his voice, “Why in the world would he spend his last breaths trying to *remove* a curse?”
I reached out experimentally.
“Fucking greenskins. Probably just learned the spell backwards. Anyway, who cares?"
Calix turned to me,
“Healbitch…” He cut off
Tendrils of purple magic extended from my robes in all directions, probing, reaching into the eyes of each and every goblin corpse, the ones nearest to me were already twitching. Black lightning danced on my fingertips.
For the first time in years, *I* smiled. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Archmagus LeFey)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**LeFey had done battle with gods old and new.** He had called down the fires of the heavens, and split the earth itself with words of power. He had tamed the wind and rose to the very edge of the atmosphere, exulting in his power where the sky ran black, and dove to the depths of the seven seas to face the the strange and powerful Things that lived Below.
In all his many years, LeFey had never had to put up with a gang of insecure teenagers.
He thought it might have been the greatest test of his skills yet.
"Hey! Le*Failure*!" LeFey sighed, recognizing the voice. Roderick Alson DuManse the Fourth—a black mage never forgot a name, once it had been given freely to them—swaggered towards where LeFey was nursing a cup of wine. The bar was crowded enough that LeFey had hoped to escape those damn kids for half a second, but there was no dice. Roderick rolled up to him, flanked by two of his cronies, and plucked his drink out of his hand.
"You didn't pay for that," LeFey murmured.
Roderick didn't seem to hear. "Drinking on the job, old man?"
"I finished the healings I was assigned to for the day," LeFey replied. "My shift is over." Gods grant him patience, wasn't the Sunrise Kingdom supposed to be one of the most polite places in the world? He supposed arrogant little cockatoos like Roderick could be found anywhere.
"Oh, really? You call that healing a finished job?" Roderick snorted. "The poor boy was crying after you'd finished healing him. What kind of messed-up healing spells are you using that inflict *pain* on the victim?"
LeFey clenched his jaw. *You have no idea how hard I had to work to be able to heal even the slightest of cuts,* he thought. Outwardly, however, he simply said, "According to the Sunrise Standard Healer's Handbook, I performed my duties as an apprentice healer acceptably. The patient experiencing *minor discomfort* is not cause for official sanction."
"*Official* sanction," Roderick drawled. "Well, you might not have noticed, but we're not exactly *official*. Listen up, old man. I don't know who you are or where you get off on hurting people who come to us for healing, but you're in the wrong neighborhood. Stop volunteering at the Lighthouse and we'll leave you alone."
LeFey bristled. "I have sacrificed more than you will ever know to be able to work here, *saving lives.*"
"Really?" Roderick laughed. "Saving lives? You couldn't heal a papercut if your life depended on it. Y'know what? No. There's no point in empty words. I'll put my money where my mouth is." Roderick took out a scalpel from his pocket—the official symbol of membership in the Lighthouse of Sunrise. "I challenge you to a healer's duel. Right here, right now."
The bar fell silent.
LeFey exhaled. As mages' duels went... well, he supposed a healer's duel was relatively harmless. Nobody would get hurt except for the two of them. And if he proved that boy wrong, maybe they'd finally leave him alone.
"Fine," LeFey snapped. He withdrew his scalpel. "Standard rules?"
"Wherever I cut, you cut," Roderick agreed. "Wherever you cut, I cut. Whoever fails to heal their wounds and succumbs first loses."
LeFey nodded tersely. "Go ahead."
Roderick smirked. "I'll take it easy on you, old man."
Roderick took the knife to the palm of his hand.
A.N.
Part 2 below. | 2021-09-03T08:38:40 | 2021-09-03T07:54:13 | 2,163 | 463 |
[WP] You are a haunted house, and you’re lonely. You’ve become self conscious because every time you try to engage with visiting humans, they run away in fear. But a party of humans has just arrived, and you realise one of them is intent on killing the rest. | The man smelled of soured desire and oft-remembered dreams. The worst sort of dreams to creatures like us. In the shadows, dreams are best forgotten.
Booted footsteps sounded on my porch at the close of that late fall day. Leaves crunched satisfyingly and a cold breeze whistled through the rotten rail, churned the leaves and swept my boards clean. I creaked beneath them, old and tired.
The man slipped a key into my lock, laid me bare.
Five of them. A different man and a mousy woman came in arm in arm, pointing flashlights at the cobwebs. Another pair of young women came behind, more flashlights, more laughter. The darker haired woman turned back to the soured man, said “Aren’t you coming, Bill?”
The man made a gesture that might have included a smile, might not have. When he entered he disturbed no dust, but rather he walked in the dark haired girl’s footsteps, each step carefully measured, though it was done in the way of a craftsman long since used to his tools. It was a casual act that went unnoticed.
My timbers shivered, even the rotten ones, and though I felt every step the others took as they explored my halls, I tracked his. Tasted him. Tapestries turned in the man’s wake. The eyes of paintings watched him. A door might creak open, let a single shaft of light slip through from a window broken open to the dying of the day. He was a tall man, and thin. Light hair, carefully artless. A longsleeved turtleneck in charcoal gray, clean, unlined pants. Smart shoes. They all wore heavy backpacks, had come for a stay.
He took the Master Bedroom and the dark haired girl took the bedroom and boudoir opposite it in the long hall that jutted out over the courtyard, terminated in an open balcony above the remains of a greenhouse, the glass shattered fifty years now or more. The five of them had dinner on that balcony, cast their trash down to catch in the broken glass. They scattered after dinner, the couple to the farthest bedroom, the other woman to what remained of the library.
And there sat the soured man, Bill, and there sat the dark haired girl. Bill said, “What do you think, Kels?”
She lit a cigarette, took a long drag. She tried and failed to blow smoke rings twice before responding. “I think Tommy and Caroline are going to enjoy their vacation way more than the rest of us.”
Bill leaned forward in the rocking chair he had pilfered from my Master Bedroom. He loomed over the girl, Kels, who sat against the one solid corner still remaining of my balcony’s rail, heedless of the dust on her jeans. “I bet they will. Tommy’s been talking about it all week.”
“Of course he has.” Kels made a disgusted little snort. I felt her head shaking through the rail. Her hair was long, swept down to the balcony’s edge. “At least he makes sense though, all I’ve got to do is not think. Why did you want to come? What’s this place got for a guy like you?”
Bill shrugged. The north wind kicked up, frosty off the mountains. Kels swore, jumping to her feet. She wore shorts and a light sweater that fell off one shoulder. She did not stamp out the cigarette where she dropped it. I did, after.
In time they came back from the library, said goodbye outside Kels’s door. Bill went to his room. He unpacked his backpack, made the bed with fresh sheets, the corners tight, the covers turned down at a forty-five degree angle. He brushed his teeth with a bottle of water and a small tube of minty toothpaste, spat the remnants in the dead sink. He spent a long time in the bathroom before a mirror encrusted with a half century’s grime, his face visible in little unsullied motes of pale, sneering skin. Cold blue eyes. Narrow lips. An aquiline nose.
Towards midnight Bill slipped out the door and retrieved Kels’s cigarette. He sat crosslegged in the hallway in front of her door holding the butt of the cigarette a hairsbreadth from his lips breathing softly through his nose, eyes closed. Kels slept fitfully, and once I even shook her bedframe, but though she tossed and turned she did not wake, save once in the night when she woke for a moment and cried out another man’s name.
Her body warmed beneath the covers. She cursed with a soft fluency, rolled onto her side in the bed.
And in the hall, Bill waited.
Towards dawn he slept, the cigarette still in hand.
In his sleep the dreams were worse.
I knew of soured desire, dreams deferred but never forgotten. I knew of the things Bill dreamed that morning, in the two ragged hours which he slept, whispering aborted fantasies into the pillow. And when he woke, I heard the name Bill whispered, the same name Kels had whispered, and I knew the tone in which he spoke it.
In the morning Bill rose, greeted Kels and their friends in the dining room over a breakfast of scrambled eggs cooked in strange plastic packets and flat pastries served in little foil wrappers. Bill spoke and laughed, made passable jokes. Once when nearly appropriate, he touched Kels shoulder, though the gesture lasted a fraction of a second too long and I could see it in her eyes, watching from the portrait of another dark haired woman, long dead now.
Things happened through the day. The couple made love. Bill, Kels, and the other woman explored the cellars, found an ancient bottle of wine. And all the while Bill’s eyes never left her. In the aftermath of the wine, all of them nicely buzzed, Bill pulled the cigarette from his pocket, squeezed it once in the light of day. Kels did not see, but I could see how it thrilled him, how the admission, even so secretive, of his obsession arced through the man like lightning. There was light behind his eyes that had not existed before, a spring in his step that no laughter could have ever put there. | It's a depressing existence when every advance towards friendship you make is met with screams of horror as your newfound companions run to escape you.
I've considered giving up on making friends. To be the cause of such genuine terror is destroying me, slowly. Even when I'm trying to be friendly, opening doors for people and warning them to 'turn away' when they start down the steps to my basement- the asbestos is bad for humans- they treat me like evil incarnate.
One time, recently, it was especially bad.
It was Halloween night, a holiday I have become very familiar with as people 'challenge' each other to come and spend the night with me every year. A group of three, two men and a woman, opened the gate and made their way up the path. They had a nervous excitement that I had come to recognise.
Too quickly does that nervous energy turn into sheer, uncontrollable terror.
The group had a clear leader: one of the men, coaxing his friends inside with a bravado that was unfamiliar to me. Usually those that tried not to appear scared were really the most scared of all, but this man had something else about him: he truly did not fear me. I immediately singled him out as a candidate for friendship.
They eventually all made their way into the hallway. I have left the door unlocked for so long that even these newcomers didn't pause when opening it. They came straight inside, looking around with the aid of the torches they each carried.
'I told you guys! Its okay in here!' said the leader of the group. I came to know that his name was Ron.
'Okay?' replied the girl. 'I don't know about you but this seems pretty far from okay to me! It's fucking creepy in here!'
'Don't worry Beth, it'll be fine. Ron knows what he's talking about.' said the other boy. He and the girl, Beth, were in a relationship. That was clear from right at the start. Maybe if they hadn't been so obvious about it it wouldn't have had to happen this way.
'Lets look around!' Ron said. 'I'll go this way and you two go upstairs.' This puzzled me. I took a liking to Ron straight away: he was an outsider to the relationship between the two friends. He was like me, with all of the groups that had come to see me before. I started to pay closer attention to him.
As the couple went upstairs, Ron walked into the kitchen. Despite having never seen him before, I felt as if he knew his way around: he walked with a kind of purpose that I had never seen before from the terrified groups who usually came to visit.
He set his bag down on the kitchen table, and reached inside. Wanting to keep him on his own so that I could watch him better, I shut the door to the bedroom that the couple upstairs had just walked into. For some reason, the girl screamed, running to the door to make sure it would still open. Unlike Ron, she seemed to retain some of the usual fear that I had come to expect. Worrying that I would scare off the man working away at the kitchen table, I allowed her to open the door, calming her momentarily.
'Phew, I'm sorry. I guess I'm kind of on edge.' she said, gasping for breath. 'It doesn't help that you brought along your weirdo friend on our night out either.'
The boy next to her looked sheepish. I never heard his name. No big loss.
'He'll leave us alone baby, don't worry.' he mumbled. 'All that matters is that I've got you alone up here.' he added, gaining confidence.
'Shut up! It's creepy up here..' she replied.
Back downstairs, Ron was arranging bottles on the table, a manic glee in his eyes that was completely new to me. Maybe that's one of the reasons I took to him so well: Ron taught me a whole new range of emotions in the short time I knew him.
The bottles were unmarked, but were hidden so deeply in his bag, wrapped in a cloth, that it was clear they were not to be seen by anyone else.
Upstairs, the girl was becoming more and more nervous. 'Lets go and find Ron.' she said. 'It's way too weird up here.'
This would not do. Whatever Ron was arranging downstairs, It was not to be seen by these two. At least not yet.
As the two made their way out of the room, I opened the door across the landing from the room they were in. The girl whimpered, but, led by her partner, they went in to investigate. I had bought Ron some time.
Back in the kitchen, Ron had picked up the larger of the bottles he had laid out. In one motion, he was up from the table and pouring the contents of it over the floor, covering as much ground as he could. He made his way out of the kitchen to the stairs, where he made sure to properly dowse every inch he could. He continued in a circle until most of the ground floor had been touched by the cool, sticky liquid.
Upstairs, the couple had just finished their thorough investigation of the room I had presented them with. Finally satisfied that there was nothing of interest inside, they sat down on the floor.
'I'm sorry I asked him to come out with us tonight,' the boy said. 'I was just so happy that he wanted to start talking again. It was the first time he had reached out since we first got together. He took us getting together really hard you know Beth.'
She scoffed. 'Why do I care? It's not my fault that he was so infatuated with me, why should I let it stop me from living my life?'
'I know.' he replied. 'It was just hard for him, you know? I was so excited he wanted to see us again, and you have to admit that this was a cool idea of his!' he said, pointing around.
At the same time, downstairs, Ron was reaching into his bag once more. From it, he produced a box of matches, an item I had come to know from a time when a group of young men had taken up residence with me in order to smoke to their hearts content.
'This way, you can be together forever, and never force me to see either of you again.' he said. With that, he struck and dropped a match, walking out of the front door, and out into the night.
As a house, I cannot feel physical pain. I registered that I was burning, that slowly the form that defined me was disintegrating. I was shrinking, and could do nothing about it. However what truly hurt was that the only kindred spirit I had ever encountered was disappearing, further and further from me, not even sparing me a glance back. | 2021-11-07T16:23:12 | 2021-11-07T14:26:21 | 584 | 123 |
[WP] You have passive mind-reading. You hear the thoughts of those closest to you. Rather than use it to your advantage You instead use it to give precision compliments to brighten people's day. | I was almost 16 when the powers kicked in. Nothing special. Not flying in the air, not becoming invisible and not telekinesis. But I did start hearing murmurs. Little whispers when I was around people.
I was frightened initially to be honest. I thought it was schizophrenia. But slowly I realized that I was simply hearing the thoughts and internal monologues of people.
And yeah a lot of it is embarrassing
Like suddenly I knew that the most popular girl in class had a weird itch in some undisclosable location. Or that the guy sitting next to me in class had a major crush on his best friend's mom. Or that my English teacher had a slightly unhealthy obsession with Mariah Carey songs
I wanted cool powers. Not this lame shit
A few months later I accompanied my grandma on a trip to the local store. A lady stood there distributing free samples of some home made sauce. I immediately recognized her as one of my neighbours - Ms Jones.
She waved us over excitedly and handed us a free sample.
It tasted......er...well..... it had a distinct taste.
"OH please let them like it. Please. I really love making this sauce" thought ms jones
I could hear a little murmur of "oh lord it's disgusting!" Coming from my grandma's brain.
When I looked up though, my grandma was smiling widely and gave an encouraging nod to Ms Jones before saying "this is delicious dear. So glad to be able to have a taste"
Ms Jones thoughts were basically music after this little interaction.
This put things in perspective for me
I actually had an awesome super power
The power to make someone's day better
If a girl comes in unsure of the new outfit she's wearing you bet I'm gonna ask her where she got it from. If a dude is conscious about the new haircut I'm telling him it looks great. If a kid is worried that his friends will laugh at his new socks I'm gonna tell him how cool they are.
We all have days. We all need to get through them
And like my grandma always said "kindness doesn't cost anything" | Most people spend their entire lives wondering what it'd be like to have a super power. The world of super humans, however, is not all it's cracked up to be. It's not all epic fights and city destruction as hero and villain clash over New York while Michael Bay launches explosions in the background. In fact, that's complete fantasy.
The world of powers is rather mundane in comparison. Even the ones people think would be cool like super strength or super speed are little more than slightly better than what even the most seasoned bodybuilders or Olympic athletes could do.
Don't get me wrong. We could easily take over the world if we wanted to. My power alone has lead to some pretty disastrous outcomes. Often confused for charisma, the power to read people's subconscious mind is one of the few powers that many supers fear.
It was used by tyrants after all.
But of course, powers are nothing but tools to achieve one's own end. All my life I've never understood why people were so hell bent on taking over the world. Simply running a single country seemed stressful enough with one side of the country worshipping the ground at your feet and the other half plotting your downfall.
I myself, however, have found another use for my power. One far greater than conquest of entire nations, far more lasting than a history book, and far more powerful than all the weapons in the world mixed together.
For to make one day, just one day, better than the last is something more personal than what happens to one's country, far easier to remember than the deeds of dead men, and more driving than a nuclear warhead. And all it takes is a simple compliment or a simple wish, made personalized by a quick look through their current thoughts. A "good luck on today's meeting" or a "I hope your loved one gets better" somewhat suggests divine intervention after all, almost as if fate itself is on your side.
There is very few things in this world that can defeat hope. For hope births motivation which births action which in turn births change, the most lasting of which are the ones for the better.
And all of that simply because I had made someone's day just a little bit better. And though this is less personal than I would like it, I would love to extend to you reading this some hope.
Whoever you are, whatever's going on in your life, wherever you are, I wish you nothing but the best. From those on the highest mountains to those in the darkest valleys, I hope that everything from here on out only gets better and better. And even if fate will the day to be nasty and horrid, take comfort in the fact that the future is never determined and that the lessons of history have taught us nothing if not that in the end, good triumphs over evil.
And with that I sign off. Fair well and good day. | 2021-11-18T09:02:36 | 2021-11-18T06:48:33 | 344 | 57 |
[WP] You look around the lecture hall and notice all the other students have fallen asleep. You look towards the lecturer, who has now stopped talking and is staring straight at you. “I don’t know how you’re still awake, but I guess we do this the hard way.” He says, before pulling out a sword. | Perhaps, under normal circumstances, I would have been scared. I might have pretended to be asleep, going along with what everyone else was doing out of a panicked herd mentality.
But it was finals week. I was halfway through one essay, I'd barely started the other, and I was still trying to remember an entire semester's worth of Early World History. My manager didn't have any sympathy in his cold, shriveled, corporate burger boot licking heart, and gave me extra shifts. Honestly, it was a miracle I made it to class in the first place. Yet there I was, only half asleep, too out of it to pretend otherwise, and rationalizing the event as an annoying prank because I had the cognitive power of a drunk bumblebee.
Professor whatshisname, I never actually remembered it, approached my seat with what I assume in retrospect was a menacing glare. He said something, but I couldn't comprehend it any more than I could figure out why Google docs wasn't working without wifi.
"I'm sorry, professor. Could you repeat that?" I swung my head to look at him, dizziness washing over me.
"I said, we do this the hard way. Now, get out of your seat." His pointed his sword at me.
"...what?"
"Your seat. Out."
I looked around. The lecture hall was large, seats crammed together in rows. I, as always, was in the middle.
"Oh, there's people in the way," it was a sudden revalation to my tired mind that I actually regularly sat in between people, "sorry. One sec."
"No, just, that's too far away. Come here, no, over here." He said.
"Oh, okay. Sorry."
"Just, watch out, don't trip, careful."
"No, I've almost got it. Excuse me, sorry, sorry."
As I bumbled my way out of the row, apologizing to the sleeping students I bumped into, the professor sighed.
"Okay. Here I am."
"Do you even realize what's going on here?" He asked.
"Senior prank?" I replied.
"This is college. Not high-school. No pranks. I have a sword. Unlike the rest, you didn't fall asleep, so I'm going to have to finish you off myself."
"Can I just go to sleep then? I didn't want to be rude, but if it's okay, then I'd really like to."
"You're pretty relaxed for someone being threatened."
"At this point, I'm kinda begging for a hospital stay to give me an extension on my tests and stuff. Or free tuition."
The look of genuine concern on his face betrayed the threat of his sword. "How long has it been since you've slept?"
"Three days, my dude." I said.
"Jesus christ... How the hell didn't you fall asleep when you're like this?"
"My roommate gave me this energy drink cocktail. She calls it the Fuckening. She's kinda bad at names."
"Just... just go to bed. Let's forget this happened. You wouldn't be able to understand this, anyways."
"Can I sleep here? I don't want to walk to my dorm."
"No."
I stumbled to my room, beginning to fear that it was actually a theater class and I was about to fail. I could still hear the professor's voice in my head, echoing. Not because of magic or mind control or anything. I just hadn't slept. I was also hearing the beeping of my alarm the moment I fell into my bed, despite having left my phone in the class. And my backpack, I realized right before I fell asleep.
I woke up to the sight of my belongings. The notifications on my phone alerted me of an email from the professor.
"Health is important, so be sure to get some rest. Don't rely on the 'Fuckening' next time. There's no need to worry about the test. I'll give you an extension. Despite everything, I was also a student a few centuries ago."
I still had questions. But it was finals week. I was halfway through one essay, I'd barely started the other, and I was still trying to remember an entire semester's worth of Early World History. My manager didn't have any sympathy in his cold, shriveled, corporate burger boot licking heart, and gave me extra shifts. Honestly, it was a miracle that I even made it to my next class. | Finally, he was serious about reading my thesis in earnest. I slowly pulled my hand axe and mace from my backpack, having learned to dual wield when I had to take that part-time to pay off my unsubsidized student loans. I grinned at him. I had studied his bibliography. Read his rate my professor reviews. I knew all his moves.
"It's a modern view of the pedagogical application of international communication in the current digital landscape." I stepped onto the chair, other foot planted firmly on the microscopic arm table. They were bolted to the ground, as though someone might steal one.
He sneered up at me, "I've read your abstract."
He slid expertly around the podium. His step was so fluid, it barely looked as though he had touched the floor. He twirled his blade snidely, slowly ascending the long ramp to my seat. I peered down at him, my mouth curling like the tip of my axe.
"But have you read my introduction?"
"I recall some general points, but I found it to be disorganized."
I barked out a laugh. There was a reason I always sat in the back of the class. I stepped back away from him, tiny table to tiny table, kicking notebooks and laptops out of my way. He huffed out a chuckle, but I pressed on.
"How did you find teaching during quarantine? I believe I took one of your classes. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. I had to drop it like the other half of the students because the poor organization made it impossible to find anything."
The malice radiated across the divide, carried across by students with too little sleep, battling a harsh rubric and hard grading. He glared at me, stepping onto a desk himself and slowly strode across, every other desk.
I grinned across the desks to him, jumping back onto the other walkway. "Digital mashed potatoes, I believe the 'Rate My Professor' read." I slowly dug my axe into an empty chair, emitting a low, dirty ripping as the hard plastic parted. "Although, you probably didn't know that. You would have to," I drew my words out, syllable by syllable, "Google it."
He growled in rage and dashed forward. "You know nothing of the classic lecture structure!" He pounced, and I deflected his blade with my axe. He struck harder that I had expected and I had to step to the side of be skewered.
I grunted at the impact, but continued my cautious retreat. "If you had paid closer attention to my introduction, you would know otherwise. In fact, I believe I make clear the benefits and disadvantages of the classical lecture and flipped classroom to the accessibility of media provided to students."
He breathed a dark chuckle, "Accessibility? How do you propose we conquer the digital divide?"
I tried to remember the exact-- He was already on me, I stumbled behind the podium. I swung up my hand axe to block, coming in low with my mace, "Rentable equipment."
He put a foot down on my mace, smashing it into the ground, "School funding. Unreliable and distant shipping." He kicked forward from my mace. "New software."
I whipped up my mace, sending his foot flying backward, "A browser is not new software! You're just old!" I let his blade push me into position.
"You avoided my questions."
"Including a week of software instruction." I rolled back. "If it's related to their field. It should be taught inside class." I stood slowly, "These rentals are not by class. They are through school enrollment. More time for equipment to reach students before the semester begins." I stepped to the side, readying for
He snorted snapped forward, "How are we paying for all of this?"
I chopped his blade away with my mace, and with a frustrated growl through my axe into the side of the podium. A loud thud reverberated back to us. I glared up from under our singing weapons, letting the tang of metal hold in the air. "We both know the answer to that."
He gave me an exasperated grunt.
We both lowered our weapons, standing behind the podium. I tapped my mace on my leg. "I, ah," I mumbled, glancing to the axe. "need to make some revisions." I awkwardly walked over the the podium and heaved my axe from its side. I turned back nervously, watching his approach. "Thank you for taking time to look over at least that much."
He flipped his sword back in its sheath. "I did skim over more than your introduction. There was some promise there. Do not forget that you are speaking to a body that may not be yet familiar with new technology. This should be reflected in more than your presentation." He patted my shoulder as I turned to return my weapons to my bag.
"Yes, Professor MacLeod?"
"There will be an additional class fee." | 2021-12-05T23:01:30 | 2021-12-05T22:33:43 | 59 | 26 |
[WP] "Academy Magic" is generally regarded as safe magic. "Fell Magic" is dangerous and can almost only be used for evil. "Vile Magic," meanwhile, is 'safe' but is also the magical equivalent of "don't google that, if you don't already know then you really don't want to know, I promise" | University of West Boone Unveils First Folk Magic Studies Degree in Country
The University of West Boone announced a new Bachelors of Thaumaturgy degree in Folk Magic Studies at a press conference on May 24th.
“Folk Magic, which is the name we prefer here over vile magic, is just a collection of magical practices outside of academic magic for various reasons,” said Professor Alice Jones. “I’m proud to be part of the elevation of this dismissed piece of our mountain heritage, though of course we will also cover folk magics from around the world.”
No students have yet enrolled in the program, but Jones expects that as many as twenty per year will participate as it becomes established.
“It’s common in modern day to dismiss folk magic, but it can really be very useful, and even beautiful,” said Jones after a demonstration of a local salt-rising ritual. “You can eat those snacks by the way, they’re set out for everyone. No?”
There are no recorded incidents of autoannealing or ejection from the practice of folk magic, and the degree and associated courses will not require the safety practices of fell studies.
“It would really be a tremendous loss to see these ancient practices vanish just because people find it a bit distasteful,” said Jones. “And you get used to the smell.”
The Boone University Thaumaturgy Department did not respond promptly to requests for comment.
“We at the University of West Boone understand the deep but unappreciated culture of our region and are proud to be part of maintaining this legacy,” said University President Campbell when asked for comment by phone. “I was very sorry to miss the press conference. It was definitely a scheduling thing and nothing to do with avoiding the demonstration.” | "There are four kinds of magic, and they're separated into two categories," she said. "Academy magic is what most people know about. It's safe, because it's easy to use. Nothing bad will happen to you. But Academy magic is about as useful as a fork when you need a knife."
"What's Fell magic?" I asked.
"Fell magic is untamed and wild," she said. "It's dangerous and it's powerful. But you have to have some kind of a connection to it in order to use it. You can't just try to push your way into the magic the way you can with Academy magic."
"What kind of a connection?" I asked.
"It could be a bloodline," she said. "It could be a place where the magic gathers or something weird like that."
"What's Vile magic?" I finally asked. It was the only question I truly wanted an answer to.
"Vile magic is the worst kind of all," she said. "Sometimes no matter how much you want something, it's better not to get it."
"What kind of magic was that you used when you were fighting the black thing?" I asked.
"Vile magic," she said. "It's not something that should be used lightly."
"And yet you used it anyway," I said.
"We were fighting for our lives," she said.
"You're stronger than me," I said.
"I know," she said.
The conversation ended there, and we continued on in silence. Eventually, I noticed that the sky was going from black to blue and that the sun was rising. I had no way of knowing if we were walking in circles or not, but the fact that the sun was rising in the east was reassurance that we weren't.
After an hour of walking, we came to a stop.
"Do you smell that?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"I smell bacon," she said.
"I thought you said there weren't any people here," I replied.
"There aren't," she said. "I smell bacon."
I shrugged.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"We'll walk in that direction," she said with a jerk of her head.
We walked for about ten minutes. Soon I noticed a small smoking fire off in the distance. There was a cooking pot sitting on the fire, and it had something boiling in it. As we approached, I saw that it was frying bacon.
"How?" I asked.
"That's a question for another day," she said. | 2022-05-25T14:50:07 | 2022-05-25T12:55:29 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] My job as a demon is to take requests from those who summon me in return for their souls. It's amazing! But it's always the same requests. That's why I promised myself I wouldn't eat the soul of the one to give me a brand new request. Nothing new. Until today. "Can you be my girlfriend?" | Torn and ripped flesh, blood dripping steadily onto the hard wood floor. Five eyes peered outwards towards the insignificant roach that stood before it. The words echoed across the silence as it thought through what it has heard.
"You wish to make a maiden out of me," It was less a question, and more of a ponderance.
"Y-yes," The stringy being replied nonetheless.
Five tongues moved across exposed organs, salivating the gummy exteriors, "Perhaps upon any other day I would laugh at your request," It looked down upon the pathetic excuse of a mortal, "I tire, however, of the stagnant taste within human souls. Perhaps, with enough time, I can add flavor to your pathetic existence; enough to make it ripe for the taking,"
And so it was that the contract was sealed. In twenty years, I would transform back from a mortal form, and reap what was properly mine | "Can you be my girlfriend?"
I stared at the prepubescent teenager. "Uh, you realize I'm a man right?"
"Look, if I weren't out of options, do you think I'd be scrawling satanic symbols on the floor?"
"That's actually a fair point." I conceded.
"PLEEEEASE. I told all my friends I'd have a date to homecoming, you just need to stand there and look pretty. I don't think it'd be very hard."
I frowned. "It's not good to lie to your friends, young man."
He stopped. "Oh, wasn't expecting that from a literal servant of hell. It's fine, it's fine, they'll never find out. Demons can do anything right? Just cast some magic or something."
"Look, just because I *can*—"
"You will? That's great! I already have the dress and everything. Come on get ready, the limo is coming in 15 minutes."
"FIFTEEN MINUTES? Boy, you are an irresponsible little shit—"
He blushed. "I'm uh not into age play, so I'd prefer if you just called me Jason."
I tossed the evening gown he handed me onto the floor, enraged. "*Jason*, do you realize you are speaking to the—"
"Yes yes, demons soul pact thingy, we can sort all that later after the dance." He exited the room.
And that is how I, abyssal devourer of a thousand souls, was forced to cross-dress and attend a highschool dance.
&nbsp;
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A/N - ... 😶
/r/Unexpected_Works | 2022-09-09T13:29:06 | 2022-09-09T12:35:52 | 266 | 180 |
[WP] You're a female hero in a fantasy world, and you are annoyed. The wizards keep giving you enchanted armor with incredible stats, but it looks RIDICULOUS! This one has nipples! This one has a hole over your heart! This one is just a necklace and a belt! Would they please STOP IT! | I held up the 'breastplate' between finger and thumb and turned to the shopkeeper.
"Just who designed this ... thing?" This thing made of fine silver wire in a wide mesh, rubies strategically placed, so low-cut everything between my collar-bone and my navel would be visible. "I presume it goes with the belt with the strip of fur dangling from it?"
The shop-keep drew himself up. "Those are among Mage-smith Weinsten's finest creations. Enchanted to be proof against all ordinary missiles and any sword of less than dwarven make, resist all cantrips and many lesser spells, and keep the wearer warm or cool as the weather requires. The purchase price includes a personal fitting by Mage Weinsten himself, adjusting it to his complete satisfaction, as it adapts to any figure."
I had seen Mage Weinsten on a podium with other town dignitaries - a tall bulky man, heavy-jowled, richly if carelessly dressed. He had a reputation for assisting young women in their careers, in return for certain favours, and also for ruining the careers of those he disfavoured. The few who had spoken against him had not prospered. Several of my friends had suffered from his attentions.
"I'll buy it," I said abruptly.
"Certainly, my lady. If you have three hundred crowns it is yours." I tossed him a purse.
"Arrange a fitting as soon as you can."
The fitting took place - where else - in a private room in Weinsten's town-house. The man himself stood before me, smirking.
"I will just take your measurements, to ensure the best possible fit," he said, approaching me with a tape. I raised my arms, he ran his hands over my leather bodice and then stiffened and fell over.
"Oh dear. I forgot about that paralytic contact poison. So sorry. Never mind - it wears off in a few hours. I'm still keen to see if this armour is as adaptable as the shopkeeper advertised."
Weinsten's reputation never recovered from being found at dawn in the main square, wearing only a mesh top and a fur thong. The more so as he had been glued into the garments with an alchemical potion that could only be removed a finger's-width at a time by the patient application of swine urine. | I began adventuring because I thought it would be more interesting than slaving away as a barmaid, or apprenticing for... what, lute playing? Glass blowing?
Yeah, no, absolutely not. I wasn't gonna settle for something where I had to deal with being looked down upon, or leered at, treated like I'm just a floozy. This way, I thought, I could make coin dealing with real problems! Slaying goblins, wolves, thieves, there's money and prestige with that! So I snatched up my old man's leather armor pieces, placed them over the thickest clothes I owned, did my best to sharpen his old sword, and set off on my way.
It wasn't too long until I realized.... as much as I love my Pa, God bless his heart, his old armor was... really ill-taken care of. I came back from my first bounty job, the whole set in shambles, falling apart in my hands. Sorry bout that Pa...
But the gold coins I got for hunting down and rescuing some poor old chap made up for it, now was just a matter of replacing the set. Might be my first day setting foot in that armorer, but damnit, I'm gonna get some armor with this gold if it KILLS me!
So I set foot, ready to haggle to the death, ready to be the most charming, smooth talker there ever was, to get a fair deal. And as soon as I notice two of the five sets of armor in the place, looking like stuff for wives to appease their husband's in the bedroom, and spice things up with some weird roleplay, I'm already feeling the urge to turn right around and leave the establishment... I thought this place was serious and real... I didn't expect kink gear...
I sigh, swallow my doubts, and walk up to the smithy, busy at work, hammering out a pretty decent looking helmet.
"Hey, Mr. Howland, right? It's Rosie, uh, you know, Tyrian's daughter?"
The man slows what he's doing, glancing my direction, warm smile gracing his face, but continues to hammer. Just with less intensity, to hold conversation.
"Oh! Rosie, I don't think we've ever very officially met, have we?" SLAM "How's your Da', I know he retired, but he-" SLAM "Hasn't taken the time to visit ol' Howland!" SLAM
"Did he send for ya, d'ya guys need anything from my shop here?" SLAM
"Oh, he's doing alright, he's just been bedridden with a nasty cold lately-" SLAM "But I can tell him you said hello and miss his company-" SLAM "...If you like Mr. Howland..." SLAM "But besides, yes actually, as you see well-" SLAM "I took his armor out for a spin, since he hasn't been using it anymore." SLAM
Thankfully, the smithy decides to put down the bloody helmet then, and pay me proper, full attention. | 2022-11-21T05:12:42 | 2022-11-21T03:11:54 | 200 | 54 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood | “I am not enthralled with the idea of turning to these…” Isaac paused “Tinctures, instead of our tried-and-true methods of sustaining ourselves “
Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes, why was it that any Vampire who was turned before the telegraph resisted change so thoroughly?
“I’m sure most humans aren’t exactly enthralled with the idea of us eating them”
“You know very well young lady that we have a strict, drink and release program, no harm no foul.”
Only among their kind could someone pushing 90 be considered a “young lady” It was infinitely annoying to be condescended to when she was older than most people alive. Especially by someone who had yet to come around to the internet, which is incidentally where she found this “life hack”
“Fine,” She said raising her hands, “Do what you want, just don’t complain to me when our world moves on without you.”
Which of course, it did. New innovative ideas always catch on and spread, even among the undead. As the younger vampires moved away from their sanguine habits the generational divide already widened with the adaptation of the computer and internet culture turned into a chasm. The younger vamps integrated into wider society. Some of the older folks did eventually catch on and got with the times, however, there remained a subset that became even further isolated and out of touch.
Fucking Blooders | "But I Am A Vegan!" I screamed at my obsessive and abusive ex as he sat there smirking at me. He laughed as I tried to throw up thick red liquid he had just forced down my throat.
"It's too late Crystal, by this time tomorrow you'll be chowing down on poor old Nancy over there." Samel said smirking. I looked over at my new girlfriend. She was tied up and terrified. I had tried so hard to turn my life around and heal from my childhood. Now all I could do was cry as Samel left and locked the door behind him. Nancy tried to smile at me.
"It will be ok maybe there's a vegan option for vampires?" She said trying to comfort me. I crawled over to her and did my best to free her from her ropes.
When we were both finally able to stand up and walk I looked around and saw the window.
The rest of that night became a blur. The next thing I knew I was curled up against a deer in the woods covered in blood, Nancy nowhere to be found. And that's how my next few years were spent. I was too scared to be around humans and possibly hurt them.
-15years later
Nancy pov-
"And your sure this will work? That this is the proper amount of iron and vitamin D to replace blood for vampires?" I asked looking at my very tired looking vampire lab assistant named Josh.
"Yes I've been taking it for a week now and have never felt better" Josh said smiling as he looked at me.
"Good then it's finally time to go find my dear Crystal" I said as we headed out to the woods. I had been tracking her movements and working to fix what Samel had broken. He had been a grade a stalker since Crystal left him. When he saw that I had gotten with her he graduated from stalking to doing everything to make her life miserable. He had failed each time until he finally got so desperate as to become a vampire and turn her by force as well. After I find my love revenge on her ex is next. | 2022-12-04T09:31:13 | 2022-12-04T08:32:43 | 131 | 53 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood | The new generation of vampires was unlike any that had come before them. They were stronger, faster, and more intelligent than their predecessors, and they had discovered a way to survive without drinking human blood.
By taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, the vampires were able to feel strong and healthy without the need for human blood. This revolutionary discovery had the potential to change the vampire world forever.
But the vampires soon realized that their newfound way of life came with its own challenges. Iron and vitamin D were not always easy to come by, and the vampires had to search far and wide for these essential nutrients.
In order to secure a steady supply of iron and vitamin D, the vampires turned to the world of finance. They began to invest heavily in iron futures, buying up large quantities of iron at low prices and holding onto it until the price rose.
At the same time, the vampires also began to invest in asteroid mining. They saw the potential for vast riches in the endless expanse of space, and they were determined to be at the forefront of this new industry.
As the vampires' wealth and power grew, so too did their influence in the world. They became leaders in the worlds of finance and space exploration, shaping the future of both industries in ways that no one could have predicted.
And all the while, the vampires continued to thrive and flourish, thanks to their clever use of iron and vitamin D supplements. They had truly found a way to live in peace and prosperity without the need for human blood. | "But I Am A Vegan!" I screamed at my obsessive and abusive ex as he sat there smirking at me. He laughed as I tried to throw up thick red liquid he had just forced down my throat.
"It's too late Crystal, by this time tomorrow you'll be chowing down on poor old Nancy over there." Samel said smirking. I looked over at my new girlfriend. She was tied up and terrified. I had tried so hard to turn my life around and heal from my childhood. Now all I could do was cry as Samel left and locked the door behind him. Nancy tried to smile at me.
"It will be ok maybe there's a vegan option for vampires?" She said trying to comfort me. I crawled over to her and did my best to free her from her ropes.
When we were both finally able to stand up and walk I looked around and saw the window.
The rest of that night became a blur. The next thing I knew I was curled up against a deer in the woods covered in blood, Nancy nowhere to be found. And that's how my next few years were spent. I was too scared to be around humans and possibly hurt them.
-15years later
Nancy pov-
"And your sure this will work? That this is the proper amount of iron and vitamin D to replace blood for vampires?" I asked looking at my very tired looking vampire lab assistant named Josh.
"Yes I've been taking it for a week now and have never felt better" Josh said smiling as he looked at me.
"Good then it's finally time to go find my dear Crystal" I said as we headed out to the woods. I had been tracking her movements and working to fix what Samel had broken. He had been a grade a stalker since Crystal left him. When he saw that I had gotten with her he graduated from stalking to doing everything to make her life miserable. He had failed each time until he finally got so desperate as to become a vampire and turn her by force as well. After I find my love revenge on her ex is next. | 2022-12-04T08:46:36 | 2022-12-04T08:32:43 | 72 | 53 |
[WP] You are a well-respected Villain. You caused only necessary minor Damages, you never purposefully took a life, and you made sure to keep a strict Code when dealing with civilians. But for some reason, some of the younger Newbie Heroes seem to think you are Evil Incarnate | Usually one is awoken to the blinding of a golden glow filling their bedroom on a sunny morning, or the consecutive noise of fighting and squawking birds on a colder one. Today however I was awoken to soft and harsh whispers, and when opening my eyes I was not in my bed, but tied to a chair with three pairs of eyes glistening at me.
“Good, your awake” the tallest who was stood to left spoke, with shaggy brown hair and eyes to match.
“Great observation, you wouldn’t happen to be Sherlock reincarnated would you ?” I queried, looking at whom I assumed to be one of my capturers.
He scoffed, crossing his arms and buffing out his biceps to the best of his abilities. “Last I checked, this wasn’t a stand up comedy show”
“Your right, I’m sitting!” I exclaimed, harshly gesturing to the chair I was tied up to with my head.
“Oh you little-“ he began striding toward me, but was then cut of by a girl, who held her arms out in-front of him and glared at him as she spoke.
“And you’ll stay sitting!” She stated, “we can’t have you out in public, with the danger you are to society!” She exclaimed drastically, throwing her hands around.
“Danger to society ?” I questioned with raised brows, “danger. To. Society?” I repeat, emphasising each word.
“Yes a danger to society, that’s what I said isn’t it?” She queried, “or do you need to get your ears checked, we have insurance”
There was a snigger from the remaining party who was yet to speak, causing all of us to turn and look at him. He didn’t respond but simply shrugged his shoulders, gesturing the girl to go on with his hand.
Before she got the chance I spoke up, “I’m sorry miss…”
“Miss Libo” the girl stated her name, which only made me throw my head back in laughter.
“Miss Libo?” I snigger, “what are you some sort of fancy lube?”
The quiet boy from before laughed again causing Miss Libo to glare at him. “Look,” she started, “your in here as consequence for being a danger to society, so you better pay me respect before I extend your sentence”
“Oh my apologies, your highness” I bow my head in fake respect, “but do you mind elaborating on why I’m in here?”
It was then I realised I still had my wristwatch on, oh what silly people these kids were. With the flick of a wrist, a small knife expanded from the watch and began to quietly cut the rope around my hands as the girl in front of me began to explain why I was in here.
“We know you used to work in the under world!” She stated, “we heard from our parents, they said you ran the place, earning money from others injuries and falling out with a multi million dollar franchise over a bet!”
“Want to write me an auto biography?” I scoff as I felt the rope around my wrists get looser, “Or do you want to get to the point?”
I could tell she was loosing her patience, but just before she could snap at me the quiet boy who couldn’t help but laugh stepped into the light.
With blonde hair swept back neatly and standing only an inch shorter than the other boy I could tell he was the mature one, his suit fitted precisely was an indicator.
“What she’s trying to say is” he spoke with a profound yet deep voice, “we find it suspicious how you left all your troubles behind to start your little, ‘bakery business’” he began, making air quotes when saying bakery business as if it was anything but that.
“And then all of a sudden, the founder of the franchise you fell out with dies of food poisoning because of the bread from your bakery”
I had nothing to say, I find it suspicious too and although it wasn’t on purpose I’m glad it happened because now I can get back out there.
All of a sudden all previous pressure from my wrist was released, letting me know the rope was gone. I stood up and dusted myself down while all three of the hero’s kids looked at me with wide and shocked eyes.
“I guess you’ll have to stay suspicious” I shrug, pressing another button on my wristwatch, causing the room to erupt in smoke.
Before the heroes knew it I was gone. | (I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part three of four, and you can find the previous (second) part here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zpy3e7/comment/j10vknf/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zpy3e7/comment/j10vknf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3))
Dominic von Hellsworn sighed as another foolish hero fell before his blade. Well, the side of the blade, a blow designed to stun instead of kill. No, he didn’t have any desire to harm anyone, even if they were so misguided. Humans always were such misguided creatures, constantly trying to rule over things that they barely understood. Sending their young to stop a peaceful ruler. What silly people. But at least they were young, and cute. His cheeks glowed a brilliant shade of deep purple, blushing as he turned his eyes from the young man’s thick arms. Hairy, and looking just right for cuddling.
“My liege? Should I take him to the infirmary with the others from his party?” The small shape squeaked out in his direction. And a dismissive wave that was more distracted than anything sent the creature on its way, carrying the last of the hero’s party away to be healed, mindwiped, and then returned thinking that they had done some good for their land. Such a tiring game to play, and his four hundred years of suffering through it were starting to really drag on him. But there didn’t seem to be a way to break out of this trap. Being constantly harassed by these newbies that were trained by the main religion of their kind.
“Well,” he said to himself, a gentle happy smile on his lips completely destroying any appearance of being a demon, let alone the king of demons, “at least they keep sending cute guys. Although too bad that last guy wasn’t a bit bigger. He’d have been my type.” A soft chuckle passes his lips before a crashing explosion sounds from lower in the castle.
“Oh good gods, are we going for a full house today?” Four heroes was already more than enough, but it sounded like a fifth had made their way into the castle. Those explosions would be the defenses firing beanbags at them, soaked with a potion of sleep designed to try and forestall the inevitable showdown that was always so prized by the young.
But strangely, the sound stopped. Not suddenly like they were destroyed with ice magic, or with a horrible crunch like a summoned beast ripped them apart. No, something more complete, like they no longer existed. His eye raised, confused but also intrigued. He couldn’t remember the last time a hero with enough skill to get this far came to see him.
With two claps of his hand the bright lighting of his chamber dimmed, and with a quick twist he fell back onto his throne. He was nothing if not willing to play his part. And as the door to the chamber opened, he started to rise from his throne before stopping halfway.
“Uh, hello Mister Hellsworn. I’m Bryan, uhhh Bryan Williams,” the tall, big, thick, hairy man carrying what appeared to be some sort of god destroying spear, covered in an armor so ornate that it might be mistaken for a treasure of old, and with the most beautifully shy smile on his face.
“I brought you these flowers from Mount Harold, I think I heard that you liked the sky blue ones the best?” The bouquet in Bryan’s hand was passed to one of Dominic’s minions, a few of them standing behind Bryan, offering words of encouragement. And a small metallic seeming dwarf raised a thumbs up, grinning broadly in Bryan’s direction.
“Would, would you do me the honor, your majesty, of allowing me to take you out for a date?”
Dominic blinked. Twice. And then with the years of experience at the unexpected he stood up the whole way from his throne. His shapely form would have reached Bryan’s neck. His thick and lovely looking neck.
“Please, call me Dominic. And I would love that, thank you!” Dominic made his way down from the throne, his eyes widening slightly as he got closer to Bryan.
“Oh honey, you are just my type. But, tell me,” he said, pausing slightly, “because this is a big red flag for me but you aren’t looking for a church wedding someday, right?”
Bryan stared dumbly before grinning, knowing that this was going to be a date to remember.
(I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part three of four, and you can find the next (fourth) part here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zq6x01/comment/j10w297/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2022-12-20T13:51:04 | 2022-12-20T13:19:46 | 163 | 31 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence. | He spent what felt like millennia drafting the concept for his next work of art. Would it be worth making? Would his critics and fans ever understand it? If the naysayers were right, why even do it? How could he explain the inconsistencies to his followers? After all things considered, he decided to create.
And with that, he said "Let there be light." | I adored her. She was at once the most perfect and the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in my life. Even though she was sleeping now, I could not stop looking at her face, and thinking about how it trusted me. How my power over her life was complete. And not merely because of the ties that held her arms to the ominous machinery. Or because she was at the crux of life and death, and I myself had put her there, hardly knowing what I’d done. Even though I was in more pain than she was, and even though she would never know, I felt my power over her surging through me like a curse and a blessing. Even though it was only these terrible machines that kept her delicate body from fleeing me, far far away, almost to another world. I needed to possess her. I laid my hand upon her mechanical prison.
My newborn daughter woke then, and began to whimper inside the humming plastic incubator. | 2014-04-11T08:36:54 | 2014-04-11T07:04:01 | 108 | 52 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence. | He spent what felt like millennia drafting the concept for his next work of art. Would it be worth making? Would his critics and fans ever understand it? If the naysayers were right, why even do it? How could he explain the inconsistencies to his followers? After all things considered, he decided to create.
And with that, he said "Let there be light." | Here I am, standing here. My blood soaked knife dripping on my now red carpet. Looking at my own corpse sprawled across the floor. I looked at it for quite some time. I was waiting for this moment my entire life but part of me never thought it would happen. I was finally able to kill myself.
I wonder how my family would react to seeing this. I imagine my wife would come in and give me the most embracing hug and the most romantic kiss since our honeymoon while she told me how proud of me she was. My two daughters would jump in glee of my achievement. I would take them out to celebrate with ice cream and then we would go see a movie.
I have never been so happy in my life but this isn't the time to lose track of my goal. I must prepare for the rest of my life. I must hide his body...no! I meant my body. I must hide it in a safe place. A place where no one will find me. I must not let anyone take this away from me.
Today, I start my new identity. | 2014-04-11T08:36:54 | 2014-04-11T06:18:45 | 108 | 20 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | I could see the fatass coming in the distance. "Fuck, not him again", I thought. As he walked towards me on his two thin legs that could barely support his big, round body, I cursed myself for ever coming into existence.
Every day, he would come and sit on me. Not for any sane reason I could think of. The motherfucker just sat there, his ass on my back, releasing a fart every now and then. He just liked to sit there and do nothing.
But today was different. Something was wrong with the fatass. Barely two seconds had passed since he sat on me when he suddenly fell. Down, down he went, and I would've danced with joy if I could have.
The fucker shattered to a million pieces. I swear that I have never heard such wonderful music ever in my life. His insides splattered all over the place - it was fucking beautiful.
All the king's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put that motherfucking fatass together again. | Perhaps he had never truly realized, until that moment, the depthless gloom of his fields. The skies were overcast, devoid of color, clouded by permanent mist - no spark or sign of the heavens' warming light to sweep away the shadows. He had never realized just how quiet it all was: his realm was embalmed with a deadly stillness, with no birdsong to break the silence of the grave.
The barrenness had never bothered him. He had always believed himself content with his place in the world, had borne his role with perfect stoicism, until she broke through the gloom and cast light upon the gray. He should have averted his eyes: an eternity spent in the mists had made him unused to the kind of brightness that poured from her white limbs and cascaded, like some divine melody, from her very core. Her song, as she gathered flowers in her mother's field, surpassed the sweetest of harps. The sight and sound of her filled him with a disturbing urgency. He knew, from the moment he set eyes on her, that the silence of his kingdom would be unbearable. She was the only spark of light in an endless dusk, and he knew that he must have her.
For the briefest moment he was filled with self-contempt. How could he lure a creature so divine, a daughter of light and laughter, into the lands of the dead? How could he condemn her to an eternity of gray, to fields where no flowers bloomed, where only echoes carried in the mists? But another glimpse of her dispelled his remorse. A king, after all, deserved a queen, and eternity was far too long to spend in darkness. | 2014-06-20T09:08:17 | 2014-06-20T07:37:41 | 66 | 23 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined. | "Are we going to see the horses again today?" A wide smile flashed across his face as he looked up at his father.
Jeff looked down at his son, smiled and said "Yes, yes we are. We just have to make a quick stop at the bank and get some extra cash before we go."
"Do we have to?" His sons smile vanished and a look of disappointment appeared.
"Don't worry, it'll only take a few minutes and afterward I'll buy you ice cream!" Jeff looked up at the sky with confidence. This time Jeff meant it, things were going to change for the better and he'd be able to give his son everything. He received a tip from one of his buddies on a bet that would pay off big.
"It's ok if we don't get ice cream." He looked up at his dad again, and smiled.
Jeff and his son walked into the bank and headed straight to the back room where the special transactions were processed. "Give me the usual, $1,000 please! How's about a discount for one of your regulars?" he said to the teller.
The teller reached for his life scanner and looked back at Jeff with a hint of frustration, "Sorry, no discounts. Also, in 9 days new laws go into effect, making these transactions illegal. Bank of American Life will no longer be able to process these transactions".
The teller brings the scanner down to his sons hand and scans. *BEEP BEEP BEEP* "I'm sorry, there appears to be insufficient funds in your sons Life account, sir. Would you like me to try your personal account?"
Jeff looks down at his son, and then back at the teller "But juniors only 8 years old, he's got plenty of life left.... There's got to be some sort of mistake... Try it again"
"Sir, you've been making the max child withdrawal of $1,000 everyday, for a while now. You knew this would happen eventually. Do I need to call security?"
Jeff lets out a deep sigh and says to the teller "I'd like to take $9.99 out of my own Life account, I have to take the kid out for ice cream"
Jeff thought about taking out the $1,000 from his own Life account, but the thought of risking his own life over such a gamble just didn't seem worth it.
| He had been in tight places before, but ever since the car accident he had been living paycheck to paycheck since he couldn’t initially afford the deductible for the bodywork. With a deep sigh, he took out a payday loan with a huge amount of interest attached to it, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to recoup the money lost easily.
It had been two days since the city shut off the water to his house. Those pesky bills kept slipping through his fingers since he had to decide whether he wanted to skip meals for four days at a time or have fresh water running in his run down, inner city townhouse. He couldn’t remember a time that wasn’t like this. Twenty cents more than minimum wage for the majority of his life doesn’t exactly buy you comfort.
“One thousand dollars… okay, one thousand dollars should get me back on track,” he quietly said to himself as he crunched the numbers, carefully calculating how much money he could partition towards each expense. Then he thought about it. One hundred days. How much did those one hundred days actually mean to him? Would he miss them? Would they too be spent in poverty? He figured one thousand dollars for one hundred miserable days would be more than a bargain.
The teller gathered all of the necessary information she needed from him as she typed furiously away at the computer that sat between him and her. “Now I’ll need you to sign this agreement for me sir, this basically makes it so that we have no blame for whatever happens to your shortened life and stuff like that.” She pushed the paper at him without even looking away from the screen. Without thinking he signed the form and gave it back to her. Two more minutes of some more furious typing and he heard a ping come from the computer. She gave the screen an angry look and hit Enter again. The same ping came from the computer.
“Is, uh, everything okay?” He asked.
“Sir I’m sorry,” she began, “but it seems like you will not be able to successfully be able to make the deposit of one hundred days.”
“Why is that?” He asked, feeling a cold tingle run down his spine.
“Sir, you do not have the assets.” She said coldly. A cold wave crashed over him. He felt everything all at once as thoughts raced through his head at break neck speed. When was the last time he had visited the doctor? When was the last time any medical professional had given him an examination? What was going to kill him in the next hundred days?
“Thanks anyway, ma’am,” he said and walked towards the door of the building.
He stepped outside and a warm zephyr greeted him into the city street. The clouds broke and a small bit of sunshine hit his face. He felt the warmth of the rays hit his cheek. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t just surviving to make it to tomorrow, and ultimately to some bigger unknown. Now that the end was in sight, he felt scared, and he felt alive.
| 2014-07-10T10:17:25 | 2014-07-10T08:46:08 | 689 | 100 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined. | "Want another dance sweetie" she whispers in his ear.
Flipping his pockets inside out he silently tells her he's all tapped out. Not being one to take the first no she grabs his crotch and says "You're young baby.. We just got a new health bank ATM installed"
The young man requests $1000 rolls up his sleeve and starts the process. DENIED flashes across the screen.
Narrator ~ young billy just contracted HIV by using a local health bank ATM. Don't be like billy. Only use Health First Private Health banking for your withdrawals. Now offering 2 month free bonus with all new accounts.
Commercial End | "You lack sufficient credit, sir."
"Wh-why? Am I gonna be dead in a hundred days?"
"You know we can't tell you that, sir. We cannot predict the future, after all."
"Then how do you know I don't have enough time left to trade for a measly thousand? What the hell game you bastards trying to pull?
"There is no reason to get angry, sir."
"I demand to speak to your supervisor! What kind of stupid asshole do they hire to run these places anyway? Get me your manager!"
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, sir. He... just stepped out for an offsite meeting. I can schedule you an appointment for," the clerk looks down at a screen, taps a couple keys, looks back up, "I am afraid that there are no openings to see the manager, sir. "
"What, like I'm gonna die before tomorrow? Me, in the prime of my life? Screw you and screw your whole company, I'm outta here!"
Jeff turns to leave, but the clerk is already stepping out from behind the desk.
"I'm afraid I cannot let you leave, sir."
The gun in the clerk's hand fires one time, and Jeff's body slumps to the ground, a look of surprise frozen on its face.
"See what you made me do, sir? Just like the screen said, imagine that..." | 2014-07-10T09:28:51 | 2014-07-10T09:01:03 | 166 | 50 |
[WP] You're the cynical narrator of a story. However, you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him. With ill-will, narrate a day in the life of this character.
This came to mind a few days ago and thought it could lead to some funny stories.
Edit: Oh wow, I thought this was a neat idea. I didn't realize it would be so well received. Thanks for all the stories! I was in tears laughing so hard while reading a lot of these. Good stuff! Thanks to the unknown stranger for supporting reddit and gilding me.
| She slept in every morning, and this was no different. Her alarm would go off, she'd groan, press snooze and the go back to sleep with a stupid grin on her face. And she wondered why she didn't have a job.
When she did get up, she didn't shower, despite her hair being a good place for birds to make a nest. She instead went down to the kitchen, made a bowl of cereal (clearly she was watching her weight) and threw on the morning cartoons. She was a child, trapped inside a woman's body. Immature, insignificant, Irene.
Irene was 20, though she looked a bit older. Always with a cheery smile on her face (which seemed dreadfully forced) and a deceitful personality which won her many (unappreciated) friends, Irene spent most of her days watching television and posting hopeful messages on OK Cupid, knowing that today is the day that some stupid man will look over all her obvious faults and decide to go on a single date with her before cutting off all contact. Despite how long this routine had continued for, Irene still kept doing it. Every. Day.
At just past noon, her phone rang and she answered it. "Hello!" She said with fake enthusiasm. "It's so nice to hear from you again. Yeah, I'm doing great! I should be going back to school in the fall. Can't wait to see you there!" The conversation lasted all of 5 minutes before Irene bored the person on the other end to sleep.
For lunch she had reheated pizza and a diet coke, neither of which would do anything to solve her weight problem. Then again, maybe if she actually had a job, she could afford something better, and stop being a burden on her parents.
For the rest of the afternoon she followed the same routine. Occasionally the phone would ring, she'd drone on about her pathetic life with so much excitement that the person on the other end kills themselves before hanging up, and then she'd go back to watching TV.
Irene's mother came home from work at 3 in the afternoon, and thankfully told her daughter to move. "Have you been on that damn couch the whole day?"
"Sorry mom, I was staying near the phone in case someone called."
"Who would call you? Have you dropped off any resumes?"
"Well not yet, but Stacy said there's a job opening up down at the mall, and that she can put a word in for me, maybe." Irene smiled.
"Yeah, that's what happened with your other friend of yours. But you don't work at the GAP, so maybe you should stop bothering those friends of yours and actually do something with your life."
"I'll be back at college in the fall!"
"And in debt in the spring. Your father and I aren't going to keep taking care of you."
"Don't worry, mom. I'll take care of it."
"Yeah. Okay. Just leave me alone while I watch my soaps."
After the conversation with her mother (of which Irene listened to none), she went to her bedroom and went onto Tumblr, where she started writing her daily blog which no one would ever read.
"She slept in every morning..." | Today, Kevin walks to school in his normal happy go lucky fashion. An old saying perfectly describes this moron, ignorance is bliss. Luckily, the saying isn't fully true, else, he'd be the happiest moron the planet.
Obviously, he's walking toward the wrong school again. Even though, he could randomly guess, and have a 50% chance of getting it right.
It seems he's making his moron way over to a rottweiler in one of the yards lining the street.
Perhaps this is the day a careless dog owner will actually aid natural selection.
I watch, with bated breath as he mistakes the dog for a cat, and approaches it.
Right as he's about to get his hand snapped off, the owner comes out, and stops the dog before anything happens.
Unfortunate.
As he finally arrives at the wrong school, one of the staff at the place decides to send him to the right school, as this has happened countless times.
His normal school is as disappointed as I am that he arrived safely.
He didn't even bring his backpack.
Well, his laziness seems to have paid off, as it appears he'd merely left it here the night before, and hadn't finished the major project due that day.
Pity that 10% of his grade doesn't seem to mean squat to this...thing, as it had a 2% in the class at the current moment anyway.
But, he's happy to see his backpack, not because there may be tools to assist his "learning", but because his secret beverage seems to have fermented properly, at least according to him.
I'd heard the legend that if you leave orange juice in a bag with some random chemicals, it could create prison alcohol, but, this kid had used some form of powdered sugar mixture.
Everybody knows you can't make alcohol from kool-aid.
Perhaps he'll catch some fatal round of mononucleosis from the months old concoction, but, alas, this was not the day.
He'd gotten unwell from it, at least that was slightly amusing.
The teacher is collecting papers for the project now, collecting all the normal humans' papers and stacking them in a pile, and glancing with a exasperated grimace at Kevin.
Right at this moment, he pounces on the pile, snatching a paper at random, and writes his name at the bottom.
Everybody knows you put your name in the top right hand corner. Not that he knows which side right is, or probably what you do with a hand.
His spelling appears to have improved, from a Lezon to a Cevim.
At least 1/5th of it appears to better.
Perhaps with this incident, they'll finally descend some sort of disciplinary action on the fool, but considering this happens all the time, the teacher just profusely apologizes to the affected student, and sends the child to the principal's office, which seems to the be the child's second home.
If the hovel he lives in normally can be considered a home, that is.
After sitting in the office for the rest of the day, dumbly staring at the opposite wall, it is finally time to go home.
On his way out, he proposes to random females he stumbles into in the hallway, and luckily, they all reject him.
Would be a real shame if his kind is allowed to reproduce, in fact, I'm surprised his family has survived this long.
In short, nothing happens to this human, and he goes home and prepares for another moron day. That is, if the next day is even different to him, as I doubt he even remembers that today existed.
Perhaps one day he'll die in a gruesome chainsaw accident, to which I can stop commenting on him. For now, I'll go see if I can wash my brain with acid to forget his stupidity.
Edit: Spaced it out slightly, I was previously unaware of how line breaks work. | 2014-08-24T17:07:52 | 2014-08-24T16:49:46 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] You're the cynical narrator of a story. However, you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him. With ill-will, narrate a day in the life of this character.
This came to mind a few days ago and thought it could lead to some funny stories.
Edit: Oh wow, I thought this was a neat idea. I didn't realize it would be so well received. Thanks for all the stories! I was in tears laughing so hard while reading a lot of these. Good stuff! Thanks to the unknown stranger for supporting reddit and gilding me.
| Timothy strutted meaningfully… wait, no… Harold stomped with the strength of… Dammit… Wait, ah - Cole walked descriptively onto his creator’s page, waiting to be given a personality.
Or was his name Brendon. Or Shane. Oh, or Charlie! Or -
"WOULD YOU SHUT UP AND WRITE ME?” shouted Steven angrily.
His author was not fond of his tone.
“Oh, so we’re being passive aggressive, now, are we?” retorted Steven with annoyance.
Steven would do well to remember his place in this world, maybe respect his elders a bit.
“RESPECT MY ELDERS? I’LL SHOW YOU ABOU-” Steven thought back to when he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. He was so young.
“Lung cancer?! I don’t *cough* have *cough**cough* lung… oh shit…”.
Only 24 years old. Or was he 27. No, no, no, he was just a child! Yes, 16 years old, and our pugnacious Steven already had stage four lung cancer.
“JESUS CHRIST, MAN, WHY DO I HAVE TO HAVE CANCER?”
Steven was cured, of course, only a few months after being diagnosed, but the experience scarred his fragile heart for life. No matter how well he masked his feelings, he would always be just as scared as he was the moments after hearing his diagnosis.
“Alright, alright. Enough with this shit. Can we get on with the story?” sighed Steven, even more terrified, now that his innermost feelings had been revealed.
“Jesus Christ, could we please just get on with it!?”
Steven did not realize that this was the story.
Steven was just a silly idea thought up by an even sillier author one day. He would never find his way into any actual stories, scripts, documentaries, or otherwise.
This, this character development stage, this was as far as Steven would ever get.
“Wait… What?” questioned Steven weakly, on the brink of tears. “After all I’ve been through? Cancer? Broken heart? I get NOTHING?!”
Steven could not fathom that this sentence was the last time anyone would ever speak of him, and he wondered if he would continue to exist even after he was forgotten. | *WARNING: strong language below.*
Look at this fucker. C'mon, get a load of this clitoris-faced little cunt sauntering down the street like he's a worthwhile goddamn human being. He has apparently forgotten that he has accomplished a negative fuckton worth of good in his brief, pathetic life, but who cares, he's young and somewhat pretty, he's fucking born for amazing things, that's what his monkey-whore of a mother told him when he was sucking at her floppy tit at the age of fourteen.
Notice how he's puffing his chest out and swinging his arms just a little bit too much. He's trying to look self-confident; see, he knows he hasn't got anything worth a maggot's shite to offer the world, but he got away with cheating on a test in primary school, so now he thinks he's a good liar, so he's trying to pass as some kind of fucking adult. He's twenty-five and he still has cunting acne scars. YOU'RE NOT A GROWN UP, YOU'RE A BREATHY-VOICED SHIT-BRAINED TWAT.
Oh, and there he goes, literally bumping into a complete stranger, like the gangling personification of the phrase "cock-up" that he is. Oh, and she's dropped her books, and yep, he manages to take a pervy little look down her blouse before helping her pick up her metric shite-load of - what are those, communications studies textbooks? What kind of twit studies that bollocks anymore?
Oh, now he's trying to crack a joke, this oughtta be good. And there's the punchline, and... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, DON'T LAUGH AT HIS CUNTY JOKE, YOU CANARY-BRAINED EXHIBITIONIST WHORE. Oh, now he thinks he has an "in," because some vacuous bird finds his insipid brand of "humour" charming.
Oh, and now they're exchanging phone numbers, what the fuck do they think this is, a fucking Disney short film? Knowing my luck they'll copulate dispassionately for the rest of their lives, producing a veritable bevy of scrotum-faced babies to further pollute this miserable fuckin' planet. Yeah, you walk away and smugly put her number in your pocket, you little prick, the only way this fucking day could get better is if you get hit by a bus - CHRISTMAS CAROLING CROW SHIT! I didn't fuckin' mean it! NOW this fucking universe listens to me? Oh for fuck's sake.
And what's this useless bus driver doing? Is he actually going into shock? MOVE, you micro-dicked waste of civil resources! Call a fucking ambulance, perform CPR, do something, you limp-wristed, elephantine castratti, if you've finished wanking to your own traumatic guilt, you might have a chance to be a slightly less putrid intrusion into the terrestrial sphere, you pillowfucking...
*Fade out* | 2014-08-24T20:34:13 | 2014-08-24T17:01:56 | 58 | 38 |
[WP] A terminally ill man and a suicidal person accidentally meet and strike up a conversation. What do they say? | *Leave. Just. Fucking. Leave. I don't want an audience for this.*
The old guy won't move. He's just standing there, watching the stupid ocean spraying all over the stupid rocks, and smiling like he's defficient.
The whole thing makes me feel sicker. My stomach has been in knots since this morning. Longer than this morning. Ever since she went and opened her goddamn mouth and said her goddamn piece and ruined my goddamned-
"Are you going to be here much longer?"
I looked up from my thoughts at the old guy. It was hard to get a read on him; wind kept swiping his white hair back and forth over his eyes, making his expression inscrutable.
"I... Er.... Yes? I've got... Yes. I'm going to be here for a while. Until you leave, probably. Until *after* you leave, that is. I-"
"Oh," he said simply. It's just that I really didn't think anyone else would be out here. I didn't want to sully here for you."
I squinted and flapped my mouth for a second. "Ah... Sully it for me? How.... How would you sully it for me?"
"Well," he said matter of factly, "I came here to die. So...."
His voice trailed off slowly. He left it open ended.
"I... I'm sorry, could you repeat tha-"
"Die. I came here to *die*, lad! Open your ears!"
I opened my mouth to say something. I closed it again. I looked at the moss beneath my feet uncomfortably, watched an earthworm slither around in the dirt. What do you say to that. How do you respond to it?"
"What's that in your hands?"
The old man pointed at the cedar box I held, with a note nailed to it.
"I- umm... Nothing. It's-- why are you going to die?" Yes, excellent job, Quinn. Put the ball back in the old man's court. Brilliant.
"Nobody wants me around anymore. What's in the damn box?"
I took a startled step back. The old guy had a bit more fire in him than I expected. Still, I didn't particularly want to answer his questions, so i decided to fire back at him.
"Surely someone wants you--"
"It has been five years, six months, and seven days since anyone came to visit me in that damn home. I'm not going back. I don't care what it does to my damn kids, I'm not going back to sit around waiting to die! I'm not!"
I blinked. "Oh." Again-- what do you *say* to that?
Suddenly-- "now what's in the fucking box?"
"Why do you care?" *what is *with* this crazy coot?*
"It's the first conversation I've had in the better part of a decade that isn't about whether or not I shit myself. Why won't you gimme my last conversation, you cun-"
"Ashes."
"Whose ashes?"
"My mother's. You wanna know so much? Here! Read it! Read the fucking letter, why don't you!"
I'm not sure why I lost my temper so quickly. Maybe because id been mad for months already. I'd been on edge ever since the damn doctor and--
"Huntington's disease?" He interrupted.
"Yeah. Mom had it. Got checked. I have it. Or, at least, the genetic makeup for it. Hasn't manifested. Yet. It's coming up."
He nodded sagely, then guffawed like some form of insane monkey. I decided that I'd graduated from disliking this old guy to actively hating him.
"The hell is so goddamn funny?"
"Well," he said, still grinning, "mostly that you think this shit is *bad*! I lived through Viet-goddamn-nam, son. I know what comes after your 20's-- it's a load of shit. Two or three marriages, three or four divorces, a bunch of kids who couldn't care less which step father you count as.... It all culminates in this shit! You die alone! Nobody gives a shit about you!"
"But-"
"Oh, I'm sorry-- were you the septegenarian? No? Then maybe I know a little bit more about this than you do!"
"Ok, yeah, but--"
"No fuckin' buts, kid! This is a blessing in disguise! You get the part of life that's worth living, then you kick the bucket before you have to deal with the short end of the stick! Why is this hitting so hard on you? Hell, why don't you jump off here with me and--"
"Because people haven't forgotten me! Jesus *Christ*, man, I have shit to live for! Maybe you never made it work, doesn't mean I havent! Doesn't mean I won't! Doesn't mean I don't want to try! Doesn't mean I don't *deserve* to try! Just.... God, *jump* already if you're so fucking ready to end it! Trust me, your not about to 'sully' this spot any more than you already fucking have, man!"
He sighed. "No, I guess I fucked up that bit, didn't i?" He sighed heavily. "It's just been a while since I yakked at anyone that was gonna listen, you know? Since I let out the demons inside and--"
"I don't fucking care." I opened the box, angrily, and grabbed a fistful of what remained of my mother. I let her drift into the air, be grabbed by the breeze and float off.
"fuck off, mom. I don't want this. I definitely don't want the rest of you." I flipped the rest of the box over and dumped its contents into the sea. It clung together more than my fistful had, and unceremoniously blackened the foam beneath me. I dropped the box and the letter after it, and brushed my hands together to remove what dust remained. The old man was still behind me, looking abashed. I was too deep in anger to care.
"What? Aren't you gonna to follow? Go toss your shit away, too?"
He gave me a sad little look. He nodded. Stepped up to the edge. Cried a little bit. "You know," he whispered. "I know what I'm like. I know how I am. I know shit's wrong with me. I'm sorry. You got fucked by life."
He leaned back. Too far back to recover. Something snapped in my resolve. I couldn't just let him--
"I wanted you to care enough to tell me not to."
My hand missed him. He tumbled down and away from me, into the black foam, and he was gone.
My hand didn't work so well the next day. | He gnawed on his cigarette, pacing back and forth in the stalled elevator compartment. After a moment he threw up his hands and reached into his pocket, producing a lighter. He looked across the compartment, at the only other occupant, and gestured at the lighter:
"Uh, you mind? It's just... y'know, three hours stuck in a damn box..."
His fellow 'captive' smiled a wan grin, thin lips trembling as he did. He leaned against his IV stand, one skeletal arm supporting his beanpole body. Hell, you could hang IV bags off of *him* and plunk him down in one of the rooms, and nobody would be able to tell that he wasn't just part of the equipment. His bald head shone under the ruddy emergency floodlight above them, glowing, kinda like a halo. A little premature, really.
But only a little...
The thin man shook his head, motioning with one bony hand to the other man.
"It's fine," his reedy voice managed. "Can't say I mind. Mmmm. Even the smell of it, well, might just take me back in time."
"It won't, uh, hurt you, or anything?"
The sick man chuckled, holding his side in pain:
"Ah, that'd be a moot point, now. I was supposed to be in the dirt last week, and I wouldn't take the line on whatever odds they're giving me for making it to next Monday..."
The other man perched his lips.
"Oh. Well... sorry..."
He lit his cigarette, and then started putting away the lighter. He suddenly thought better, retrieving his pack, and he motioned across the way, offering the sick man a cigarette.
Again the sick man smiled, and he shook his head:
"No, but thanks. I've quit."
"Yeah, well..." he motioned up and down the man's body, trying not to be rude.
"Eh, just 'cause things are coming to their end, you know, doesn't mean you gotta get all dramatic about it." The sick man shrugged, coughing. "Ends are just beginnings, sometimes, you know what I mean? I'm a dead man walking, sure, but that doesn't mean I can make some choices about *how* I walk off the ol' stage. A new beginning, you know?" He chuckled, gaunt eyes squinted with his mirth. "And if I wanna go as someone who *quit* with the nicotine? Well, that's just my prerogative."
The other man nodded at this logic, and then sat down against the side of the elevator car. He blew a thick plume of smoke, and he gently motioned to the other man's body again:
"Can I ask you a question?"
"We've got the time, don't we?" The other man chuckled. "Well: *you* do, I guess!"
"Aren't you... afraid?"
The sick man shrugged:
"Afraid? Mmm. No, I don't suppose I am. Not anymore, at least. Living so long with it... well, hanging over one's head..."
"You can't mean that you don't even *mind*-"
The sick man glared across the car, his sunken eyes stern:
"I mind *plenty*. I mind the tears in my wife's eyes, and the scared faces of the grand-kids. I mind missing the sun rise over the lake, fish flipping up on the water, 'n all. Yeah: I 'mind' plenty. But you asked if I was afraid? The answer is: not anymore. I've got no time for the fear, anymore, and so I'm moving past it." The man again gave a wan little smile. "I'm... improving myself, see. Who's got time to be afraid when they're doing that?"
The other man only stared up at the sick man, at first with a furrowed brow. Slowly, though, he smiled too, and with a chuckle he shrugged:
"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I gotta say, it sounds pretty good when you say it."
Suddenly the cables above them shuddered. The car rattled, dropping at irregular intervals, and the light flickered, then died. The man on the ground shrieked, balling himself up, every muscle tensed like steel. He wailed like a little girl as the elevator bucked and heaved, and then, after God knows how long, came to rest.
At the ground floor.
The doors opened, and a rescue crew stood outside. The sick man gently ambled out through the door, wheeling his IV stand with metered grace, like a king bearing his scepter. The balled-up man on the floor could only look up at him, blinking in confusion.
He desperately needed a drink.
And a change of pants.
That night the man sat on the sofa, turning over a glass of red wine in his hand. The bottle of pills was discarded in the trash, covered up and hidden. The crushed-up painkillers didn't even show in the dark wine. He set his nose to the rim and inhaled deeply.
High heels sounded in the foyer. She came in, finding him seated in the living room, and she looked down at the coffee table in front of him. The legal documents were there, along with a fountain pen, and they were signed.
"You... finally did it?" She asked.
He nodded, again inhaling the wine.
"Yeah," he whispered. "All nice and signed. And I'll be out of here by tomorrow."
"Well, you... you don't have to leave *that* soon. Not until you find a place-"
"It's okay." He stared at the wine, chuckling. "You know what? I've been... afraid of this. Really, *really* afraid. And I kinda think... maybe I shouldn't be. Maybe I should get past that."
She smiled:
"It hasn't been easy for me, either. But, it needs to be done."
"Sometimes... ends are just beginnings, you know."
"Healthy way of looking at it," she agreed. "Let me get a glass, 'kay?"
She left the living room and went into the kitchen. As she reached for the good crystal an awful noise sounded in the next room: glass crashing apart against the floor. She raced back into the living room, and she found him there.
He stood over the remains of his shattered wine glass, the wine spilled everywhere.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Just my nerves..."
Once they cleaned the mess up they went out to the patio, staring out at the view. She kept stealing glances at him, and finally she asked:
"Look, are you sure you're okay? Want a cigarette, or anything?"
He shook his head:
"I'm quitting," he mumbled.
Her eyes bugged. She shook her head:
"Wha- *really*?"
He looked over at her with a smile, and then he gently kissed her forehead, never losing his smile:
"Call it a new start. It's never too late for those, you know." He looked out at the view, watching the rising sun. "I'm gonna go, you know. Leave your life, I mean. And I know that nothing's gonna change that. But, still: I've got the power to choose *how* I go. And I wanna go out on a high note. Try to improve myself, a bit. Who knows how long any of us have to do *that*, after all? That, my dear, is just my prerogative..." | 2014-11-02T12:06:09 | 2014-11-02T11:39:34 | 61 | 25 |
[WP] You're at your wedding and you are getting married to the girl of your dreams. When the priest asks if there's anyone who objects to this marriage, one person stands up. No one recognizes who it is,but you do, it's you from the future (aka 20 years from now)
2spooky4me | Beneath the arbor two paths converge
A place where past and present merge
Woe is he
Doth a weary man stand
beneath the arbor? This darkened beast
With blackened teeth
A stricken traveler maimed from
not time,
nor space,
But this very place where two paths converge.
And suddenly two lights emerge!
The beast recoils like rain from the ground
One light like home
One light a lie
But only to the nostalgic beast, who cries
"That light is darkness! My son, run, fight!"
But through his darkness, that light cannot see
They meet, ignite
Beneath the arbor two lights converge
A place where beast and mortal merge
| While all the other guests and family members turned and froze, looking shocked and puzzled, I was the only one truly horrified. It had taken me all but a few seconds to look at the disheveled bum in front of me, unkempt hair, dirt on his face, to realize I was looking at my future. Alcoholism ran in my family so it came at no surprise that I ended up that way considering...considering that at the exact moment I recognized myself I knew what had happened. I had always loved Jessica since the time we were kids all throughout our early and late teens. I watched as time and time again she always went for the guys that never seemed quite right. I had always thought one day she would hit bottom and finally open her eyes to what was in front of her all along. I had no one to blame but myself when that time never came and I got the call about the engagement. I never spoke up, I never once worked up the courage to tell her how I felt. Now standing in front of me was the future I had brought upon myself for being such a coward. I knew then what I had to do...what I should have done a long time ago and what the other me regretted the most. Wiping the tear from my eyes and swallowing my pride I turned towards the bride to be, the only face looking back at her besides him. "Jessica...I...I love you." | 2014-11-03T17:36:58 | 2014-11-03T14:52:16 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] You're at your wedding and you are getting married to the girl of your dreams. When the priest asks if there's anyone who objects to this marriage, one person stands up. No one recognizes who it is,but you do, it's you from the future (aka 20 years from now)
2spooky4me | Beneath the arbor two paths converge
A place where past and present merge
Woe is he
Doth a weary man stand
beneath the arbor? This darkened beast
With blackened teeth
A stricken traveler maimed from
not time,
nor space,
But this very place where two paths converge.
And suddenly two lights emerge!
The beast recoils like rain from the ground
One light like home
One light a lie
But only to the nostalgic beast, who cries
"That light is darkness! My son, run, fight!"
But through his darkness, that light cannot see
They meet, ignite
Beneath the arbor two lights converge
A place where beast and mortal merge
| "He's got a GUN!" Screamed one of the bridesmaids. In a moment the room was in a panic. Time slowed down. BANG! First shot. A miss. As the stained glass window behind me shattered, two things became immediately apparent. 1. That is definitely me and 2. I am my own target. BANG! Second shot. Searing hot pain shoots up from my left leg and I go down like an inflatable tube man on a windy day. Before I have a chance to do myself in I am tackled and disarmed by my soon to be father-in-law and my best friend. "Stop! You don't understand!" the intruder from the future yells "It's the only way I can save her!" The room falls silent for a moment. By now I've managed to prop myself up on one of the front pews. "What do you mean?" I ask him. "this is pretty much suicide." "NO!" he screamed, "As long as I am here to replace you the time loop will become smooth once I reach the date in which I jumped back to here, exactly twenty years from today." "Why are you doing this?!" I slur. I'm getting woozy now from blood loss. "Because....." He begins to sob, "Because I.... You....kill her." My almost father in law looks down at his newly acquired future pistol. Looks at me again, and shoots me right between the eyes. | 2014-11-03T17:36:58 | 2014-11-03T16:24:56 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone dies on their birthday, but no one knows at which age it will occur.
EDIT:
Thanks all who replied - I've read them all even if I didn't comment!
You are all so brilliant, thanks for giving this prompt life (no pun intended)
:D | "I'm going to be in a bit late today, Boss."
Starting a conversation in that manner with someone that can fire you is rarely a good thing, even with the most understanding of employers. He's not one of them.
"I count on my workers to be here on time," comes a voice from the other side of the line, his displeasure evident. Judging.
I should care. I don't. How could I, on today of all times?
"Sorry Boss. You know those extra shifts I had to pull because of Rick? I couldn't prep for my Nextday." Normally I wouldn't dare raising my voice, but I've done it now. I still don't care. I consider it a blessing if I live to care about it. "Can't put it off any longer." There's emphasis on the first word: *can't*. It's impolite to say any more. No one talks about it unless they have to.
H got access to all of my personal info. He could look it up. Verify I'm not coming up with some kind of excuse. I don't think he does.
Even that hardass knows enough not to question someone claiming their Nextday. No one would do that. The pregnant pause he gives me is enough to convince me he's feeling some small sense of mortification that he's worked one of his best guys to the point he couldn't even properly prepare until the last possible moment.
"Take all the time you need." And with that, the phone clicks, and I toss it to the side. *Imagine that. The bastard has a heart after all.*
With the simple stuff taken care of, I have time to let my mind wander, and I can't help but think about how superstitious we all are. I've heard politicians always have two speeches ready on election day. Eisenhower had two ready D-Day. Nixon had two for Apollo 11. Superstition, yes, but also a sound hedge in case the worst happens.
We all have our own plans for the day after our birthday. A night of celebration, already planned. Just eighteen hours away. An eternity. Now it's time for the hardest part of them all. Scrolling through my contacts on my phone, I dialed a familiar, hated number and held the device to my ear.
"Davidson's funeral home, this is Mr. Davidson. How can I help you?"
I hate this part. These people *want* your Nextday to go badly.
"Hello, Mr. Davidson. This is Jeremy Jones. I apologize for the last second notice, but I'd like to renew my funeral plans for this year. Tomorrow is my Nextday. Either I will call at midnight, or you can come take my body to the morgue at your convenience."
EDIT: Spelling | Everybody died on their birthday, nobody knew which one. Society made birthdays a solemn day for reflecting on the past year. Which was good, in a way, but for some poor souls that reflection became suicide. Taking your own life was the most cause of death in the world. Maybe it was the anxiety of never knowing if this was the birthday. Maybe it was the waiting, watching the minutes creep by. Many thought the remorseful just let death come and take them. I was old fashion; I believed in fate. You can cheat at cards, or on your wife, but you can't cheat death.
My beliefs, however, are in the minority. Most subscribe to the philosophy of prevention. Entire industries have cropped up to placate the need. Everlife is the biggest company on Earth. I work for them. I am a life pod district engineer. I, from this tiny office, monitor thousands of people who paid millions of dollars for a one day stay at our facilities.
I watch large blocks of individual pods on my computer. Each one the size of a coffin, completely sealed off from the outside world. All air is sterilized before being pumped in. The patients are sedated and vitals are constantly monitored. The doors will not open for a full twenty four hours. All threats are kept at bay.
Sure we have had a few deaths, but those are usually massive organ failure. We can't cheat death, but our numbers are pretty damn good. Everlife has become so successful that the world elite use our services. Heads of State, Presidents, Kings, and Queens all trust us to protect them, from themselves.
As with every other thing on this planet, the Everlife system started noble and was slowly corrupted with money. What once started as a way to protect humanity, eventually because a haven for the elite and wealthy. Pod rentals are so expensive that only the very rich can afford the privilege. Average Joes, like me can only dream of using the same pods.
If I made the rules, I would award pods on need. Then again I could be biased. My father turns 72 in three days and his life's work is six months from completion. It will be a nerve racking day for the entire family. He has devoted his life to isolating the birthday gene, the very essence of life and death. He is so close. If he can just make it through that one day, all of society could change. That's why I am killing a President today, on her birthday.
It's not that I have anything against the lady, far from it. I even voted for her, but the French have offer me a lot of money, and I need money. One catastrophic software failure and a city block of pods will be shut down. I have come to grips with the fact that I will have to shut down 330 pods, an entire sector, to make this work. I will be the cause of all those deaths. They are all just numbers on my screen, except pod 126. That number will allow my father to buy another year.
Death should be quick. Oxygen should be depleted in thirty seconds and suffocation in less than three minutes. I have timed the crash for 19 minutes. That's the exact amount of time it takes to process the French payment and reserve a pod for my father. It shouldn't be traced back to me. It should look like an accident. Sure there will be an investigation, but that will take weeks. I only need a few days.
Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday madam President......
| 2014-11-19T19:51:21 | 2014-11-19T18:39:37 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] The original stories behind a lot of our fairytales are a lot darker than the versions we tell children. Take a really dark story (fictional or not) and water it down into a children's fairytale. | There once lived a wolf in Europe,
Who’s coat was pale and aerian.
When asked how he kept it so,
He explained he was vegetarian.
He hunted down the stars,
And put them into cars,
Until a bulldog and a bear,
Saw he was being barbarian.
The bulldog and the bear,
Came looking for that krout.
But when they reached his lair,
He’d taken the coward’s way out.
| They were always there. Blocking the sun, taking away the vitality. Someone had to do something. Two princes came, from the Far East lands, to win the Fair Princesses favor, and to knock the towers down. They thought of plan after plan, and finally, they decided that the gains were worthy of the sacrifice. They climbed on the great bird, and each one had his tower to topple. Down they came, smoke and fire like had never been seen. Many had to die, had to die to save the rest. To give freedom and light to the others. To bring them together in the dark. That was not what the princess wanted. There was no control in that.
The great Princes perished, to never breathe again. The princess hung her head, patient as they gathered their dead; rebuilt. Time would come again. Maybe, next time she would conquer the people, put the fear she deserved in them. They had won this time, triumphed over the adversity, but she would be waiting. All men weakened at some point. The bustling city would bow again. One day. | 2014-12-07T18:21:53 | 2014-12-07T14:24:40 | 76 | 10 |
[WP] A thief steals a car only to find a dead body stashed in the trunk with a note that says "Tag, you're it." | “The fuck,” I whisper, reading note.
*Tag, you’re it*
It’s tapled to the clothes of the body, written in clear red letters. Possibly blood. Upon closer inspection, definitely blood.
But that isn’t even the weirdest thing. It’s the body it’s attached too. It’s me, or at least looks like it. Same skin tone, build, hair style. Hell, it even has on the same clothes as me.
I glance behind me, half-expecting to find a crazed psychopath with a chainsaw waitingt. Nah, that only happens in the movies. This is real life. At least, as real as it can be with a dead clone of myself in the trunk.
Closing the trunk with a solid thud, I sneak around to the front of the car. I’m still vigil, looking to and fro for any signs of movement. A sneaking suspicion in my core tells me I’m not alone. When I open the driver’s side, I began to think the notion wasn’t so crazy.
A note is attached to the steering wheel, waiting for me in the same blood ink. I pick like a delicate flower, only using my thumb and index finger. When I read it, I grimace.
*You’ll never catch me*
I spin around, my blood boiling. Who the fuck is doing this?
“Hey,” I yell into the woods. “Why don’t you come out of hiding and stop acting like a little bitch!”
No response, as expected.
Clenching and releasing my fists rhythmically, I give up and slide into the car. Better to get away from whatever’s going on than stay and find out.
The drive is tense, to say the least. It’s midnight or later – I can’t tell, on account of the car’s clock being broken. I curse. It would be my luck to get a dud car along with having to deal with weirdos. But it doesn’t matter now, I have to get rid of the body.
There’s a thump. It’s loud enough to be heard but soft enough to ignore. After all, I am driving on some back road in the middle of nowhere. Bumpy roads are a given.
Another thump. But this time it’s louder.
And closer.
Something is hitting against my seat, jostling me. I take in a deep breath. There wasn’t anyone in the car with me when I started it up. Not to my knowledge, at least. So who the hell is back there?
Once I muster up enough courage, I glanc into the rearview mirror. At first, I can’t see anything. It’s hazy, thick with condensation as if someone had breathed on it. Taking my sleeve, I wipe the sheet of water away to get a clearer look.
In the reflection, I see a face – my face. But not me, the dead clone. It sits in the back seat, a sadistic smile painted on its face. It kicks the back of my seat, showing its blood-stained teeth. Before I can even yell, it lunges forward.
I hit the brakes. Apparently, not fast enough though. I’m on direct collision with a tree. The car slams into it, metal and plastic groaning at the force. My body flies forward, hitting the steering wheel hard. Something cracked. I feel something warm and wet flowing from my head – blood. The next second, I lose consciousness.
***
I awake to darkness. There’s nothing around me but inky blackness. I try to move but my limbs ignore my brain, staying at my sides. I can’t even blink. It’s like my body is paralyzed, totally useless and vulnerable. I want to call out for help yet nothing escapes my lips. I fear the worse. This must be death.
But like a beacon in the distance, a horizontal sliver of light appears. It spreads, consuming me with its radiance. I embrace it, welcoming anything but the dark. Yet, when my eyes adjust, I feel myself grow cold.
The person standing above me is me – just like I had been before the wreck. He looks shocked but then his expression changes to a creased brow. He says something out loud, as if reading the words.
“Tag, you’re it?” | *I shouldn't.*
Newton looked longingly at the bright red sports car. He glanced back over his shoulder. The car's dumb owner was out of sight.
*But it would be so easy...*
He walked up to the driver's side of the car, tracing its handle with his fingers.
"Ah, fuck it."
He yanked on the handle and hopped in, taking the keys from the glovebox, where he had just seen the car's owner leave them.
*I'll just take it for a spin. I'll just bring it back real soon.*
He missed the keyhole, his hands shaking. He took a deep breath, inserted the keys, and turned. He sighed out, feeling the car purr to life under him.
He drove down the street towards the highway. The car handled better than anything he'd driven before. He barely touched the brake. His only complaint was the suspension system; he could feel every bump in the road. But that was a small price to pay for the sweet, sweet turns.
At a red light, he whirled the wheel to the right, then took a sharp left onto a tiny street.
*Shit...this road has speed bumps.*
His ex-girlfriend had told him his lifestyle was too fast. He hadn't slowed down for her, so he sure as hell wasn't gonna slow down for some speed bumps. If she couldn't keep up, that was her problem. The car bounced into the air over each one.
After the second speedbump, he looked in the back seat of the car. There was nothing there. But on the third speed bump, he definitely heard it. *Thump.* He slowed down with a sigh going over the fourth speed bump. Whatever was in the trunk sounded heavy, like a television. He didn't want to break it. He was just taking it out for a spin and returning it, no harm done.
As he entered the highway, he stepped on the accelerator.
*How fast can you go, baby?*
Really fast, he learned. Fast enough to receive the attention of two police cars, of which he soon was politely notified by wailing sirens. He checked his mirrors as he accelerated more, weaving in and out of the lanes.
*What the hell.*
There usually weren't cops waiting for speeders on this part of the highway. It was like they were waiting for him. He couldn't get caught. He couldn't. He'd had a stay in prison before, and Newton wasn't anxious to become a frequent customer.
There were only two cop cars chasing him, so he pulled one of his favorite tricks. He shifted all the way over to the left lane, pretending he was making a break for the I-98 connector, then took a hard right and barely made the Dellis exit. He car's right side lifted off of the ground, then slammed back onto the ground as he came off the ramp. *Thump*. The sound of sirens faded.
*How am I gonna get this back to the city...the cops will be on me now. I guess I'll just leave it somewhere.* He pulled it onto a side road, stuck the keys back in the glovebox, and got out, his heart still speeding from the chase. He grinned, thinking about those poor cops he'd left behind. He liked leaving things behind. Like Amelia. It reminded him that he was faster than everyone else; no one could keep up with him. Then he remembered the trunk. They wouldn't go after him for the joy ride, or the speeding, but if there was something broken he'd have to lay low for a while.
*You can't change it now. If it's broke, it's broke. Just get out of here.*
He walked around the car and opened the trunk.
He gagged, his eyes opening wide as he stumbled backwards and tripped. He just sat, frozen and shaking for a minute, until his instincts kicked in. He got up and sprinted away.
It was only a few hours later that they found him in his home. A traffic camera had caught his face. He tried to explain that it wasn't him, but he was incoherent. All he could think of was the trunk, its inside as bright red as the outside. All he could think of were the bruises and gashes and the missing fingers. And the letters cut into her face.
In the courtroom, he plead not guilty. But each time the judge's gavel went *thump*, he cowered like a guilty man. He had plotted her death for weeks, they said. He stolen a car and gone for a joy ride afterwards. He had even planned on trying to frame someone else in a demented game of tag. He was insane, his lawyer said. He was mentally ill and angry and became unstable. He couldn't be held accountable for his actions. He needed a mental institution. His retinas were branded with Amelia's empty, bloody eye sockets, staring up at him. | 2015-05-15T07:05:26 | 2015-05-15T07:03:17 | 183 | 62 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | **Log 1**
Specimen displays unusual amounts of strength, stamina and dexterity, also only requires 5-9 hours sleep compared to our 18. It's appetite is insatiable needing to feed every few hours and large amounts at a time, consumes enough in day for fifty of us.
**Log 2**
It seems irate, our weapons also appear to only be able to stun it sending it's nervous system into chaos causing it to spasm on the ground, even in this state it should not be approaches as it's flailing limbs could still knock one of us into a wall crushing or ribs.
**Error missing files please reboot or load from back up**
**Captains log 40**
Damn those scientists, I told them we should send it back but no they wanted to keep examining. Useful for a super soldier they said, best predator of that savage planet they said. Fools the lot of them, that thing it is no ordinary predator, a normal predator just eats to feed its self just survive this thing, it stalks us, laughing as it rips of our limbs, Aqron the head of the guard shot it in the arm 4 times, it just let out a roar. Apparently our 'lethal' weapons can only bruise it, these are military grade weapons they kill enemy soldiers fine but this thing, it just made it angry.
**Captains log 45**
It barred Aqrons door last night while he slept... the screams of that poor guy, we could hear the beast smashing his body into the wall. We managed to open the door a bit but it just reached out and grabbed the nearest person, dragging his body through the narrow gap.
Aquieres the from the science labs has managed to analyse the species DNA, the damn thing is according to him an "Endurance hunter, it stalks things for days at a time never tiring out it's prey until it collapses, mild trances of the now extinct Neanderthal where found in it's DNA." These things, wiped out the Neanderthals of Anteries 4, raped them, and those creatures where nearly unbeatable in the coliseums it took high powered kinetic weapons to kill them. We have the engineers working on something to hopefully kill it.
**Error drive missing, please check everything is installed**
**Captains log 65**
We found it's den, crude pictures drawn by scratching through the metal of the ship, this thing can casually gauge metal for entertainment. We have sent out distress signals, the first ship to dock with us had the misfortune of docking next to it's den, it's made a crude spear. Skewered that ships entire crew before we figured out what happened, cameras show it only receiving mild burns from their energy weapons. It appears smart enough to run water over it's burns since we found water rations strewn about the place and puddles around a make shift 'medical station' for lack of a better word.
**Captains log 70**
The damn thing broke into the main frame, this is a capital class war ship, a crew of 100,000 and no one can kill it or stop it. It threw 80kg computers around like nothing, it damn well dossed one into a squad of guards killing them all at once. What the hell does it want, it can't be reasoned with, bartered, pleaded, nothing it's just some predator with mild intelligence and unstoppable strength.
**ERROR**
**Captains log 225**
No planet, station or ship will allow us to dock, the army refuses to help us. We are stuck on here quarantine until we die or it dies. 20,000 dead, it's braver now. Hunting in the night while we rest entire quarters killed and devoid of all life, body gnawed on, order is breaking down. Sections A through J are in full revolt, personal had to gun down a mob trying to take a ship off, the beast heard the commotion and charged through, swiped it's in the middle and sent 10 people flying, every fled and it just hounded them down like a hunting beast.
**'Captains' log 240**
The ship is in anarchy I am a captain in name only, the main reactor is down, or priest Aqwerdian lured the beast there and over loaded the reactor, it killed him and fled before it exploded, power on is now unstable, that thing though can still see partly in the dim light. We run like blind rats but it see's us clearly, the dim lighting must be bright enough for it.
**Remnants log**
We have taken the bridge, all logs are being transmitted to nearby ships. We are setting course to the nearest star, the ship and everything in it must be burnt, we are down to 60,000. 40,000 dead since this thing got on board, the only solution is to burn it, us, the ship, everything. | I have to write a report about this and by far it is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I lost my ship, a large part of my crew and it looks like I will lose my life as well.
It all started when we came across a small metallic object, The science officer was very excited because it was definitely made by a sentient species we had never encountered before. I ordered it pulled aboard and studied on our way home.
The follow is a report from the science officer..
Report 1G87QYU
First tests show the object is made of various metals and alloys. The most interesting is the piece made of gold. Not a particularly rare element in the home system but this one was circular and decorated with symbols and drawings. We have concluded that from the disc the follow assumptions can be made.
1. What ever made it is aware and can manipulate their own environment.
2. It is likely they are sentient
3. We know where they live
4. They can't be all that smart, as who gives away the location of your home planet
I recommend a quick trip, pick up a few samples for study and send a proper science team to study them later.
After reading the report I agreed that the science officer could get her samples, mostly I did it because I wanted to mate with her and I was hoping she would agree after she got some samples.
What happened though was far far from mating and more like visiting the war like Granu and asking for a fight.
As we neared the solar system on the disc we picked up a few other objects on scanners one out as far as the last planet, couple on the forth. The orbit around the third planet is littered with debris, thinking there might have been a fight I proceeded to stay out by the planets moon as it only had a few small pieces on it.
Initial scans found some of the creatures in a habitat above the planet. I wondered if they had been exiled for some reason and decided it was best not to deal with them. I ordered the ship into stealth mode just so we would not be detected and asked the science officer to pick out what samples she wanted and we would bring them aboard.
Her list is as follows.
Sea life samples
land, sea and air samples
5 of the dominate species on the planet
After a few days we found all she wanted although she wants to see how the animals mate so wanted a few more of each. I thought it was a good idea as maybe studying these lifeforms mating would make her more likely to want to mate.
After pulling all the samples aboard I ordered a course for home. The first few days went with only a few minor hiccups. A few of the sea samples died because a junior science officer thought it would be a good idea to see if the creatures could live without water. The most trouble came from the dominate species they are far smarter than I thought they would be and seem to be agitated at being in confinement.
I ordered translators installed so that we could learn more. My first conversation with these creatures which are called humans although each has it's own designation was not helpful.
It started screaming about being abducted and about how it knew aliens had been taking it all it's life and that we where not going to probe it ever again. I had it flushed out the airlock as it did not seem to be a stable sample.
The others though where all calm strong samples they all had the same covering and I thought these would be better to speak to.
One stepped forward and said it's designation was Corporal White of A squadron and demanded to know where he and his men where and to be returned to their base. I informed the creature that they had been taken for study and where currently on route to the home planet where they would be studied more. It did not seem to take kindly to this and this was where I learned of another crucial mistake. They had been left with everything they had on them.
I left to make a report and after getting to the bridge the first alarm went off, containment breach. I sent a security team. They reported that all 5 of the humans where missing and that the junior science officer was dead, we later learned a projectile had been used to remove part of his head.
I ordered lock down as per protocol and had the security team armed with shock pistols I should have armed everyone.
Next to die was the engineer he was stabbed repeatedly and died of blood loss. Now I was very worried as these creatures came move with stealth, they are ruthless, efficient and they scare me. I though the best course of action was to send the security team as a whole to search the ship and destroy the humans.
The security team reported that they had chased one of the creatures into the main airlock and had killed it. It was at this point I found out another thing about humans, they are willing to die for one another. How do you fight a creature that is willing to die to kill you it's insane.
The humans had trapped the entire security team in the airlock and proceeded to flush them all out into space. Now there is no one left who knows how to fight. The ship is silent I did not know what they have done to the others.
After a few hours I was captured and interrogated by the humans I was so afraid I told them everything they wanted to know. They got control of the ship and put me and the other members of the crew into the life boat , they kept the science officer and have said they are taking her back to their planet.
All this because of a little gold disc and my need to mate,I wish we had never found it. These humans are so dangerous I suggest a full battle group should be dispatched to wipe them out as quickly as possible.
| 2015-07-30T03:12:30 | 2015-07-30T03:03:55 | 186 | 40 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | **Log 1**
Specimen displays unusual amounts of strength, stamina and dexterity, also only requires 5-9 hours sleep compared to our 18. It's appetite is insatiable needing to feed every few hours and large amounts at a time, consumes enough in day for fifty of us.
**Log 2**
It seems irate, our weapons also appear to only be able to stun it sending it's nervous system into chaos causing it to spasm on the ground, even in this state it should not be approaches as it's flailing limbs could still knock one of us into a wall crushing or ribs.
**Error missing files please reboot or load from back up**
**Captains log 40**
Damn those scientists, I told them we should send it back but no they wanted to keep examining. Useful for a super soldier they said, best predator of that savage planet they said. Fools the lot of them, that thing it is no ordinary predator, a normal predator just eats to feed its self just survive this thing, it stalks us, laughing as it rips of our limbs, Aqron the head of the guard shot it in the arm 4 times, it just let out a roar. Apparently our 'lethal' weapons can only bruise it, these are military grade weapons they kill enemy soldiers fine but this thing, it just made it angry.
**Captains log 45**
It barred Aqrons door last night while he slept... the screams of that poor guy, we could hear the beast smashing his body into the wall. We managed to open the door a bit but it just reached out and grabbed the nearest person, dragging his body through the narrow gap.
Aquieres the from the science labs has managed to analyse the species DNA, the damn thing is according to him an "Endurance hunter, it stalks things for days at a time never tiring out it's prey until it collapses, mild trances of the now extinct Neanderthal where found in it's DNA." These things, wiped out the Neanderthals of Anteries 4, raped them, and those creatures where nearly unbeatable in the coliseums it took high powered kinetic weapons to kill them. We have the engineers working on something to hopefully kill it.
**Error drive missing, please check everything is installed**
**Captains log 65**
We found it's den, crude pictures drawn by scratching through the metal of the ship, this thing can casually gauge metal for entertainment. We have sent out distress signals, the first ship to dock with us had the misfortune of docking next to it's den, it's made a crude spear. Skewered that ships entire crew before we figured out what happened, cameras show it only receiving mild burns from their energy weapons. It appears smart enough to run water over it's burns since we found water rations strewn about the place and puddles around a make shift 'medical station' for lack of a better word.
**Captains log 70**
The damn thing broke into the main frame, this is a capital class war ship, a crew of 100,000 and no one can kill it or stop it. It threw 80kg computers around like nothing, it damn well dossed one into a squad of guards killing them all at once. What the hell does it want, it can't be reasoned with, bartered, pleaded, nothing it's just some predator with mild intelligence and unstoppable strength.
**ERROR**
**Captains log 225**
No planet, station or ship will allow us to dock, the army refuses to help us. We are stuck on here quarantine until we die or it dies. 20,000 dead, it's braver now. Hunting in the night while we rest entire quarters killed and devoid of all life, body gnawed on, order is breaking down. Sections A through J are in full revolt, personal had to gun down a mob trying to take a ship off, the beast heard the commotion and charged through, swiped it's in the middle and sent 10 people flying, every fled and it just hounded them down like a hunting beast.
**'Captains' log 240**
The ship is in anarchy I am a captain in name only, the main reactor is down, or priest Aqwerdian lured the beast there and over loaded the reactor, it killed him and fled before it exploded, power on is now unstable, that thing though can still see partly in the dim light. We run like blind rats but it see's us clearly, the dim lighting must be bright enough for it.
**Remnants log**
We have taken the bridge, all logs are being transmitted to nearby ships. We are setting course to the nearest star, the ship and everything in it must be burnt, we are down to 60,000. 40,000 dead since this thing got on board, the only solution is to burn it, us, the ship, everything. | Aylotiri had been running for days through the ship. It wasn't a large ship, but she was small enough, hiding spaces were many.
It started four Earth days prior. They were on research mission, it was rather simple: Choose multiple, isolated landing sites, and land at each one to collect samples to study in non-damaging ways. After, they were to return specimens unharmed.
They chose eight landing sites, and over the next Earth year they collected animals and plants from various ecosystems around the planet. Four days ago they landed at their final research site. It was isolated, and they had a zero expectation to stumble on one of the dominant species. They had no explicit orders to not study them but the standing method was to do so if the species showed a tendency towards violence. A quick scan upon arrival had shown remnants of fission based weaponry being used in the recent past.
It was decided to only take a dominant species specimen if they found an entirely isolated one, one that would not have any way of proving they had been taken. At this final landing zone they found one, against all odds.
Female, slight build but muscular, dark and long fur sprouted from the cranial region and in other locations on her body. Aylotiri had been fascinated by how similar their two species were in appearance, given that the Earth species had evolved from what they call apes, and her own from what they would call reptiles.
The Xardanti were smaller overall than these primates, but not by too much. It was decided that they would forgo restraints, and initially this didn't seem to pose a problem, when the subject awoke she was not frightened, but curious. Aylotiri was tasked with speaking to her, as she had studied the human languages over the past year.
They spoke, and the thing that struck Aylotiri the most was the complete lack of anything resembling what she would recognize as emotional response. They were a strange species. The two of them spoke at length about each other's worlds. Aylotiri was awestruck by some of what she heard, horrified by others, but only one thing terrified her. It was the first and only thing that the specimen said about the Xardanti:
"You all have such beautiful eyes.... so beautiful..."
It was the only time Aylotiri saw anything she recognized as emotion. There was a drive hinted at in her eyes that reminded her of when a male seeks to court a female during mating season. A hunger, almost a need. And it was gone as quickly as it started.
The next morning, when Aylotiri was to again speak with the specimen, she arrived at the lab and the specimen was gone, but there were three researchers dead. It was determined that they were beaten, their eyes ripped from their sockets, and then they were strangled. Typically there is no surveillance in the research pods, so there was no actual view of what occurred.
After the first three deaths, there was one researcher, the four on maintenance which included Aylotiri, and the captain of the vessel. The Captain ordered the ship locked down, all of the crew brought to the same section, and the ship was flooded with a gas that should have rendered the specimen docile and controllable. When the captain gave the all clear, They opened the ship section by section. They couldn't find her.
The Captain, Aylotiri, and the researcher split from the rest of the maintenance crew to search the fore of the ship. The rest of the maintenance crew searched the aft. They were to convene in the central chamber of the ship one Earth hour later.
Aylotiri, the Captain, and the researcher arrived. The others did not. After waiting for a while the researcher suggested the specimen may only be trying to escape and that the captain should open all external hatches to allow for this. The captain refused.
They waited, terrified of what was happening. They had no idea how to handle this as a peaceful species. Then came a sound that froze Aylotiri's blood. It sounded similar to how her own species expressed joy and comfortable happiness, but this was somehow threatening. Dark and foreboding. The researcher panicked and ran down a side corridor. The Captain and Aylotiri stood terrified for the next few minutes, and then they heard the researcher scream. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and then a sickening crunch echoed through the corridors.
Silence.
After a moment the Captain composed himself, ordering Aylotiri to run and hide. She did. She ran, and she ran. She didn't stop until she could hide. Shut up safe in a maintenance hatch. For the next two days she did this, freezing whenever she heard anything and waiting for silence. When the silence came she ran again.
After four days of this, Aylotiri had begun to feel confident that she could avoid the primate and figure out a way to render her a non-threat. Then she could wait for the ships auto-return sequence to start since the Captain will not have interfaced with the systems for more than three Xardan days. All she had to do was figure out some way to deal with the primate.
Aylotiri had been hiding for the past few Earth hours inside a large cargo container. She had some difficulty finding a good way to squeeze past the items inside, and that is what made what she heard this time, from behind her and inside the crate, even more terrifying.
"You have... such... beautiful eyes...." | 2015-07-30T03:12:30 | 2015-07-30T03:09:39 | 186 | 18 |
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