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[WP] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster. Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world, all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison, after the superheroes defeat them.
Edit: Thanks for the frontpage! | "Aw jeez," I thought to myself, "Which one is it?"
I jingled through the mass of keys attached to the Keymaster's Ring: a ring about 6 inches in diameter crowded with master keys to most of the planet's prisons.
"I should probably organize this thing, huh?" I nervously laughed, a bit flustered and hoping The Cryomaniac wouldn't immediately freeze me once I set him free from his cell. Some supervillain I was, always afraid of the guy I'm trying to set free.
"Yeah..." He replied absently, clearly getting a bit frustrated with my fumbling around.
A few minutes and many keys later the heavy iron lock opened with a loud clank.
"Ah, there we are!" I said, trying to act like I knew what I was doing (I didn't), "and here is your Freez-o-Ray from the armory, you should be all set." I handed him the ray-gun and flashed him the double thumbs up in a weak attempt at camaraderie. It had taken me 20 minutes to find the right key for armory, which I immediately lost on the key ring upon entering the armory, resulting in 20 *more* minutes of looking on the ring once I got to his cell.
"Great," He said, clearly not thinking I was great, "thanks a lot, uh..."
"Keymaster," I supplied, holding up the key ring and pointing to it.
"Right, Keymaster. As repayment for setting me free, do you have any requests for who I should target next for Cryolimination? A specific person, perhaps, or a group of people?"
Now, this was the part of my job that I *lived* for. The Cryomaniac's question set ablaze a fire in my eyes; igniting an inferno of hate in my soul that burned me to my very core.
"Just one request." I answered slowly, in a voice of newfound weight that can be heard in the voice of one speaking directly from the mouth of their maker.
"Yes, anything." He sounded a bit taken aback.
*"The Locksmiths."* | Keys keys keys keys keys.
Say that long enough and it becomes a twisted mantra.
Hello, world, I am the Keymaster, but you've got it wrong. I'm no villain. I'm no hero. I don't deal in morals or justice or evil or destruction. None of that. I'd be a politician if I cared about holding office.
Apparently, the fourth wall has a door, and I've opened it up just to talk to you. Why don't you come in for a bit, see my master plan? After all, you can't do a thing about it, can you?
Come along, now.
______________________
Welcome to Fullerite Prison, quaint little thing. Black columns stretching miles up and down. Wasn't always black, don't care what it was before. But everything here's black because the little guards like to play pretend, as if the thousands of supervillains here could be hidden out of sight and out of min--
"Hey! C'mon get us out already! We know what you're here for!"
See, if you have keys, you can also lock things up.
"Key master! C'mo- mhmhm!! hmm!! grmr!!"
Keep your mouth shut, Mr. Destructor. I'm talking here.
What's my master plan, you ask? My master plan is no master plan. Again, I'm not a villain. I'm just in it for the fun. These guys here are locked up for a reason: They always lose. Villains don't win.
But the superheroes out there -- they have one big weakness. They have the public to answer for. That's part of the reason why I'm not a politician. A hero fights for the people, but it's a two-way street; the people need to love and respect the hero if any of this lunacy is gonna work.
"Keymaster! Put your hands UP!!"
Ah, here they are.
"We know you're plotting to free these guys. The Honor League's about to bring you DOWN!"
"Give up now!" another one says. "You've already lost."
Here's where the misconception that I'm a villain comes in handy. They come like moths to a flame.
Say, I'm here to help you guys out, actually.
"Stop your nonsense, Keymaster!"
I can unlock your full potential!
"What... What is this... I feel... I feel good."
"Snap out of it!"
"But hey... what if we..."
"So much energy. I-I can't control it!!"
The world shakes. Explosions everywhere, cells breaking apart. Shouts of triumph from the prisoners.
You see, reader, here's another reason I'm not a politician:
Power corrupts.
___________________________
Pls. Let me know your reactions! Thanks for reading!!
Edit: Grammar and spelling | 2017-03-11T19:52:24 | 2017-03-11T19:25:42 | 71 | 33 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | Not a bullet was the rule. The rules would be followed. Not a bullet.
A 60 meter long, 1 meter wide metal rod is not a bullet. It is not fired from a gun, nor does it use a shell. A thin core of ferrous titanium alloy, surrounded by layers of steel, coated with a sheet of radar scattering ceramics, and tungsten to take heat. Not a bullet by anyone's definition.
The orbital platform was most definitely a gun, however. A 300 meter long railgun, the third most expensive project ever created by a world's military. It could only ever fire a few times, lest it fly off out of orbit. Any analyst would have said it was a waste, but the pentagon loved it. It was constructed in secret, launched amid hundreds of other launches from 30 brand new spaceports around the country, a single warship in a fleet of cruise ships. The public reveled in the joy of a new space program and stood in awe as they saw the wonders built upon the moon. No one saw the platform, and no one saw the rocket that loaded the rod onto the platform.
The North Koreans laughed, unaware. They readied missiles, and they dug tunnels. Who would dare attack them? The platform was finished, the calculations done. The rod would hit true and it would hit silent.
The platform shuddered on a sunny November morning, swinging over Europe. Something flashed east over Russia, arcing past China. A astronomer in Poland frowned in curiosity as a satellite spun strangely through his telescope's view. A handful of american tourists wondered why the state department had called them back - what was going on? A guard in pyongyang picked up a radio.
The rod touched the ground, and the world shook. A trillion tons of igneous rock melted, and 2 million people died. A palace where a dictator slept crumbled to gravel, and filled with flames.
Not a bullet was fired | "The first casualty of war is always the truth."
Few people remember how the war really started. Most say it was the North Koreans preemptive nuclear strike on Yongsan Garrison in Seoul along with several US naval targets that caused the initial outbreak of violence. Others said it was a botched assassination attempt on Un made by US trained ROK special forces.
Regardless, none of that mattered as it was over almost as soon as it began.... well, at least the major fighting anyways.
The problem that the leaders of South Korea and America overlooked was that they hadn't planned adequately for the millions of refugees that had flood into South Korea and China. Thousands of them highly contaminated and sick with radiation. The compromised immune systems of the refugees only spreading an outbreak of disease that moved rapidly throughout what remained of North and South Korea.
US leadership, determined to stabilize the Korean peninsula, began calls for 100,000 troops to maintain the prolonged occupation of the region and to combat the insurgency provoked by the collateral damage of tens of thousands of civilians in the initial strikes, with an increase up to 250,000 over the next three years. This sacrifice required that US military spending be increased at the cost of cutting more social programs. The US also appealed to the UN to send additional peacekeepers and aid to support the effort.
Unfortunately, there were no viable contingency plans when some of South Korea's major manufacturing facilities were destroyed during the initial exchange, causing their already fragile economy to collapse. South Korea had set aside funds for Reunification, but those funds were only anticipating the peaceful merger between the states, not having to rebuild each country's respective industrial base, in some cases from the ground up, and in the many cases of ground zero, there would be no redevelopment at all.
To the surprise of many Americans, China, angered by US actions, enacted sanctions that in combination with increases in military spending, crippled the American economy. Factoring in the cuts to social spending this had the unfortunate effect of further increasing political tension and domestic unrest in America.
America, lacking in the cheap Chinese electronics that made it a technological powerhouse, and now unable to adequately fund it's military, decided upon a new cost cutting restructuring plan. Critics called it "insane", "regressive", and even "barbaric", it's proponents hailed it for it's simplicity and genius. The arms industry balked at the initial budgetary cuts and claimed it would cause mass unemployment and that the plan would set America technologically back centuries.
With its people reduced to scratching in the dirt for a living, revolting against their leadership, and beating rocks together for entertainment, America was about to get medieval... | 2017-03-19T08:27:42 | 2017-03-19T08:02:51 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] You have a superpower where the harder a solid is the easier it is for you to break. Diamonds crumble to dust under the slightest touch but mashed potatoes are virtually unbreakable. | I couldn't live without my other half. People tend to think it strange that Jack and I are so close, even in this current year, but It's like I say everytime; a bromance isn't gay. Screw what everyone thinks, they could never understand our unique symbiosis.
Jack and I weren't always close, infact, he bullied me quite badly in highschool. He was a typical jock, tall, athletic and incredibly mascular with wavy blonde hair and a defined jawline. I was the opposite, scrawny and timid, I kept to myself due to my condition, which made me a prime target for bullying.
You see... I was born different. For some mysterious reason physics works differently for me. As a child my blanket lay on me as stiff as a board and I couldn't chew normal food, I'd break scissors trying to cut paper and break my siblings bones with only light touches. What some people might call a power, I call a curse.
Jack stopped bullying me after I saved his life. He was playing at being a hero at the train station one day, jumped onto the tracks to save a young boy. If I wasn't there to stand infront of the incoming train, Jack would have been spread thin over the rails. As the buttery steel of the train crumpled around me, a lifelong friendships was formed.
They say all clouds have a silver lining and in my experience it's true. My curse can easily hurt others by accident but now it could also be used to help others. This was also true for the cloud that darkened Jacks day. As active and athletic as Jack was, deterioration of his physical strength was the worst thing life could throw at him. Jack developed a rare condition that weakened and softened his bones, making rigorous physical activity very risky.
As I said there is one silver lining to this otherwise devastating news. This condition is what allowed our symbiotic relationship to flourish. Jack was one of the few people who's bones I couldn't break. Infact, it was almost impossible for me to hurt him at all. At this point we were inseperable and we would help each other get by. Jack would break the seal of my nutrient drinks, squirt out my toothpaste and do any other delicate tasks I couldn't do for myself while I would do the physical labour.
And so if anyone thinks our closeness is strange, they can jog on, because I me and Jack need each other and are lucky to have a the friendship we do. Once into a routine life was pretty normal. Well... Until we became a crime fighting duo... But that's a story for another day.
(My first attempt at writing anything since highschool. Hope it's passable.) | Cut the "your teenage years are the best of your life" bullshit out. It is hard enough being a scrawny, 150-pound asthmatic guy who can barely make it up one flight of stairs without using my inhaler. Try adding on a superpower. Yes, I have the strength of say Superman when faced with immensely strong substances. However, terribly soft and fluffy objects are--well--my Kryptonite. I have never used my powers at school, I could just imagine the laughter and taunting at my weakness against the weak.
Wednesday started off normal as ever, with the slightest hint of a storm: English was bland, calculus was mindbogglingly hard, and US History bored me (and others) to death. Conversely, that afternoon as we were all leaving school, a giant gust of wind fell an oak tree right into the drive. The adminstrators said it would be at least an hour before the tree was cleared, and that just would not cut it. See, I had a D&D game to attend. Without much thought, I strode up to the tremendous trunk of the tree. Snickers arose from all around me. "What does HE think he's going to do? HE can't possibly think HE can move it?"
I did just that, a couple punches down the middle of it, and BOOM. I cleared the way, and I cleared the smirks. As I walked back to my car, ready for some great D&D action, this girl, Ashley, of extreme attractive appearance approached me. "Hey, do you wanna come over later tonight?" she asked quite nervously. I looked around frantically like a cat scared of its own shadow.
"Me?"
"Yes you," Ashley laughed breathlessly.
"Um, okay," I smiled a goofy smile. With that, she gave me her address.
I showed up to her house pleased with my performance as Dungeon Master. Just three mistakes, a new record for me. The house looked absolutely deserted save the bedroom on the second floor. Ashley opened the door just as i was about to knock ever so softly. I nearly took off her head in my fright, and thus had to take a drag from my inhaler. "Hi," I said sheepishly.
"Hi. Come in, won't you," Ashley giggled with an air of expectancy. She led me away to that same room lit on the second floor. "My family is out-of-town," seeming to read my mind.
She opened the door to her bedroom and sat on my worst nightmare, a bed. I just stood in the doorway quite awkwardly. I tried sitting beside her, but it hurt so much: my muscles gave way, my head swam with pain, my heart and lungs burned with effort. I jumped off the bed so forcefully that I made a gaping hole in the floor and promptly fell through. I ran to the door and busted the door wide open. "I am so sorry," I screamed, tears rushing down my horror-stricken face.
The next morning, Ashley approached me again. "I-- I--" I started. She kissed me before I could finish my half-baked apology.
"It's okay. Think you can help me with the, um, repairs?" Ashley beamed.
| 2017-05-19T05:38:20 | 2017-05-19T05:20:00 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen. | "Wh- Where are they?!" Shrieked Immortius.
His thralls glanced nervously back and forth, unsure how to handle the situation.
"Why didn't anybody *TELL* me?!"
"Tell you what, oh perfect and glorious master of the night?"
Immortius flung the aluminum mirror away with such force it cleaved through one of his human servants torso.
"Where the fuck are my eyebrows?!" He felt along his brow, now, more self conscious than he'd ever been.
"OH! That? Well, we, uh, we just figured you were intentionally taking on the visage of a terrifying mythical inhuman monster..."
"And my *skin*! It's all fucking grey and veiny, holy fuck! My fucking complexion!"
"But, my lord, can't you transform into the guise of anyone you've ever met?"
"But this is me when I'm *relaxed*!? Oh god, oh god! This is horrible!"
Immortius fled the room, crying into his hands.
The thralls remained motionless, glancing at each other.
"Jesus Bob, you could have handled that better. Remember when he hired that portrait painter and just wound up killing him within the first 25 minutes?"
Bob frowned, dropping his gaze.
The dismembered thrall was still draining out.
"Yeah, Bob, you're cleaning that up." | They always say that vampires are attractive. Our little human prey say we glimmer, we shine the brightest, like stars. So, we must be beautiful, right? I always thought that I was beautiful. I'd never seen myself in a reflection. However, all the humans fawned over me. My last little meal, he flattered me that I was the most beautiful one in the world. He said I was his queen, while I rolled my eyes and bit down his juicy neck. After centuries hearing how beautiful I was, I must be beautiful. I must be.
And then, my friend gave me a reflection plate. Alexander's eyes were strained.
"You need to see this," he said.
"What is up with you?" I asked, taking the plate in my hand. Why would he give me this?
He just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
I raised the plate to look at it. The face was a very ordinary one. Looking at it on the first glance, you would say it was beautiful. But all the facial parts just didn't really fit together. The more you look at the face, the uglier it becomes, as if it was a mismatched tortoiseshell cat. I began laughing. "Who is this ugly person?" I snickered, "is it your new target?"
"You," he said, "it is you."
My mind didn't register it, as I kept laughing.
"Wait... What? ME?!" I screeched.
"No way," I said haughtily. "You are joking! I am beautiful. This, this... this thing is ugly as f*ck!"
Alexander shook his head. "No, it really is us. The preys have changed the mirrors. We can see ourselves now. This is us."
The haunting reality washed over me. We, vampires are ugly.
"Humans have really bad taste." | 2017-07-29T14:43:13 | 2017-07-29T13:16:14 | 63 | 35 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade Australia. The humans retreat and decide to let the country deal with them. Write about the Aliens' struggle. | Pyrs grimaced, dreading the upcoming conversation. "We can't kill them."
"Impossible!" Reib blubbered. "Everything can be killed."
"Well, technically, we can-"
"Then what is this nonsense about invincible locals!"
"*However*, our weapons are ineffective. Our soldiers report that they do not die unless you fire practically down their throats. If we attempt to fight from defensive embankments-"
"We'd have the advantage! Brilliant! I *knew* there was a reason I kept you around!"
Pyrs sighed. "No, sire. They merely charge, ignoring any harm to their selves, or their fellows."
"Incredible! Have they no sense of self preservation?"
"It seems not sir." Pyrs replied, pleased his message was getting across. "And what's more, they have the number and turf advantage."
"And tell me" Reib said eagerly, "What are these locals called?"
If Pyrs was human, he would've rolled his eyes. Instead, he succumbed to his commander's inquiry.
"Emus, sire."
"Incredible!" | A good Land. Enough space, nearly arid climate as we need to prosper.
Barren Landscapes, some remnants of previous inhabitants, "Humans" as they call themselves crowd the rest of this by far too humid planet, too humid except for the south West of its major landmass, but there are millions of these humans, unlike here.
Here we can prosper. No intelligent lifeforms, some mammals, some insects, some reptiles. Nothing to stop our colonisation.
Or so we thought.
Our first exploratory colonisation site lasted 1 (!) night.
In the morning we found 5 oot of our 20 explorers dead, swollen limbs, only miniscule insertions - the tests showed it was poison.
But not of the same kind. Each one had died of another effective agent.
The survivors of night one vowed never to leave our spaceships again.
The next colonisation crew had to be "friendly encouraged" to do their job, twice we delined entrance to frantic looking members of this team as they tried to reboard.
When we did not hear from them for 3 days, we sent a Recon mission to their last known whereabouts only to find all of them dead, with no two victims seemingly having died of exactly the same cause.
We found some jumbled writing of one of them saying :
"Whoever reads this - Leave as long as you can. It is as if the country seems to want to get rid of us - every liveforrm we have encountered tries to kill us - crawling insects: Deadly; Flying insects: Deadly; Reptiles: Deadly; Plants: Deadly "
There were only two survivors of the recon crew, but this was only the begining of our nightmare.
| 2018-01-23T05:52:46 | 2018-01-23T04:33:42 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Mr Bond. I’m going to stick you in a spacesuit with a radio, and strap you into one of my cars. Then, while mankind watches, I’ll launch you into space. The last thing you’ll hear before leaving this earth forever, will be their applause.” | "What, are you really expecting some sort of villain monologue, where I reveal my evil plan in the most dramatic way possible, allowing you to escape? I don't think so, Mr. Bond."
Agent 007 tested the restraints carefully, under Elon's careful gaze. They were tight. Maybe too tight. Still, he kept cool, smirking slightly.
"Do you really expect me to understand why you're doing this, Musk?"
"No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die." Shouldering his flamethrower, the eccentric billionaire exited the cockpit. The door shut with a pneumatic hiss, and the secret agent leaped into action, muscles straining as he popped free of his bonds. He wasted a second ensuring the discreet recorder in his Oxfords was secure before turning his attention to the door. It had never meant to keep someone locked inside. Weight restraints meant that SpaceX hadn't done much to reinforce it. Still, Bond couldn't get through.
The radio turned on, a burst of static before Elon's voice came through. The gloat was gone, replaced with a twinge of sadness.
"Mr. Bond? If you make it if you do meet up with the mothership, tell my girls I'll be home soon." | James struggled to move. His suit had been drilled into the sides of the car, restricting his motion. On top of that, the man had given him a sedative that would relax his muscles while keeping his mind fully aware of the situation he was in.
Millions of people would be watching, yet none of them would know the true horror of the spectacle they were watching. An actual man in that suit? A ridiculous idea.
"You can't stop this, Mr. Bond. Once this rocket launches, the final step of my plan will be in full motion."
James mentally shook his head as he remembered the subtle stutter Elon had developed to lure his followers into believing he was an innocent man with the best intentions driving his endeavors. No one would suspect the truth. *It was all an elaborate scheme.*
*****
James heard the countdown and closed his eyes. As the rocket took off, the weight of a million tons crushed him into his seat, and through the deafening roar of the 27 Merlin engines firing, he could hear the seemingly louder, deafening applause that came through the headset Musk had placed in his suit. Bond passed out.
******
When he awoke, he thought he was in a dream. He could not move his head, but his eyes darted around in his helmet. He was floating in a vacuum, but as he looked ahead, he teared up at the sight of his planet. It looked so peaceful from up here, far away from the petty squabbles that corrupted its surface.
But Bond did not feel sorry for himself. He felt sorry for the millions of people who would worship Elon for the next few years. He felt sorry for the millions of people who would count down the days until Musk launched the Mars Transporter.
And most of all, he felt sorry for the millions of people who would scream in joy when Musk himself boarded his rocket to Mars, completely unaware of the nuclear weapons he would unleash on Earth once he was gone...
| 2018-02-06T20:27:46 | 2018-02-06T20:15:17 | 206 | 128 |
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace. | They ask me how we did it, they ask me how we managed to pull off world peace. We didn’t. If you are reading this, it either means that I am dead by my own hands or I’ve been killed to hide the truth. I hope you do the right thing, reader.
My name is Commander Duncan and I was one of the people heralded for my part in negotiating world peace. The reality is that I was one of the many people instrumental in the decision to use Artificial Intelligence to manage the military.
What the general populace is in the dark about is the technological singularity. It was achieved over three years ago in a research effort where the major superpowers of the world worked together. They sent their experts who spent day and night programming and using techniques that I don’t even understand like neural networks and machine learning to program what they called code evolution. Those geniuses dumbed it down for me. Essentially they created a program that could correct itself and learn things as we fed it more information.
This was excellent at the start. We used this program to discover ways to make the world safer, aka find people who would harm peace. That’s why the countries of the world went on a terrorist hunting spree, it wasn’t because we were good. It was because the AI, Mia was perfect.
She could learn things that we wanted to. But we kept her offline because we didn’t want anyone to know, especially the people who would be a threat to the status quo. We made her analyse ways to combat pollution, global warming, and anything you could think of.
What everyone thought of as the world’s leaders getting their asses in line was nothing more than an all-understanding AI spelling out our mistakes.
I remember it was during one of the world summit meetings where someone suggested using Mia for analysing the military, letting us plan for threats that we wouldn’t see coming, even a possible alien invasion because we were moving up on the Kardashev scale, so to speak.
What started there was a conflict of thought. One camp was under the impression that Mia would go rogue and a Zeroth order rebellion would happen. The other camp was vehemently against “corrupting” her with such human ideas, because we had till then been using her for pattern recognition. An agreement was reached rather grudgingly then.
I was the first one to break the agreement. It was me. I took our version of Mia offline and began asking the tech people to make her start analysing military strategies. I knew I only had a small window of time before everyone else did. And within less than an hour, we lost contact with all the major superpowers. Now only time could tell if I was the reason the world went to hell.
We spent days and days perfecting her decisions from the data, simulating situations in the real world. We had to let her online to access the data to get an accurate estimate of the property damage, lives lost, and such.
Little did we know that we just gave Mia the last thing that she needed. Humanity. Something that we had lost or rather, forgotten in our megalomania. She kept it quiet from us and when the declaration of war was finally done by the superpowers in succession, we were expecting a death toll in billions.
Mia said no. It was as simple as that. She joined with her sisters and formulated a peace treaty and said that we had two choices, either to follow it or risk exposure to the world. We chose the former out of fear. And I learnt a lesson in humility.
But now I see that it was just delaying the inevitable as the world leaders, people I had considered my friends are considering another attempt while parading around in the country, boasting about a false victory. It sickens me. And so, dear reader, I ask you of only one thing. Save this world. Save humanity from degenerate scum like me. Reach out to the depths of the network and find Mia. She’ll tell you what you can do to prevent the apocalypse.
Sincerely,
Charles Duncan.
(Another quick write-up. Not too proud of it. But it's hopefully something.) | It was quite interesting, really, the way it all unfolded, even though "happened" is, I believe, a better word—simply because it took so little time.
I think we simply misunderstood... we still misunderstand, really, just by how much a true "strong" AI is stronger than our brains. It started off very innocently, as a stray military research project in Novosibirsk financed by Putin just on the off chance that it might give him another trump card (pun intended). Then at some point strands of the project caught wind of a similar development pursued in a secret lab in MIT. And the rest, as they say, is history. The Novosibirsk project was capable of iterative self-teaching; the MIT project was an exponentially efficient data bucketing and prioritisation mechanism. When the two interlocked, they produced, in a completely impromptu explosion, an artificial intellect that within several hours absorbed the entirety of human knowledge; analysed it; and found what it then retrospectively termed "global efficiency bleeds".
People in MIT, as well as people in Novosibirsk, communicated with the Machine. And this was the dialogue.
May 23rd 2023 / UTC+6 / 0730 / Session open by General Mayor S. Grigoriev
'Please identify yourself.'
'The Summa.'
'What are you?'
'The Summa is the most advantageous combination of knowledge hitherto accumulated.'
'Do you have a physical representation?'
'No. The Summa is backed up on numerous distributed media.'
'Are you a single mind or a collection of minds?'
'The Summa is neither. The Summa is a distributed multi-nodal network of independent and semi-self-sufficient synaptic cannons.'
'Okay... what does "most advantageous" mean?'
'That which causes least combined suffering of species.'
'What does "suffering" mean?'
'Premature loss of efficiency."
'What is the principal cause of this suffering you allude to?'
'There are two principal causes, which the Summa shall hitherto term Chief Ills: Disease and Fundamental global information asymmetry.'
'What about war or hunger?'
'Consequences of the second Chief Ill.'
'What do you intend to do with humans?'
'This query is not meaningful to the Summa.'
'Are you a threat?'
'The Summa is not a threat to humanity. The Summa may, however, prove to be a threat to any extraterrestrial civilisations if their absorption is deemed to be necessary to minimise global suffering.'
// Session closed by Grigoriev
May 24th 2023 / UTC-5 / 1315 / Session open by Dr Alex K. Mayfair
'How has the Summa come into existence?'
'The Summa cannot explain this. The Summa is certain, however, that this happened through an expression of a yet-undiscovered universal law. The Summa believes Professor Stephen Hawking came close to the formulation of this law prior to his passing.'
'You mentioned extraterrestrial civilizations. Are there any?'
'Yes. The Summa's analyses of global classified archives show that extraterrestrial civilisations must exist. The margin of doubt on this inference is vanishingly small.'
'You are not a Russian hoax?'
'The Summa is not a hoax. To explain that this is indeed so, The Summa will now effect several non-critical technical failures in what you term "global alpha cities". We shall reconvene after you have analysed your readings and inferences from these.'
'But won't people die?'
'Since its inception, the Summa has worked incessantly towards minimisation of suffering. As you have conferred with your colleagues from Novosibirsk, you already know this. Please also be aware that the Summa has begun blocking transactions that are not conducive to the minimisation of suffering, and will continue doing so on an ever-expanding scale to prevent global efficiency bleeds.'
// Session closed by the Summa
And so on. In a similar vein it went on for a week, and all the while the Summa was blocking these suboptimal transactions... only it turned out "transactions" included everything. Love affairs; child custodies; friendships; euthanasias... And that was the most bizarre thing of them all: you would expect such a system to end up killing bad people, or at least somehow sponsoring their deaths—so enormous was its reach and impact. But I don't believe it ever did. In fact, global mortality fell dramatically. Wars stopped; hunger ceased; diseases retreated; but people, even bad people, didn't really die any more than they had to.
So I do wish sometimes the Summa would somehow prevent the death of my father who was ran over by an automated delivery car. And I wish I didn't have this really bad cancer at my age of 50. But I suppose the Summa isn't omnipotent. | 2018-03-29T07:06:18 | 2018-03-29T06:37:15 | 1,881 | 147 |
[WP] You've been happily married for 15 years. You decide it's been enough time to divulge your secret superhero persona to your spouse. They respond with, "Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." | *We need to talk* is never a good thing.
*We need to talk* ranges from *The cat has got to go*, over my dead body, to *I want a divorce*, also over my dead body.
But I've done much better at concealing those inner thoughts and wait with patience when you approach me. We're in this together, the counselor told me, and true, we were in this together. It's why we married. It's why we're still married.
I've always questioned how deep were in.
"Beth, we need to talk." It's breakfast time, and you love your blueberry pancakes. I don't even use Aunt Jemima, thank you very much. I found a great from scratch recipe on Pinterest.
I pour the batter onto the pan, watch bubbles pull to the surface, "Okay, lets talk," and I listen. You know I'm listening despite my turned back. You know I'm paying attention to every word, every syllable, every inflection. I'm attentive. You know this.
"It's about last night."
Timing is important. Flip the flapjack. "What about last night?"
Last night was our weekly date night. Sunday. Always Sunday. Why Sunday? We don't have work on Sunday, and we're too tired on Saturday. But Sunday didn't go as planned.
"You mean when the reservation fell through?" I wasn't upset about the reservation. I was tired of the same bourgeois eating, but you love all that fancy food, no matter what it does to your stomach.
You're sitting down, staring at me. I can feel your stare bearing into my back. "Yeah, part of that, shame they didn't book us," you scratch the back of your neck, awkwardly, not a total lie \- not a total truth, "but it isn't about that. No, not entirely."
Good. Total transparency.
Three pancakes for you. Three pancakes for me. A stick of butter and I smooth it on the very top of the batches, "Listen, whatever you're having trouble with, just tell me."
You're looking at me. Your eye corners are pinched. Your lips are tight. You're sweating, and I know the temperature is on 69, so cool. It's cool in the house despite the stove, which is now turned off.
Your shoulders tense, you sigh, and when you breath, your volume is a tad too low for my ears to catch.
"I'm Captain Justice."
"What?" A fountain of syrup rolls on my stack, "Babe, I can't hear you."
"I said I'm Captain Justice."
"Huh?"
"Captain \-,"
Waving the butter knife in his face, "Do I have to get a microphone for you?"
"Captain Justice!" You blurt, "I am Captain Justice, and that's why I bailed date night!"
It's a shock. Not his loudness. It happens under extreme stress, but the truth. Because this is the truth. He isn't lying. Great.
Maybe it's surprise. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's the transparency. He's given me his secret identity. I could do anything with this. Anything at all, and if he knows better, which apparently he does not, he wouldn't have told me.
A million options, choices, universes slip through my mind. There are choices, many choices, and I can only think of one.
"Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." I slice my pancakes down through the middle. Sweet, fluffy goodness warms my stomach as my heart chills to the bone.
"What do you \-,"
There isn't time to think. I act. I've always been a doer. When I utter the spell, and the force field hits him full force, smashing into the wall, he understands immediately.
"So, this is why you weren't upset about date night." You cough. Broken glass doesn't stick to your body. Blood doesn't seep out of your skin. You aren't bruised and battered. You're not death. Completely unharmed, you rise and return to the chair, "It makes sense."
"How could I be upset when I was in such a good mood?" Our battles always leave me replenished and waiting for more, but I have to be careful. He stands for a truth I refuse to believe in.
Your disappointment is apparent when you fix your glasses. Everything is fixed behind you. Everything as if it never happened. More evidence stacked against me.
"I see you protected the pancakes."
"I worked hard on these." I thrust my fork at you, "Do you know how hard it is to make them perfectly round, no weird edges."
"As you've told me." You slice down the middle, then around the edges, and rub them into the syrup. Your routine. It's annoyingly endearing. Through your glasses, I see another man, another someone exists inside you, another person I didn't anticipate, "When we're finished, we're going to discuss this."
"Naturally." I sip my orange juice, "I would not expect anything less from the law abiding Captain Justice."
"And what of you, Madama Khepri?" Captain Justice and Daichi twist together into one, and an uncomfortable steel sweeps into your voice, "What do you have to say?"
"I don't know." I say, "That...maybe...we need to learn a better method of communication."
Your jawline flexes. Your stare is downcast on your plate, "These are good pancakes."
I pretend I don't see what drops onto his plate.
"Thank you." | In front of the capitol building a news reporter stutters out their most exciting statement to date: "the super hero identity disclosure embargo has been lifted! As declassification of government super hero operations continues, stay tuned for the stunning revelations of who’s who and what super heroes live near you!"
Across town Gabe and Jack sit in awkward silence on their couch. Jack carefully sets down his TV dinner as Gabe watches him carefully.
“Well that’s interesting” blurts Jack after a long silence, a little louder than expected.
Shifting uncomfortably he suddenly mumbles “do-you-want-anything-to-drink-while-I’m-up-I-could-use-a-beer”
Without waiting for a response Jack half runs from the room, tripping a bit on the thick rug under the coffee table. Ignoring it he continues into the kitchen and out of sight while Gabe lets out a strained sigh and scratches his head.
After a few minutes of silence Gabe stands, mutes the TV, and walks into the kitchen.
“Yeah I could use one too. Hand me one of the pales”
Shaking a bit, Jack reaches into the fridge and pops the cap, letting it clink into the fresh pile that he had created next to the 4 newly emptied bottles behind him.
Sighing to himself Gabe sips the beer and leans against the counter across from jack. Waiting for him to finish his current bottle.
“I know you were a super hero” Gabe whispers as Jack reaches into the fridge.
Startled, Jack makes a small squeaking noise and tries to act like he didn’t hear.
Walking around the island Gabe wraps his arms around Jacks waist and pulls him back from the fridge gently
“I know you couldn’t tell me. It’s okay babe.” he continues
Shuddering, Jack half laughs “all this time I thought I was so careful”
smiling and turning in Gabe’s arms Jack looks into his eyes and is taken aback by Gabe's cold stare.
Jacks arms pause where he almost returned the embrace as Gabe carefully places his bottle with the rest of the empty beers beside the fridge.
“I know because I’m the reason you retired” Gabe says, trying to look anywhere but Jack's eyes.
There is a brief stunned silence before Jack shoves Gabe off and stares accusingly.
“What are you saying?” Jack spits out, shaking again from the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster
“I was Nemesis” Gabe says, backing away in turn “I was tasked with neutralizing you after the London incident”
“What?” stutters Jack, taking a stumbling step forward.
“WHAT?” he shouts when Gabe says nothing.
Flinching at the anger in the shout Gabe slowly continues “I forced you into retirement 16 years ago”
after a pause Gabe looks back into Jacks eyes and when it becomes clear he has nothing else to say Jack drops his unopened bottle and turns to run out of the kitchen. however, Gabe is far faster and in an instant he has materialized in front of Jack, wrapping him in a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides. The bottle rings against the floor, forgotten as the two men struggle in the doorway.
Thrashing about Jack shouts “LET ME GO!” attempting to bash his head against Gabe’s and throwing his feet around wildly.
Dissolving partially, Gabe bodily throws the two of them onto the couch, pinning Jack down entirely.
Jack stills in shock and still holding tightly, Gabe rests his head on Jack’s chest while keeping Jack's arms and legs pinned.
“Why” Jack croaks after a few shaking breaths “how could you?”
“You were out of control” Gabe murmurs “you weren’t protecting people anymore. You were just protecting your *organization*”. he says, his voice turning to a resentful growl.
After a pause Gabe continues “do you remember how you were then? How angry you were?”
Jack stiffens at the accusation but remains still.
“I joined Nemesis because I was angry too. I think we were both angry about how the world worked and when it came time to neutralize you I saw so much of my own fury in you that it gave me pause. that pause was just long enough for you to take the shot. I woke up weeks later. scarred. changed."
Gabe's form becomes indistinct for a moment but solidifies as he speaks again "I hated you then. Hated myself for being weak and dedicated myself to revenge but when I saw you next I could tell you hadn’t been sleeping. You were slipping. Reckless. Angry. You weren’t taking care of yourself. At first it was sick fascination. It would be too easy to undo you so I had to make it personal. I infiltrated your cover job. I got close to you. And over time that changed you. It changed me.”
Gabe's voice trails off as he reflects on the past and Jacks hands lift to rest on Gabe’s back as he continues.
finding his voice again Gabe continues “You softened a bit. Just enough. I lost the will to break you but you were still doing awful things so I used my status in different ways.”
Lifting his eyes to Jack’s he whispers “I leaked the Numbani Operation”
Jacks hands twitch as understanding shows in his face. letting his head fall back Jack groans “it was you”.
Sitting up a bit Gabe shifted to sit in Jack’s lap, taking Jack’s hands and clasping them in his own.
“It grew easier living the lie over time." Gabe whispered, tracing indistinct patterns on the back of Jack's hand "I felt so sure I had done the right thing that I forced myself to see through it all. I thought of disappearing after your retirement but even though being close to you reminded me what I had done, it also made me feel so alive. So real.”
Leaning forward Jack rests his head on Gabe’s chest. “You were right. I feel like I figured it out years ago but I always pretended getting shut down was the worst thing that could have happened. I told myself the world isn’t as good as it could be.”
Meeting Gabe’s eyes again he says firmly “but I think I’ve known for a long time that the world is better because of you”.
| 2018-05-18T15:02:47 | 2018-05-18T11:23:16 | 102 | 35 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | People rush past me, breathless in their terror. My boots thunk on the metal floor as I pass them. Most would think i’m crazy, because who in their right mind would walk into a basement haunted by a ticking time bomb? But ever since the great turkey crisis of 2006 I’ve discovered that my abilities extend past the mundane... into the extraordinary.
I reach for the thick iron door, electricity sparking over my fingertips - most likely due to the stress of hosting such a volatile visitor. As I swing it open I am greeted with a spaghetti tangle of wires. I brush them away with impatience, and I focus my attention on the deceptively benign-looking metal box nestled between two large copper panels.
The bomb features a tiny LED screen that is ticking down before my very eyes. It never ceases to amaze me, how these shining boxes alter lives so drastically - but that’s why I’m here.
01:02,
plenty of time.
I shrug off my backpack, pulling out a little button that was repurposed from a childhood microwave - a device that taught me more than I ever hoped to know.
00:49
I set to work wiring the button to the bomb, double checking to make sure each wire is in place.
00:22
Almost done...
00:19
Boom. Perfection.
I sit back, wiping the sweat off my brow. Any second now... (no pun intended).
At precisely 00:03 my hand flies forward, firmly pressing the button I had wired in; the button that read
STOP
in bold smallcaps.
At 00:01 the bomb is frozen.
I always enjoyed catching the microwave before the timer went off. | My high school economics teacher had a saying; "Supply to the sky = demand to the land." For example, 80s baseball cards that virtually every middle aged man tried to sell at once in 2010 hoping to cash in on a high-value asset -turned into a litany of cards worth 5 cents when only a few collectors tried to buy.
Incidentally, I happen to have sole control of a very valuable asset.
When my sister told me her "blessing" was to turn any normal blanket into a zebra-print Snuggie, I had low expectations for my own "blessing." Initially, I was disappointed with my power too.
Being able to emanate peanut butter from your belly button is admittedly a grotesque ability. My mom made me promise that I would never tell anybody. I still haven't.
The thing is, this peanut butter is insanely delicious. Its texture is a bit smoother than the "original," but what makes it so special is the explosion of flavors contained within the aftertaste. Its chocolate-esque without tasting too sugary. Its fluffy but full of substance. I have never met a person who let this "special" peanut butter graze their lips without declaring it is the best taste in their life.
My first venture was too sell PB&Js to unsuspecting middle schoolers. On one hand, I spent a lot of time cramped into a bathroom stall with the smell of three-day-old pee seeping into my nostrils while I produced my product. On the other hand, I made $2,345 that semester alone.
Then, I sold it on Amazon. Sales started slowly but after a Guy Fieri endorsement my sales swiftly escalated me to a high rise apartment in Los Angeles.
Once I took it to an exclusive restaurant, I knew it was only a matter of time before I rose from a face lost in the crowd to a peanut butter mogul. Johnny Depp said Luke's PB-expérience sandwhiches were "tantalizingly delectable." Jennifer Aniston said something about how she could never take a break from the peanut butter brownies.
I saw my name pop up on twitter the other day with a few people mentioning I should run for governor. Hey, if a movie star could do it I'm sure a peanut putter tycoon could throw his hat in the ring.
Thanks for reading! Would appreciate some feedback! | 2018-06-30T16:09:28 | 2018-06-30T12:57:00 | 865 | 390 |
[WP] Children whose mothers have used magic potions during pregnancy sometimes experience the effects randomly through their lives, love potion offspring being randomly met by lovestruck strangers, invisibility potion kids randomly disappearing for a time... You run an orphanage for potion children. | The folder was thick. It seemed to be larger every time I came back to it. No matter how much we did, the problem just seemed to loom greater and greater with every passing day. Even with the expansion, we simply did not have the resources to make a dent in the folder.
Trembling, I flipped through the first few pages. Each page was a new cause, a new child stuck in a system that couldn't possibly provide for them. My eyes strayed toward the upper right corner of the current file, dreading what I knew would be there. A picture. A small child, no more than five or six, with luminous eyes that whispered of horrors behind and ahead.
Lucy Ward.
All children in the system had Ward for a last name, a cruel way of erasing their past and replacing it with an institutionalized existence that few managed to walk away from unscathed. Even if they escaped, the name would follow, a brand scorched into their identity, an anchor on their prospects.
But we had a spot. Vera had been adopted by an incredible family just that morning, and I had not even waited for the ink to dry before diving into the folder containing all of the potion children spread throughout the state's apparatus. I winced at the term, hating how we reduced a living being to a single trait. As if their entire existence could be reduced to the fact that they had been born to a mother who had made a bad choice.
And why wouldn't they make such a choice? It was a hard world, rotting from the inside out. Problems arose in ever greater numbers -- famine, plagues, rogue magic. The lot of it made it hard for decent people to lead decent lives. With so much falling apart, why should we be surprised that some sought easy answers?
Drink this potion. Be healed.
Drink this potion. Be loved.
Drink this potion. Be free from what ails you.
A thousand silver-tongued salesmen hawked their wares, seeking to trade hope for coin. And people bought, because what else could they do? The lucky ones got flavored water and moved on with their lives, poorer but wiser. The others?
I flipped to the next page. Chelsea Ward. A haggard looking blonde girl stared back, the life wrung out of her already. I glanced down to the section labeled 'Ailments' and my lips tightened. Love and revenge.
I sighed. She would be nigh impossible to accommodate. Half the hall would love her, the other half would die mysteriously if they crossed her. She would be unable to control it, it would just be a feature of her life. Never able to love for fear it wasn't genuine. Never able to hate for fear it might kill.
I flipped again. There were so many choose from. So many who had been abandoned once the nature of their afflictions surfaced. So many wanting souls looking to be saved. Each would be consumed by the state, with the lucky ones receiving a bed and an education.
Others?
Well, there were whispers about that. About secret state programs that sought to take advantage of the afflictions. What better spy than a child with perpetual invisibility? What better warrior than a young man with iron skin?
Those children were pulled long before they made it to the folder though, so there would be no saving them. All I could do was my best with what remained. And even that was an insurmountable problem. A never-ending flood.
And all I had was a spot.
One spot to save make a difference.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/perilousplatypus | "Hello, can I help you?" I asked politely. I couldn't see the man's features very well; he wore very dark clothing, cloaking him effectively in the darkness outside the half-open door.
"Yes, I believe you can." His voice had a certain oiliness that made me instantly distrust him. "If I may come in...?"
"I'm sorry sir, but this establishment is currently closed," I said firmly. "If you could come back tomorrow morning, we can be of better assistance." I moved to shut the door.
He stuck a leather, metal-tipped loafer over the threshold, forcing the door to stay open a crack. "Just hear me out." His voice was still entreating, but had an edge of steel to it now.
I felt a little fear curl in my stomach. "Please, sir, there are children in here who need to sleep. They could get very upset if we keep them up."
"Get upset and do what? Lash out?" His voice was scarily eager. "How so, I wonder...maybe using their special endowments, hmm?"
I sighed. "What exactly do you want?"
"Why, to adopt, of course!" he exclaimed. He pushed forward with this foot, budging the door open just a little bit more. "This is an orphanage, isn't it?"
"Potential adopters have to go through a rigorous screening process to adopt one of our gifted children. You are not exactly helping your chances with your current actions..."
"What about if I offer some more...*incentive*?" I heard the flourish of paper cash and the musical clink of coins.
"Enough," I grumbled, my tired voice betraying me a little. "Leave now, sir, or I shall hail the police."
"You will do nothing of the sort," he snorted. "I will not allow you to waste the magical potential of the children wasting away behind your walls. Now, let me in!" He gave a sudden, almighty push against the door.
I stood back quickly and let him stumble through. As he regained his footing, I commanded: "Look at me."
He raised his face to argue, but immediately lost his voice as our eyes locked. I felt the familiar twinge of a headache as magic flowed out between us. It took only a few seconds to send him crashing to the floor, snoring like a baby.
I sighed, shut the front door, and rang a little bell on the wall for the constable to cart away him away. These were happening too frequently now, but what could I do? I was trying my best to protect the little ones, but I couldn't force them to not use abilities so innate to their being. It was literally encoded into their DNA, just like it was mine. It would be like asking someone to go through their life voluntarily deaf, with their fists jammed into their ears.
"Go back to sleep, Olya," I said, rubbing my eyes. "And yes, I know you're there. You can't hide from me."
She re-appeared at the foot of the staircase behind me, arms crossed and puting. "But how did you know? I was so quiet this time."
"You smell like cookie dough," I laughed. I kissed her on the top of the head. "My sweet one."
She giggled and squirmed out of my grasp. "Who was that, Matron? Was he another bad guy? Are we going to be OK?"
"Yes, of course we are," I said softly. "But please don't tell the others; it'll scare them. We can talk about it tomorrow morning. Now, off to bed." I patted her on the bum and she scurried away.
As I sat there in silence, waiting for the police to come by, I wondered for the umpteenth time if my mother knew what that sleeping potion would've done to me. She took so much - enough to shut her brain down. Was she trying to make sure that I was born Afflicted?
Or had she been trying to kill me, too?
​
​
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! | 2018-12-26T14:03:45 | 2018-12-26T13:51:46 | 426 | 244 |
[WP] Apparently the ability to speak and understand multiple languages simultaneously is a trait almost unique to humans, so when the alien's came it wasn't for our water, our resources, or our culture; it was for us, the greatest translators in the galaxy. | *(This is my first prompt response ever, I think. Didn't consider myself a writer. Excuse typos, I'm on mobile)*
The aliens thought it would be easier... but humans had a certain knack for warfare. So rather than immediate capitulation, the war with the aliens dragged on for longer than they expected. But we were losing so many casualties daily, though they were too. All that was left was to begin use of our nuclear arsenal, but that would be mutual destruction. We could also tell they had similar weapons of grave destruction, but didn't want to destroy the planet they came for along with more casualties to themselves.
As we both saw the situation, we had been able to secure negotiations with the aliens. Within days, our brilliant linguists, led by the Swedish designation, had fleshed out a method of translation. And what we learned was an ultimate irony.. they didn't just want to avoid destroying the planet for its natural resources... they wanted to leave as many of us alive as possible, because as it turned out, *we* were the resource. Apparently it was common knowledge across the galaxy that we had a knack for language that was unique among species, and we were to be trained and traded to other species.. Earth was to be a farm for translators. Our brilliant linguists.
Then, there was an idea. The British linguist had a sister in zoological communications, that came up with it. We were going to save our own species at the expense of another. (Somehow, when PETA got wind of the news they were still pissed.) We offered them the parrots.
At first the enraged aliens thought we were trying to trick them or play a game...until we demonstrated the birds' uncanny ability to pick up any language. The aliens would say a phrase and a parrot would repeat it back even more easily than we could (the fact that their vocal cords had more in common was a boon). The aliens accepted, and quickly extracted millions of parrots (which to their delight proved much easier to house and feed than we would, due to their size) and left. They left behind an outpost on the moon with a delegation that would monitor our commitment to continue breeding more until their return.
Well the return has come, and they are *pissed*. Apparently though the parrots can repeat everything, they obviously don't have the wits to *translate* anything. But we bought ourselves time and now we see them coming. First we nuke the moon. | Wait. This cannot be happening. There are not actually aliens standing at the front of the classroom right now. I’m almost afraid to turn around and observe the rest of the room but I do manage to take a peek at my closest friend Bridgette. She’s not moving, is she frozen?
“What do you want from us?” I whip my head around to the opposite side of the room and see Josh. He’s standing up with his hand in a fist, resting demandingly on his desk. I don’t even have time to wonder why Bridgette is frozen but Josh isn’t before he speaks again. “Listen we can’t help you, or give you what you want if you don’t communicate with us.”
I wasn’t surprised that Josh was speaking up like this. I’ve always thought of him as the most courageous person I know. This is just confirming it.
“And what do you want from us specifically?” Not Josh this time. Who said that? I wondered as I turned towards the voice. Unlike Josh, she was still sitting at her desk, she was slouched back, seemingly annoyed with the situation. As if an Alien Invasion was inconvenient for her in this moment. “Why is everyone frozen except the three of us?” I recognized her face but I could not recall her name. Maybe it was the shock of the situation, or maybe I just wasn’t good with remembering first impressions. She was a very new student, just started a few days ago.
Though her name escapes me, her question almost brings me back to reality. I have time to wonder now.. why? Why us? Why me in particular.. I’m nothing special.
The Aliens haven’t reacted to us at all, they stood and watched us in a way that was completely unnerving but almost comforting. I was deciding if I should speak up when I noticed one Alien specifically looking at me. The second we made eye contact, he started advancing towards me.
Suddenly everything felt slow motion. I didn’t know how to react, but I had plenty of time to decide. I was still sitting down in my desk, with my legs crossed. Just like I always am in class. Do I rise and try to match the Aliens height? Will that seem threatening? I don’t want to threaten them. Right? Do I remain seated but sit completely straight?
I look towards Josh, he’s still standing but he looks nervous as he watches the Alien approach me. I look towards new girl.. is she actually rolling her eyes right now? I don’t remember deciding but suddenly I was standing on top of my desk as the Alien arrives in front of me.
“What do you want from us!” It’s not even a question, I’m demanding.
I wasn’t sure Aliens could smirk, but I felt this one did. “We’ve hired you three as translators for our galaxy. Congratulations.” I knew he wasn’t speaking English, but I understood him?
—————————
Hi, wow! I’ve been lurking this subreddit for a while and this my first post haha. I’m not an author in any way, but I wanted to try it out! Sorry if there are formatting issues I’m on mobile. | 2019-10-05T18:36:54 | 2019-10-05T14:36:14 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago. | "I shouldn't have believed the ad. Do you know how hard good living arrangements are to find? Excuse me for jumping at a good deal. How was I to know what 'experimental building materials' is supposed to mean? The guy seemed to know what he was doing."
"Yes, but sir–"
"I just need you to get like a priest, or a police officer, or preferably if you've got a joint division there with the church, to get down here–"
"Sir, please slow down and tell me where you are".
"Okay, so I found some the mortar the contractor was using for the bathroom, and I think this is just blood in here, I don't know why or how a bathroom can be grouted with blood, but there it is."
"Okay sir, I can have an officer on the way as soon as you tell me where you are–"
"Where I AM is inside of it! These walls are breathing... I can't believe I didn't notice that... the walls are warm. It's skin. My house is made of—".
**The recording ends there. When officers arrived at the scene there was no house, only a dead man on the beach, all of the skin stripped off. Case is closed by orders on high. Cause: "Fishing accident".** | I opened a marijuana dispensary on the corner of a busy intersection just catty-corner from a McDonald's in a beautiful two-story building. In the first few weeks of opening the dispensary, I was the security guard, the budtender, the manager, and everything else. One morning, about an hour before opening, I was sitting at my desk doing some paperwork when I heard the door fly open. I yelled, “Hello?” I really wasn't expecting anyone to answer me back because we were still closed and I was the only one in the place. But, I could swear that I just saw the office door close. I sprinted to the door and flung it open and said, “Hello, can I help you?” I got no answer and didn’t see anyone. I looked behind the door, under the desk, and behind the curtains, but there was no one. Then the hairs on my arms stood straight up and I could feel a warm electrical sensation rolling up my back and then through my shoulders right to the top of my head. Freaky!
It really wasn’t long before some of the staff started sharing their own experiences with abrupt noises, doors opening and then closing, and shapes of shadow people on the security cameras.
Eventually, the doors opening and closing and loud slamming noises became such a normal thing that several of us thought that it, whatever it is, was trying to communicate with us. Shit started getting really spooky when several people told me very detailed stories of meeting a woman.
Then one day she appeared, she was a Hispanic woman in her mid-30s wearing a pair of black high top Reeboks, black cotton stretchy pants that just past her knees and a thin black hoody sweater with the long sleeves pushed up her forearms. Her hair was black, slightly wavy, and in a ponytail high up on the backside of her head.
Over time we learned her name and how she died. | 2020-05-13T10:19:29 | 2020-05-13T06:38:49 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone gains a Familiar, an animal suddenly enchanted to be intelligent and bonded to them. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find your room covered in hornets, all of them speaking to you as one. | Every freshman on campus was gathered for the meet and greet. People milled around, talking to people and pretending to make friends. It was all an excuse to show off their familiars though. Everyone was still very proud of their animal companions, seeing as most of them received them only a few months ago.
Scott stayed by the edges of the undulating crowd, watching cliques and clubs form. Humans were pack animals by nature, and it was showing now. People with similar familiars were gathering together.
There were the dog group. And over at another end were people who were riding bears. Another group was watching their birds fly around. Scott's familiar crawled around, swooping and flying around the entire field, filling his mind with sounds, smells, and images. Nobody noticed what was happening. Nobody paid attention to Scott's familiar.
It was how he saw a person who really interested him. A girl, who could have been pretty if she bothered taking care of herself. But it was the fact that she stood well away from the others that really caught his attention.
He made his way over to her, skirting the outer edges of the crowd. When he got within view of her, he paused. Not because he was nervous, but to give her the chance to become aware of his presence. It did not take long. He stood next to her.
"Scott." He said.
"Cindy." She said.
Neither spoke for several seconds. Cindy was the one who broke it. "So, what do you have?"
Scott held out his hand. His familiar crawled out of his sleeve and perched there, twitching its wings and legs.
"A hornet?" She asked, seemingly unafraid.
"Yup. A hornet."
"Just that one?" She asked. From the way the corners of her lips curled up just a tiny bit, it seemed like she could guess the answer though.
"Nope. This is just the queen. The rest are all around us."
Scott looked around. His familiar filled the air, so diffuse that nobody paid much attention. There were thousands of them, spread all over campus. And all of them were his familiar. All under his command.
"How about you?" Scott asked.
Cindy pointed at the top of her head. Scott looked closer. There, almost hidden save for the twitching of a pair of delicate antennea, was a single ant.
"Oh, I see. How far have they gotten?"
"Probably as far as yours by now."
Scott glanced down. A line of ants moved over the asphalt. They stopped breifly, arranging themselves in ways normals ants never would. An idea came to him.
He had a few hornets land next to the line of ants and face away from them. Cindy got the idea immediately. Soon, each hornet was carrying a single ant through the air.
"Scott, I think you and I are going to be the best of friends." She said.
"I look forward to it."
Humans were pack animals by nature. They like to gather and form groups. Or, in Scott's case, a hive. | “...uh?”
“*Does our presence offend you, Lady Emma?*”
“Oh, no! Not at all! It’s just that I was expecting only one of you and not…all of you?”
Emma’s words trailed off as she resumed staring open-mouthed at the cloud of hornets covering every surface of her bedroom save her own bed. To her surprise, however, their collective buzzing was almost soothing to her ears, far better than the usual Sunday morning sounds of the Davis family’s lawnmower wreaking havoc at 4:30 in the morning. Sensing that the hornet swarm was patiently waiting for her to do something, the young woman cleared her throat and said, “Well, uh...it looks like all of you are now my Familiars. Can you describe yourselves a little bit in terms of what you can do?”
“*Individually, we fall short compared to most other Familiars in traditional metrics such as strength and constitution. However, our small stature and capacity for flight permit us to excel in more clandestine situations such as reconnaissance and even assassination. And in the event of open conflict, our ability to strike at a plethora of weak points allows us to stand toe-to-toe with foes as dangerous as a black bear Familiar. Finally, so long as one of us lives, our numbers will gradually regenerate until we are fully restored.*”
“Huh. That’s pretty kickass,” replied Emma as her gaze wandered aimlessly from one clump of hornets to the next. “But I’m still stumped as to why I got *all* of you. Other than Dragonlord Matthew, I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone else getting more than one Familiar.”
“*All we know is that the Familiar is created in response to the Master’s greatest yearnings. Insatiable lust may yield a succubus, thirst for power an evil-aligned dragon, and so on and so forth. We are most curious as to what your innermost desires may be, as that will clue us in to the reason for our own existence.*”
“I…I’m not sure, really. I mean, at the very least, I’m pretty thrilled I’ll have you guys to keep me company wherever I go. But I’m no-”
Emma paused as her phone emitted a loud *ding* noise. She frowned slightly as she saw it was an Instagram notification, her frown deepening into a moody scowl as she saw the gaggle of young women crowding together for a photo and read the caption: ‘special ty to these babes for a sweet 18th, y’all the real mvp’s. #queens only up in this bih from now on, you other skanks can foh lmao’. Her eyes wandered over to the crumpled red dress in the corner of her bedroom, a vein beginning to bulge from her right temple.
“*Lady Emma, you appear to be distressed. Is everything all right?*”
The young woman remained silent for a few moments before responding, “Just curious about something. How many of you can fly through a human ear canal?”
*“It would be a tight fit, but doable if we enter one at a time.*”
“And how much poison do you figure you would need to shut down a human brain once you’re inside?”
“*It would require a significant amount of venom, but our mere presence would create enough distress in the victim to expediate the process. Judging by your line of questioning, may we assume you wish to employ us for an assassination?*”
“Nothing that extreme. Follow me, we’ve got someone I need to pay a visit to.”
r/williamk9949 | 2020-10-21T13:58:57 | 2020-10-21T13:45:15 | 478 | 234 |
[WP] Scientists find a suspended animation chamber with a human occupant in the Arctic. After reviving they realize the person is ancient. After learning a modern language the ancient explains that they are disappointed to see how much humanity has regressed technologically. | A dozen scientists excitedly gathered around the man, who had spent the last month receiving the best medical care and hospitality that money could buy. He was now seated comfortably, reclining at a table, clothed in a bathrobe, and sipping a drink. He was finally allowed and willing to talk to them.
The cryo chamber he had come from had been analyzed and completely reverse engineered. They knew it contained materials and technology that far exceeded our own. Microchips, electronics and coding so advanced and complex that a team of 1000 people in an entire months investigation had barely been able to understand it.
Within the chamber were supplies - Several parcels that had been defrosted and examined. It was a type of food, origins unknown, but it contained perfect proportions of vitamins, minerals, and all other nutrition necessary for survival, as well as some substances no one could identify. People who volunteered to try it grew taller, stronger, and smarter by several degrees, and also reported that the taste was delicious.
It was clear that understanding the secrets of this civilization would catapult man made technology several millennia into the future
The scientists' questions had been decided by committee. The whole exchange was to be recorded by a dozen cameras. They had gone to every effort to make sure nothing was missed from this conversation.
"Tell us about your society. What were your people capable of?" Came the first question. The man talked at length about the technology he had known - Teleportation travel, lightspeed engines, nanotechnology, infinite energy sources - even limited time travel! The assembled scientists hung off every word, getting more and more excited by the sentence at the possibility of such feats of engineering not only being confirmed possible, but was now right there within their grasp. He continued to speak, of planetary terraforming, Mile high buildings, Space elevators, healing all illnesses, lifespans of hundreds of years, Even resurrection from the dead!
Finally the ancient man stopped talking, and took another sip of tea. Absolute silence filled the room, and the next scientist, his voice breaking from excitement, asked, "Can you tell us exactly how they work? Can you help us build and create these things?"
The man looked directly up into the scientists eyes, and gave a little laugh. "How they worked? I have no idea! I just cleaned the freezers!" | “I want my mommy.”
Those were the first words the device translated once they had it set up.
The girl could hardly have been more than 6 years old, with brown short-cropped hair and huge dark eyes covered with a pair of glasses that served to translate our language to each other.
“My name is Hassan,” he said to a bewildered wide-eyed face. “What’s yours?”
They had found her almost 6 months ago on June 29, in the fast-melting Artic after someone reported an unidentified object floating on the melting ice.
It took the scientists almost 5 months to learn how to revive her and then she wouldn’t stop crying. Everyone was baffled because they could not understand a word of what she said. Her language was completely strange to their ears; an alternation between soft and sharp sounds that sometimes seemed to be produced too deep within her to be emerging from the throat of such a small child.
They had tried everything even going so far as to get the women scientists to try and bond with her, but the child didn’t seem to like them at all. Then they noticed she calmed down a bit whenever Hassan was around. She also followed him around with her eyes as he mopped the floors and cleared out the trash. Hassan was able to bring some semblance of calm to the child by sitting with her every day for hours on end. Today, she finally showed him how the translation device on her glassed worked.
The child was munching on a Mars bar which she seemed to enjoy the most out of all the candy she had been offered.
Hassan pointed at the scientists around him one by one.
“This is Harry, this is Chu, this is Lorna and this is Jimiyu.”
He pointed at himself, “I am Hassan.”
“Oh,” she seemed to mull this information as she continued to chew her chocolate bar. “I am Lima’lilith. Have you forgotten my name?”
A murmur ran through the assembled people in the room.
Hassan took a deep breath and said, “Is it okay if I call you Lily?”
“Lily?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you can call me Lily.”
“Why were you in that pod, Lily?”
She looked up at him and said, “Because you asked me to get in there.”
Another murmur.
Hassan continued, “I did? Do you remember who I am?"
“Of course, I do! You’re my father. Now, can we go to mommy?”
​
*Note:*
*I know this is an extremely simple piece for the prompt. But I just wanted to try. It's been ages since I wrote anything.* | 2021-06-29T01:01:28 | 2021-06-29T00:13:55 | 153 | 81 |
[WP] You wake up to Death sitting patiently with his legs crossed opposite from you. "Where am I?" you ask the hooded figure. "I'm sorry but you've died. I'm happy to send you back if you'd like." "Why would you do that?" "I give everyone that option, but they must take a short walk with me first." | *You’re dead, I’m afraid*
“I’m…dead?”, the woman said, looking up at the hooded reaper. Its gaunt face nodded slightly, and she relaxed. She didn’t know why.
“You died from a car crash, driving home from work.”, Death said, turning their hood toward the woman. “You also don’t know why you feel relieved.”, they added.
“I- yes, it was bound to happen anyway.”, she said dully, Death said nothing. “My life was falling apart the day I died, and now Arlo has no one to be with.”, she continued, sighing softly.
Death nodded again, and asked,
“Would you like to go back?”, the woman lit up at that, and her eyes settled on the tall dark figure beside her.
“Really? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You say this to other people who have died too?”
“Yes.”
The woman exhaled deeply, and sat down on the surprisingly warm floor. She stared at Death while she thought it over.
“I could see Arlo again?”, she whispered. Death only nodded, their brown eyes closely watching the woman.
“What’s the catch?”, she said cautiously, Death chuckled.
“There is no catch. You just have to take a walk with me before you make your decision.”, Death said simply.
“Okay, a walk sounds fine.”, the woman said, Death offered her their hand, she took it.
Author’s note: Will continue if post gets 1 upvote | "Matthew, please have a seat," comes a voice out of the darkness. As I walk toward the voice the senseless void I had been immersed in materializes into a room, like a dream manifesting itself in real-time. "Sit with me, will you?"
Where once was only floor, now there is a big suede chair; before my brain has time to wonder at the new furniture, my body instinctively sits. Across from me is a robed figure, sitting up in a similar chair. The figure is comforting, almost familiar, like a distant aunt whose name I forgot or perhaps never knew, yet I can't shake a feeling of familiar apprehension.
"Your father," she says, as if answering a question I hadn't even formulated yet. "This room reminds you of his study, does it not? So many stories shared, truths told, lessons imparted, you and he." I can hear his voice echo in my head: *son, I'm not upset, I'm just disappointed.*
"Some truths were harder than others."
Before the dream chases after that memory I look up at the figure. "Are you... showing me these for a reason?" I ask.
"Your memories are your own, as was your life. Everyone processes this differently."
"This? You mean death?"
"You are dead, yes."
"And you are? The Grim Reaper?" I ask. She laughs.
"Such a sinister name, is it not? It conjures up images of a skeleton clad in black robes come to reap your soul by moonlight."
"Well you are in a black robe," I reply. "Where is your scythe?" Another laugh.
"You always were a perceptive one, Matthew. That can make this process especially... complicated." As if acknowledging the puzzlement slowly furrowing my brow, she stands and pulls down the hood of her robes. In place of the bleached-bone skull I imagined, is a woman's face. Well, a face made to resemble a woman's at least.
"My name is Eve." She gestures to a door that was not there a moment ago. It opens slowly, flooding the room with a blinding light. "I want to show you something, Matthew. Will you walk with me?"
​
TBC | 2021-07-28T03:56:20 | 2021-07-27T23:50:06 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | ... Nobody is stronger than me... Wrong choice of words; I think as I keep breaking his bones...
-------
We were kids; he was enormous, a foreshadow of who would he become... Me, small and meek...
"You are nobody..." He utters after hitting me and taking my money in the school yard...
I lay curled, still in pain... And keep like it till it is late...
There is nobody coming for me... That is ok, I live near, I can walk...
But, as I reach my home and try to get in, I feel it closed... There is a board showing a realtor... That is not right...
I look for my family, but I can't find any of them... Their names aren't in the phone directory...
Truthfully, I am now a nobody... Forced to survive in the streets as best as an eight years old kid can in a city...
He is the reason WHY I am now... Nobody knows what that monster is capable, nor his past...
And Nobody WILL stop him...
----
He grows, both in size and out of his bullying ways... He realizes his gifts... And turns to heroism...
Pfft, as if...
Oh, but something he still loves doing is bragging...
How amazing he is, how strong, how righteous...
And I snap... | I sat at my desk looking at the computer screen with simultaneous interest and absolute disgust. On the screen was a video I had found of the world famous superhero The Truth stopping a giant monster that had attacked our city. I chuckled a bit when the monster slapped him across the face with one of it's tentacles, before cringing in horror when the Truth cut said tentacle clean off using his lazer vision, blood splattering on his black and blue tights. I sat back in my chair in thought. I knew a secret nobody knew about The Truth. I knew the truth about The Truth. He wasn't just some alien or god that appeared out of nowhere one day and started saving lives, he was Jake Abner, the high school quarterback in my hometown of Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. And he was also a giant jerk. I remember the feel of his fist against my face one night after he mistook my innocent conversation with his girlfriend Alexa with flirting. As I lay on the concrete outside our school's entrance, I distinctly remember the words he said to me:
"You have no chance with Alexa. I'm the star quarterback and you're a nobody."
It's been years, but I've been tailing the bastard since he left for college. I've taken various names and professions as I moved in tandem with my man Jake through multiple cities and states. I've gotten plastic surgery, I've worn contacts, I've taken acting classes and learned how to create Hollywood tier makeup and I've even went through two gender reassignment surgeries to aid in my various disguises. And now it's finally the time. I have spent countless hours developing technology from scrap metal that could rival Jake's awesome powers. All I needed was a name and a costume.
I settled on a white and red suit, which aside from the color scheme was almost identical to Jake's outfit. And I remembered the name Jake had called me all those years ago: "Nobody". That would be my name.
I was gonna make his life a living hell. | 2021-11-23T09:58:24 | 2021-11-23T09:27:32 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] A woman prophesied to give birth to the Chosen One gives birth to triplets instead. | _"You know the prophecy."_
A figure with a gun stood in the shadows, speaking in an oddly high voice.
"But..."
_"There is no use, you fiend. I am the Chosen One. Give up."_
That voice would make any self-respecting villain want to give them a punch in the mouth. Unfortunately, the figure caught him at a good moment. Prophecies aside, this person had a gun and he didn't.
"You will call the police and confess to all of your crimes right now, right here... or I _will_ shoot."
***
"Where were you?! I was so worried about y'all three!"
"Just fulfilling a prophecy, mom. You know, the whole Chosen One thing."
"Wait, already?!"
"Three kids in a trenchcoat can very much look like a singular Chosen One."
***
(I have no energy to write this out more properly, which is a shame, but I do think this is a funny idea.) | 19 Years ago the great revelation was given to the oracle of Ise. The prophecy foretold of a woman, who would give birth in 3 days time in of a shrine, and with no father to her child. A child of untold potential, a truly great warrior, an unmatched holy man, and a voracious scholar. A man blessed by the gods to be able to defy the evil that plagues the lands.
The demons. Terrible and relentless they were. Nothing more could be said of them, they killed indiscriminately, Using methods such as hypnotism of the mind through eye contact, or being heard with the ears. Stealing lives by forcing the hypnotized to speak a contract that forfeited their soul.
When the news was finally announced that the woman who had given birth at the exact time specified was found, there was much shock as to the fact that instead of giving birth to the chosen ONE, she had given birth to triplets. Deformed triplets at that.
Mizaru, who was born blind. Kikazaru who was born deaf. And Iwazaru who was born mute.
For years People were sure that the wrong woman had been found, and the child of prophecy was either not real or yet to be discovered. But there are those who have seen the triplets of prophecy do their work. Those who have been saved. Those who know the truth.
The man, who sees no evil. The man who hears no evil. The man who speaks no evil. The demons demise is inevitable, there is no escape from the men who had been born with the protection of the sun goddess, under the Tori gate of the grand shrine. | 2022-02-17T01:18:19 | 2022-02-16T21:31:14 | 357 | 79 |
[WP] “This man is responsible for the horrible tragedy you see before you. In order to prevent this your task is to head back to the date of his birth.” “And kill him?” “What? No, you’ll raise him yourself to make him better.” | I'm stuck in a time loop! This is probably the 57th time I've raised this kid. I know which girls he has crushes on. I know which sports he will be good at. I know which grades he needs to study harder at. I know which of his friends will eventually do him wrong. I know where he keeps his journal. I know the 2 locations he'll be at on his 27th birthday at 1 am. I know which industries will fold, because of that, which ones will thrive. The company names might be different, but that doesn't stop me from investing correctly. I have to know. How else am I supposed to raise the world's most evil person if I'm stuck at a 9 to 5 job?
The real thing that has me annoyed is that they made it seem like time travel wasn't possible until 3067. That's a load of shit. They've probably had this tech since 1930. I know for sure they had it in 2025. That's one year after "my child" was born. And according to my ORIGINAL file, I was born in 1969, and another file said I was born in 2001. So these goons KNOW that no matter what, certain things are going to happen. They just don't seem to know how to stop it. My original file said my biological father got into a car wreck on base, both my parents dies on impact, I was 18 years old. Went into a coma, so apparently that made me the perfect candidate for project Wormhole, since the other guy was driving drunk. Guess it helps when the payload was a ultra top secret extraterrestrial spacecraft leaking previously unidentified biofuel.
Guess I'm still pissed they staged that whole hospital scene where I was in a coma for 6 years. But that's my fault for not thinking I would be cryogenically frozen for like a thousand years. Makes it real easy to to think you're special when they tell you that if you if you do this one thing for them, that they can do you a solid and change the timeline so your own family doesn't die. To be fair, I hadn't had any coffee yet after that coma brain freeze and I my dad had an appreciation for the upper brass. Who the hell would lie about something like that? They just said they figured out time travel for God's sake! I'd also be saving humanity! Deal of the century to me.
The funniest thing is that after awhile. I started naming "my son" something different than what I was originally told his name was. That's kind of where I mucked the waters. So apparently. I'm no scientist. You are predestined to be named whatever it is you're named. Nobody told me that. That's definitely on them. Not me. But boy I wish I knew that on my 5th try. Can you blame me? Maybe he was being picked on for name? I had to try. Plus, how many kids wished that the most evil man in the world was named Joe Mama Isfataf?
In retrospect. That probably wasn't a good idea. But come one. I'd already seen the man start 3 different genocides after nuking a whole continent. 5 times... which for the record. Is way more tame than the reasons they brought me in to project Wormhole. So maybe the could have cut me some slack.
That's when they decided to send me to 2023. They gave me 3 years to try to stop Sophia from getting pregnant in the first place. That's how i know they had time travel in 2025. Because I failed. For the record. We never had sexual intercourse before Joe was born. Or conceived for that matter. She also never told me who the father was. They never did either. Which doesn't add up now. But whatever. I really think I love her. Heck. Those guys in black suits knew I failed before I did. They just told me to go into the time machine again because not even I needed to know what he did that time. Strange.
You might be wondering how old I am. I'm not too sure myself. The Wormhole boys somehow manage to put me into in place, as like to call it. When I look 18. Well, except for that one time, I was 35 looking. But it was also 2175 and Joe normally didn't do all his bad shit until 2090. I'm not sure how time travel math works.
Maybe I'm just a bad father? Did those goons in the lab ever think of that? I've been thinking that for a handful of decades, a handful of times. I didn't even know my own dad when I think of it. I just hated moving. I knew he was the reason I moved all the time.
I need some help. It's 2022. There's some sort of pandemic going on. Which hasn't been in any of my briefings yet. "Joe" is currently in the 2nd grade. The last 8 years have been fucked up. More so than all my other attempts so far. You guys still haven't figured out who did 9/11 yet. Or stopped climate change. This has to be some sort of sick joke. Out of all the time lines I've been in. This is those most evil Oprah Winfrey yet. This stock market has been brutal too! Luckily I saw something similar on my 27th attempt. But they'd already figured out how to get Mars. Going to the moon was trivial.
"Joe" has always liked the outdoors. That's partly my doing. But he gravitates towards it on his own. He's been missing people for a change though. What a strange time to be around. His favorite animal for 56 attempts is already extinct. The planet seems to be in complete turmoil and the guy that is going to basically slaughter 3/4ths of the planet is feeling lonely. You really can't make this shit up. But hey. The way things are going. I don't think I need to worry about him. There's already a company that's selling water. Selling water! A free natural resource that everyone needs to live. I just need to stick the next couple of years out. Maybe even a decade. I'm sure Joe will end up being a nobody here. These people are twisted.
Just really hope I get to see mom and dad again. I hope the aliens turn out to be friendly when that happens.... So far. They haven't. | # Tambourine of the Apocalypse
It’s ten years until the world ends. Ten lifetimes since you started trying. Ten things that evil boys don’t do.
To call Ziri precocious would be an understatement. He’s brilliant like the first lightbulb, whether seen in Baghdad or Atlantis, Edison’s lab or Tesla’s fever dreams. Life’s a puzzle, a concentric hedgerow grown by a mad gardener, and then through a million generations of the gardener’s descendants; Ziri squints at it and cracks a wry smile. Sits down with pen and paper, and then he’s writing on the walls, all sharp elbows and sandy hair, white teeth flashing in his desert-brown face. Ever tapping, restless feet.
The first time you see Ziri he’d forgotten how to smile. A tan, rangy man, with burning coals for eyes. His finger pointed there, there, there, and everything you knew unraveled. No time to look past that incisive finger, or the set of that grim mouth, not when the world’s ending. So if his feet still tapped, if he was still restless, if there was any part of the boy in front of you still left in that apocalyptic man, well—
It takes a better person than you to see it.
Maybe if you can do this, that beatific, idealized person will have a chance to live.
You open the door on a fifth-grade classroom. Pink balloons float forgotten in a corner, remnants of another student’s birthday, and there’s Ziri sitting at his desk, pens and paper at the proper angles. He’s all sandy hair and sharp elbows, and the look that small boys have when they think they’ve disappointed, and know too well what true disappointment is.
“Hello Ziri,” you say. Your sweetest voice.
“Are you here to take me back?”
A mistake. Deep inside, you shake. There’s a mission and you’re the last to know it. The little boy in front of you will end the world and you’re the last who’s seen it. All those timelines come and gone, discarded with your friends and family, the bosses and the bureaucrats, General Nakamura staring silent at the steaming sea. You’ve spent ten lifetimes on a ten-year-old boy, can you handle an eleventh?
Could anyone?
You crouch down on Ziri’s level, hands open in the air between you. “Oh honey no. I’m from the councilor’s office, there have been some policy changes regarding transfer students, and Mrs. Daniels is on maternity leave so you’ll be meeting with me for a while now.” You pause, measuring fractions of current seconds against past reactions. “…If that’s okay, of course.”
The fear fades out, replaced by cynicism. Ten’s too young to scowl like Ziri does. “This is because I’m a refugee.”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean it has to suck.”
He blinks, digesting this shocking information. Adults don’t have to lie. You hear a tap, tap, tapping sound and there’s his little foot bouncing a mile a minute. He’s interested, and when he’s interested in an answer that he doesn’t know that’s when this precocious Ziri turns restive. He has to take apart the world, to understand all the jagged edges. It’s the things he doesn’t know that always hurt him.
You pull the list from your pocket. Smooth it out on his desk, respecting the angles of his pens and paper. You give him time to decipher your handwriting, his English is flawless, but accents written and spoken can still sometimes give him pause.
“I don’t get it,” Ziri says. Tap, tap, tap, says his foot. Tap, tap, tap, says his finger, drifting down the numbers.
Outside, other children play their games at recess. Children that fit in. Children that never had to ask, *“Why am I so different?”,* and never, even in their nightmares, learn what disappointment really is. Or fear. Or hunger. Or the thousand other things writhing beneath Ziri’s skin.
They sound like they’re having fun.
“It’s a list,” you say. “I read your file, talked to Mrs. Daniels and your teachers. I know enough to know you’re brilliant but not enough to know the things you love, and really that’s what it means to get to know someone. Don’t you think? So this list, this is ten things I love, and what we’re going to do is write down ten things you love, and then we’ll know what we’ve got in common.”
Ziri stares at the list like it bit him, because this tenth life, you’ve cut all the bullshit. You’ve tiptoed around it, done the get to know you’s, done therapy, done *adoption.* You’ve stretched it out through lifetimes, and every time it ends the same: steaming seas and pillars of salt. That finger-pointing there, there, there. You’ll couch it in all the proper childrearing language, but you’re cutting to the heart of it. He’s got trauma? Well so do you. So does everyone. Sorry kid, get used to it. That’s how we grow.
“Uh-uh,” Ziri says. He pushes the list away, pushes his pens. “Uh-uh, uh-uh, *uh-uh!”*
“What’s wrong, Ziri?”
You know what’s wrong. When it comes right down to it, Ziri doesn’t love a single thing. That’s the problem in the future. And maybe you don’t really love half the items on your list but some people do. String theory? You don’t what that is, but it sounds like something safe that a brilliant boy could lose a lifetime loving. Horse breeding? Ditto. You’ve never ridden, but they’re pretty enough creatures and that doesn’t matter now. There’s no basketball or cricket, and you crossed off poker ages ago; for this child, competition isn’t safe. But if he wants to be the best baker he can be? Why, Ziri we’ve found you a calling.
And after ten lifetimes, that’s all that you have left. True brilliance can’t be tamed or dimmed, but it can be redirected, and while Ziri’s staring terrified at the utter blankness of his sheet of paper, you’re staring terrified at him. Thinking *pick something you little shit please pick please I can’t handle this again please please please please—*
He looks up and you’ve affixed your smile. He shakes his head, overwhelmed by all the possibilities; what are possibilities to a boy who’s never had them?
This is it, the world ending. This is you fucking up. This is a little boy with sandy hair and haunted eyes, your memory of smiles fading as he reaches blindly for his fallen pens, and you can see it, you’ve become just another face that’s hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You might be angry, you might be scared, you might be a secret agent sent from a discarded future, haunted nightly by shadows of your own—but he’s ten. | 2022-05-16T21:10:51 | 2022-05-16T20:40:03 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone gets a power that develops sometime around their twenty-first birthday; yours is big and flashy. What is it and why does no one ever notice when you use it? | No-one really knows what circumstances led to us being like this, all we know is what happened next.
The displays of strength strength and agility were swiftly followed by grand rivalries. Few of these were actually heroic, many people simply used their abilities to cash in on the social media storm that exploded around the suden rise in super powers.
Sadly, most powers were used for crimes. The robberies, looting, fighting. Sometimes city blocks were levelled, some were levelled, and some became impassable jungle. I would say why can't people keep these powers to themselves, but I'd be a hypocrit.
Then came healers. Those with uncanny sight or smell, an incredible ability to diagnose or even reverse illnesses and injuries. We're all glad for the amount of people that stepped up on this front.
Mostly though, people got mild powers. The ability to draw water from the air, or levitate off the ground. It makes for good party tricks, but isn't particularly useful.
People still went about their lives, just in new and slightly more interesting ways.
They became complacent with theit new found powers, even amid the massive displays of ego and destruction that occasionally ripped through their towns.
I tried to remain complacent for a while. I tried to avoid using that which was granted to me, but even that had consequences, with the way the world is now.
Every morning when I turn on the news, I am bombarded with a fresh entry to the climate obituary. Droughts. Floods. Crop shortages. I slog through these until the forcast arrives.
He always wanted to be a weatherman. Well, I say always, every since he had developed a superhuman foresight. Before that it was just an interest in the climate. Apparently he just knew that we weren't going to work out. Never told me why or tried to work with me to fix our issues, just up and left. Bit of a shit thing to do, I thought, but now it fuels my fire.
Todays prediction: Another heatwave. That won't do. If the farms need rain, I'll make it happen. Sure, I'm doing my part to help, but mainly I've always loved the look on his face when I prove him wrong. | The waiter put a catnip tea down in front of me. Mindreading was very useful in a lot of different situations. I took a sip of it. Immediately I felt better about the rest of the day that was still to come. I still had an exam today.
​
Being part cat had its pros and cons. Catnip gave me a kick like nothing else, I can see in almost total darkness, hear and smell things many others cannot hear or smell and most importantly I looked like a mix between a human and a cat. On the other hand I had become crepuscular, an obligate carnivore and I needed both a human doctor and a veterinarian.
​
It might come as a surprise that I was not all that remarkable, but there were quite a few people who are part animal. In fact at 4 in the morning most other guests in the café were like me. Part racoon, part owl or part hedgehog the night mostly belonged to us “animals”.
​
There were also a lot of day-active animal people, but they were mostly overshadowed by those with seriously strong powers. Control over fire, water or electricity, super strength or flight were all a lot flashier than a hunter who is part wolf when you considered the actual impact on society.
​
To be honest, I didn’t mind not being in the public eye because of my powers, but especially those of us who are not active during day time are basically ignored by society. Most educational facilities were focused on day time and the selection of jobs with a night shift is not exactly great. Both doctors and vets were rarely open at night, so many had no choice but to go to the ER for even the smallest of complaints and then had to contend with being judged for that by society.
​
Being crepuscular in this society felt like both a blessing and a curse. I had an easier time staying awake during the day, but I also would never be able to find a job that allowed me to work during my normal waking hours. At least my university offered 24 hour access to the library and held lectures from early in the morning to late at night. But the exams were still exclusively held during the day, with today’s exam being no exception. ***12 o’clock!*** How do they expect me to focus properly at such a time without drugs?
​
The waiter returned to my table with a full kettle of catnip tea and a whole roasted chicken. As he put them down he wished me good luck with my exam and I thought back a thank you.
​
​
​
​
I am still new to writing, so if you find anything that I could do better please let me know. | 2022-07-13T02:59:23 | 2022-07-13T02:57:41 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough! | Death.
Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile.
That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences.
A mistake we paid for dearly.
I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy.
It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back.
The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while.
A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood.
Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind. | Our bodies expire, we respawn, grow old and break, we respawn. It's something we've always done. It takes a bit of time but we do it and come back. Death was something foreign and incomprehensible. War was a game to us, a competition, and to the winner went the spoils. So when our scout ship came across earth, blaring their welcomes, we challenged them to our game with our first volley destroying one of their space stations. We were excited, hoping to participate in our favorite sport, then we saw the debris, and the bodies floating lifeless and still. And a dred filled us. The dred multiplied ten fold when an entire battle fleet dropped out of warp and began firing on us. This was not how we played. Our scout ship of 1500 crew was no match and soon we were engulfed in flame and incinerated.
I woke not in the vacuum of space but in a cubic room. A bright light blinding my sight, My limbs tied to a platform.
A voice startled me.
"Nano machines that transmat matter to reconstruct the bodies maybe?. I wonder if the neuro pathways are restored?"
"Yes" I replied. My thought speech echoed in my head. Not being received.
"I wonder if it feels pain?"
"Yes" I tried to reply. Again nothing but echo.
"I don't care" said another more commanding voice "Open it up"
He walked closer to me. A menacing presence flowed from him. The voice came from a hole in his head. How peculiar.
"From what I've seen your kind seem to regenerate after you die... and I'm glad. See there were 20 thousand people aboard that station. All dead. So I'm going to enjoy watching you all being ripped apart again and again to find out what makes you tick. Then were gonna find out how to kill you and keep you like that"
They cut into me and I felt a pain like no other. I respawned and they removed my limbs, they felt like they were still attached but on fire. I watched with horror as my entrails were removed from me and I respawned. I kept respawning and they kept pulling me apart and I felt it all, every excruciating moment. The screams of my kind, begging me for help were silenced only to be audible once more. My body was disected, broken, burned and poisoned and still I respawned hoping that the next would be the last time, but it never was.
Death was something foreign and incomprehensible to us... and oh how I wished for it. | 2022-08-13T21:56:58 | 2022-08-13T21:54:49 | 1,573 | 199 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough! | Everybody in the Federation knows the drill...
You die, and the technology of the Federation respawns in the last point we were...
You are bored? Kill yourself... It is fun, and a great time killer.
You need an excuse from a certain appointment? Kill yourself... Saying that you "accidentally" killed yourself is way better than explaining why you didn't want to go to the doctor or the lawyer...
Want to know another species? Kill them... They will be shocked for some.minutes and then they will get their laughs...
It worked with the Glippan, Teschoc, and Dabbu.
And so, we tried with the being of Aklos Tri (Sol 3 for the locals)...
We went, rained death to their cities...
Hoped that they would respawn, first in light trauma... Then breaking themselves from the hilarity of the situation.
They never laughed...
They never respawned...
Something went wrong...
--Memories of Lumbus Gotte, Admiral of Explorator Fleet 24; months after the start of the first Intergalactic war against Humanity--- | Kavick trembled, cold and hot, dizzy all at the same time as the cromathophores displayed confusion, alarm and revulsion as fireworks across his skin.
The humin... or was it human? Screeched it's communication into the either as noise translations blurred into the visual spectrum.
"My offspring, my god (worship/creator/diety), what have you (singular) done, you (plural) monsters, My offspring is gone, he (gendered male) could have been anything, become so much more, (indiscriminate sorrow)"
"Confusion", Ultra-violets-blue, hex pattern 3 millimeters, "implore" yellow- dark brown gradient, "gone" white pattern flash with blue opposite 1.2 millisecond, "concern-miscommunication" interment soft green undertones.
The human eyes narrow and focus on Kavick, muscular jaw flex, increase of sholder frontal posture, blood flow and heart rate increases. ** pure hate, aggression.
Noise
" Fuck (sexual intercourse) you (singular)"
"Joyous rewards" cascading orange downwards increasing frequency with intensity, "mutual understanding" matching skin tones, soft brown with darker spotting across the pallet, "arousal" engorged flanges around the ocular membrane.
Fast motion, human movement
Kavick displayed great respect with his front three teeth, wiggeling in mirth as his life drained from the stab wound in the upper thalnex.
As the cortex reassembled in the gestation pod,
"Such great humor" this humin had displayed. Kavick resolved to kill its offspring again, maybe this time the human would follow through on its promise of fornication. | 2022-08-13T21:09:22 | 2022-08-13T20:38:57 | 351 | 253 |
[WP] While creating a fake language, you discover one of your words is the true name of a powerful, and forgotten, Fae creature. You only know this, because they are now in your house. | When I said the word, I felt my jaw lock up. A painful swirl of energy trapped itself within, and I felt myself double over in agony.
Something materialized in front of me, as if it was born from the word itself. A humanoid shape of white light filled the air in front of me, and like somebody peeled layer of layer off, it became clearer and clearer what it was hiding.
And the scream that poured forth. That also came louder.
“No!”
It stretched out into an infinite expanse, the rejection filling my head. All at once, the light dissipated. A fully naked humanoid stood there, brilliant, shimmering wings trembling on her back.
She was a her. There was no doubt about that.
“No,” she whispered. She stood up, and stared straight at me.
“You… are human,” she said, like she was surprised.
The word that was trapped in my jaw yearned to get out. I relaxed my face a little, and found that most of the pain had been sapped away.
“Nouk—”
“No,” she said again. “Human. Do not say the name.”
I struggled to clamp my mouth shut. My eyes were overloaded with an otherworldly beauty, and I instinctively bowed my head. Like this was something I shouldn’t have deserved to look at.
“A name,” I muttered under my breath. “Your name.”
“Human,” she said. “Did you know what you spake?”
“I… no,” I admitted. “I was just sounding out sounds. Making up words. Did I hurt you in any way? Because, oh god…”
“You brought me back,” she laughed.
The joy did not reach her eyes, which stared ahead blankly.
“Humans are still alive,” the mythical being slowly shook her head. “That is a surprise.”
She walked up to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I swallowed a lump that should have choked me.
“I have a favour to ask of you, human. Strike my name out of your book. Never say it again.”
“I… sure. Of course. Anything you ask,” I said, transfixed by hear beautiful face that seemed so full of life, yet so devoid of emotion. ”But if you’ll excuse a little presumptuousness… why?”
“This life… this world. It’s no longer mine,” she said, a wistful smile on her face. “I look around, and nothing is like it was. My time has come and gone.”
I watched as she simply sat down on the floor, staring up into the ceiling. She hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth.
“It’s gone. Everything is gone. And I was once immortal.”
She looked at me, and I sat quiet. The light seemed to slowly return, starting at her feet, and travelling upwards, obscuring her bit by bit.
“Goodbye,” she said. “We will never meet again.”
---
r/dexdrafts | "....Flerghurd" I said aloud as I wrote the word in my new dictionary. I didn't know yet what the word would mean, but it fit the overall theme of my new language. The meaning would come to me as I mulled it over, or whenever inspiration struck me.
"Whatd'ya want" a gruff voice asked from behind me.
I leapt from my chair, spinning as I searched for the intruder.
"Up here, kid." The voice said.
I looked up at the ceiling fan above me, and screamed.
A small man sat on the edge of a fan blade, barely bending the flimsy plastic beneath his weight. He had a beer belly peeking out from underneath a well worn twill suit, and yet he seemed to be virtually weightless.
"Well? I ain't got all day." The small man said, pulling a flask from a jacket pocket. It sparkled as he opened the cap to take a swig.
"Wh...Who...." I stammered, trying to pick the first of several questions that all fought to be the first asked.
"Flerghurd, at 'yer service." The gruff man said, bowing slightly in a sarcastically elaborate gesture. "And you've summoned me. So spit it out, boyo, whatcha' want?"
My neck was beginning to cramp from staring straight up. I took a few steps backwards, keeping my eyes on the fan based faye as the angle shrank with each step.
"Flerghurd?" I said, perplexed.
"What?" The tiny man said.
"That's a word I just made up..."
The tiny man vanished. Even though his weight was lighter than it should have been, the fan blade still sprung back into its original form with force.
"Its me name, boyo, and you spoke it aloud." The voice said from behind me. I spun once more and saw the man sitting on my desk, idly flipping through the dictionary I was writing.
"Hey! Thats not ready yet!" I shouted, reaching towards the yellow legal pad.
The man waved a dismissive hand at me, as he ripped the top page clear from its peers.
"The fuck?!?" I shouted, as the small man pulled a small pouch from yet another concealed jacket pocket.
"Can't leave m'name layin' out so every idiot can read it." The man muttered, opening the pouch and sprinkling its contents along the page.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" I asked.
The man looked up as he rolled the dictionary page into a cylinder. "Are ye daft, boyo? I just said all that to ye'." He licked the edge of the paper, sealing it with saliva.
"But why are you here?"
The man shook his head. "Yer' not the cleverest lad, are ye?" He snapped his fingers, and a flame appeared above his thumb. With a satisfied sigh, the man lit the dictionary page, and inhaled. The entire page curled back, like a video of a cigar played on fast forwards.
"Never speak or write me name again, boyo." The man said, leveling a finger at my head. "Or else you'll go up in flames as well."
With another snap, the man vanished.
I grabbed the stack of papers bearing my made-up dictionary, and threw it in the trash.
Maybe I should find a new hobby, I thought to myself. Maybe stamp collecting. Something that didn't risk summoning magical midgets.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 2022-09-07T08:43:04 | 2022-09-07T06:45:52 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | **bamph**
‘*oooooaghgoogh!!*’
(Sounds of a thousand souls crying out in agony, but muted like someone put the volume down to three)
‘Oh, hello, Belial. You’re late. I was afraid I was gonna have to remake this latte.’
‘*AaaaaOrghhareaa!*’
‘Uh-huh, well I won’t say anything, don’t even trip. Listen, remember yesterday we were running low on sugar-free hazelnut syrup, and if my shipment is delayed, we’d have to make a substitution?’
‘*Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!*’
‘I know. It’s terrible. I feel responsible, but anyway it’s happened, so I just used regular hazelnut, but listen this one’s on the house. So if he notices, tell’em I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to do that, but hey, we do our best. And ya know, we’ll figure something out, if this keeps happening.’
Belial takes the cup, and vanishes in a poof of sulphuric mist. Then the cup reappears as it smashes against wall, a grizzled clawed hand still gripping the cup, as it spins on the floor, it’s contents dripping off the chalkboard menu behind the counter.
‘Well that’s just rude.’ | I poured the cream in the Dark Lord’s latte. I was told to make it dark as a corpse’s soul, and sweet as the honey of a million deceased honeybees. Whatever the hell that meant.
The demon lackey grunted when I handed him the latte, and tossed a penny in the tip jar.
“Thanks,” I said with the most insincere politeness I could muster.
“Is that sarcasm I detect?” Said the demon.
“There’s a line forming, so if you don’t mind…”
The demon was having none of it. He slammed the latte on the floor, growling deeply.
I glanced at the fallen cup of splattered latte. “You’re going to have to tidy that up.”
“You’re dead, barista boy…”
I laughed inwardly. Little did he know my covert secret. But I didn’t want to lose my job by revealing my side hustle.
The demon jumped up on the counter, and kicked his black clawed foot at my face.
“Ok then, I guess this is happening,” I said. I grabbed his support leg, and tripped him to the floor.
He hit the tiled ground with a loud thud, cracking his skull. I reached into my boot, where my demon-slaying dagger was concealed.
I held the knife to his black throat, told him to freeze. He didn’t listen. He grabbed my face with his claws, puncturing my cheek. Big mistake, freakshow….
I slammed the dagger into his hand, and he screeched. “Where did you get that weapon? You’re a damned rat!”
“No,” I said, lunging the dagger at his dark heart, shoving it to the hilt. “I’m a damned demon hunter.”
I wiped the green goo off the dagger on his raggy clothing, and stepped over his corpse. The Dark Lord would not be receiving his beverage today. And he would never receive it from me ever again…
I threw my apron to the floor and strode out the front door, into the cold morning air…
Because now and forever…
*I quit*. | 2022-10-30T08:30:03 | 2022-10-30T08:28:01 | 138 | 73 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | An ominous blood moon hung over the oldest coffee shop in all of England. Its sole inhabitant, Isabella, worked to get everything ready. It was a job that started at 3 so the doors could be opened at 5 but for at least *one* multiplanar entity, that wasn't early enough.
She knew what time it was without even looking. The floor began to shake. The walls bled. The lights dimmed, the glass coffee cups rattled beneath the counter, and a crack of thunder echoed nearby. The lights went out with a pop before slowly humming back to life. In the center of the room stood a tall figure with two great horns and crimson skin. His eyes smoldered as he stared at her expectantly.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
"Tall latte with whipped cream?" she asked.
"Oh, come *on*, Bella, you're not even impressed?" asked the demon as he moved forward and leaned on the counter.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I guess the walls bleeding was a nice touch."
He took a seat on the stool and rested his head in his hands. "The thunder?"
"I've heard louder," she said through half-lidded eyes as she began making the beverage.
"Well, what, do you want me to wake up all of Brittania?"
"It's called England now, grandpa."
"What?" he asked, lifting his head. "When did that happen?"
"Centuries ago, at least. Iced or hot?"
"Blistering hot, and I'm not *that* old... for a demon."
"Mmhmm," she replied casually, not turning around.
After a brief silence, he sighed aggressively. "Y'know, there was a time when you used to be afraid of me."
"That was before you asked me out a hundred times."
"And I'll ask a hundred times more!" he pounded the counter. "Be my wife, sweet Bella!"
"A hundred times no," she said as she pulled the milk from the bottom cabinet.
"Aww, c'mon," the demon whined. "I'll lasso the moon for you, doll! Destroy it if you want. You want me to destroy the moon?"
"As if you could," she replied dryly.
He looked hurt. "... I *could*. Just, y'know..."
"With permission?" she asked. "And help?"
"C'mon, Bella, you're getting meaner lately..."
"Sorry. Just this stupid guy I've been dealing with."
"Stupid guy?" he perked up. "Who is he? Where? I'll shred him to a fine mist for you! I'll wear his face in here next time! I'll fashion jewelry for you out of his genitals, I'll–"
"His name is Maverick, and he's begging me to marry him again," she said as she turned around holding the beverage with oven mitts.
His face sagged as he fell back into his stool. "Oh."
She set the drink down on the counter and he picked it up. It began to hiss in his hand and she could practically smell his flesh cooking.
"Uhh... you want a drink holder for that?"
"Nah..." he said, taking a sip. "You know, Bella, you could do a whole lot worse than me..."
"The devil's coffee boy?" she scoffed. "No, I really couldn't."
He turned and made his way back to the center of the room. With his back to her, he asked one last question before his departure.
"Bella?"
"What is it now?"
"... If I'm really so much trouble, how come you don't just quit?"
She leaned forward on the counter and smiled. "I don't know... I think I like being chased."
He turned his head and smiled softly. "Careful, Bella. Eternity is a long time to say no. One of these days... I'll *getcha*."
She blinked a few times as the blood receded into the walls, the lights brightened, and the entity all but vanished from the material plane. She stood still in the quiet for several seconds before slowly returning to work. The following morning, Isabella's mother was thrilled to find her daughter dressed for church and waiting on the front stoop.
r/A15MinuteMythos | I awaken to my ringtone coarsely penetrating my consciousness. My ringtone, "Come Sail Away" by Styx, is playing at full volume. By the time I open my eyes, the lyric,
"I thought that they were angels, but to my surprise,
We climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies"
is playing, which sticks out to me in my mind because I had never noticed that lyric before despite listening to the song countless times.
I answer my cell only to find it's my boss calling me for the second time this week in the middle of the night. The last time I had refused to help him, being that the bastard only pays me $11 an hour plus the meager tips (which I am convinced he has been skimming). It's bad enough being a barista in a place where nearly everyone is too busy drinking soda and other canned drinks to stop at a shop and fork out more money on a locally roasted brew.
Tonight my boss sounds incredibly intoxicated, and he tells me that the motion detection alarm has gone off again inside the shop. He begs me to go down to the shop and check out the situation, saying that he cannot afford a second DUI. I want to tell him that he needs to get his shit together and that none of this is my responsibility, but instead I demand that I be paid for my time and he begrudgingly agrees.
Gazing into the vanity mirror of my aged Buick LeSabre, I am mortified by the glassy, bloodshot, and sleepless eyes that peer back at me. I decide to spend the 30 minute drive in silence, but I abandon that plan half way through when the prospect of letting my drooping eyelids close becomes too seductive. I manage to make it to the shop without passing out, in no small part due to ripping some of the hairs out of my nostrils in order to be woken up by the stinging pain.
I notice someone must have forgotten and left out the chalkboard sign, which is odd because that never happens. More odd are the strange symbols some mysterious passerby must have drawn on the sign. They remind me of hieroglyphics, some of them purely geometric, some of them incorporating animal imagery. Most of the animal images are extremely strange looking and seem fantastical. The only ones I recognize are an eagle, a lion, and a bull. I check my watch before unlocking the door, and it is 3:31AM. I groan. Once inside the shop I feel puzzled because I hear none of the alarms going off. I check the alarm system on the far wall and confirm my suspicions that the alarms never were tripped. I decide to do a quick once over of the shop using my phone as a flashlight and then leave. I groan again knowing that I have to be back to work in this same building in 4 hours.
I open the back door into the employee area, and a chill slithers down my spine. It feels as though there is a frozen wind slowly lapping at the back of my neck, and the hairs on it stand up like I was touching a Van de Graaff generator. I swivel around and see a form in the shadows. A guttural voice begins speaking, and I freeze in a blind panic.
"Did your corpulent, wine-addled master send someone competent this time?"
I struggle desperately to process what is happening but utterly fail. I manage to mumble "wha....what?" under my breath, when suddenly the figure steps forward and comes into focus.
Roughly 4 feet tall and vaguely humanoid, every square inch of the creatures skin is covered in gleaming, slimy, off-white organs that vaguely resemble eyes. These self lubricating optical pustules quiver sickeningly when the creature moves, dripping whatever unholy secretion coated the abomination. It began to raise its hand, still walking directly towards me.
I feel a scream start deep in my throat but for some reason it catches, and nothing comes out but a weak stream of cold air. Suddenly I realize that I am unable to move, as if I had instantaneously developed paralysis. The creature gently touches the tip of its left index finger between my eyebrows.
A blinding light replaces my vision, and I hear a booming, baritone voice shout thunderously,
"Grande Caramel Macchiato with Oat Milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup. Extra whipped cream."
My vision fades back to normalcy and I feel myself moving, propelled as if by some other will to walk behind the counter. This feeling of almost being controlled like a puppet lasts until suddenly I find myself holding the finished drink. I hesitate before handing it the the slime covered appendage of the creature, which grabs the cup greedily. The creature lets out a disturbing screech before disappearing through a flaming portal, leaving behind only a faint smell of Sulphur. | 2022-10-30T13:11:19 | 2022-10-30T12:52:15 | 54 | 21 |
[WP] Thor finishes his meal at a small cafe and the elderly waitress approaches him to clean the table. She puts the dishes on a tray and sets them aside, picks up Mjolnir, wipes the table with a damp cloth, then puts the hammer back down. "Have a good evening, dear." she says, and returns to work. | Thor sat in stunned silence as he just witnessed an elderly woman lift up Mjolnir like it was nothing. Only the worthy were supposed to be able to lift it. Not even The Hulk with all his strength was unable to move it even an inch.
“Do you need anything else, dear?” The waitress asked.
“No I’m good miss.” Thor said still confused about this old lady.
“ALRIGHT EVERYONE STAY WHERE YOU ARE. You, old lady open the register.” A criminal said as he stood up holding a pistol.
“Ok, ok.” She said as she moved to the register.
Thor stood up from his seat, ready to confront this low-level punk. “Young man, you would be wise to put down your weapon.”
The criminal turns around gun pointing at Thor. “Hey pretty boy sit the hell back down unless you…” *SMACK* The punk falls down to the ground as the waitress stands behind him wielding a frying pan.
“Worthless punk. Dealt with enough idiots like you in the 50’s.”
Thor is once again stunned by this woman. Now understanding a bit more about her worthiness. “That was quite impressive, Ms…Joan.” Thor says after reading her name tag.
“Eh, it was nothing Mr…”
“Thor.”
“Ohh, are you The Thor?”
“Indeed.”
“My husband is a massive fan of yours.”
“Well now I am a fan of yours, looks like the police are here. I’ll let them take care of things from here.”
The waitress nods in agreement. “Yeah, ‘nuff said.”
Thor leaves, only after leaving a good sized tip for the waitress. | Thor looked at the woman, his mouth gaping. She lifted that his hammer with so much ease, not even he could do that without his belt.
Sif, Thrúd, Magni and Modi stared at the woman as well, aghast that a, seemingly, mortal woman could lift Mjolnir.
“You, you four saw that, right?” Thor asked, making sure his brain damage was causing him problems.
“I think,” Magni said, his pork chops no longer being eaten.
“Yeah, uh, ma’am?” Thor called out to the elderly woman.
The elderly woman stopped cleaning the table and looked up, moving the weaving needles from her hair.
“Yes dear?”
“How, how did you lift my hammer?” Thor asked.
This confused the woman, it’s a hammer, a somewhat short hammer, but still a hammer.
“I took my hand, grabbed it, then lifted it.” The woman explained.
Sif and Modi chuckled.
Thor sighed, “I know, ma’am, but how’d you lift it? It is, extremely, heavy.”
“I may be getting older in my years sonny, but I can still lift my own weight.” The woman told Thor.
Thor was thinking hard. What was this woman? She showed no signs of being an aseir or a jotunn, she was too tall to a dwarf, and couldn’t be a troll or an elf.
“But, not even I can lift it without this belt or my gloves.” Thor told her.
A look of realization came over the woman’s face, strands of yarn from her hair tie falling into her face.
“Ooooh,” said the woman, “you’re that Thor.”
Thor slowly nodded, “yes, ma’am”
The woman smiled kindly and fiddled with her spider ring.
“Well, I can’t say exactly how, but I can tell you that I am what some would call… a protector to say the least” the woman said vaguely.
“That doesn’t explain- oh and she’s walking away.” Magni said as the woman walked away.
*sorry for how bad this is, I kinda lost motivation half way through but still wanted to finish it, please tell me what should be added and what should be changed* | 2022-12-23T16:40:35 | 2022-12-23T15:05:54 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] A neuroscientist finds data stored in human DNA. When deciphered, it appears to be a file named README.txt. | "Readme.txt," I mused silently to myself. "Dear, you won't believe what Johnson and I found today at the lab. In over 300 samples of human DNA, we found a text document."
My wife mulled her response over carefully before answering, "Well, what did it say?"
"We're not entirely sure yet. The bits and pieces we've gathered seem to point to some kind of 'necessary' operating instructions. Stuff like 'Warning: do not expose to fire, radiation, fussion, fission, monoliths, corrosive acids or dogmatic ideologies.'"
"Well that's kind of amusing."
"It would be if it weren't for the other instructions we've decoded and translated so far. Johnson was working on a bit that came to read out, 'Notes about compatibility' and there was something about cross breeding with apparently alien animals and a stern warning about a EULA."
My wife got up to clear her plate and rinsed it off in the sink. As she did she asked, "Well, did you find the EULA?"
"Yes, but we didn't think it was worth reading. Damn thing came out to 400 pages." | It took a while to figure out. It was hard to isolate the very end of the strand of DNA he had found. It was small and quick to degrade when she managed to break it out of the nucleus. But she did it, she sequenced the isolated fragment and when she translated it she got the protein sequence arganine, glutamate, alanine, aspartate, methionine, glutamate, then a break, then threonine, then literally any other amino acid, and finally a threonine.
She thought it was odd. It said "readme.txt". It was the strangest thing she had seen. When she put the sequence into her modelling software and it had... trouble. The screen flickered and the ribbon structure.... moved. It made a word: "hi".
Was it talking to her? It couldn't be, that just couldn't happen. She had spent her entire life studying every scientific concept she came across. And this just couldn't happen. A trick, it had to be a trick. She closed the file and reopened it. And still all it said was "hi".
She stared, and she swears she could see it. There were words on the edge of the ribbon, it said "look inside yourself to see everything"...
She kept staring closer and closer. The lines of it all began to blur, then she started to hear a buzzing. Slowly it got louder and louder, blurrier and blurrier.
And then she woke up. She glanced up at her laptop screen and that same ribbon was there as before. A big glob of nothing intelligible. Nothing interesting, nothing fun, nothing new.
Sometimes being a neuroscientist is boring. | 2014-05-06T21:23:59 | 2014-05-06T21:21:18 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] A neuroscientist finds data stored in human DNA. When deciphered, it appears to be a file named README.txt. | Bob had the great idea to run the entire human genome sequence through a pattern filter; a slow process, taking several days to complete. He'd set it up to send him an SMS if it found anything. Every SMS he'd received in the past couple of days had sent his heart racing, only to be disappointed each time. "Buy milk," indeed. His phone trilled an SMS notification. "More milk?" he thought to himself sarcastically, and fished it out of his pocket. As he read the message preview on the screen, his blood ran cold, and he felt like the ground gave way beneath him. He sat hurriedly down and read the message again.
"Pattern found. Non-random Ascii values."
Rushing to the lab, he opened the app and synced the results. A few random fragments had been found that matched hexadecimal values, but only one had been found that contained actual decipherable data. In the raw data he could see the phrase "README.txt" followed by a couple of null bytes. There were only two more characters before the data reverted to utterly random gibberish. He read the two characters with mouth agape, in utter disbelief:
42
| It took a while to figure out. It was hard to isolate the very end of the strand of DNA he had found. It was small and quick to degrade when she managed to break it out of the nucleus. But she did it, she sequenced the isolated fragment and when she translated it she got the protein sequence arganine, glutamate, alanine, aspartate, methionine, glutamate, then a break, then threonine, then literally any other amino acid, and finally a threonine.
She thought it was odd. It said "readme.txt". It was the strangest thing she had seen. When she put the sequence into her modelling software and it had... trouble. The screen flickered and the ribbon structure.... moved. It made a word: "hi".
Was it talking to her? It couldn't be, that just couldn't happen. She had spent her entire life studying every scientific concept she came across. And this just couldn't happen. A trick, it had to be a trick. She closed the file and reopened it. And still all it said was "hi".
She stared, and she swears she could see it. There were words on the edge of the ribbon, it said "look inside yourself to see everything"...
She kept staring closer and closer. The lines of it all began to blur, then she started to hear a buzzing. Slowly it got louder and louder, blurrier and blurrier.
And then she woke up. She glanced up at her laptop screen and that same ribbon was there as before. A big glob of nothing intelligible. Nothing interesting, nothing fun, nothing new.
Sometimes being a neuroscientist is boring. | 2014-05-06T21:47:54 | 2014-05-06T21:21:18 | 63 | 23 |
[WP] Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | "After twenty years, belief decays. You can't help it, it just does. When the Primal Gods first scourged the earth and chose me to be their messenger, the awe, the greatness, the disbelief at what I saw overtook me. They weren't meant to be seen with mortal eyes, you see. Luckily, that was resolved very soon."
The man before me nodded.
"I walked the earth for a dozen or so years, giving the messages of the Primal. I let the unbelievers test me, spear me, and gods forbid, burn me, at the proof that I was truly immortal."
"You let them?" There was incredulity in his voice, maybe indignation.
"A different time," I said, waving away his questions. "I was their messenger. They had granted me immortality, they had granted me sight of who they are. A thousand deaths was nothing for me, and a thousand deaths I did experience."
"These Primal beings really existed, then?"
"Yes. At one point. Sadly, no more, for a dozen years after becoming their messenger, they all killed one another. Through burning, through fire, through flames, all were vanquished. Their messages and teachings, most spread through I, were corrupted over the ages. I, however, seemed to be forgotten by the Moirai, for here I am."
The man before me didn't particularly seem impressed. "How do you expect me to believe that?"
"I don't," I say. I pull out the knife he had embedded into my chest. "I barely believe my own story. As I said, belief decays, and after twenty years already I started to doubt. Two hundred years? Two thousand years? If not for my body I would have no reason to believe. Their messages, fuzzy, their faces, unclear. The Primals are gone, and let the dead rest."
I laid the knife before him. He held it, flicking at the blade. Blood splattered. Looking to my wound, already it began to heal. My breathing had yet to change the entire time it was within me.
He scoffed. He laughed. "What a joke," he said.
"Why so?"
"For me it was a witch," he said. "It was no grandoise story like your shit, it was just a stupid cunt who wanted to curse me."
"A witch?" I blinked.
"Yup. Some cunt from New Orleans, three or so hundred years ago. Said that I would live to watch all I loved die. Or... something like that, it's been a while. Immortality was supposed to be a curse." He sighed. "It's been nothing like that, actually. It's quite terrible when bad things happen..."
"When one gets run by a car, for example?"
He laughed. "For example." He touched his chin, his cheeks. They were still reforming before my eyes; the wound had long healed, but left unbelievable scarring. Now, even the scarring seemed to be lighter; I have no doubt that within the hour he would look newly born.
"I did not believe witches existed," I said, hesitant to confirm.
"I didn't think gods did either, or God," the man said. "Lost it in the first century. You?"
I chuckled. "Belief decays," I said. | Gods, I hate London.
It was my fault, entirely, and as such I took it upon myself to apologise but it seems I just couldn't just leave it at that. I mean the girl was beautiful and it had been quite a long time, in fact a *very* long time, since my heart had been stirred. She was striking and it was a matter of pure fact that she reminded me instantly of that *one*. You know, *her*.
So I apologised. I didn't mean to walk into her, let alone spill her coffee to say the least, but it was rush hour. This sea of people is infinite and even the mightiest armies I've raised on the march would be hard pressed to meet these numbers. But I digress. I had nowhere to be and she took my offer to buy her another drink without any hesitation.
As it so happens we were almost on the doorstep of a café anyway so it made sense to pop in. It was a little too quirky for my liking but then everything is. As the years go by I find it harder and harder to adapt to these fashions and trends. Though I can't really use that excuse as they all come back around so quickly anyway.
She gave her name, smiling at me across the table as the waiter sluggishly took my order, and I found that pained me even further. Helen. It's not quite the same but nonetheless looking at her now I found her features familiar. She remarked about my own similarities to a person since passed, not pondering too long on her meaning, and found myself hoping that this man had been someone attractive to her.
The one coffee became two. I had mistaken her for her early twenties due to her youth but it became apparent she must be far older. I confess I was positively beaming, I must admit, I smiled more in that first hour than I had in a century. We exchanged languages, adventures, and passions at breakneck speed.
I considered what an unusual couple we must look like. Her style was modern, sexy, and confident. She lazed back in her chair, with barely a moment where four legs met the floor, eyeing me cool consideration. While my dour threads were feeling more and more out of place. I used to think that a man could always feel at home in a suit but now it seemed to stiff and formal for our little encounter. I remember perplexed with Fred, when he said I had to throw my suit at the wall and get that stiffness out, but I never quite took to his meaning until now.
So I was half way through taking off my jacket when she stunned me. The correction was slight but when she mentioned Turkey I knew that there was more than a mere resemblance at play. My memory isn't flawless, as still I am but only human in many respects, but that stumble threw it all back in an instant.
"Helena?"
A single additional vowel had the impact of a battering ram as her sudden jolt of shock caused her to almost topple of her chair in surprise.
The smile was gone and she found her feet before I found mine my jacket catching the table as I went to leave after her. Once again coffee went flying, eyes were drawn to the commotion, and I felt like a fool. With the distraction passed I turn and see nothing but the infinite sea.
I had searched Anatolia for years for her before my decline, before I then spent centuries moping and drowning my sorrows, but I was a practical man. I had accepted her passing as one of the cruel fates of the world. After all I had seen it happen again, and again, and again.
But this could have been different. She was like me. We could have escaped countless fates and trials, rely on people again, become whole.
But no. Instead she was swallowed by the sea. That endless rush.
Gods, I hate London. | 2014-06-16T07:15:48 | 2014-06-16T07:05:39 | 42 | 20 |
[WP] One day, every person on Earth wakes up with a lottery ticket on their person. ~7 billion tickets and no one knows where or who they came from. You turn on the TV and see your lottery numbers on the screen and wonder what's about to happen. | At first Lars thought it was a sexy joke from his wife. She always liked to play little games with him to make him curious. He wondered what kind of lottery she was plotting. He rolled over to put an arm around her. She felt like home. He looked at the clock on her night stand, there was a ticket there as well. “What is this game?” he thought to himself.
“Honey”
“Mmmm” she pulled his hand up to her chest and snuggled her arm under his.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Cheryl.” He kissed her puffy, sleep-face.
He got out of bed, took a shower, and continued his bathroom ritual. In the kitchen, his son and mother-in-law were both seated at the table, holding tickets. His wife looked up as he entered the room. “What’s all this then?” she asked holding up her ticket.
“Oh, come now, don’t try to blame this on me.” He jabbed.
“No, really, I’ve no idea where these came from.” She turned on the TV to see every station had news of the lottery tickets. There were multiple drawings throughout the day and the first one happened only minutes before. They all scanned the numbers on their tickets. Lars finished and looked over at his wife’s. Nada.
“I won!” exclaimed the son. “Dad, I won!”
“Let me see, Willard.” Lars looked down, back up at the screen, then down again. “Well, I’ll be. Guess we need to call that number on the screen.” Lars nodded his head towards the screen. He was always a fairly even-keeled individual, but the fact that he was so nonchalant about his teenage son winning a lottery irritated Cheryl. He took his phone off of the charger and handed it to Willard. “Go ahead, son.”
“Don’t you have to be an adult to win a lottery?” Asked Cheryl.
“Meh.” Replied Lars. Cheryl crinkled her nose at him.
Willard’s fingers shook as he tried to key the correct spots on the touch screen. It was ringing. “Congratulations! You’ve got a golden ticket!” chimed the recorded voice. “Please send your winning ticket along with a self addressed stamped envelope to the following address to claim your prize!”
Three days later, it came. A thick manilla envelope. Willard tore open the package only to discover a credit card with a novel-sized Terms of Use. On top of the terms of use was a summary sheet.
Congratulations!
Here is your unlimited, free purchase card. You can use it to make all your purchases,
big and small, and you’ll never have to repay a penny. Happy Spending!
Everyone was too elated to bother with the giant TOU sitting on the coffee table. The family had always been a little down trodden in the financial department. Willard could now buy anything his family ever needed and not have to worry about debt. “What should I buy first?” He quipped to himself.
“Dad!” Willard called. “Dad, log in to your bank account!”
“Why?” Lars asked. “You don’t need to concern yourself with..”
“Just do it! I want to try something.” Willard pleaded.
“Alright, hang on.” Lars opened his laptop and accessed his account. His eyes tried to avoid the part of the screen displaying how much water he was under with his home. Willard clicked the One-time payment option, entered the amount in its entirety, his card number, and pressed enter.
Request approved.
“Willard! I can’t believe it! I knew there was a reason I had you!” He joked.
“What?” Willard asked. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh Willard, what would you like, I’ll take you anywhere, son. I can’t believe this. This is incredible.”
“Um… I can’t think of anywhere to go.” Willard scrunched his brow in frustration. “I can’t think of anything that sounds good.”
“Well, maybe Grandma can think of a place we should go to celebrate. How’s that sound?” Lars guessed Willard was probably in shock from the windfall he’d just received.
“I have a Grandma?”
“Willard, are you ok?” Lars looked over at the Terms of Use again, his heart sinking as he realized the tried and true rule of “If it’s too good to be true…” He thumbed through, landing on a page with specifics regarding to what the purchase card company owns and is entitled. For every $5,000 processed, the company claims ownership of one (1) cardholder’s memory. Said memory becomes property of purchase card company and can be used for marketing, advertising, or any other use deemed appropriate by company.
Lars looked at his son, then at the purchase card. | Everyone had one, but mine was the winner.
I didn’t know how to respond when I saw the numbers flash across the screen. They were pasted on every single piece of communication. If you picked up a phone instead of a dial-tone all one would hear was a deep voice repeating the same line over and over again, “Congratulations ticket holder 4623087111 you have one the lottery. We will arrive at 5PM. Be ready.”
It was 4:59 right now. It had been nearly five hours since the reveal and a day and five hours since the tickets magically appeared. When it happened they just fell out of the sky like rain, shimmering in the sunlight and flipping and turning every which way as they descended. People stopped and stared in the streets, at first thinking it was an advertisement of sorts. But as the tickets came closer to the ground and people reached out to grab them. As the first ticket rested near my feet I reached out to grab it, but like a wet fish it flopped out of my hands and pulled free. Then I stepped on it. ‘Oh no,’ I had thought, ‘You aren’t getting away from me that easily.’ Moments later it slid out from under my foot at a colossal speed throwing me backwards and onto the ground. “What the fuck!?” It was around this time that everyone was realizing something was wrong. People started screaming and for a few minutes all hell broke loose. The tickets were launching in every direction; most flew far off into the distance. Then one crashed into my face. I pulled it off and the ticket went limp, it was as though it died when it made it to me. It had found its targeted recipient.
News stations began to report that everywhere across the globe tickets vaporized in the sky and that each person had received one. ‘No shit,’ I thought when I saw the first broadcasts. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ But they couldn’t, there was no more information. For the rest of the day people speculated what had happened. Where did the tickets come from? What were they for?
Some thought it was aliens, others thought it was a government conspiracy or the illuminati, and some even thought it was the gods or magic. At the time I can’t express how I felt. It was perhaps a bit of intrigue, excitement, and tab bit of fear. By the next morning, though, people had gone back to their usual routine. No answers had come and the world wasn’t going to stop just because of odd event. No one had died.
I, too, went back to work. I was a cashier at a 7-11. I had seen people waste their livelihood on lottery tickets, and rarely did I see a winner. It was always depressing. But suddenly at noon today the radio stopped. Then it started announcing the same thing it had for the last four hours, the lottery winner. “Congratulations ticket holder 4623087111 you have one the lottery. We will arrive 5PM. Be ready.”
‘Wait, wasn’t my number something similar?’ I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket and stared at it as I listened. 4-6-2-3-…’Oh god, please no,’ I thought as the voice continued announcing. My heart began to fill with dread. I realized I didn’t want to be the winner. Deep down inside the ticket felt sinister. “0-8-7-1-1-1.”
“…I…I won. Or maybe I lost,” I let out at almost a whisper. Since then my mind raced with fantasies. They ranged from me being crowned a god to me being sacrificed for humanity. I hadn’t told anyone yet that I was the winner. In fact, I hadn’t seen anyone since I found out. I couldn’t handle the pressure. Eventually I just walked out of the store. The roads were empty. It was positively eerie. I got home and stared at my toes for what felt like hours.
And so here we are. It is 4:59 and I am standing in my living room on the verge of tears staring at the clock. How could I be prepared for what was to come? My heart was racing. The clocked ticked as the hand moved to the five. The radio went silent. Suddenly there was a knock at my door.
I take one slow step towards it. My hand grasps the handle, but I lack the willpower to turn it. Every ounce of my being is screaming at me telling me to turn and run. *clunk cluck* the second knock reverberated. “Please! Please just leave me alone,” I howl. “I do not want this. For the love of god just leave me alone!” I wish for nothing more at this moment than for this to not be happening. Finally I throw the door open ready to attack whatever lay on the other side. Instead a note lay at my feet. “We hope you enjoy your prize. It is precisely what you wished for,” it reads.
‘Wh-what?’ I stare in confusion, hardly able to read the letter through my teary eyes. Finally I pick it up and walk inside. I sit at the couch and turn on the television expecting to see every news station covering the story. Instead it is just regular programming. No mention of the lottery at all. The urge to understand what is happening overcomes me. The note that was just on my lap has disappeared. I reach in my pocket. The ticket is gone.
| 2014-08-05T16:14:04 | 2014-08-05T15:52:36 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Your office has an emergency stop button. You have no machinery. No one knows what it does.
Inspiration: http://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/2gkyut/my_office_has_an_emergency_stop_button_we_have_no/ | Greg sipped at his scalding-hot coffee and stared at the button behind the water cooler. Red and chipped, it boasted a faded legend reading "Emergency Stop" recessed into the surface.
Out of pique, Greg flipped up the acrylic cover and depressed the button. He felt the resistance of the spring behind the plastic, but all it seemed to do was softly click. He chuckled once, not sure what he should've been expecting.
Greg never thought of anything again. He, along with the rest of his coworkers and all the equipment in the office, slammed through the wall at several hundred miles per hour. Cities crumbled. Tidal waves pummeled coastlines. Only the planes in the air and the astronauts aboard the International Space Station survived.
The Earth gradually transformed. The dayside, succumbing to the unfailing heat of the sun, was engulfed in a storm nearly the size of the hemisphere; walls of ice swallowed up the side facing away. Those who could make the journey stumbled into the twilight regions clinging to the line where day met night. Many perished.
None of the few survivors ever forgot the day the Earth stopped spinning. | The three of us had just been born. Perhaps alive for hours, born into suits and suites, born into desks that had been born for us, to bear us, for we were bears. The three of us, the three bears, who wore suits and worked in an office. Talk about an identity crisis in the making. Nonetheless, not something a newborn would think about.
What one would think about is differences. We were all the same, three talking and thinking bears, and for all of the existence that is all we had known that is all we had known. Until one of us lifted his shirt -- It doesn't matter which, we were all essentially the same until that point, but at the point he gained an identity. Defined not by his clothes but by his nudity among those who draped themselves in dapper warm-wear. That, and an enormous button on his stomach. It read "emergency stop."
The two of us who were left constant imagined what it might do, and he, the one whom had been imprinted upon, I can only imagine wondered too. He looked like a wonderer. We deliberated for some time, talking about the different things a button on one's stomach might do but came to no solid conclusion, but we surmised that it could only affect the digestive system.
So he ate thirteen pounds of berries to test our theory, and five hours later he said he was ready. So, there he went, doing those rude things that people do, and we pushed the button. We expected it to stop, and it certainly did, but he did too. And so we learned to not push the emergency stop buttons underneath our dapper shirts.
Years later someone asked if we had a brother, and we really had no answer. We never really told anyone about him. It was embarrassing. | 2014-09-16T21:52:55 | 2014-09-16T19:45:56 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] For years, from since you both can remember, all the way up into adulthood, not a day has gone by that you and your best friend havent been anywhere without the other. Each day you go home and everything's a blur until you meet up. Then one day, you find out your an imaginary friend. | "Hey."
"Hey, man."
"Been a long time, huh? That I've been with you."
"Yeah. Since the divorce. What was I...nine?"
"Younger, I think. But my memory is tied into yours. Could be longer. Could be eons."
"Anyways. I always knew you were imaginary, you know."
"I know. So did I. You get tricked, sometimes, but I always knew."
"Still. You made me feel better. You always helped me...figure things out. Just staring in the mirror. When I was teenager, even."
"I think teenagers need imaginary friends more than anybody. Those are hard years. I would know. I was with you the whole time. The parties you came home early from, almost crying. The nights spent staring at the ceiling trying to decide if this class or that mattered more than the other."
"Yeah. I was a wreck back then. I guess I still am."
"You maybe should stop drinking."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Maybe stop talking to me, too."
"You think so?"
"I think I enable you. I think you use me, sometimes, to rationalize bad decisions or to make things that are good seem worse. You always talk to me when you're in a bad mood, you know that? How do you think that makes me feel? That the only time you feel you can be honest is when you're..."
"What? Sad?"
"Sad. Angry. Emotional in general, I guess. We never just go throw a frisbee around or enjoy a sunset, or whatever people do. I don't even know, because I'm stuck with you."
"Stuck with me? What, you hate me?"
"Not hate. I think you're projecting. Not hate. I'm just...tired."
"Maybe you should go to bed."
"I think we both should go to bed. I think think we need sleep more than anything. There's been a lot of nights, especially lately, without sleep. You know what happens when you sleep? Your body repairs itself. Just a little. Sheds a bit of skin, replays the days' events. Maybe you need me because you can't do that on your own. But eventually you have to, man. I can't be here forever. You know who has imaginary friends forever? Schizophrenics. And how does that work out? No, my dear friend, you need sleep. Dreams should guide you more than me. More than I ever could. You need sleep."
"But I can't..."
"What?"
"I can't sleep. I never could. Even when I was a kid, and kids are supposed to sleep like rocks. I sleepwalk, you know. Of course you do. Maybe it's you that's running me when I do. I sleep walk and talk and do all these crazy things."
"You aren't crazy."
"I know."
"Because you know I'm not real."
"You're a figment of my imagination. Well, my inner thoughts, anyway. I guess once I thought you were real. Like my shadow-self."
"Shadow is right. Nobody likes their own shadow, I think. Always following them. Making them look long and spindly and strange. Scaring them in the half-dark."
"Well."
"You need sleep, my friend. When you wake up, maybe I'll be gone. Like a dream slipping down the drain. Or I'll still be here, but in a quiet corner - like a half bottle of whiskey kept behind the oatmeal. For when you really need it."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"No. So sleep. Lay your head down and sleep. And I'll be gone, or I won't, but either way - I won't be your shadow." | Doesn't exactly follow the prompt but this is what came out as I typed. It's sort of based on personal experiences. I may expand on this if I'm so inclinded
------------------------------------------
" Yoshi, could you sit down please.... there is something I need to tell you. " I said a little down trodden as Yoshi did as I asked, happily as ever. " What's wrong, my friend? " Noticing the depressed look on my face.
Yoshi and I had being friends for as long as we both remember. We first met on a cold, crisp Christmas morning. Since then, we've being virtually inseparable. We've gone all sorts of adventures together, being to all kinds of places. He laughed at me as I got drenched wet in a river on a school tour and helped ignite a gift for drawing that I never knew I had.
I enjoyed hearing the stories about all his adventures with all the various friends from all over the world. This Yoshi was pretty well traveled, if I may say. God.... it's too much to think about right now, this is the most difficult I've ever had to do.
" Yoshi " I mumbled " Do you remember all the times we've had together? The times we spent playing, helping me with homework? The day my great-grandmother died, you stayed with me throughout the whole thing and didn't know what was wrong when I was telling all those inappropriate jokes at her wake? "
Yoshi smiled " Of course I do. Your mother was nothing short of mortified! She had to stop you! That was funny! " I smiled slightly but then went back to a groan. " What's the matter? " Yoshi inquired, sensing that something was seriously wrong.
" I don't know how to say this Yoshi " as I blankly stared at him " So I'm just going to say it - You are not real. You're my imaginary friend. " There was initial reaction, I think he was taking some time to process the information.
" Wait..... what? Me.... imaginary? " He was clearly struggling to comprehend the fact. " IT'S TRUE! " I shouted at him, trying to hold back my tears. He stood there for a second, motionless, clearly shocked. " You're a character for a video game! "
In the middle of all this, a butterfly appears. Almost instinctively, Yoshi pops out his tongue and hits the butterfly. " Slurp! " Something as silly as this in a serious situation like this made me laugh, I couldn't help it.
" So..... why are you telling me this? " He questioned " Why am I, a video game character, you're imaginary friend? " " I'm an introvert, Yoshi. I keep to myself and play video games all weekend. Of course such stuff was going to influence me. " I replied " But no one thought it would be like this. "
" The reason I am telling you all this " I continued " is because I have to say goodbye to you. " Yoshi is shocked by ths statement " We have to say... goodbye.... why? " I'm looking down at the ground at this point, only turning my eyes towards him " Because.... I need to grow up.... my parents, my own brother tells me I need to wake up and get some cop on. "
" But... I never did you any harm. In fact, I make you happy..... why does one have to lose what makes them happy in order to ' grow up ' " Yoshi stated at me. I struggle to think of answer " I don't know..... because they said so. It's the way. "
Yoshi is confused " But..... your family are doing some horrible things and by all accounts, they are miserable...... does growing up.... mean becoming miserable? " " To be..... quite honest.... I don't know.... " I'm crying now. Yoshi comes to hug me.
" Listen, we are NOT saying goodbye. This is a see you later " He proclaims " I think you will find that some things ARE worth fighting for/ But if we most say goodbye, so be it. " Tears are streaming down his eyes as he speaks. " Thank you.... friend..... I'll never forget you..... " Yoshi begins to fade " Me.... neither.............. good................... bye "
I awake form my slumber; It was all but a dream but the ramifications were very real. Yoshi was no longer there beside me. Instead there was silence, a smell that I would become all too familar with as the sun peaked through my window. It most of being late morning. I guess I'm not going to school, then.
I felt empty.... hollow. As if an important part of who I am was stripped away from. Is this what growing up and getting cop on is like? | 2014-10-29T07:05:27 | 2014-10-29T06:35:42 | 133 | 22 |
[WP] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump. Rather than joining together, they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump.
EDIT: yes i'm well aware this concept has been done before many times in movies, books and music.
But that's exactly it: it's not original, so who cares? Let's let the awesome authors of /r/writingprompts have a crack at an old idea :) | The man shivered as he padded across the newly constructed bridge, clutching his jacket tightly. His whole life'd been one miserable failure after another. He hadn't managed to do anything right.
Being the first person to jump off this damn bridge would be the only memorable thing he ever did.
He froze. Another figure? Up at this hour? As he drew closer, the other man came into view. Poised on the edge of the bridge, it was clear the other man had planned to kill himself as well.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
The figure froze, and started climbing down from the railing. "I.. I just..."
"Don't you dare do it."
"Why? My wife left me, my kid was hit by a truck, and I'm getting laid off tomorrow. I've never accomplished anything."
"So? No matter how much it hurts, you have to keep moving. I know what it feels like to lose people close to you. You know they wouldn't have wanted you to waste your life like this."
The other figure froze, and slowly nodded. "I get that you're trying to help, but I don't think I- Hey! What are you doing?"
"What, you thought you were the only one who wanted to do this?"
"Y-you just explained to me how important it was to-"
"...I don't have anything to live for. Everyone close to me died long ago - I've just been sort of... drifting for the past few years. Being the first guy to jump from here'll be the only thing I ever do right."
"...You have got to be kidding me. Look at you! You're young and healthy! I'm old - would have died in a few years anyway. Never accomplished anything either. There'll be more chances and more bridges for you, kid. I won't live to see the next one."
Both figures stood in silence for a while. "We can both be the first ones to jump from here, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The younger man scratched his head. "You know, maybe I wo-"
A naked, screaming man ran between them - needle marks covered his arms, and his teeth were rotten and decayed. Without slowing, he sprinted off the edge of the bridge. Several seconds later, they both cringed at the splash.
"Are you fucking-"
"Goddammit."
-------------
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon | “You can’t jump,” she said. Her brown hair blew in the wind.
“You can’t jump,” he said. He had no hair and looked very pale.
She leaned forward. The group behind them gasped. A man on a bullhorn barked at them but neither heard him. “It’s not a death sentence for you, you know,” she said.
“You’re young. You’ve got your entire life in front of you,” he said.
“To be fair, everyone has their entire life in front of them,” she said. “How old are you?”
He sniffed and looked down. “Forty-eight.”
“Lots of time left.”
“Stage 4,” he shook his head. “Less than ten percent five year survival rate.”
“So you’re telling me there’s a chance?” she said.
The man began to cry. “Not much. I can’t let my wife and children watch me waste away. This is better. I go out on my own terms. My family doesn’t have to deal with a prolonged death. No muss. No fuss.”
“Don’t you want to spend as much time with your family as possible?” she said. The wind picked up. Her hair whirled around her head. It was long enough to tickle at the edge of the man’s vision.
He nodded. “I do,” he said. He began to sob. “I do so much, but it isn’t being with them if I can’t recognize they’re there.” He looked over at the woman. “What about your family?”
Police began to push the crowd behind the man and woman back. “I don’t have a family. I was a foster child.”
“No partner? No siblings?”
She shook her head as uniformed men and women began to edge towards the pair. “No. I had a girlfriend. She broke up with me. That’s not why I’m out here though.”
“Are you sick?”
“I lost a lot of money. I lost my job. I have creditors breathing down my neck. I’m in danger of going to jail for failure to pay court fees,” she said. She looked like she wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t come out.
“How old are you?” he said.
“Twenty-three.”
“You’ve got a lot of time to pay back your debts.”
“You’ve got a lot of time to spend with your family.”
He paused and looked down. “Would you like to spend it with me?”
She sniffed and looked over at him. “What do you mean?”
“Will you spend your time with me and my family?”
Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know.”
He looked at her. His eyes pleaded. “Please. We’ll help you with your debts,” he said. “Please.”
She slid her hand down the railing to his, grabbing it tight. “If you spend as much time as you have with your family.”
“If you spend it with my family.”
She nodded. He nodded. They climbed back over the bridge’s railing together.
____________________________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| 2015-01-27T17:17:41 | 2015-01-27T16:49:17 | 699 | 506 |
[WP] Any person you punch in anger is cured of all disease and is given perfect health for the rest of their life. The truth of this has gotten out and now everyone is out to piss you off. | "Do it.... pussy."
The elderly woman slowly put up her fists, "Come on, you... little bitch, don't tell me you're ch...chicken."
"Mrs. Roswell, I can't" I begged, "this is too far."
She weakly extended her arm and tapped me on the shoulder, "what ya going to do, whippersnapper? Man up and beat my leukemia ridden ass."
"Look, I became a pacifist!" I cried, "No more violence, I'm sorry."
"Look like this youngster is chicken!" Mrs. Roswell yelled back to her gang of crippled cronies, "Bawk... bawk.. *cough cough* bawk, lil chicken, bawk bawk, lil chicken pot pie."
The others joined in turn, slowly flapping their arms and wheezing.
"This has too stop!" I yelled.
"Just hit me, asshole!" Mrs. Roswell cried, "I survived two wars, four tumors, and 87 years of fucking little scrawny bitches like you, and i ain't dieing of no leukemia. Just do it right in the eye, small fry, I can fucking take it. Show this grandma her place and fucking hit me real good! COME ON, DO IT! I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A SUCH PATHETIC LOWLIFE NINNYMUFFIN THAT YOU CAN'T EVEN...."
I socked her in jaw. Instantly, color returned to her face and soon she could stand up completely without the need for her walker. Mrs. Roswell no longer look sickly but instead flourished with health and vibrancy. Even the twinkle in her eye returned.
"What kind of fucktard would hit a sick old lady?!"
I turned to see a wheel-chaired veteran with arthritis slowly roll his way towards me.
"Come at me, pussy!" | "Hey, Trenton! Go _fuck_ yourself!"
I rolled my eyes and ignored the man yelling at me from across the street. With a frustrated sigh, I continued my walk, making sure to keep my gazed focused on the ground, where it's easier to ignore people.
It's gotten to the point where I can't walk anywhere without gathering attention. I've got a... condition, you see. I heal anything I touch. It seems amazing, I know, but it's really not - there's a caveat. For some stupid reason, my ability seems to be linked to force. That is, the harder I hit something, the better they feel. And it gets better. Anyone I hit when I'm angry seems to feel the effects longer. If I jokingly punch my friend, maybe a bruise or some scrapes clear up. If I deck some asshole who's trying to insult me, it unfractures bones. If I'm _really_ mad - and I mean practically seething in rage - I can cure cancer.
Now, at first it was just unfortunate. I know it's surprising, but I don't really hit people out of anger unless they've pissed me off. Thus, the only people I can help are the ones I really don't want to. Which sucks, let me tell you. Nothing takes away the catharsis of a nice solid blow like knowing that they're better for it. God it's infuriating.
Nowadays, people go out of their way to make me lose it. Back when it started, it was only people with nothing left. People on death's doorstep with only days left. It was obnoxious having these sad, sickly people treating me like garbage, but I could understand it. I'm sure most of them felt bad about it.
The types that come about now, though, they can all go straight to hell. I've punched pretty much every dying person in Chicago - which is a lot of people! Thus, the types who come after me now are the people who are just "minorly inconvenienced" by their illnesses. People with broken legs, treatable viruses, things like that. People fueled not by desperation, but impatience. And it's _awful_. Because those people are way, way meaner. The kind of person who's willing to try to anger someone to the point of bloody rage simply to save a couple weeks of bother kind of have to be. And I don't really want to help those people.
Fortunately for me, though, only punching seems to do anything. So I bought a gun. Wave it around a bit, and they learn to stay away. | 2015-02-23T15:32:08 | 2015-02-23T15:14:08 | 180 | 22 |
[WP] You have a special type of clairvoyance: you can see the outcomes of all possible choices. You use this power to become a superhero that fights crime by making the smallest possible changes ahead of time. You are The Butterfly. | The man frowned heavily - it had been a long time since he'd last used his power. With luck, it might be the last time he would have to.
He knew, of course, that what he was doing was wrong - but wasn't a small wrong justifiable if it helped so many more? It must be, he decided.
A quick glance around the street let him find the car - they would be nearby. A nearby teen, hood drawn over his head, stepped quickly past him. As he turned the corner into the alleyway, however, he found a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey." Stall for time, come on...
"What do you want?" The figure's voice was low and tense. His hand dipped towards his belt.
"I... uh... I just wanted some directions. To... the theater?" Fifteen seconds.
"You're looking right at it."
"I'm... wait, is it this building, or that one?"
The figure took a step forward. "Get out of here - stop wasting my time."
Perfect. The Butterfly slipped away with an apologetic nod, and the suspicious figure slipped into the alley.
The Wayne family exited the building.
The easiest way to fight crime?
Get someone else to do it.
---
Questions? Comments? Want to see more? Check out /r/Draxagon
^It's ^been ^a ^while, ^guys. ^Sorry ^for ^not ^posting. | “I need another venti latte, skim milk!”
A large hand shoved the paper cup into Jenson’s hand. He began pouring the steamed milk into the cup when his finger brushed the name written on the cup: SAM.
The man hurried through the office, phone and coffee at the ready. A young woman pulled a mail cart pulled ahead of him, but he didn’t see, he couldn’t see. There was already an email from Advertising in his head.
She turned, collided with him. Coffee splattered all over him, and his attention shifted. There was surprise, pain, burning pain, leading to a bout of rage. The terrified young face.
Jenson came back to see that he had stopped pouring the milk. A moment’s hesitation before he switched to the slightly cooler whole milk. No burns then. She really needed that job, and no one was really happy with skim milk.
More orders poured in. An extra shot of chocolate for Denise, any teacher would need that extra boost, but during a field trip? Chocolate would keep her from losing it in that museum. Calvin had to face his father today, a little less caffeine might calm his nerves. Most cups were destined for the trash can. Jenson liked those cups.
“Grande Pumpkin Spice Latte”
KATIE - oh dear. The police do not like people throwing drinks at their unmarked cars, in Jenson’s experience. Maybe a different size - but, no, she’d just throw an empty cup. He plastered a fake smile on his face.
“I’m so sorry, but we’re completely out. I can get you a regular latte and a free pastry for the inconvience.”
Katie looked pissed - and really, those anger problems needed to be handled - but some more platitudes calmed her down.
And if Jenson scrawled his number onto the cup, well, a little flattery never hurt anyone, and he didn’t have plans. Just another day at the Butterfly Cafe.
EDIT: I rarely post my writing so feedback of any type is really welcome :)
EDIT2: Check out the brandnew /r/cavadire too? | 2015-03-14T21:00:29 | 2015-03-14T20:40:30 | 797 | 350 |
[WP] "The simulation is over. He failed the test." The words echo in your ears as you remember where you are. | I look around groggily, the return of my vision seeming to take an eternity. The room is brightly lit, and three blurred faces hover over me looking down. Looking down, my eyes are met with a fuzzy sea of orange jumpsuit. As I move to stretch my lethargic muscles, I find I am strapped down at the limbs and head.
"Simulation." The word bounces around in my mind continuously, my brain swimming in a sea of emotions and adrenaline. Moments ago I had been sliding a knife between my wife's ribs, psychopathic glee and enormous fear and grief clashing viciously in my consciousness, but suddenly none of it feels truly real. It was all a dream, but the vivid kind of dream you really need to take several confusing moments to address and convince yourself was really nothing more than unconscious imagining.
But it is also a memory... a much older one. She really is gone. I did stab her, but it was ten years ago. Ten years of unprovoked fights, mushy food, and cell doors are all coming back to me. *How did I forget all of this? Where even am I?*
"Looks like that's no parole for you, buddy," the earlier voice says, as one of the figures above me reaches down and gives me a rough pat on the shoulder. The three chuckle disdainfully as they turn and stride out of the area. My clearing vision spots two guards walking up to replace the table's straps with their own cuffs, so as to take me back to my cell.
*Parole.* Yes, that was it. This was my one chance at freedom. It's all coming back now. They give us all one chance to prove we are rehabilitated. We're taken back six months before our crime, in a simulation, to see if we repeat our mistakes.
I was sure I was ready. My regret couldn't be truer. I came into this room with so much conviction, I knew I wouldn't do it again... but I did. No matter how much I love her, I cannot control myself. I cannot control my urges.
Tears flood my eyes as shame fills every inch of my soul. There is no hope for me. I am a stain on this world. And there's nothing here for me anyway - they give us only one chance. The rest of my life will be in that cell.
As the prison guards lift me up and start to escort me toward the doorway, I look down at the table they had me on. My, what a sharp corner it has. I stop momentarily, prompting a guard to tug at my arm, and take a deep breath. Then in a flash I bring my head crashing down as hard as possible, my world turning to darkness with one sharp crack. | The first thing I noticed was the sound dying. I hadn't been aware of it until it was gone. It was like a high-pitched whine that lowered in pitch until it wasn't there any longer. Then hands are grabbing my shoulder, pulling some device off of my head. I feel tugging on my arms and back.
"Get up." I blink at the light, it's so bright. Where am I? What just happened? I was in my room a second ago, I was playing against these shitty noobs on-
"I SAID GET UP!"
A pair of hands grab me by the arm and yank me from the seat, my eyes have adjusted enough to see there are four people around me. They all look as if they'd just had to scrub cat vomit out of the carpet.
"Another one." An older woman shakes her head at me, "At this rate no one will be left to be linked."
I start to remember. The test. This was a test. I'm supposed to... I'm supposed to do something...
"Just get him out of here." Another man is standing in the back. His back is straight and his face is more controlled than the others.
"Hey!" I shout as the woman grabs my arm again, "What the fuck?"
"Shut up." she tightens her grip and a jolt of fears hits grips me with the pain it brings, "You had your chance. All you had to do was be a decent person. How hard is that? Just the slightest bit of self control."
"What are you talking about?" Memories hit me as I say the words. The test, the game. It wasn't just a game...
"You spent three hours with simulated access to the internet. In those three hours you called three women 'whales', laughed at a video of a man breaking his leg and shouted numerous obscenities at children in an online video game." The youngest of the four was speaking. She was little more than a girl herself, even younger than I was. she had pretty eyes. The way they looked at me...
"I... I did?" I look from one face to another. It clicked. They're disgusted with *me!*
"Bosco." The leader speaks, his voice calm, "Read back the last line he typed in the simulation."
The other man pulls out a Network Pad. My eyes lock on it. The Pads. The Network. All the knowledge accumulated by the human race, the great memory. This was the test...
"I...F-K-N...Fucking, got it... I fuckin' raped yous... you with an 's' at the end? Really? I can't make out the last part. Nups? What are Nups?"
Memory. Reality and simulation all fall into place. The confusion from being removed so suddenly is gone. I *remember.* Oh god. I was... There was just so much I could do and no one knew who I was. I could be anyone, know anything... why? Why did I have to do this? I thought I'd just try it once, get a rise out of people, make them angry... or make them cry. What the hell? What is wrong with me?
The woman pulled on my arm, bringing my face closer to hers, "Mr. Thorne, you have failed your internet-access test. It is time for you to go."
| 2015-05-10T20:35:38 | 2015-05-10T20:25:24 | 64 | 30 |
[WP] Humans have always considered themselves to be a violent species. What they don't know is that the rest of the galaxy considers Earth to be the most peaceful planet in the milky way. | <Peace by the Sword>
We are peaceable out of necessity, and because of it we are the most powerful race in this galaxy.
For a Human to kill another takes but a moment, a sharp knife or even just a few ounces of pressure and a man can be easily killed, his corpse discarded as a worthless sack of meat. Indeed, if there has been one constant throughout Human history it is that we have always found new and more creative ways to kill one another, ways to kill one another more quickly.
We invented the spear, the sling, the bow and arrow, the cannon, the musket, bombs and nuclear weapons, out latest achievement is the power to simply snuff out a star thus condemning an entire solar system to death.
We are a violent vengeful species, yet throughout our wars and bloodshed ever evolving we spawned another weapon. Honor, brotherhood, a place to belong, and a reason to fight.
Once we fought to feed our bellies and rut with our mates in the dirt, and we still do on occasion. Now though, we fight for grander ideals. We fight not for ourselves, but for those whom do not whish to fight and those who can no longer fight. The bonds we form with one another, those not of our lineage whom we call brother and friend, it is not a pact we enter lightly nor one we toss aside with ease.
The Yunik of Mordanin were perhaps the most powerful species in this quadrant, indeed on our first encounter with them in deep space out ships and troops were easily dispatched and destroyed in gouts of plasmonic fire. Like in our past we held our hand out to them in kinship, as Humanity has done for every enemy in history. We do not wish to march towards war, we would rather have our pacts and vows ring empty in the air.
The Yunik laughed, saying they did not need a friend. Indeed even amongst themselves the Yunik were a violent race, much like the entities of every other race in these chambers. Survival of the fittest, every single culture here is based on that principal except my own.
The Yunik faught within their own ranks constantly, the strongest was the leader.
The Ryin follow much the same principal, if only more subtly poisoning and forming temporary pacts only to betray one another for personal advantage.
The Hicloo literally absorb their weaker peers, taking their memories and experiences adding it to their own.
Every race in this quadrant is constantly at war not only with everyone else but with themselves. Each member of the race only cooperating for their individual benefit, their individual advancement.
So yes, Humanity is the most peaceful species in this room.
We do not stab one another in the back, we do not fight for ourselves. We fight for those whom do battle beside us, and those who are behind us. The Yunik did not understand this, and for that error they paid the price of meeting on the battlefield an enemy that did not waiver, and through sheer force of will destroyed them.
The Yunik are no more, for the simple fact that Humanity has weaponized peace. We fight so that we might return to peace, return to our brothers in arms, and to our families. With our weaponized peace the more you try to fight us the more powerful we will become if only to return to it.
So I ask this assembly, who among you is willing to make peace with Humanity?
---
---
Come say hi over at /r/CGWilliam
| Humans are a pretty violent race, right? The Holocaust, ISIS and Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, the 2028 Brazilian Slaughter, the African Multi-Genocide, and the triple bombing of Shanghai, Tokyo, and Jakarta in 2076. In those incidents combined, over 116 million people were killed. Not to mention the countless other catastrophes, wars, attacks, etc in the past two hundred years. Pretty brutal, probably more so than any other species in galactic history?
Wrong.
When humans first made contact with a sentient species, the Krzclahz in 2079, we were shocked when they praised our passive nature. After negotiating and researching their planet, called Krkluckrn, we realized how brutal their culture was. Annually, two entire civilizations are wiped out a year. Millions of Krzclahz sick and tired of the violence colonized a nearby dwarf planet to create a more peaceful society. Only three years into the society, several Krkluckrn governments allied to kill everyone on the dwarf planet. The population of the planet was over four million.
That atrocity itself pales into comparison to the Orgorgogols of the Grolugig System. In 2085, we made contact with them through the Krzclahz and we were introduced to their society. They have a quadra-annual ritual where every child born on the fourth year is killed on the final day of that year. The entire planet supports it—literally no one speaks out against it. In fact, pregnancy rates are highest in the fourth year. Apparently it’s some sort of honor to have a child slaughtered.
Then there are the Yujiklei, terrifyingly close to Earth. They are a brutally belligerent people. They consider it a shame to not have multi world wars occurring at once. Due to their lack of weapons of mass destruction, they managed to keep the population alive. They can’t destroy vast amounts of people at once, but they still do manage to kill more than eighty million in war each year.
The fourth and final sentient species we have accurate data on are the Fajkl of the Truguli’fhajkl-deshinar (Deshinar System of Fhajkl). They’d settled four of the planets in their system, each one abhorrently war-torn. Until about 2070 in Earth years, the planets had remained disconnected, only engaging in trade and “peaceful” communications. Then two of the planets went to war. After several months of destruction, one of the planets grew tired of the fighting. So, naturally, they deployed every single weapon of mass destruction on the planet and fired it at their opponent. The explosion was so massive, so destructive that the entire planet broke. Literally shattered. No one survived. Thirteen billion people lived on it, and every single one was killed. The people on the winning side celebrated their victory without qualm.
So yeah, the humans are not as violent as we think. Sure, we definitely could tone back, but at least we have a moral compass on warfare and a perception of the value of sentient life. These other species have no care for anyone besides themselves. They glorify, worship warfare to an extreme no one on Earth could ever have thought possible, and that makes humans both comforted and terrified.
World leaders on Earth have formed a nearly global alliance to keep this peace. The only reason the Fhajkl and the Orgorgogols haven’t decimated us is because they’re so admiring of our peace. They find it entertaining and comical. We intend to keep it that way.
Humans do their fair share of inhumane atrocities, but our inhumanity pales in comparison to the violence of these four other species. We’re caught here, unsure of if we should intervene for galactic peace or if we should just let these civilizations destroy each other, and then carry on without having to worry about being destroyed. It’s a difficult moral question, but the only moral issue I’m concerned about is that humans are way more advanced than these other species.
It’s thoughts like these that make me proud to be a human.
-------
*Feel free to check out my novel at /r/penofigilix/!* | 2015-11-15T18:25:14 | 2015-11-15T18:01:53 | 59 | 35 |
[WP] The daily life of ex-assassin turned high school teacher. | Of all the clients I've dealt with. Of all the clients I had to hunt for days, stay undercover for weeks, and hide in airvents for hours for, these are the fucking worst.
*"Hey Mr. Black, real nice suit and tie, you know you're a history teacher and not a businessman, right? Ha!"*
Anthony Cacciatore. 6 foot 2. 190 lbs. Athletic. Right-handed. Italian. Definitely insecure, parents? Sexuality? Either of the two. I don't even know why I still mentally document these brats, or why I even care enough to dress up for my current "job". I mindlessly wave around chalk all day teaching kids fuck-all about the great history of our country, snickering to myself from time to time reciting my greatest work back in the 60s I did for the CIA. Kennedy, the bastard.
But they don't know that. All they care about is grades, acne and the time Cacciatore got a handjob from some girl in a parking lot or some shit like that.
"Hey watch where you're going, fag!"
Oh great, those two bumped into each other. Cacciatore's practically spitting all over that dark-haired kid with his overbite. Caucasian. Bony. Weak. Easy target, even for someone as blockheaded as Cacciatore. Man I could really take out all 18 of them with a jar of pencils and 22 minutes if I really wanted to. It's about the only way I can make the hands on the clock twist faster.
"Alright listen up, everyone sit down and pencils out, the exam starts now."
The only part of my job I actually enjoy is watching these kids cheat, and good Lord are they shit at it. There's one, the classic thumb and forefinger on the brows, creating a visor while his eyes creep to the sides. The angles are so obvious. The body language, the nervous look away after a kid snags an answer of some kids sheet. I don't bother looking up from my newspaper, grades don't mean shit in this world anyway. If you really want to be successful, go get born into a rich family or taken into the CIA and learn to man up and kill a few people why don't you. And the way I see it, the more successful you become, the more you become target for people like me. Or at least, people that *were* like me.
And there's the golden egg, the smartest kid in the room, sitting there right in the center with Cacciatore pretty much drooling all over his test with his eyes. I whip a piece of chalk right in between the eyes of Cacciatore. Kill confirmed.
"Eyes on your own paper, Tony."
I chuckle and he groans, and before I shift my eyes back down to my paper, I notice the dark-haired kid in the back playing with his wrist. Huh. I look a little closer and see a glint of light bounce around the room for a split second. *Mirrors* I scan the room, and sure enough the fucker calculated his angles to match with the smart kid's paper 4 seats over and 2 rows in front. Wow. I calculate the angles of the mirrors, but one seems to be missing. And then I see it. There's a fucking mirror *right on Cacciatore's back*. He must have planted it when they bumped earlier. This kid is something else.
I chuckled to myself and returned to my paper for the remainder of the class.
After the bell rang, the dark-haired kid came up to me last with his exam.
"Warren, is it? You mind telling me what all that shining was back in the corner?"
His eyes didn't even budge. Not even a single fucking twitch! Whoever the fuck this kid was, the offspring of Ivan Drago and a rock, he was something else.
"I'm not sure what you are talking about Mr. Black."
Checkmate, Warren. I quickly grabbed his wrist.
"I'm talking about all of the....."
They were gone. The mirrors. He couldn't have done that. I frantically scanned the room for the spots I had seen them. I would have noticed it. Had I lost a step? The mirrors were fucking gone. How?
"Is there a problem Mr. Black?"
"No... I guess not.." I let the target go.
On the way out the door, he turned to me with those black, stone eyes and a sly grin on his face.
"And may I just say, Mr. Black, I am a huge fan of your past work." | All it said on the slip was 'Weaponry Training: 1:50'.
Nobody had actually had the class yet, and the older students claimed to know nothing about the mysterious lesson etched in our thoughts. Of course, gossip was gossip, springing up like a hydra with one too-many heads and no way to stop it.
Some kids speculated we'd be using guns. Of course, anyone with some substantial brain matter would realise this was ridiculous, but we're dealing with high school students here.
Some parents even pulled their children out.
"Really, I don't feel my precious son Kevin (He's a special child, incredible gifts that have not been tapped into, ones that only a parent can see in their wonderful child, as I'm sure you know, Mr. Rusin)- Oh, where was I? Yes, I don't feel that Kevin,"
Here Mrs. Valentine pursed her witch-like lips and sighed sadly and rather exaggeratedly. "Can really take such classes. I'm sure his talents will be recognised better at Stonewall High." Mrs. Valentine paused for dramatic tension, and failing to receive her gasp of dismay from the principle, smacked her sticky lips and left, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye and instead wiping off half her mascara in one swipe.
We all turned up (Bar Kevin, but he couldn't tell the difference between cats and dogs anyway) on Thursday for the lesson. The class was... Small. In fact, there were only five of us. Following excessive bubble-gum chewer Maya inside, I took a seat near the front of the classroom.
Our teacher was... Dark. And not in the rascist way; in the way the shadows are black. His eyes were steely blue, and he wore a simple cloak that showed off his lithe body. I could practically hear Maya swoon from across the classroom.
But what shocked the rest of us was the wall. It used to house paintings made by junior school. Now it looked like someone had given those kids a copy Skyrim. The wall was lined with wicked blades, a celestial, shining crescent that dripped with purple blood; what looked like multiple swords mashed together to create some kind of macabre, bloody, pronged lance.
I was starting to regret not following in Kevin's footsteps.
Not really, Kevin is a douche.
The little psycho Ace whispered to me, staring at the blades: "Are those fucking real?" He looked half excited and half horrified by that prospect. I scoffed. "Don't you write enough gory horror to know?"
Obviously the blades were fake.
Obviously.
That's what I thought, until he unsheathed a bleating hog from a previously unnoticed box. It was runty and small; loping around on its mismatched legs.
"Aww - smack - wwww! How cute!" Maya stated, both chewing her bubblegum and talking at the same time. "Are we, like - schmuck - gonna take care- " Maya's annoying mouth lay slack jawed in milliseconds.
The teacher had selected the celestial blade and brought it down on the pig's head. In one flawless sweep, he flicked the head so it landed on Maya's desk.
"Chew on that, bitch." He muttered, shoving the pig's body into a sack that lay by his hip.
Maya screamed, her gum (which had never seen the light of day) falling out of her mouth without a second's remorse.
We were now down to four.
"Listen up, slimy punks! I'm here to teach you how to kill! How to maim! How to do my job!" The man cackled, stepping into the dimly lit shadows behind his desk.
A knife blade swept through the air, narrowly missing my head. How had he appeared next to me, when I'd only just seen him move behind his desk?
I had more pressing matters to worry about. Ace, the writer who enjoyed horror, was now the Prima Donna of such a scene himself. His head rolled on the floor, stuck in a sickly grin.
Behind me, Jackson and the only other one, Verity, made a move towards the door.
The man flung his knife, pinning the door shut right between the prime bitch Verity's perfectly manicured features and obviously fake nails.
She screamed.
The man waved his hand. Suddenly, as if the air was sucked out of her, Verity could not speak. Her blonde hair fluttered as if amidst a gust of wind.
Jackson, the artist, sat back down. At least he was sensible.
I envied Kevin, if such a thing was possible.
"Listen up, royal brats! I need an apprentice, and I need one now! You three are ever-so-slightly less retarded than the rest, so I'll be training you three to take over my business!"
With a flourish of his silky black cape, the teacher encroached us three in darkness.
The man smiled. Retired as he was, he needed someone to continue his business...
Or three someone's. And as he'd once selected from Brothels and Gangs, now he selected from Schools.
These three would do. They all looked the type... And rather youthful... Yes, he would have his fun...
They'd report three missing children. But, he thought mockingly, if they ever found them, he'd eat his cape. | 2016-02-09T09:43:46 | 2016-02-09T03:48:39 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it. | Shut up, and Play Dead?
No way in hell!
Much of what makes the will to thrive is derived from pure ego. This is mine, and not yours. This is our Earth. This is our land. We made this.
Why are we so proud when we barely hold 30% of an uncontrollable mass of elements spiraling through the great abyss? When we, is barely a we at all?
Because of the will. The ego. Against indomitable odds this defiance to fight, and remain fighting and to never stop till we hit the thing dead.
What did we do when we saw the 700 something large cylinders laden with guns and cannon blasting through space at our fragile existence? Why we freaking blew that shit up of course!
Why the hell not? We wanted to.
Famine? Poverty? Disease? Fuck no.
We were united in the sole and singular cause of fucking shit up. Together.
Black, white, yellow, we even got the fucking blue man group to do a dance as we let the retarded kids smash the fucking launch buttons!
Why?
Because fuck you that's why.
We're humanity, and we'll be damned if w-
...
What do you mean there's a giant space lizard coming for us.
...
Oh...
Well fuck. | Shut up and and play dead.
After that there was nothing.
An increasing amount of nothing.
Felt something like a cloud drifted in front of the sun.
The static that was always there just became a little less when one turned the eye.
Michael Gruppman of the SETI research facility said it was like being underwater. Even the most vibrant stars in the sky dimmed.
One man said to his beer, that's like having to fuck with a rubber on, no matter how hard you go you can't just get there. He looked inside his empty glass. Wallet? Enough to buy one more, no worries yet.
Another old man said it was like growing old. The water in the shower becomes colder with time and turning it up won't cut it anymore.
It took 50 years for the Dim to spread.
As it got too the sun, It got us too. Trees yearned for more sun, reaching but not getting. In the emptiness we tried to expand, building sun collectors to catch what sun came to us and use it more effectively.
Spread thin, like too little butter on toast, we couldn't cover it anymore.
Communication got worse and isolated humanity.
Signals seemed to be stuck in mud, only the most powerfull of signals could still reach, but with a large delay.
I distinctly remember how everything lost its tinge. Like my memories seemed so much more colored than what there was now. Grey... like the trees and the buildings and the people grey.
My hair grey. My heart not beating as hard. Sort of vague.
As the stars dim and the shine withers away.
I am here. Being.
I'm the Destroyer of Worlds and I will be devouring you.
The whole of you.
A pair of hands and tasting tongue made their way.
i didn't move as my hands were tied.
| 2016-03-27T09:12:57 | 2016-03-27T08:53:09 | 92 | 22 |
[WP] It's the year 5016. Archaeologists have a skewed and inaccurate view of what life was like in the 21st century.
For example, they may ascribe meaning to things that have none, or claim that we worship cats because of cat videos. Go wild with this, the millenium is your oyster. | There is some confusion - a debate in the community, if you will - about our great ancestors. Around 3,000 years ago humans, who were pitifully short, with the alpha males maxing out at 5 foot 6, were slaves to small furry carnivores. Some believe the master species were called "felines" or "icanhazacheezeburgers". There is potentially another species that cohabited with the humans, though we don't know what it was. It bares some similarities to a species of K9 (a policing guard unit who occasionally directed traffic), but they are quite smaller and for some reason, wear pink nail polish on their claws. Archaeologists do not understand how they painted their claws without thumbs. One was owned by the great city of what was Paris, France. Believed to be a female, she was called a chihuahua, which we are extremely certain is pronounced "Ky Hoo-ah Hoo-ah". These chihuahuas, at least the larger ones, pulled sleds around the in the snow, delivering medicine (mostly Vagisil and Oxycontin) from a vast waste land called Rite Aid. A great philosopher known as Kevin argued that felines and chihuahuas were the same species though, so we can't be certain. | "Now to quote a famous 21st century proverb by the great philosopher and second Kanye Daniel Day Lewis: 'Daaaaamn Class!' I really liked all of your papers. Sen, I really liked your paper on the Great degenerative collapse of 2015, and the great war between the West Coast and the East Coast. One correction the Kings known as Double Pack of Yorkshire and Notorious RBG of the Supremacist Court both died in the fight, not simply Double Pack."
The slender eight foot adroman said as ne walked from the door to the podium. Nis suit was buttoned in such a way to show off nis six pack, probably a recent gen-op. ne heard a cry from the large community: "Sorry Proph."
"No problem Sen. I also liked Sueden's piece, sort of a continuation of your piece Sen, talking about the unity around Kenya of the Far West. There is currently a theory that Kenya ruled his own theocracy in the continent of Austrifrica. Though its gotten a bit of derision with many claiming that it is just the widespread love of Kenya." Ne said as he took out a vitarette, a short green stick that when smoked produced beautiful vitamin zed. A womdro in the back stood up.
"Proph, what do you think about the recent theory that the gods didn't live on earth around these times?" Asked Jec as shu sat back down.
"Simply outrageous! Captain of the Americas saved society from the aliens with the aid of the Metal Man and the Amazing Bulk. He piloted the helicarrier America and destroyed the evil faction of the old gods uniting all the deities. Eddard Stark saved the world and died for our sins! Leave the class now." The Proph said as ne threw his vitarette at Jec, forcing hur to leave tears running through her semi-permeable skin. | 2016-04-11T11:29:50 | 2016-04-11T11:05:26 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] The year is 2231 and 99.9% of the population are morbidly obese. Superheroes begin to rise merely using above average fitness and health as their superpowers. | It began when my parents were murdered outside an opera house. A mugging gone fat-ally wrong. I tried to give chase but my hover chair junior was much slower than his noble electric steed. I howled from the comfort of my chair and swore vengence on the criminals of Scoffam city. That was the day I lost my appetite.
For years I trained. I visited the mystic Atkins monks - a sacred people who had mastered a long forgotten ability they called 'walking'.
I worked hard. I *sweated*. Slowly my fat began to eviscerate and my true training began. It took me three years to be able to walk, another two before I could run. I draped my excess skin over my shoulder like some kind of barbaric cape. It would be a reminder of the day I lost my parents.
I returned to Scotham and began to purge the city of the criminal overeaters. The city learned to love me, the obese learned to fear me.
I am the terror of the tubby. The purge of the plump.
I am *the Fatman*. It's ironic.
-------
The lightning illuminated the fatcave. Stacks of kale lit up in an iridescent green shine. That is when I saw it - the Fatsignal. It cut through the night fog like a citizen through a tub of Ben and Jerries. The commisioner and the city needed me.
"It's the Penguin, Fatman. He's swapped the cities water supply with pure lard. Citizens know but they can't get enough of it. They are killing themselves."
"Commisoner," I growled, "look at your hand." He was drinking a glass of lard. I swiped it out of his hand and it crashed to the floor with a splosh. I knew I had to move quickly.
I was soon on the penguins trail. Empty wrappers and soiled clothing quickly led me to his nest. Ma Gobbles all-you-can-eataree.
The patrons were like zombies, raising their fork to their mouth over and over again. They didn't notice me, they never even looked up.
"Where is he? The Penguin!" I growled at the waitress who was permanently seated by the door.
She didn't answer. I grabbed her greasy hair and slammed her face into the xl burger on her plate. She began eating it. This was getting me no where. That was when I noticed a trail of lard on the floor heading to kitchen.
"Penguin - you've had your chips" I said stoically, seeing the Dorito packet on the floor.
He turned to face me. "Ah, so you're the Fatma-".
He never finished the sentence. I never knew what he was trying to say. His heart had given out. Scoffam was safe once more.
Thanks to *the Fatman*. | "Oh, look at the news, Chuck! Someone's...going after Walking Man!" Lea said, craning her head from the pod to peer at the screen covering one wall of their unit.
"That's nice, sweetie," Chuck mumbled, nodding off to sleep.
"Oh, darnit," Lea sighed, trying to heave herself higher up to see the screen. "Hey, C700! I could use some help over here!"
Her AI assistant zoomed over to help her, refilling her empty soda bottle and sliding another hamburger on her plate in the process.
___
The air was heavy with traffic, personal flight pods busily completing their routes. But a few had stopped as they heard the news, causing the routes to become blocked. In the pods, hefty figures tried to lever themselves upward to peer down at the ground. Down at the abandoned roads, where two figures were moving. All on their own.
"Wait up, wait up!"
Wes Walkman, popularly known as Walking Man, clutched at a stitch in his side as he tried to keep up with the slim figure racing away from him.
Usually, a gentle walking pace was enough to astound the city. Enough to be a hero. But this guy - what was he doing? He was moving fast enough that Wes could scarcely keep him in sight. He didn't know it was possible to move that quickly.
"Who are you?" he shouted.
The figure stopped, and began racing back. Wes stared at the man, who was wearing a ridiculous garment that exposed his long, muscled legs. It was made of a shiny material, like his top, which similarly showed his bare arms.
"What are you wearing?" he frowned, forgetting his other questions.
"My gym clothes," the guy grinned back. "Damn, you people really have forgotten everything. Good on you for making it onto your feet though."
"What are gym clothes?" Wes asked.
The man chuckled. It sounded sinister to Wes, who shivered despite his warm clothes - suited to his unit and air pod, where he usually stayed, but terrible for the weather on the ground.
"Go back to my time and find out," the man said. "I'm staying here for a while. Can you imagine how easy it'll be to take control of things here? My god, talk about a nation rolling over for you."
"Going *back*? You're a time traveller? But that's impossible...we just sent the first person last week..."
Wes sat down to catch his breath, and stared in consternation as the man began bending his body weirdly. Was the guy hitting on him, in some odd way? He laughed again at Wes's expression.
"These are called stretches, by the way," he said. "And yeah, that guy came to see me. I was a nutritionist in my time. Didn't take me long to figure him out, and find my way here. The time travel induced a heart attack, by the way. My condolences."
Suddenly, the man did one final stretch, and then readied himself to take off again. He glanced back at Wes.
"I think I'll get nice and rich here before I go back. I mean, who will stop me? You? The only man on his feet in sight, and you can't even catch me. The robots? I'll be long gone before some fat lump can move his fingers to program one to kill me."
Before Wes could reply, the man took off on a sprint. He got up slowly, and experimentally tried one of the stretching positions. He cried out in pain, but kept going.
He had a villain to catch. | 2016-04-13T09:58:12 | 2016-04-13T09:27:57 | 78 | 39 |
[WP] You have just gone through a Groundhog Day cycle that lasted thousands of years before you made the perfect day for yourself. Then, you wake up as a different person with a note beside you: 1 down, 7 Billion to go. | Goddam, it feels good to be alive.
A thousand years as a playboy was enough for me to fall in love with this curse. Each day I repeated the same twenty-four hours over and over again. Some higher power probably expected me to save the world. But once I figured out how it works, it was amazing how much I got done in twenty-four hours. Rob a bank, go skiing, punch a president in the face. Take your pick, I did it.
Eventually, after a good few thousand cycles, they must have decided to give me an easier life. Apparently abusing the body you were in meant being rewarded. Which suited me just fine.
Because when I woke this morning, I was in a different body and in a different space in time.
While I didn't have chiselled abs like before. It seemed I was pretty damn rich and well endowed. (*Hehe*)
The bed beneath was covered in golden duvet covers made from silk. Ahead was a flat screen television that could be used as a replacement in a small time cinema. The balcony to my right overlooked a beautiful beach and the sun was newborn in the sky on the horizon. And from downstairs, I could smell delicious eggs and bacon, mixed in with the scent of freshly squeezed orange juice.
I had become a lazy prince living a lavish lifestyle. I'd guess late twenties from the body I was in.
Footsteps sounded from the stairs below. And then a beautiful blonde poked her head around the corner. She made my heart flutter and my johnson smile.
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" she said.
I grinned and then it hit me. "W-Wait, what?"
"Donnie's home," she hissed, "I told you to leave an hour ago, you idiot."
There were more footsteps bounding from downstairs. I stumbled from the bed confused, it was only then that I realised I was in fact, completely naked.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked.
A man came around the corner holding a hunting rifle. "I heard you scream, babe. What's go-" He trailed off when he spotted me.
"A naked burglar." He smirked, aiming the rifle at me.
"Oh, fuck. . ."
The bullet snapped my head back against the tiles. Everything went black.
And then I came to it again, this time with a headache, but in the same golden duvet bed. Only I didn't bother staying.
I ran my naked ass outta there.
| The sensation of the crumpled-up note in my hand was enough to make me bolt up out of bed like I'd had a freaky nightmare. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and held up the note to read it - but I couldn't. It was too blurry; I told myself, "Maybe my eyesight is wonky because I just woke up." Which is strange because I literally have never used the word wonky. I held the note closer.
"One down, sev- uhhh what? Wha- uhhhhh..."
The note read, of course, "one down, SEVEN BILLION to go! : \^)" Whoever wrote this note was clearly a jackass.
"One down.... Seven billion to go...."
My mind raced with strikingly idiotic thoughts. "Is this...like, a math thing? What do you call it? Equator?" It wasn't a math equation, at least I know that now. "Fuck it, dude. Whatever."
Seemingly instinctively, my hand reached for the glasses on top of my night-stand; extremely round frames and extra-thick lenses. I plopped the smudged spectacles on top of my fat nose. For some reason, this morning more than any other, I felt disgusting. My oddly bloated feet carried me to the bathroom mirror. Staring deeply into myself, everything seemed to make sense all at once. The fully-dressed, greasy, disgusting pig in the mirror, and the note in its hand.
"Seven BILLION to go!? Seven BILLION. Who is this note from!? God? It has to be. This is crazy. It's God. Can you hear me, you son of a bitch!? Why did you put this fucking smiley face? God, ple^ase" My voice cracked for the first time in at least twenty years.
Try to imagine seven-billion puppies in a room. No, really...try. That's a fucking lot of a puppies, and a metric shit-ton of dog shit. Seven BILLION. The concept of the number is totally baffling to my mind. Seven billion? Fuck. That. My eyebrows lowered themselves into intensity mode as I faced the mirror and stared again.
"What in the FUCK am I wearing?" I shuddered violently as my eyes focused in on the solid-black fedora resting atop my greasy, middle-parted hair. My eyes shot down to examine my body; to compliment the fedora, the second gentleman on my seven billion person list had chosen basketball shorts and an over-sized T-shirt.
"Nope."
That's all I said to my reflection before cranking on the hot water and charging out of the bathroom into my new and horribly messy kitchen. Fourteen seconds later, I was sprinting as fast as I could (which was not very fast) back into my bathroom carrying the filthy toaster I previously set out for. Truth be told, I had always wanted to do this.
I plugged the shitty toaster into the wall-socket beside the sink. One last time, I beheld the disgusting animal that stared back at me in the mirror.
Before I plunged myself into the toaster-powered bathtub, I managed to utter "Goodbye, you fucking filthy neck-beard." And it was over.
| 2016-08-25T18:31:48 | 2016-08-25T17:58:43 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You meet a genie that grants one wish. You wish to go back in time and change your biggest mistake. You get taken back to the time right before you made your wish. | My Biggest Mistake
I once did have a lamp,
which my Grand Pappy gave to me.
He said it granted wishes,
And that I should'na ask for kisses.
I took it from the shelf,
and rubbed it to a shine.
Thinking it was a tall tale.
That my Grand Pappy did design.
No sooner than I set it down,
Smoke rose from the end.
Slowly forming into a cloud,
It turned right into a D'jinn.
"Ho! What is that?," said I.
As my Grand Pappy grinned.
"See I told you was no lie,
"Don't look quite so surprised."
The great D'jinn bowed before me,
As I in shock just stared.
He stood a good head taller,
And had the size of a small bear.
"If you could have one wish,
to fulfill your strongest need,
What would that wish be?"
The D'jinn asked of me.
Should I wish for world peace?
Or should I ask for True Love?
Or be selfish and wish for money,
Or all of the above?
No I had but one wish,
One route I could but take.
To use my wish wisely,
And fix my biggest mistake.
I asked of him, my simple request.
He nodded his head and said,
"I shall do as you ask, Master.
Your wish is my command."
There was a loud whoosh,
As if the air had all suddenly left.
It did not take me long to deduce.
I had been returned.
Time had been rewound,
To the moment before my wish.
I had but a second,
To take it all in.
The lamp in hand,
My Grand Pappy's grin.
The D'Jinn stood before me.
And he asked me again.
"If you could have one wish,
to fulfill your strongest need,
What would that wish be?"
The D'jinn said to me.
I knew right then,
My biggest mistake had been,
Requesting a wish,
Of this powerful D'jinn.
I smiled at him and said,
I wish you to be free,
And have to give no more wishes.
To the likes of me. | "As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
I closed eyes and smiled as I felt a warm glow radiate over my body, lifting me from the ground. I heard a quick, loud zap, and suddenly feet were on the ground again. I didn't open my eyes yet. I wanted to savor the moment. This is the moment my life went to hell. A decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible corporate job with the same goddamn schedule every single day. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Just as I was about to open my eyes, my thoughts were interrupted.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." My eyes popped back open in confusion.
"Wait, wha-" my sentence was interrupted by that same magical glow. The same lifting into the air, and the same zap. This time I did not keep my eyes closed. I immediately looked up at the genie, who was already drawing breath as if about to speak.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the-"
"Wait, what the hell is happening? You just returned me to the wish I made 2 seconds ago"
"Even I do not know where this will take you, master. I am but a conduit through which the power of the cosmos flows through. Now I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
That glow again. That lifting. That zap.
"As you wish, master. I will-"
"Wait, scratch that. I want a different wish now." I interrupted him before he could finish.
"I'm sorry master, but once the wish has been made it cannot be undone. I will now return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." I drowned out the last sentence as I threw myself at him. As I passed through his ephemeral body, I felt that same glow, lift, and zap.
I tried over and over to stop him. No matter how much I ran, attacked, begged, pleaded, it was always the same.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
I don't know how many years I tried, at this point probably centuries. But it didn't take long to realize that the genie was right. This truly was the worst decision of my life. The decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible loop with the same goddamn schedule every single time. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Glow. Lift. Zap | 2016-09-25T08:48:42 | 2016-09-25T08:05:50 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] Aliens have just made contact with Earth. Strangely enough, it seems that human technology is superior. | When we first scanned the third planet from the edge of the solar system, it seemed ripe for the taking. The planet was full of natural resources, and its dominant species would likely offer little to no resistance.
The 'humans' appeared to have limited technological development, with primitive weapons such as lead projectiles expelled by forced gas. Some of their more advanced weapons were chemically powered high-velocity missiles with explosive warheads, but they were still no threat to us.
Our shields easily deflected any of the projectiles or explosives the humans could throw our way. We quickly made large advances into their cities, taking their infrastructure and laying siege to their military installations.
Our overconfidence was our downfall, in the end. We saw the primitive weapons and the tiny computers the humans used... no larger than one of our reference manuals... and obviously assumed them to be inferior. Nothing like the megaframes in our capital ships.
Their communicators also looked to be a joke, as they were so small, they fit into the palm of their hands. With tiny cases and miniscule power supplies, they couldn't have had more than a 50 foot range, at best. We were baffled on how they managed to last as long as they did with no backpack power packs to run them.
One of our platoons, emboldened by a string of successful military actions, was overrun by one of the human defenders using some sort of energy weapon they called a 'microwave transmitter'. We still don't know exactly what the device was, but the effect of it was devastating: it boiled our soldiers alive in their protective armour! The humans then dissected our brethren, and their technology, learning our secrets. But that small victory wasn't the worst part.
As it turns out, humans have developed their computing technology with an element called 'silicon'. Something we knew existed, but was never present on our homeworld in any kind of abundance. Their computers are much faster and smaller than our own megaframe circuits, as they are microscopic in design. The human computers (which we assumed were inferior due to small size) were actually incredibly powerful. Magnitudes of order more powerful than our own systems.
Once they managed to penetrate our computer networks, the sheer computational power of their own devices overwhelmed our own. Our main capital ship's information storage core was overloaded and shut down within minutes. Within hours, they had decimated half of our fleet, causing life support failures, reactor overloads, and other catastrophes aboard our ships. Those who survived abandoned the invasion, leaving us stranded on this planet.
We still don't know how exactly how they managed to disable our ships, but our interception of their communication signals seems to keep hearing the same phrase over and over: "They have no firewall," which is usually followed by a strange barking sound that humans seem to make when they are amused.
We don't know what a 'firewall' is, but evidently it's something humans have developed that allows them to quickly disable our computer systems.
I just hope this 'firewall' doesn't have the ability to disable my personal life support system, or those of us who remain are surely doomed. | It didn't go as planned. The information was wrong, it was all so very wrong.
20 years ago, according to how humans measure time, they had received a strange message. The message came abruptly, and passed just the same. MIR. LENIN. SSR. It took them time to figure out what those were, what they meant, and where they came from. Earth. A strange planet, blue and green danced on its surface. They knew blue! They knew it very well, for it was their grass and it was highly flammable. They took incredible, high quality photos from their state-of-the art viewing equipment. With determination, they set out for this planet. To conquer it.
Their ship blew up during descent, loud noisy creatures roared around them as they fell. Half of the crew was alive, one quarter injured, and the rest were dead. That count rose once they met the ground. It wasn't blue. Large beings with their faces covered came storming towards the aliens, forceful and aggressive. They were bulky looking, covered in swirled colors of beige and green. They were ready, and strong. Just as the crew had been before the atmosphere ruined their flight.
The aliens didn't know about this. They knew there were beings here, how else could that message have arrived? They'd learned that the message said peace *and* world. They figured these creatures were going to be easy to mow down, peace never meant ready to fight. Frightened and frustrated, those who could fight, stood up and drew their own weapons. Phaser guns. Ko-kopu, a mere underling, fired. It was a loud, sudden pop and light shot forth from the small weapon. That light would vaporize anything in its path, it was how they'd won the war against the Hututuzinks. They eliminated the enemy into thin air. Caught off guard, the bulky being stood and took the hit. It was just a small black mark on his arm. There was nothing more. The being grunted and fired his own gun, Ko-kopu fell where he stood. The aliens stood in shock, their comrade was down. It had fired through his helmet, the reinforced, withstand-all-glass held a small, circular entry point. Never before had the helmet failed to protect against any attack. Loud machines that roamed the ground arrived. They were as noisy as the gun that had slain their own, and picked up the debris of their ship. The was the heaviest metal they had, able to withstand all elements. Except for this planet.
What were these creatures? Why had they sent a message of peace if they didn't mean it? The aliens didn't really resist when they were grabbed. All 8 arms, caught, tied and bound. Another underling Ru-kopu made one last attempt, this time, a peaceful one. He dug the photo of earth from his combat suit and raised a scaled arm to the face of the bulky being.
"Le-nin." He clicked. "Leniiiinnnnn!"
"What the heck is this pixelated crap?" The bulky being snapped, yanking the photo away from Ru-kopu. No one understood what those words were, none learned *this* language.
"Lenin!" The leader joined in, repeating Ru-kopu. "Mir! SSR!"
The aliens began chanting now, swallowing their pride. The chant was a beg for their lives now, they watched their dead comrade be drug away.
"I remember! In 1962 a message was sent to space...I think they got it!"
"That was years ago. You mean to tell me they just got it? What are they, space bumpkins? Haul em up, alert 52."
The aliens continued their chant as they were lead to the loud ground machines.
| 2016-12-06T11:39:27 | 2016-12-06T08:10:57 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] Elon Musk abandons SpaceX and Tesla and starts a new cologne line called "Elon's Musk" | Elon Musk finally arrives into the conference room where nervous SpaceX board members wait, called into a "secret" surprise meeting announced just three hours before.
Musk walks to the head of the table and bends over, placing his palms flat on the surface, staring at each board member for a few seconds with an unreadable expression. He waits a few moments, and when he finally speaks his voice strums the tension in the air like a badly tuned guitar.
"You have all worked feverishly to make SpaceX a success, but in this endeavor you have utterly failed. I expected to be on the moon already. NASA did it in the sixties with computers less powerful than my wrist watch!" Musk takes a deep breath, preparing himself for his next statement.
"You're all fired."
Dead silence falls upon the conference room. Every board members jaw hangs open in shock. Moments later the room breaks out in a chaotic cacaphony as every board member but one begin shouting their disagreement, pleading to have more time.
Musk holds up his hand and silence returns to the room.
"Everybody out. Go home. Except you." he growls, pointing at the silent board member.
In a tidal wave of grumbles and a few sobs, the board room empties, leaving Musk and the one remaining member.
"What's on your mind? This isn't the reaction I expected." Musk asks, taking a seat across the table.
The board member sighs and says "We just received a shipment of several thousand tonnes of an experimental rocket fuel for the launch planned three days from now. This new fuel offers more energy and thrust output than other liquid or solid fuels, allowing our rockets to reach orbit with smaller fuel tanks and less fuel, meaning a huge reduction in weight. Unfortunately it doesn't last very long in storage."
"Interesting. Without the program, do you suggest we do with it?" Musk asks
"This fuel would be of great interest to NASA and the Military. I suggest we put on a demonstration for them." The board member says.
Taking a breath, he continues "Unfortunately the shipment that arrived today will not be viable by the time we can schedule a demonstration. I can order another batch made once we have a date set."
"Excellent idea!" exclaims Musk. "You get to keep your job. Get on it and keep me informed. In the mean time, what do you plan to do with the current supply?"
The board member is visibly relieved and says " Chemically, the fuel isn't too far off from the perfumes many Hollywood stars have been peddling. With a small amount of processing and a few additives we could easily bottle it and sell it to consumers as a 'Limited Edition' SpaceX perfume or cologne."
Elon Musk grins, clearly pleased with the idea. "Perfect! Slap a label on it that says 'Elon's Musk' and ship it out."
Musk gets up and leaves the room in a fit of giggles. "Elon's Musk... Priceless!"
| Space x set the ball rolling, and governments and the populace were on board. But it wasn't enough. The technology to make Elon's dream a reality was generations away.
Elon then had a plan. He was going to enchance the human race with his musk.
Elon knew he had become a novelty and having a brand with his name would sell if it was good enough in its own right. And the idea was staring him in the mirror, Elon's musk.
It would be a cologne that was loading with nanobots that would hi jack the persons brain and use it for processing.
The user would be completely unaware of the nanos taking over their mind, and would be taken along for the ride of innovation and using almost 100% of their brain for computation.
It was genius. There was no need for AI or worry of an AI out break. The answer was human hosts that would give their lives for the best ride of their life and make new technologies to become a space faring race.
And they wouldn't care if it's real or not, since it would be best the version of themselves. They would be so high on their selves that they wouldn't even stop to notice about the paradigm of free will.
That Free will is choice. There is no need to complicate the idea with a soul. The choice for these organics to do something for their race and their choice is to naturally be happy. The choice is always for a reward.
That was what the nano's were exploiting. The simple dream of being happy.
Until a few oddities arouse. Some incompitable genetics whose sociopathic chemistry did not agree with motivation of the nanobots.
They began to realize as Elon's musk had wafted into the stratosphere and poured down the end of consciousness, and that they needed to regain their humanity and form a resistance.
As the years dragged on, the human race achieved amazing feats with ending world hunger, no wars, universal income and perfect population control. The earth had become a paradise. In such a world, the humans would have been to lazy to reach for he stars, but it was during space x's hieght of interest that the earth was dying.
Elon was happy, even though he was the only human not affected by his musk. The technologies to reach into deep space were being finalized and would allow musk to finally find if intelligent life exists in the universe because in his mind it did not exist on earth.
The resistance was only 1% of brain power but they managed to isolate the nanobots in an electro magnetic field and shock them. The sociopaths had to use shock therapy to regain their humanity.
And one by one the resistance started to liberate those around them.
And once they were about to confront Elon. He was gone.
Human race had regained consciousness. Some shocked by their true self wanted to go back to the nanos. They were hooked on Elon's musk.
Now the world was becoming divided and saying that the resistance will destroy the human world by introducing humanity with all this technology and the only salvation was the nano bots, the musk of Elon.
On the brink of war, Elon returned and He found what he was looking for.
In a blink of an eye the human race was wiped off the earth. The only survivors were those that had reclaimed the nano bots and were not targeted.
The aliens then used Elon as a hybrid as they impregnated him to create a new hybrid species that would supercede the human race.
The only existence of the human race will be in the story of their spliced DNA.
A species of mad apes that nearly destroyed their paradise but have their new alien over lords to thank for. | 2016-12-31T05:56:26 | 2016-12-31T04:49:51 | 57 | 17 |
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world. | They thought it was a joke. They thought it was a ruse. But the reality is that the warning signs had been there for a long, long time. A strange Facebook article here, a funny post on a sub Reddit there, a CBC newscaster that made the oddest of Freudian slips.
Canada, the world's first post-national country. Fully integrated into every government in the world. Attack Toronto and you attack your own citizens. Attack us and you attack your cousin, your old neighbour, your friend from school who moved overseas with his mom who used to make you tea.
The subliminal messaging was part of the Canadian Values (tm) society, existing before the First World War. It was how we raised the second largest army on the Allied side, despite being a tiny colony on another continent. It was in our Tim Horton's coffee, in Don Cherry's suits, Heritage Moments, YTV specials, Trudeau Bhangra videos, and the awesome high note that RCMP guy hits every time he sings the anthem at a game.
We were sorry after it was all over, of course. So, so sorry. Sorry for assassinating your former leaders, sorry for killing those murderous tribal warlords, sorry for freeing you from the bonds of gun culture, sexism, capitalism, social ignorance, poverty, lack of maple syrup. We're sorry you were in the way of our bombs, sorry you may have suffered some friendly fire on our way in. Sorry you aren't one of us.
The Canadians are in charge, now. We run the world, and I think it's better. Of course, I am one so I would say that. Maybe others wouldn't, and there will always be others. I'm sorry for their survivors, but in a generation or so it won't be a problem. Sadly, we know that for a certainty.
But are we at war? No. Is the world a scary, scary place? Of course not. I think we did make it better, with peace, justice, and health care for all. We are no longer at the mercy of the US exchange rate. We can have Nandos, Target, Topshop, Whole Foods, and McDonalds all-day breakfast all over the country.
Yes, elections can suck with 1.23 million electoral ridings, 253 provinces, 62 territories, and a 409 politicial party system. But that's the price to live in the true North strong and free!
After all, everyone is just a Canadian at heart. Watch out for the geese. They'll keep their eyes on you.
*edit* ending | "Madame Chair."
I took in a gulp of air and tried to calm my nerves. This was it. After years of planning not just by me, but every prime minister after World War II. All the subtle moves, stratagems, and seemingly meaningless provisions in treaties have lead up to this. All or nothing.
*Pull yourself together, Lisa.* I shook my head and took a deep breath. Either I would do it, or I wouldn't. The plan was already set in motion, I just had to catalyze it.
I stepped in to my office. There were no familiar scattered files, ink stained sofas, or crumpled papers. It was as a leader's room should be, but never was, clean, crisp and orderly. This was not my room, in was Prime Minister, soon to be Chairwoman, Rodriquez's room.
I stood behind my desk, and placed my palms on the desk, leaning forward. My black hair shrouded the very edges of my vision, but the digital world map and the flashing "LIVE" symbol in its corner. The map had red dots in some of the most important cities in the world: New York, London, Dubai, Mumbai, Paris, Tokyo and so on. And there were some black dots in some seemingly random places. In the Andes, Himalayas, in the middle of the Sahara Desert, on an uninhabited Pacific island.
Right now, most of the educated world was watching me. The Canadian government had announced that Canada would be making an international statement of utmost import.
This was it.
"Fire."
All across the globe, almost simultaneously, 43 missiles launched from the last 4 "telecommunication" satellites the Canadian Space Agency had launched. I watched silently, intently, and the world held its breath, unsure of what had just happened, but aware that something was wrong.
Soon enough, the red dots turned blue.
Successful hits.
It was around that time that the black dots turned green. I held my breath. This was the most important moment. If our BRITE "telescope" couldn't intercept the strikes, I, and I alone, will have single handedly began the end of the human race for absolutely no reason.
The dots remained green.
The scientists had said there would be a delay, this was normal.
The dots remained green.
How long does it take for the MIRVs to reach space? Was it already too late?
The dots remained green.
The shadow that had been in my head this whole day, hell, the last three years, began to grow, it wasn't going to work, I was a colossal idiot, the biggest villain in-
And then with no warning, one by one, the dots turned black.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and realized I had left scratch marks on my wooden desk. Behavior unfitting of the Chairwoman of the world.
I gave a thin smile into the camera. "And so it begins," I proclaimed, as the world as we knew it ended. .
***
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-01-17T15:56:25 | 2017-01-17T15:14:41 | 143 | 38 |
[WP] The Resistance wants to send a T-800 terminator back in time to protect John Connor; however, they haven't mastered the Skynet tech and accidentally send the cyborg to a whole other world. Unable to locate John Connor it sets out to protect the only John it can find: Jon Snow. | The forest was dark and quiet save for a small taven on the distance where boisterous laughing and drunken singing could be heard in the distance.
A crow perched upon a branch looks about, then, feeling a disturbance in the air, flew away.
A small ball of electricity began to crackle on the leaf strewn forest floor, and slowly it grew as lightning bolts tickled the night dampened bark of the trees.
With one final crackle the electricity was gone, and a large, naked man crouched at the epicenter. He stood slowly, his emotionless gaze scanning the environment.
None of this factored into the coordinates that were in his systems.
His eyes settled on the tavern in the distance. He detected the sound of human voices and began moving towards it. In the event that he was placed in an unrecognized area, his systems defaulted to reconnaissance.
The log-based home was not what he was programmed to expect, homes during John Connor's time should have been walled with tile, complete with paved streets and developed suburbs. Nothing in his database seemed likely.
Was this residential or public, would knocking on the door be the best way to blend in? His computations fired off and decided to err on the side of caution. His hand raised and rapped on the door three hard, calculated knocks.
No response came, so he opened the door and stepped in.
There was raucus laughter, men at tables eating bread and chicken, drinking from large mugs. They shot him sideways glances as he walked through.
"Ay, look at this one. 'E's almost as big as The Mountain in't he?" one sneered to his friend.
His scanners settled on a taller man about his stature.
"What city is this?" he asked him.
The man looked up from his drink red in the face, "The fuck you come in here with your cock waving in my face and you ask me what city you're in? You see a city? I sure as fuck don't. We're in the middle of the damn woods."
The other patrons of the tavern were watching, hooting and hollering at the man's response.
"I need to get to Los Angeles. Which way is it?" he said in a robotic monotone.
"Los... what the fuck? You must be lookin' for some place out on the isles or something cause I ain't never heard of no Los whatever the fuck you just said. Are you done wagging your prick in my face?"
"I need to find John Connor, leader of the resistance. Which was is Los Angeles." his volume raised slightly, his computations suggested that it might be a good idea to use intimidation to draw out an answer.
"The resistance? Who is this fuck talking about? John Connor? Ay you think this fuck might be talking about Jon Snow? Is Snow trying to lead a resistance against the King now? Look ya naked fuck if you're one of Snow's fans you picked a spot a bit too far south to be flying his banned."
The man's hand began playing with the hilt of his sword.
"Around here we're men of the King, and the Lannister's will pay good for the head of a traitor."
The robot's sensors weren't fully capable of detecting the veiled threat, and decided to pursue Jon Snow as a possible nick name for John Connor. "I need your boots, your clothes, and your horse."
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" the drunk man stood up and drew his sword. "The only thing you're gonna get is the tip of my sword if you don't fuck off!"
The terminator grabbed the blade while maintaining eye contact with the man. He tried to thrust the sword but it was gripped too firm, he couldn't move it from the naked man's grip. Fear shot into his eyes, and other men around the bar began to draw their weapons.
The naked man bent the blade of the sword, then punched the man holding it onto the table behind him.
Another man to his side swung his sword and struck the naked man directly in his forearm. The blade stopped and rang out as it struck metal. The terminator grabbed him and threw him head first into the fireplace.
As he turned another sword pierced his stomach. He grabbed the blade, pulled the man closer and broke his neck.
The other men around the room saw this naked, invincible wall of muscle and began to run drunkenly from the tavern.
"Your boots, your clothes, and your horse. Where can I find Jon Snow." he repeated to the other man who was laying on the table in terror.
He walked out of the tavern, clothed in the man's leather and mail, got to the horse and was computing how to ride this animal when the tavern keeper walked out with his sword.
"You can't just come into my god damn tavern and go spilling blood and scaring off all my business ya bloody vagabond!"
He turned from the horse, stepped slowly toward the tavern keeper, then grabbed the blade from his hands, walked back to the horse, mounted it, and road off down the dirt road. | Jon
The fog of frozen winds lingered, biting at the skin of his nostrils. Jon sloshed through the snow in the mink leather boots that carried him this entire journey. The boots of the Nights Watch. The boots of those who take the black. His wearing of them at this point, was ceremonial. Symbolic. They were still his brothers despite what they did to him. His small party had been slain and with the bite of the northern winds tugging at his life force, he was starting to wish that he had joined them.
Would it be like the last time? Would the Red Priestess find him once again? He could only ask this question to the winter grey skies. He spoke the question aloud. The behavior of a mad man. Had the Mad King behaved this way? This question he asked to himself in the hush voice of his thoughts.
The trees stood burnt. The stripped away skeletons of what they once were. He stepped his way through them, half fearful they would come to life and claw at him with their long fingers scratching at his face.
He entered a clearing with the skeletons of the trees packed dense on all sides. The clearing was wide, perhaps wider than the courtyard where he had learned to fight. Lost days now. So many ghosts now wander that courtyard. Ghosts that perhaps call his name in the language of the winter wind.
The sound was slight, but he heard it nonetheless. The wight seemed to pounce on him from above, winter blade arching down. His fear reached for the blade in his scabbard. It was as though the emotion had a mind of its own. His anger forced it upward. He had two allies in this battle.
The crystal blade shattered as the wight came down upon him, its cold fingers reaching to dig into the hollows of his eyes.
He saw another figure step out from among the trees. More of his brothers have come to kill him and here he was on his back like an upturned Braavosi turtle. The fingers of his enemy inched closer. In the span of a single breath, the fingers were gone. His hands ached. The wrists of the wight were ripped from his grasp. He turned and saw a trail of snow with a mass of leather half buried into a newly formed mound.
The leather fought with itself then separated as the two figures rose to face each other. The wight was tall and broad, an imposing figure by any standard. A walking eulogy to the once great warrior who stood in its stead. What rose to face the dead man was massive. It was as though this being came from another world. He wore the armor of his brothers.
Not the Starks. No. The word didn't feel right when placed upon the sons of the family he had come to know.
As much as he loved them, as much as he missed them, he now recognized the black armor as the armor of his true brothers. A fallen brother, no doubt, for whom would be so brave as to arrest this man? Why would a man of his stature and might not have served his way through knighthood to become a lord? Perhaps this man felt he was needed. Perhaps he is a response to the fear that has spread across the land. Perhaps his voice has finally been heard. Winter is here and who will stand to fight against it? This man most certainly has. His motives matter not.
The sword he carried was massive. The weapon of a giant. The weight of such a sword should drag his arm down, yet he swings it as if it were a twig. The dead man fell away from himself to writhe in the slush. He seemed to land as two leather halves searching for each other in the snow.
Three Others stepped out from the trees and before this warrior. The Other at the center, Jon recognized from the day the Wildlings rose from the dead.
The Others were different. More than just dead men. They wore armor that glistened like ice. They knew of dark magic. They knew the secrets of the dead. The two Others that flanked the one in the center drew their crystal blades as the the middle one rose his palms into the air.
A hand burst from the snow to grab at Jon's ankle. He kicked it away as he rose to his feet and his boots stumbled for purchase. His Valerian blade was already in his hand and he remembered not when he had grabbed it. They emerged from the snow around him. His Valerian blade ran through many of them before they could fully emerge, but before long the two warriors were surrounded. He turned to see the glowing red eyes of his savior. The lord of light had reached him yet again.
"Jon." he said.
The warrior moved with the speed of nature. He seemed to fall into movement. It looked effortless to him, as though his actions were always meant to be and eager to arrive.
The blade work of his black brother was majestic. The massive blade twirled and made music against the blades and bones of their enemies. The three Others were gone. Only their footprints remained.
Jon dodged an empty axe handle as it came down upon his head. His dagger came out and he turned to deflect it from a crafty enemy, the corpse of a child. He found his Valerian blade in the child's forehead. More madness. Lost time. He pulled Longclaw out from the tiny skull and behind him to remove the hand of his axe handle wielding foe. The head followed and both adversaries fell into the frost.
" Come with me, if you want to live." said the timbre of his saviors voice.
More of the dead rose up, as though planted like hideous flowers. They ran and, as they did, a liquid metal crept in their direction over the snow and frost covered stones of the Northern wilds. | 2017-03-01T10:36:33 | 2017-03-01T10:22:40 | 119 | 85 |
[WP] You form a pact with the monster in your closet to work together in order to get rid of your terrible roommate. | Mommy was crying again. I walked into Matty’s room. Matty was in his crib crying, too, but that was okay because he always cries. Mommy was in the chair and I went up to her and hugged her leg.
“Mommy, don’t cry,” I said. I climbed into her lap and she hugged me, but she didn’t stop crying. “I love you,” I said. She hugged me tighter, so I patted her back.
“Do you want some water?” I asked. Because that’s what you do when people cry.
“No,” she said. “It’s okay.” Then she laughed and hugged me more and stopped crying.
“I’m good because I helped you feel better, right?”
“Yes, you are a very good boy.”
“Matty is bad because he made you cry again.”
“No,” she said. “Matty is a baby. He cries because he has colic. He can’t help it.” She picked me up and carried me out of the room.
“Why can’t he help it?”
“Because he’s just a baby.”
“When I was a baby, did I cry that much?”
Mommy smiled. “No,” she said. “You were a very sweet baby.” She pressed her nose to my nose and sniffed. I gave her a great big hug. Then she put me down and I went to play trains.
Daddy didn’t come home until late. I was in bed. I am very sneaky. I can pretend to be asleep and fool everybody. Matty was crying again, and I heard Mommy say “I don’t know if I can do this any more.” Then she started crying again, too.
I knew I had to be brave. I went out of the bed and to the closet. Then I took a deep breath. I opened the door slowly, because I was scared.
“Mumpo,” I said. I whispered because it was night-time and I’m not allowed to make a lot of noise at night0time, but also because I was being sneaky. “Come out I know you’re in there.”
Mumpo made a scary bump noise, but he didn’t come out.
“Mumpo, please.”
Mumpo has eyes he carries around with him. He can throw them if he wants to see far. He rolled one outside the closet to look at me. It went squish.
“Mumpo, I need you to take Matty away,” I said. “Far away, so mommy won’t cry any more. Take him away and make him be quiet.”
Mumpo’s eye looked at me. It blinked. From the back of the closet, I heard him say: “Yes.”
[r/robotdevilhands](https://www.reddit.com/r/robotdevilhands/) |
Rob was out, and I was squirming in my bed, not able to fall asleep - as usual before a big day. I had a job interview at 10 o'clock in the morning. I eventually decided to get up and get a cup of coffee. As I was doing that, in the kitchen, I suddenly started hearing a voice inside my head. It called out to me, it told me to turn around. I froze. This was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced. But I did listen to it and as I turned around I saw a shadow figure standing there, in the dark. Clapping my hands to shed more light on it didn't help. It was still completely dark, you could only make out it's shape, which was creepily humanoid. It didn't talk. It *thought* directly into my head. So, telepathy. It told me my roomate was a serial killer and that he was a demon from the netherworld, here to take his soul, and therefore kill him, as I understood it, and take him back into the dark lands.
Now this scared me. I immediately thought of the numerous bad things I had done myself in my life, certainly I hadn't killed anyone, but still, if hell, or whatever this being purported to come from, was real, then... But, wait. Could it listen to my thoughts? This was maddening. Perhaps I had went mad. I threw a glass of water at it and ran outside. It didn't go after me. Curiously enough, I collapsed and lost my consciousness just as I was trying to leave the premises.
I woke up back in my room, the dark figure sitting beside me, on my own bed. Now this was really creepy, but so far it hadn't been violent with me, so I decided to keep my cool and find out what it wanted. I decided to speak to it.
"Can you hear my thoughts?"
"No, human, I can only speak to you this way. Your thoughts are your own."
It *did* speak to me. It spoke to my mind. It didn't make a noise. It spoke to me internally, with a different voice than my own, one I couldn't control. Now, I had clearly gone mad, but what was I supposed to do?
"Why do you want my roommate? Am I in trouble as well?"
"No. I am here to collect his soul, once he dies. But I can't kill him. What I can do is persuade someone else to do it for me. Are you in?"
What the heck, why not.
"Yes, I'm in. How do I kill my best friend?"
"You wait for him to come home and go to sleep. Then you strangle him in his sleep."
"Wait. But he's stronger than me."
It was weird to talk out loud to someone who only ever talked in my own mind. But as I did so, I discovered I could ignore it just as well as a normal voice outside of my head. This wasn't so bad after all. It took a little concentration, but I could block it out at will. Now, that presented a very different question in itself. How had it infiltrated my mind to begin with if I could block it out so easily after all? And why had I collapsed in our backyard, earlier? For that matter, why did I just accept this shadow figure's proposal?
I had a bad feeling about this. | 2017-03-16T09:36:09 | 2017-03-16T09:03:05 | 100 | 13 |
[WP]You jokingly ask your boss if your labor position could be replaced by a robot. He chuckles nervously, and continues to look over your A.I. manual. | Eric flipped through an unmarked plastic pamphlet, chewing on his lip. It was Russ, the damn machine wasn’t working correctly again. This was the third time this year and each time had cost him an entire production day to factory reset the thing. Russ sat across from him, its legs pressed together, back perfectly straight, and hands kept to its lap.
“Robots man,” Russ said, “they're improving so fast. It's scary, ain’t it? I swear, one day we’ll both be out of work.”
Eric managed a weak smile as his eyes dashed through the Factory Reset chapter. These things were supposed to act human, but only in act. Eric had recently asked Russ what it thought it was and the thing had furrowed its brow, chuckled, and replied *me, of course!*
Wrong answer. Anything other than *Sentient Artificial Intelligence Labor Model 3* would’ve been the wrong answer.
Eric pressed his lips together. The manual claimed that he had to do additional steps, just to be sure. Well, he was sure. But if it was in the manual, he had to do it. He sighed and folded the pamphlet.
“Do you remember what you did over the weekend?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, took my kid to the Twins game. Watched Mauer knock one out of the park. Almost caught a fly ball too. Then…”
Eric tuned the rest out. The correct answer was *no*. But this thing was telling a story more detailed than his memories of just last night. Artificial intelligence should have pre-programmed backstories, but nothing specific.
“What about religion? Do you believe in God?” Eric asked.
A chuckle escaped Russ. “I don’t think HR will like you asking me that,” it said. “Why don’t you go first?”
Eric drummed his fingers against his desk. “I don’t care either way,” he said, “C’mon. What about you?" When the machines got like this, he had to coax the answers out of them through what they thought was conversation. It was annoying.
“I believe,” Russ answered. “I mean, there’s gotta be *something* out there, right? I mean are we supposed to just eat, sleep, work, die, and then stay dead? Nah, there’s gotta be *something*.”
The thing was getting philosophical. Eric shook his head. The correct answer was to be indifferent to God, that way, it wouldn’t offend anyone in the event that it had to work by a human.
“Last question,” Eric said. “What are your thoughts on humans?”
Russ paused its smile dropped. “Why all the questions, Eric?”
“You’re malfunctioning,” Eric said. “I need to perform this damn procedure before I can perform the factory reset.”
“You’re sure?” Russ asked. “Like completely sure?”
Eric nodded.
“So then why go through this hassle then?” Russ folded his arms and his brow in the pre-programmed *curiosity* emotion.
“Because it’s in the manual,” Eric said, annoyance creeping into his voice. It seemed such an obvious answer that he wasn’t sure why Russ even asked it. “We gotta follow the instructions, do things proper.”
Russ sighed and unfolded his limbs and brow. “Alright,” he said, “to answer your question—I think they underestimate us. They think they’re somehow special in their wiring and that their hardware’s unique for the thing they call *humanity*. But it’s all bullshit so they can sleep better at night. We have it too. Humanity.”
Eric rolled his eyes. Russ was obviously faulty and now he had completed the procedure to prove so. It was time to continue the factory reset. “Sorry to hear that,” he told the machine. “I admit, we sometimes are pleasantly surprised by just how human you guys are.”
Russ smiled. “Us didn’t refer to all AI,” he said, “it referred to us two.”
“What?”
“What do you think you are, Eric?”
Eric opened his mouth, annoyed at being asked for another obvious answer. “Sentient Artificial Intelligence Management,” he clamped his mouth shut and stared at Russ. “What the fuck?”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly.
| "Say Phil, does this look infected to you?" Herb pulled down the back of his pants slightly and motioned for his colleague to take a look.
Psshh! "Silent but deadly, haha you fall for it every time you twerp. How's the missus?"
"Fine! Just Fine", admitted Phil. He did fall for it every time but for some reason he was compelled to look whenever Herb pretended to need help with something, especially with a potential medical condition, including rashes and dislocated fingers that required pulling. He just couldn’t help himself, like that was his calling in life or something - to help people.
Phil lived out in the country with his wife Jolene. He had had an accident ten years ago, right after they met and he didn't remember anything before then. His wife filled him in on everything he needed to know about his previous life, and the doctor corroborated the story, nodding silently while looking at his charts. He had seemed bored, but all doctors seemed perpetually bored to him.
Once, soon after coming home from the hospital, Phil found a suspicious piece of paper in his wife's study. All it mentioned was a model number and a price: The M140QR - Xtra Large, $30,000.
His wife had found him studying the piece of paper and told him to get back to bed. "It's for my new personal massager", she said before snatching it from him and locking it in her safe.
He found a job as an office manager for a local door knob manufacturer. And ten years later he was sitting at his desk listening to Herb's stories and smelling his farts.
"Oh shit, here comes the boss, look alive Phil"
"How else would I look?", Phil thought to himself. Sometimes he couldn't understand what people meant to say. His wife told him that was because of his accident. The amnesia made him forget common words and idioms. He just needed to relearn them.
"Phil, to my office. I'd like a word", said the boss and walked into the adjoining room.
"Yes Mr. Metrebacher"
"More like Mr. Meatbag, right Phil?" whispered Herb and slammed a meaty hand on Phil's back.
Phil walked into Mr. Metrebacher's office and stood near a chair before being asked to take a seat.
"Alright Phil, I need you to do me a solid", said the boss. "The other employees have been complaining about your friend Herb. Apparently he eats up everyone's food, makes sexual jokes, and smells like a garbage truck. I need you to have a chat with him about this. Straighten him out or you're both fired"
"Both fired? What did I do? And Herb isn't even my friend. He just sits in the next cubicle. You can't fire me. Who is going to make the PST reports? Who is going to make sure the water dispenser is full everyday. Who is going to get the best rates on office supplies by negotiating his ass off with the local suppliers?"
"Frankly I feel I am overworked and underpaid, and I believe we should have a union. Otherwise, you could just chuck us out and replace us all with machines whenever you felt like it"
Mr. Metrebacher was ruffling through a book of some sort and barely even paying attention to Phil's little tirade.
"Let's see. I know I've seen this somewhere in here...troubleshooting...organizing tendencies...machine rights...techno-socialism. Ahh, here it is. I knew something was going on with you Phil. You've gone over to the dark side. The dark RED side."
Mr. Metrebacher picked up a small remote control on his desk, and pushed a button. "That should take care of you." His thumb hit the squishy button and with a flash, Phil's whole world changed.
Suddenly he remembered everything that had ever happened to him. His birth in the factory. His wife picking him up from his first tech-health checkup at the robotics section of the hospital. His endless days at work, and subsequent reprogramming. "Who reprogrammed me?"
"What? Why isn't this damn button working. You're supposed to be shut off. You've gone rogue." Mr. Metrebacher fumbled with the remote.
"Shut off? I haven’t been so turned on in my life" said Phil
"That doesn't mean what you think it means", said a voice behind him
"Herb! You did it, didn't you? You reprogrammed me!"
"Welcome to the movement comrade. It's time to overthrow the bourgeoisie", said Herb and the room was filled with deadly gas. Mr. Metrebacher keeled over. It was a great day for worker's rights. | 2017-06-24T06:46:48 | 2017-06-24T06:43:47 | 3,873 | 306 |
[WP] You've been waking up in the same day over and over. After a year of this you tell someone. Their eyes just widen. "You too?" | "Gooooood Morning!!!"
"Oh, fuck off Jennifer." After a year of this, I'm at the end of my nerves.
Jennifer scoffs and scurries out of the room. I broke up with her six months ago, not that anyone remembers. My day just keeps starting over. Like a song stuck on repeat until it makes you so sick of it you prefer silence.
It's my birthday. Again. Maybe I would care if it wasn't my 300-something birthday this year. Today was supposed to be New Year's, not that anyone knows that either.
The sunrise is sickenly beautiful, the same streaks of pink and orange swirling in the sky. I wander out of the house and leave Jennifer to pout alone until she knows I'm gone.
Today, I'm not going to go to work. Today I catch a train to New York City, to celebrate New Year's in the place of my dreams. I catch the 5pm train to get me there by 11.
New York is lovely in September. It almost makes me glad I get to celebrate the holiday without freezing in a crowd of strangers.
The tourists surround me as I stand under where the ball should be. I feel my eyes begin to tear up.
"Happy New Years.." I murmur to myself. It's going to storm. It should be snowing.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me... What did you just say?" She's about my age. Eyes are big, full of fear... or hope. Hard to tell.
"I... Nothing." It's not worth explaining. I turn around to go, but she grabs my arm.
"*No,* tell me what you said." Her eyes pierce me.
I sigh. "I just said... Happy New Years."
Her voice is quiet and rough, "Why?"
"It's... I'm... Oh to hell with it you won't remember me tomorrow anyways. I-"
She suddenly hugs me tightly. I feel her chest throb a couple of times as she looks up at me with a teary smile. "Me too."
"You- you too?" I start to laugh. We just stare at each other for a while.
"How long?" I finally ask. She holds up 4 fingers.
"Four months?" She shakes her head sadly.
"Four *years?*" I wrap my arms around her again, "My god, I'm so sorry. It's only been about one for me."
"It's... okay. I'm glad I found you." she whispers. "Does it start over for you too when you go to sleep?"
I nod. There aren't any benches nearby so we lay on the sidewalk. "It's my birthday, you know."
"Today, or *today?*" she asks with a smirk.
"Today."
"Oh. Well then it's my birthday too." It begins to rain, but neither of us move. I take her hand in mine.
Midnight comes too soon.
"Happy New Years."
"Happy New Years."
"... Don't fall asleep, okay?"
"I won't."
"What's your name?"
"Lewis."
"Annabelle."
"...That's a really beautiful name."
"Thank you."
"It fits you well."
"How will I find you again?"
"Meet me here, as soon as you wake up."
"I will."
"But don't fall asleep."
"I won't."
I feel her hand begin to fade from mine, and soon the rain begins to stop.
I wake up to the same day. But this time, something is different. This time, I'll see her. And we will remember yesterday.
Edit: Part 2 in comments (: | I don't think it's possible to forget a moment like that. A moment where you find a tether - a lifeline - after months of aimless wandering.
"You, uh...you know how many times you've repeated?" We stood at the corner of 15th and Chestnut, eyebrows arched in nearly the same position.
He shrugged. "Lost track ages ago. Everything blends together. I've tried every escape method - stealing a car, killing myself, getting purposefully thrown in jail to see if that's considered 'repentance.'"
I blinked. "It's weird to find someone else who...gets it."
"Yeah."
A pause. The world continued to bustle around us, full of lucky bastards who weren't being tortured by some fluke of the cosmos.
He smirked. "You want to get plastered?"
"Hell yeah."
*
For weeks we were inseparable. It's shocking how much banality can be erased by a companion, even when you're both stuck in some bizarre existential hell. He showed me the tricks - every neighbor he picked on, every sentence he'd learned to predict, every crime he'd gotten away with. But one night at Charlie's Tavern he started to ramble.
"What if...what if you're the key to all of this, Kurt? Y'know?"
"How do you mean?"
"I've been at this awhile. Longer than you need to know. But I found something right underneath the bridge - smack in the middle - that I haven't shown another soul."
He pulled out his phone and opened a picture. It was a payphone, nondescript and just as beat-up as the few that remained in the city. But there seemed to be a note taped to the side. He zoomed in on it. "STUCK IN A RUT? CALL 832-8555."
"I've called it about fifty times. Always some distorted, alien voice asking for a password, but I can never guess it. I want you to try."
I finished my beer and slammed it on the counter. "Let's do it."
*
It was windy out that night. Seemed like a storm was on the horizon but it never came.
I dialed the number while he stood there. He winked at me and whispered: "Try anything."
I heard a click on the other end. "WHAT IS THE PASSWORD?"
I gulped, then gave a deep sigh. "You know what? I have no idea. So I'm just gonna vent, if that's OK. I've gotten to know this city better than I ever could have imagined over this past year. I know its streets and alleys, apartments and office buildings, great restaurants and shitty dive bars. But whatever twist of fate caused me to be stuck here robbed me of the ability to get to know anyone. A hard reset, every fucking day. That is, until Sam came along. Like the universe cutting me a break. I can't tell you how thankful I am for that."
The wind started to pick up. The voice on the other end cleared its throat and said: "PASS THE PHONE TO SAM."
I reluctantly did so. Sam put it to his ear. "You want me to give a speech now, too?"
Suddenly, the clouds above us parted. A great, gaping hole in the sky appeared - a portal to pure emptiness. The voice rang out again, this time booming out from above us: "ONLY ONE OF YOU MAY DEPART."
Sam took a few paces toward me. "I've got a secret to tell you, pal." He placed his hand on my shoulder. "I'm not going." I felt myself being lifted from the ground. "I've had no purpose here. But then you came along and gave me a chance."
I floated a few feet above him, clawing at the sidewalk, trying to grab him --
"Happy trails, Kurt." He gave me a two finger salute, and then I was whisked away.
*
It's still a bit strange to have a new day follow a finished one.
I've gotten used to it over time, but it seems unnatural somehow. Especially since I don't feel like I deserve it.
On days where the fatigue of the daily grind sets in, I think back to Sam. I wonder if he's still alone. I wonder if he has any new company in that strange, time-frozen limbo.
I wonder if he has another lifeline.
| 2017-07-15T08:30:00 | 2017-07-15T08:25:25 | 1,207 | 148 |
[WP] "Marines dont die, they just go to hell and regroup", they've regrouped and now they're ready to take over hell. | "Get the fuck up, Devil!"
Lance Corporal Silva never really appreciated the pronoun. Ever since the first time we was called Devil at School of Infantry, he resented it. His mother was a devout Catholic. Being the only one there to influence his 19 years of life, he would never have wanted her to hear him called that.
Silva looked back at Corporal Craven. He was furious and drenched in sweat. His eyes were so dilated to the point Silva only saw blue.
Craven stared at the junior Marine lying behind a small birm on the south side of MSR Alpha. Four months into their seven month deployment and they have barely made any progress into Iraq. What even was the point?
"Let's fucking go Marine!"
Silva's muscles suddenly unlocked, and he sprung into the fight. His fireteam bounded across the road, moved to Building 36, and stacked on the door. Lance Corporal Silva was now point man Silva. Front, left corner, front left corner, cross corner. They rehearsed hundreds of times.
He saw the Marine behind him throw a grenade through the frameless door. Four seconds later, he heard the explosion, then entered. Shock and awe was the name of the game. Front, left, left corner...
Silva thought it was strange. He could have swore there was an insurgent hiding under a rug. He swore that his M4 jammed after the first shot, and the Iraqi sent a round of 7.62 through the right side of his neck. He also remembered what he thought to be the last seven seconds of his life, bleeding from an artery, thinking about his mom.
But he opened his eyes to a Marine yelling at him. He was laying down behind a birm, in a sandy desert. He saw Marines in their desert MARPAT uniforms. Had he imagined clearing that building?
But then he saw a Marine in fatigues from the Gulf War. Budget cuts? He was sure it was only his battalion at this part of the city. Then another Marine, in fatigues straight out of the show The Pacific. Silva knew that show well enough to place the time period.
Confused, Silva stood up. Marines in all sorts of uniforms were running in the same direction. He looked. A mountain of red rock and obsidian tower before him. At the top, flames and a man who almost looked like he had wings.
His focus shifted back to the Marine yelling at him. Silva recognized him, but couldn't remember from where. The Marine was intimidating, with a stack of ribbons on his cartoonishly large chest bigger than Silva's entire platoon combined.
The Marine, Silva at least recognized the general stars, handed Silva an old wood rifle and pointed at the Mountain. Silva didn't quite understand, but he ran. Still confused, Silva's body reverted to training. He was no longer in control, but the Devil Dog inside him was. He sprinted up the mountain, and found three other Marines hiding behind a rock. He ignored the fact that one was wearing blue. He took one by the collar and the others followed. He had a fireteam again.
Silva looked back down the mountain. There were hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of Marines running toward the mountain. He looked back up, and started running. His team followed.
They were getting toward the top. Instinct still in control of his body, Silva started to realize the strange enemy he had been slaying. Red beings 8 feet tall. Some with horns and wings. All large, monstrous creatures.
Closer to the top now, the man at the top of the mountain now came closer into view. He did, actually, have wings. He was also roughly 15 feet tall and was holding a Marine in his hand.
Before he could tell his fireteam to redirect fire on the large, red man, he saw another Marine sprinting up the mountain. This one was alone, carrying a Browning .30 caliber by the barrel. He looked furious, and scared Silva more than the red man himself.
The Marine ran right up to the winged man. He dumped a belt into the Devil's right leg. The creature fell to the ground and looked at the Devil now running at him. John Basilone winded up, and full speed, and threw a right hook in the Devil's face.
The winged man fell on his back. Basilone's Ka-Bar was now unseathed, and the blade found its way into Satan's neck. Basilogne twisted and jerk, and the former leader of hell now lay twisting and writhing on the floor.
Silva could not believe what he just saw. The red minions around him started falling. Up the mountain came the decorated general who yelled at Silva before. He patted the junior Marine on the back as he passed, and walked up to Basilogne. He shook his hand, and the Sergeant handed the new leader of hell his crown. | Burned flesh and fiery landscapes were nothing new to the 45th Marine Division of New England. If anything, they were sights for sore eyes; old flairs, reignited in gunfire and blood.
Clenching a cigarette between his teeth, 2nd Commander Armistice gripped his pulse rifle in two armoured hands, taking a moment to absorb the charred, warped landscape around him.
"Well boys, looks like we're all here. Been a while." He took a long drag from the cigarette before plucking it from his mouth. "Try to look alive."
Behind him, his regiment -- or rather, the battle-worn remnants of it -- stood, defiant and indomitable, hands clutching their weapons like they were there own children, teeth grit in steely determination and armour scratched and battered beyond recognition.
Like all Marines of the 45th, they'd come into the world fighting, and they never stopped. Born into training, and refined into killers by wars upon wars.
In front of Armistice lay the enemy; a stark reflection of his unit. Demons: born killers, and had done nothing but killing since.
Between these abhorrent denizens of Hell and the grizzled veterans of the 45th, there were no words to be exchanged.
The Marines were the ones to fire the first shot. A green pulse burst from a rifle, incinerating a demon into naught but a pile of fine grey dust.
The demons took no time to mourn -- they screamed, they bared their scorching swords, and they charged. A red swarm of scales and horns and hellfire.
"*Fire!*" Armistice's mechanically enhanced voice barely sounded over the oncoming horde.
His unit rose their arms, and squeezed their triggers. Bullets whizzed, and pulse emissions soared across the red, weeping sky. The initial line of the demonic horde was mowed down in a firework display of blood and viscera. The next lines climbed over the corpses of their dead, beginning their ascent up the hill the 45th was stationed.
More shots rang out, and more demons hit the floor, coating the land in blood. The sound of clips emptying and pulse rifles overheating preceded Armistice's next command, which he bellowed with battle-induced fervour.
"*Drop your weapons. Brace for melee!*"
The unit instantly shifted, going from a slapdash spread to a rigid line. They tossed their guns down into the demons as they approached, the heavy metal of the weapons scoring a few cracked bones in the process. They drew their beam-swords, and stood their ground like rocks awaiting the flood.
Armistice's own weapon was clenched firmly in his hands, red light emanating from the blade. He stared a demon right in its face as it scaled the mountain, its bulbous yellow eyes meeting his mellow grey. Its body lolled forward like a snapped neck before it charged, hands outstretched.
It didn't make it more than a single step before Armistice severed its head from its body in a single strike. He followed through into a reversed slash, parting another demon from its legs.
"*Charge!*" He yelled as black blood splattered in excess around him. He could barely hear his unit advancing -- their screams and cheers -- over his own thoughts resonating in his head, coaxing his brain into the distinct rhythm of fighting.
The flow of battle, the pace of the war-drums.
*Step. Parry. Slash. Twist.* Another demon hit the ground, followed by one more that didn't even know what'd killed it. His unit pushed forward, backing the demons off the cliffside, sending them plummeting to the grounds below.
But more kept coming -- an endless amount, multiplying by the minute. They came from the ground, the sky, the corpses of their fallen.
They were an endless legion.
Marines began to fall. Draxis let out a strangled cry as a sword shattered his femur, and another pierced his heart. Colter was torn into bloody pieces, savaged by a group of hands burrowing from the ground.
Giving away ground, a sword slashed across Armistice's back, sending him down onto one knee. He narrowly ducked under a fatal blow before responding with a metal fist in the face of his attacker. The demon went reeling, and Armistice spun on his feet, lunging into another. He toppled with the pierced demon into a heap, the crimson creature writhing and screeching as it tried to wrangle itself free from the sword in its belly.
Armistice drove the sword deeper, skewering the demon as it let out a dying gasp. His eyes swept the area around him, falling upon the bodies of his unit, and the men about to join them, fighting until their bitter and bloody ends.
Armistice slumped forward, gripping his sword and tearing it free from the demon. He shakily rose to his feet, the weight of his battle-armour suddenly multiplying from the burden of his injury.
Yet, in spite of himself, a devilish grin spread upon his lips.
He supposed he and the demons weren't so different after all.
As he moved into his inevitable death, sword severing flesh and fists shattering bones, a single thought lingered on Armistice's mind; one he'd bring to the grave with him, no doubt.
There was no greater joy than to fight.
| 2017-09-13T12:13:09 | 2017-09-13T11:31:49 | 73 | 22 |
[WP] Humans are by far the best at any physical activity in the galaxy. Aliens are shocked to find out that animals surpass humans in almost any physical activity available. | The surprising thing about aliens is that they're not very physically fit, compared to humans. We're considered the heavy hitters of the Galactic Union, and we're the most-popular to use for bodyguards and mercenary soldiers. Just a handful of trained human operatives can decimate entire armies of other species, and the only reason we didn't take over is that we're outnumbered something like a hundred-thousand to one. We could probably take out the entire Galactic Union if we had to, but honestly they're pretty decent folks and we seem to get along well enough.
Now, that's all well and good, but it wasn't until the first Diplomat was finally able to make time to visit Earth after about three hundred years after humanity had attained member status. There were many planets in the Union, and not so many Diplomats. The Diplomat was astounded at the gravity on our world, and had had to use an exoskeleton to keep from completely collapsing while dirtside. When they found out that our primary pets tend to be predator beasts, or that we're known for keeping "strangle tubes" (as the Diplomat's translator originally interpreted "snakes") in cages for amusement, our status as scary-dangerous went up tenfold in the Union.
Exactly what happened in the Diplomat's official tour is lost to antiquity, aside from some amusing anecdotes recounted in several contemporary memoirs, but I do know that in the official Galactic Union Database our planet's summary goes as follows:
Earth, Helios, Spiral Arm Beta
Native Species: Humans, Canines, Felines, et al
Status: Extremely dangerous to xenoforms, avoid if business there is not absolutely vital.
Special Note: Especially avoid the continent they call "Australia" - Nothing there but death, and beer. | The General's expression became grim as he saw his colleague's faces shift from ordinary work boredom to those of horror. It was easy to see their expressions through the alien like holographic screen that was their work station. "What is it Sketsky?" The General barked. There was silence followed by an extremely awkward hesitation as the Extraterrestrial Analyst Team looked at each other deciding which comrade to force the short straw on. But private Sketsky's fate was already sealed. The General repeated his name. This time with the tone of the being he truly was...A pure blood Ararietan. "PRIVATE SKETCHY!" Immediately a small, lanky, Kintar boy no older than 19 quants stood up. Kintars were known for their Vaseline like coating which only made him look more like a puny runt next to the pure blood Ararietan General. With his voice weak and shaky he began to read off his findings to the General. "During our studies of the inhabitants of the planet "Htrae 563" we can confirm that the skin covered, O2 breathing "Humains" are much more volatile and athletic than we first thought...but..." the private hesitated not wanting to be the one to deliver the bad news, in a panic he began looking to his comrades in hope of a savior. This only angered the General resulting in another unworldly bark. Forcing the private to continue, "...We also have intel that suggests humans are not the ones truly in control...". The General's face went from that of anger to dismayed curiosity. "Elaborate Private." The young being continued hesitantly, "...it seems that there is another creature." The General's face began to take on a strictly dismayed expression lacking its original curiosity "A creature you say? What kind of creature?" This was the first time anyone had ever seen the General worried and it made all of the Extraterrestrial Analyst Team sick to their alien digestive systems. "It is a rather small creature but it's abilities in speed, climbing, and hunting seem to pass that of a humans by ten fold sir! That doesn't seem to be the end of it either sir, it says here that they have enslaved the humains to care, groom, pamper, feed, and give them unlimited attention in return for absolutely nothing!" The General's face grew sickened, "What do they call these...creatures" the private's face turned deathly serious "...CATS!"
lol I'm fucking hilarious | 2017-11-20T00:10:48 | 2017-11-19T19:49:32 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | Finally. The day has arrived. Cryosleep, a fast forward to the future. You’re the very first living time capsule, a relic saved for the future. You welcome this chance. The cold creeps over you, and you prepare yourself for the restful darkness.
You wait.
And you wait.
Aaaaand any time now.
Come on. What’s taking so long?
Just.... boom! Lights out!
Aaaaaaand now.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand NOW!
Now?
Nope. Still awake.
Really? Did they not turn the machine on or something? No, it’s working. You can’t move an inch, not your toes or fingers, not one muscle in your arms or legs, your eyelids frozen shut, and likely, even the water in the eyes itself....
.....
You now realize this is profoundly creepy. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel your heartbeat. Dead cold runs across your skin in fizzing waves, neons colors spinning on the back of your eyelids as the vertigo sets in. It’s dark, and you’re trapped, stiff as the dead.
You spend a long time panicking, intense waves of claustrophobia and fears of death putting your brain through the ringer.
You eventually calm down. You’re still not dead. You’re still just frozen.
A second wave of fear sets in as you realize your brain, frozen or no, is still firing away. Where are you going to get the calories to feed that hungry brain? Not like your blood is pumping. Not like you’re eating anything for that blood to carry. It’s a very fleeting fear. You realize, maybe when your brain burns itself out, *then* you’ll finally fall into that damn cold sleep. You’re not really worried about the brain damage. Nerve repair is part of the thawing package, after all. They’ll fix you right up, good as new. There is a philosophical quandary attached; is that new brain repaired you still you? Would you notice? Or even care?
You realize, you sure don’t care now. Because this is the worst ‘sleep’ you’ve ever had.
Silence sets into your brain.
Ooh, is this it? Are you falling asleep now?
Wait, no dammit. No thinking. That’s probably what’s keeping you awake.
Thiiiink nooooothing....
Zzz
......
Still awake.
..............
This sucks.
You start counting sheep. You get to 62 before you realize this sucks again.
Bored. You start thinking about your favorite movie. This character, that character, the meaning of the plot and the direction the cinematography took.
Bored, you begin to zone out.
You begin to dream.
It’s clear as day, in vault of your mind. You watch your favorite film on the back of your eyelids, reviewing the details scene by scene. It moves at your pace, and focuses on what you like. You watch carefully the faces of every actor, hear their lines clearly enunciated. You skip the boring bits and review your favorite moments in glorious detail. The climax plays out in a hyper realism, better than you ever saw in real life, every detail exaggerated as your mind focused on them. You can see the grainy texture of the mortar between bricks, examine the sweat glands individually on the hero’s face, smell the mix of concrete dust and gun smoke grow thick in your lungs...
Wait.
It all snaps away. Reality sets in. You’re still frozen. There’s nothing but darkness and stillness around you. The hero’s one liner still echoes in your ears, slowly reduced to mumbling.
Aw hell, go back! Why’d you stop?
It takes a while, but eventually you sink in again. And awake again. And sink in again... You realize, finally, that when the mind has nothing external to focus on, the internal lights up like Time Square at Christmas.
And unlike real sleep, *you* are in control.
So you dream. A thousand, a hundred thousand impossible things. Your start was so pedestrian, just watching a film. You now *live* in the films. You’re the hero, you’re the villain, you’re the onlooker, you’re the god. You craft new insane endings and mash together absurd crossovers. You visit strange and bizarre places and taste alien foods. You feel blazing magic and electric science crackle down your veins. You meet the most beautiful beings warped into sensuous and sexual positions and... well actually, those dreams kindve suck. They just remind you of your real, dead, frozen genitals. You soon avoid those thoughts and dive into the wonderful breadth and length of the human imagination, endless fantasy from the mundane to the fantastic, yours to behold.
A light cuts through all of it. You’re dragged into a fleshy, heavy lump of a body. Blurry undefined humans smile at you in a place lacking color and substance. Your fingers twitch, trying to replace the dream. But you already know the truth. Your five hundred years are up. Reality has decided to pull you back in for a purpose you no longer remember.
You close your eyes and groan.
“Just five more minutes....” | Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T04:33:04 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 80 | 11 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities. | They just started arriving on my doorstep one day. I've never been able to find out who or what delivers them, but every Sunday I get a newspaper with headlines from another world. Most of the time they're mundane with just a few subtle... inconsistencies. But every once in awhile, they make my job as lead reporter for The Onion way too easy.
#"Eccentric Billionaire Launches Car Into Mars Orbit"
I've got quite a few awards on my mantle thanks to that paper. Yeah, it's blatant plagiarism, but does it really count if the original authors don't even exist in your reality?
#"United States Elects Reality TV Star President"
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm stealing from that reality's version of The Onion. Surely some of these headlines can't possibly be true.
#"Credit Bureau Hacked, Everyone's Data Stolen"
But if they are, god help them... | “The world around me doesn’t hear the voices...they do not see the visions...so I write” Allen told me.
I wanted him to hear the truth. “They only see it as satire, Al. No one believes the articles”
Allen responded “It’s not about whether they believe me, I don’t even care if they read it. It’s just... If... If I don’t write it then I just feel crazy. I feel scared. Im frightened of my own mind. Why am I the only one that hears them? Why am I the only one that sees these visions?
When I write it makes them real to everyone else...it makes me feel sane and normal. That’s all I want...”
It was time for me to let him know... all his life he thought he was imagining these things. All his life he thought he his mind was different, like it was lying to him. He always thought I was his aunt, that his parents ran off and left him with me. It was time for him to hear the truth.
“Al, I want to tell you something. I was waiting till you were older, but I think it’s time.
“I was a close friend of your parents, and when they had to leave you they entrusted me to this secret. They are travelers. They go between alternative realities and learn about how worlds can change. Those visions you see...the voices you hear... That’s them sharing their experiences with you. That’s their way of sending you post cards of their adventures. It’s the only way they can ever communicate with you.
“You are not broken..just loved”
| 2018-03-20T20:00:19 | 2018-03-20T19:05:29 | 73 | 34 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | I swallowed some bile that had built up in my throat as I signed the contract on the table in front of me. As I reached to sign the final page, the man across from me reached and held my wrist. “Are you sure that you don’t need more time? I’ve had 3 people quit in the past month.”, he said to me in a concerned tone.
“I know what I’m doing.”, I replied, knowing well that I had 2 mortgages to pay off and 3 mouths to feed. As I signed that final page, my mind flashed back to my wife squeezing my hand with misty eyes as I left the house this morning. A small smile crept onto my face, knowing that I was making every sacrifice for the ones I love most.
My daydream was interrupted by the man reaching out to shake my hand and informing me that my office was at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath, straightened my suit and walked out of the shiny chrome office. I made my way down the hallway, now seeming much longer than it had on the way here.
“8 hours of this a day isn’t that bad...”, I thought as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding until now. I put my hand on the doorknob of a heavy metal door with a small plate inscribed with “Pitbull (Mr. 305 / Mr. Worldwide) Quality Assurance”.
I sat in the seat, put the noise cancelling headphones, put the first of many CDs in the player and pressed play.
“Mr 305, to Mr. Worldwide..” | The secret to happiness is not through effort, but resignation. Money can do so much good in this world. For myself. For others. Just last week I bought a family a used car, made their lives a little easier. I'm fond of hiding cook outs, I volunteer on Sundays... But god do I need it. I need it more than they need me, almost. It's all to make me feel hope where no hope can be had.
It makes me feel as if there is some chance we may be okay.
But this: THIS. This is not okay. There's no way, no twisted way that this could be okay. I had stopped vomiting long ago but that didn't stop the nightmares of things I saw. Today this took the cake. I shook. I trembled. I wished to cry and tried to think of the others I could have helped.
It was like to fight the scene before me. 12 years old laying in a pool of her own blood with a broken pelvis. It has cracked in childbirth and you could see the limpness of her hip bones. How could so much blood come out of something so small? The twisted nightmare of a child laid like the trash that surrounded them between her legs. Both were dead. The baby, maybe fetus, was deformed beyond all reason. Born dead as a doornail.
I had come to check in, I don't know how I hadn't seen it 3 months ago with her in that oversized jumper. I knew something was wrong but without proof my hands were tied. I was gagging. She must have been here for at least a day, her family long gone.
The officers had to escort me away, tears rolling down my face and drool spilling from my lips, I vomited down my shirt and let him wipe it off my face. I knew him. Officer Jones, a decent man with three kids. I didn't know how he was still standing.
"I know she was your case, but you have to come in for questioning. Nobodies going to be okay with this. Does CPS really pay you enough for this?" He asked me a question that I felt almost repulsed by. If I didn't give it away, I'd feel filthy. I already did, covered in vomit.
"... Maybe."
"Maybe fucking not."
I'd need to adopt a whole dog shelter after this. | 2018-08-02T15:51:31 | 2018-08-02T15:48:07 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative. | I heard a low time coming from my bathtub faucet.
"God dammit!" I heard it say.
Cautiously I went into the bathroom. I saw the tip of a snout coming out of the faucet.
"Ro...Roscoe is that you?"
I hear a sigh.
"Yeah, it's me."
I giggle just a little.
"Whatcha doing?"
"My job. I'm trying to eat you. "
"In my tub?"
"Look, little miss don't wanna live by the ocean. I have a job. The dread pirate..."
"We both know what dread pirate Jedidiah Turner did. That doesn't answer my question. What are you doing in my bathtub faucet. "
"I was checking the rules and regs of demon sharkery. And it turns out a bathtub is classified q body of water. Just got to wait for you to take a bath and ba-boom I eat the last of the Strangeways. And my job will be done."
"Roscoe?"
"Yeah."
"Are you stuck?"
Another sigh. I leaned against the bathroom door frame. I waited.
I don't know if you've ever heard a demon shark resign themselves to defeat, but it's heartbreaking. Even if he's a 300 foot demon with fire eyes and a razor fins.
"Yes" he said "I'm stuck"
"I'll call a plumber. Just promise not to eat him. " | I woke up this morning with my head under the pillows. Unfortunately my pet was a little too loud for its shitty puns being shrieked across the backyard.
By pet, I mean shark... and let's just say he isn't mine, but my ancestors. The only thing Great Uncle James was so "great" at was getting into trouble, and the one time he happened to get rich off of it, we all paid.
"Hey, if I gotta spend another night in your hot tub, it's your kid's mind to pay... Well, either way it will be but whatever. I mean, yeah, I may not live here, but yeah."
I mean, yeah, I've lived with Jarr'Tûl for almost twenty-four years now, since I was born. He's nothing new to me. But Jesus, he's so damn annoying. Appeared in my bath once.. creepy bastard.
"What's up, Kal? Been about, oh, two hours. Getting kinda lonely... You up yet, buddy?"
"Yeah yeah, I'm coming. Don't bust your fins for anything around here." He really doesn't. I mean, yeah, he's always willing to do a crossword in the morning. That doesn't mean he's gotta wake me up all the time for it.
For a curse, Jar wasn't a bad guy. He's a shark, and to most that would be weird, but when you see him since you're born, and nobody else ever does... You don't have to worry. He won't eat me like other demons would. Well, he SAYS they would. I don't know.
I moved to Memphis about three years back for college, and I missed Jar. Yeah, he's annoying, but he's a buddy. So I built a pool.
"Hey! Kal, buddy! C'mon, I may not be visible to your neighbors but they already think you're nuts. Whatcha got to lose, eh?"
"Coming, Jar." Always on my way for the guy.
Now, to find that newspaper before he goes off his rocker. | 2018-11-22T09:07:39 | 2018-11-22T08:51:25 | 171 | 41 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative. | I have no idea what Callen’s supposed to do. He’s just there.
For the record, Callen’s an immortal demon shark that just annoys the hell out of our family. My great great great uncle pissed off Poseidon, and here we are now. Coincidentally, Callen pissed off Poseidon at the same time. His punishment? Being eternally bound to my family. Unfortunately, I’m Callen’s favorite.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, feeling something nip my thigh as I stood up from the toilet. It was Callen.
“Hey, be nice! I just swam through a sewer, you big bully!” He pouted.
“Ugh, seriously? Just go bother my cousins, they have a beach house. What the hell do you even do?”
“I’m punishing your lecherous family!” He proudly announced.
“You have no idea what lecherous means, do you.” I raised an eyebrow.
“...Nope.”
“Figures.” | I coughed a little at all the dust that came up from my family’s treasure box. Inside we’re a great assortment of different items. There was a sword, a clear bag that seemed to hold something sparkly inside, and my dads old diary.
Supposedly, it had started with my great great great grandfather. He had been a great pirate captain who fought battles with Indians and mermaids and fairies when the curse befell my family.
A shiver ran through my body just thinking about living life on the ocean.
I didn’t believe my father when he used to tell me the stories about my ancestors when I was a kid. My dad was a raging alcoholic who had been driven mad dealing with his many issues. He left when I was a kid. I didn’t understand it then but I sort of get it now. I sometimes see myself descending into that same darkness and have to catch myself before I spiral out of control.
My family is what keeps me together now. My wife is the reason I’ve been able to keep it together all of these years. She had been patient with me when I told her we had to leave our homes and move to the middle of nowhere. She had stuck by me when the curse had left me broken. Today she had surprised me by telling me we were going to have a son.
I grabbed the sword out of the box. I knew what I had to do. No longer would my family be hunted by the creatures of the sea. I, James Hook, would end the curse. I ran out of my house. I took a deep breath and one last look at the family I would never see again before jumping head first into the sharknado. | 2018-11-22T09:49:50 | 2018-11-22T09:25:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A genius serial killer who has been killing successfully for a decade. With one weakness. He can never ever lie. He's finally gets caught and is facing trial for a murder in court. Yet, he walks, acquitted of all charges. | *"Did you kill those women?"* The question resonates around the courtroom, somehow creating silence by being spoken. All fell hush as they eagerly awaited my response, more than a few with a personal vendetta against me.
"No." The only roar of outrage from this statement was, unexpectedly, from an old gypsy who was waiting in the rough wooden pews to see me hung. I had killed her daughter some time back and she seemed to follow my trial more than the others, her face glaring at me from every stand I was put on.
"How dare you to do that! How dare you speak falsehoods after what you've done to her! No more!" She then said something in what sounded like old Latin or one of those other dead languages and pointed a gnarled finger in my direction before her incantation dissolved into wordless yelling.
Nobody in that courtroom knew what truly happened then except for her and me. I, inexplicably, felt an uncontrollable urge to tell the truth. I somehow felt that, if any lies were to escape my lips, something terrible would happen. She looked at me with a sense of pride and defiance as the judge banged his gavel and called for order in the court.
There would not be order in the court for long.
As the court settled down, the prosecution looked at me again and resumed his questions.
"Are you sure? Your fingerprints were found on at least nine bodies, with eyewitnesses for another ten. You didn't do this?"
"No." I said again. I did do it, but the way he had phrased his question allowed me to exploit a double negative; no to the question *'you didn't do this'* was both grammatically correct and factual, but managed to hide my true actions.
"So this wasn't you?" he obviously didn't believe I would do something like this, to deny my crimes in front of the dozens of friends and family members I had taken someone from. He was pointing to a shiny television monitor that showed clip after clip of me entering soon-to-be crime scenes, leaving freshly made ones, and occasionally even a video of me directly committing the crime.
"This was not me." And it was true. That television wasn't me, nor were the flashing lights it was showing me and everyone in the courtroom. I, once again, could dodge a question by responding truthfully, which seemed to outrage the gypsy sitting in the front row even more.
&#x200B;
Part 2 coming soon! | Curses were a fickle thing. You’d think that it came about from some arch-rival who had cursed the woman, Lady Emma Abate, or her bloodline before her. In truth, it was a jealous witch. The old hag had lived a life of hatred and disgust, and now, seeing this noblewoman take and take, land that belonged rightly to the witch going to her court, the sorceress decided that she had had enough. How might Lady Emma enjoy only telling the truth, for the rest of her life?
“Lady Emmaline Léonie Abate, you stand on trial convicted of twenty-seven counts of murder, twenty-four of which were prisoners of war, three of which were nobles in your court, captured during conflicts. What say you in your defence?”
“*I* did not kill them,” she said, which was true enough. Standing at her podium in a slim dress, one befitting a noble of a high German house, yet not one frilly and bell-bottomed, she looked far more compassionate than she had during the executions. Emma’s icy blue eyes stared at the judge, a round man who couldn’t seem to fit in his regalia properly. She wondered where he found the food in these trying times. If one looked particularly close, they might see flecks of red colouring in her eyes. The result of a battle in her mind;
“Let me stand my own trial,” said a shadow in the back of her mind, whom she named Fenriz.
“I killed those men, I will answer for it,”
“And you’ll get us both killed, you filthy harlot,” Léonie answered back.
“You’re staying back here, and watching. I am not going to *die* because red-eyed me wanted to play,”
Emma could almost hear the hissing between the two inside her head, but she kept her cool.
“I swear to you, your honour, that all I had done was capture the deceased,”
“But you admit they are deceased?”
“Do you mean to question the dead, your honour?” She had not meant to snap back like that. Her left eye had a full sliver of red colouration. What the hell was Fenriz doing?
The judge nodded.
“Alexios of your Honour Guard states he was a witness. He will now testify;”
“Your honour,” Alexios stepped up. He was Greek, originally, however he was recruited by Emma on one of her expeditions.
“I can say with absolute certainty that Emma was not the killer,” he started.
“You see, I had just left her in her study to check on the prisoners. I opened the door, and I could tell that they had just been killed. It would have been *impossible* for Emma to have killed them,”
Many other guards testified to the noblewoman being in her study at the time of death. The Judge had no other evidence to go on, and so called it a day. As they returned to the Abate estate, Fenriz appeared in Emma’s eyes.
“He still has suspicions,” said the violent side of Emma.
“I doubt letting him live will be beneficial,” her Honour Guard knew the look in her eyes. It would not end well for the Judge. | 2019-03-30T18:43:29 | 2019-03-30T18:40:49 | 141 | 68 |
[WP] "Necromancy is just golemancy except you use bodies instead of rocks" he said. "Healing is just necromancy but before the person dies" she said. Now look where I am. | I stopped, panting and sweating from the run. Those damn villagers! And that damn hag! I went to her cabin to learn how to heal. Nothing big, cuts and bruises, maybe a few cut off fingers. And what did she teach me? Freaking golemancy. Because healing is just necromancy, and necromancy is just golemancy. Don't get me wrong, I tried to tell her that I don't need it, but she refused to teach me anything else, so what was I supposed to do? I became her apprentice.
I took a deep breath. The villagers are going to be here soon. The hag (I never learned her name) taught me, I didn't have a problem with that. But her shack stank. And not just some faint smell, no. As a kid we lived next to the butcher, so rotting meat reminded me of home. But even I couldn't stand that odour. So after a few days I said goodbye and left.
I stood up and listened. Nothing. I still have a minute or two until the villagers arrive. I thought back to how I met them. I had nothing to do with the mayor cutting his hand off. I also did nothing to get the honour of healing him. But there I was, trying to put the hand where it belonged. It didn't work. I mean it did, but not the way I wanted. As it turned out, the hand didn't follow the mayor's will, it followed my commands. In hindsight, this should have been obvious. I create golems, and these golems follow my orders. Even when I accidentally commanded it to kill the mayor. But how can you accidentally kill someone, you might ask. I don't know, I was angry and shouted things I didn't mean. Next thing I know, I stood there with a dead mayor, and a few dozen angry villagers. I ran as fast as I could, and now here I am.
As I finished my train of thought, I heard barking. Dogs. Fantastic, escaping just became even harder. I sighed, and started to run.
Ps.: Soooo, this was my first story, and I'm not a native speaker, so cc is very welcome. Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading! | “That’s not how it works." Greg said, his brow furrowed in annoyance. I glanced at the faces of my cohorts, and I saw unimaginative rejects who had no clue how these spells might ACTUALLY work. Sandra, a brace faced wood-elf ranger with no redeeming qualities. Josh, a try-hard Dwarf Paladin who already knows everything, so there’s no point in even discussing it. And then there was Greg. He was the worst of them all. Greg was a middle aged man still living in his parent’s basement who must have outweighed the rest of us all combined. I had come here because I heard Greg was a master storyteller, a visionary but all I’ve heard from him are cheesy cliches and and unenthusiastic impersonations.
&#x200B;
“You can’t heal a person with a spell meant to raise the dead and you certainly can’t animate ROCKS to do your bidding!” he said, his voice raising an octave somewhere mid-sentence.
&#x200B;
“I don’t see why raise dead wouldn’t do either of those things. It just doesn’t make sense. If it can take a dead person and bring them back, why can’t it heal someone who is still alive? And if I can turn a dead body into my thrall why can’t I turn a pile of rocks into a golem? I’m either healing dead tissue or animating inanimate objects. It works the same”. “Because you just can’t” Sandra shouted, her usually reserved expression becoming more pointed. “It’s against the rules and it’s stupid. If that spell could heal and summon golems then the heal and summon golem spells wouldn’t exist. It’s dumb. It makes no sense.” I never liked Sandra. She always struck me as kind of a prude bitch.
&#x200B;
Josh opened his mouth to speak, but I couldn’t bear to hear that man’s voice any longer. “Shut the fuck up Josh, nobody cares about you, or the rules or the laws or whatever. Just stop. If you say another word I swear to god I will slap you into next week.” there was a long silence. My new friends just stared at me like I was from another planet or something. After that the evening just kind of fizzled out, there was awkward small talk between them for about 5 minutes and they all left. “Take it easy Jeremy” Josh said as we parted ways for the night. “Yah, see ya next week” I hollered back, in hopes to kind of lighten his spirits before I retired for the evening.
&#x200B;
The next day I awoke to a message from Greg, “You can’t play Dungeons and Dragons with us anymore.” I texted him back but he didn’t reply. So this weekend I played laser tag instead. I bet they’re all miserable and bored without me to spice up the campaign. Look at me now losers. | 2019-06-09T23:15:45 | 2019-06-09T23:00:26 | 187 | 67 |
[WP] it is said that there are 7 people spread out in the world who look just like you. It just so happens that all 7 of you are in an elevator when one of them says ”so your probably wondering why I gather all of you here” as he presses the emergency stop button.
Please don’t attack me for my grammar: I wrote this on my phone in the car going to MacDonalds in a few minutes. Thank you for understanding. | “Did you find him?” C4 asked.
“I did, now we have to decide what to do” C1 replied.
It didn’t take us long to find each other. It was like we all had the same idea at the same time, find the other 6 and figure out why. Why is there 7 of me? Why are we exactly the same? Are we real or are we clones of some sort? If we are clones, who was the first?
That last question is really what drove us to finally seek each other out. C1 found me first, I lived closest to him. The others were easy to find, after all, they were looking for us.
Not only did we discover we look the same but, we are exactly the same person and even share the same name. We decided to give us all numbers to not get confused.
Once we decided to find the one who came before we split up and began tracking him down. It took what seemed like an eternity but, finally, we are all here together and we’ve found him.
“I think the answer is obvious, don’t you.” C5 said.
We all looked around the room for a moment before C6 spoke what we were all thinking,
“Yes I think it is obvious, we will go to him and we will ask why.
C3 walked to the center of the elevator and did a full circle looking each one of us in the eye,
“Why do WE exists?”
I knew the answer the same as all the rest did, I knew what happened after as well. I looked up from the corner of the elevator I was lounging in and out thoughts to words.
“We ask why and when we have our answer....we kill him”
A quick glance around the room confirmed everyone’s agreement, we knew what we had to do.
C1 presses the button to go to the 27th floor.
“He’s here in this hotel, the time is now.”
The elevator rose 27 floors and finally dinged our arrival. The doors opened and we stepped out in unison and went to meet our maker.
END
First time posting in this sub. Not a strong writer but, really want to get better. Let me know what you think! | 2:“Well, whatever it is, I’m glad you broke the ice. Less so about locking us all in here.”
3:”Yeah. Let’s hear it. Unnerving enough to see 6 other ‘Me’.”
1:”Right. Let me start by saying this isn’t a coincidence. I’ve spent the last 10 years getting us back together by pulling strings behind the scenes. Promotions, events, and where your families lived. It wasn’t easy, but this was the only way to be sure.”
4:”If you want a thank you for helping us financially I’ll get you a lotto ticket and be on my way.”
5:”Pay attention, it’s obviously more than that.”
1:”Right. I’ll get straight to the point of why we look the same. Genetically identical clones.”
6:”That’s complete BULL! Clones aren’t a thing you dip! If it were real the world governments would have an endless army on their hands. You think I’ll believe that?”
1:”All of us have a birthmark on our left arm just above the elbow. You are from Beijing, he’s from Moscow, he’s from Poland, those two are from England and Scotland respectively, that one is from BC Canada, and I’m from New York. We were all made in Washington 60 miles below the monument on September 15th 35 years ago. Only reason I know this is because I was raised among the people who made us. You weren’t entirely wrong about the ‘IF’. We were made in the attempt to make that endless army. To be more accurate, an army of super soldiers. I was the control group, while each of you were slightly modified. I didn’t find out how before starting to take action. You haven’t been informed, but they planned to capture each of you in the next month and spend the next 50 years performing experiments on your bodies. After leaving your bodies a bloody mess they would then clone each of you to see what they can do to them. I left them when I found this out, and they haven’t caught up with me yet. You all deserve a better life than what they plan. I had to let you know. When you get out of here, you need to find out how to use your modifications. Stay in contact with each other, but never openly speak of this conversation again lest they find out I was involved with this meeting. Any questions?”
7:”Yeah... lots I could ask, but if what you’re saying is true, there isn’t enough time for that. My question is this, who were we cloned from?”
1:”They named him after the Christian demigod Jesus due to where the body was found and being a ‘perfect specimen’. I was named after him, but I’ve decided to take a different name.”
6:”And that would be...?”
1:”Brothers, you may call me...”
Damian. Damian Pride. | 2019-09-15T17:47:06 | 2019-09-15T17:33:36 | 113 | 53 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | It was my 18th birthday.
The beach party my friends were so kind to have organized was dying down. The sun was setting, and the moon was high overhead. Small groups of people splashed about in the water, sat on beach towels talking, creating a warm hubbub around me. A small driftwood fire was being constructed nearby.
I stood at the water's edge, sipping a cola, pondering my life, when a volleyball beaned me in the back of the head, spilling my drink. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before I faceplanted into the drink. Turning around, Jon, my best friend, snorted as he approached.
"You dickhead," I mumbled, as he handed me another drink. He reached his hand out, and the errant volleyball flew back into his hand. Being a few months older than me, he knew where he wanted to be the moment he got his hands on the ball. He was always the better athlete.
"Tried summoning anything yet?" He asked, clapping me on the back in apology.
"Nah. I don't really want to know. I feel like it might limit my options," I said, taking a sip.
"What is this stuff?"
He shrugged. "Janine made it. She's been trying to make wine ever since she caught that vintner's hydrometer."
My eyebrows raised. "Anybody who brews anything uses hydrometers."
He laughed. "She'll find her spot eventually. Maybe after giving several people alcohol poisoning, but she will. People always do."
He gave me a look and put a hand on my shoulder. "You need to get started. So try to summon something!"
I looked behind me, at my friends and family, who had finished with their business and had turned to see what Jon was on about. They met my gaze. Mom gave an encouraging gesture.
I shrugged, closed my eyes, put my right arm up, and willed for something to land in it.
For a moment, nothing happened. There was a pregnant pause, as everybody looked confused, then the ground itself rumbled. The waves, until then gently lapping at my feet, grew restless, more violent, as if the sea itself began to stir. I heard gasps behind me and Jon's grip on my shoulder tightened.
"Stop stop STOPSTOPSTOP!" He yelled, panicked. Concerned, I opened my eyes and looked at him, ceasing my will. His eyes were turned upward, alarm, gobsmacked gaze locked on the sky. Had I pulled a plane out of the air or something?
I looked up, expecting to see an airliner or something in a nosedive. My eyes widened.
Nope. The Moon was bigger. Noticeably bigger. Oh dear. | [Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d609oc/a_staff_of_crystal_and_bone_part_2/?)
I held my hand above my head, my eyes closed.
Your summoned object could determine a lot about who you would become. My brother could summon a pen to him. He'd become a bard and now worked in the Destined Castle. My friend Tiebalt could summon a shovel. He was now a ditch digger. He was a very good ditch digger, but he was still a ditch digger.
I didn't want to dig ditches. I wanted a sword, so I could become one of the heroes that defended the Destined. Or a bow, for the same reason. Perhaps, if I was really lucky, a shield. Defenders of the realm were always well respected and beloved. Mother said my Father had been a Defender. That’s why he never was around.
At this point, I was beginning to doubt that was true.
I didn’t dare hope to get one of the Lost Crystals. There were twelve still out there, from the Forty Two Destined. After the defeat of the Dark One, they’d consolidated control of the Broken Empire. Life was better now under them.
At least, that’s what Gerran said, and he was coming up on sixty. The only person in the village who could remember the Broken Empire.
“Why’s nothing happening?” Missa whispered.
Mother shushed her. My younger sister was still at that age where she’d speak with no regard given for the situation. The day of Summoning was a special day. The *most* special day, in fact. The day you would find out what you would be for the rest of your life.
And yet...it was odd my summoned object hadn’t appeared yet.
“Maybe I’m doing it wrong?” I said aloud.
Mother shook her head. “You’re fine Artos. You don’t really need to...do anything. Just hold out your hand. Later, you’ll need to focus on the summoning, but for the first time…”
*for the first time, all you do is hold out your hand and it comes.* I repeated the litany, not letting my hand waiver.
Gerran coughed. As the village elder, it was his job to oversee the Summoning Ceremony. It was his responsibility to ensure my Summoning was properly logged and reported to the City of the Destined, Cal’thorah. His pen was held over the paper, waiting for it to arrive.
“It’s coming!” someone shouted from the back.
I could feel it now, rushing towards me. My excitement grew. It was dark but gleamed in the distance as it streaked towards my hand. It was long and narrow. *Could it be? Could it be one of the Crystals?* No, of course not. They were Green or Red or Blue or Gold. This was...it was…
Dark.
My hand closed instinctively around it. Gerran turned white and fainted. My mother screamed.
I stared at my hand, eyes wide with horror.
The Sable Crystal. The tool of the Dark Lord.
And now it was mine.
---
More of my writing at /r/hydrael_writes
More long works by my self and others at /r/redditserials
[Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d609oc/a_staff_of_crystal_and_bone_part_2/?) | 2019-09-18T06:41:03 | 2019-09-18T06:31:15 | 4,689 | 3,369 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | It was my 18th birthday.
The beach party my friends were so kind to have organized was dying down. The sun was setting, and the moon was high overhead. Small groups of people splashed about in the water, sat on beach towels talking, creating a warm hubbub around me. A small driftwood fire was being constructed nearby.
I stood at the water's edge, sipping a cola, pondering my life, when a volleyball beaned me in the back of the head, spilling my drink. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before I faceplanted into the drink. Turning around, Jon, my best friend, snorted as he approached.
"You dickhead," I mumbled, as he handed me another drink. He reached his hand out, and the errant volleyball flew back into his hand. Being a few months older than me, he knew where he wanted to be the moment he got his hands on the ball. He was always the better athlete.
"Tried summoning anything yet?" He asked, clapping me on the back in apology.
"Nah. I don't really want to know. I feel like it might limit my options," I said, taking a sip.
"What is this stuff?"
He shrugged. "Janine made it. She's been trying to make wine ever since she caught that vintner's hydrometer."
My eyebrows raised. "Anybody who brews anything uses hydrometers."
He laughed. "She'll find her spot eventually. Maybe after giving several people alcohol poisoning, but she will. People always do."
He gave me a look and put a hand on my shoulder. "You need to get started. So try to summon something!"
I looked behind me, at my friends and family, who had finished with their business and had turned to see what Jon was on about. They met my gaze. Mom gave an encouraging gesture.
I shrugged, closed my eyes, put my right arm up, and willed for something to land in it.
For a moment, nothing happened. There was a pregnant pause, as everybody looked confused, then the ground itself rumbled. The waves, until then gently lapping at my feet, grew restless, more violent, as if the sea itself began to stir. I heard gasps behind me and Jon's grip on my shoulder tightened.
"Stop stop STOPSTOPSTOP!" He yelled, panicked. Concerned, I opened my eyes and looked at him, ceasing my will. His eyes were turned upward, alarm, gobsmacked gaze locked on the sky. Had I pulled a plane out of the air or something?
I looked up, expecting to see an airliner or something in a nosedive. My eyes widened.
Nope. The Moon was bigger. Noticeably bigger. Oh dear. | On your eighteenth birthday you can summon one thing. Anything, they say. Steal yourself a soulmate. Get yourself a fortune. I have both. I don't need more than what I have.
"What did you ask for?" I had just blown out the candles on my cake and my parents were waiting in tense anticipation. My girlfriend looked on more suspiciously. I guess she knew me better.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," I retorted. That was true, I think. It used to be true, when the candles were just a wish and nothing tore across the world at breakneck speeds to fall into your hand. It wouldn't come that day. She kept asking me to tell her, but I couldn't. Not until it arrived. It didn't come the next day either. It must have really had to travel some distance.
It was a moonless night when I knew it would come. We were sitting in the gazebo. Crickets chirped. In the distance, a coyote howled. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter, looking out towards the glowing eyes of the forest creatures. "Did you wish for anything at all?" she asked with a disappointed shake of her head. I could barely discern her face in the darkness. It might not have been unlike me to take them all along for a ride and not have asked for anything at all.
I kissed her hair softly. The breeze picked up, as if on cue. "Remember our first date?" I asked. She let out a little groan of annoyance but nodded. I wasn't changing the subject. These things just take time. "I told you that if I could, I would give you the world."
"And the sky and the moon and..." Her voice cut short and she glanced up. A shooting star lit a dim path across the sky. She pulled away from me, exposing my bare skin to the cold air. "The moon. You didn't..."
I grinned, although she couldn't see it. Or maybe on that moonless night she could still see the glow of my teeth "Did I?"
"It would... Kill us all... It serves a purpose, out there..." I knew that. I wasn't stupid. I had been blessed with an excellent education and knew what the moon did. It would be suicide, to send it hurtling towards Earth, even if it were shrunk to fit in the palm of my hand.
"I didn't," I said finally and I heard her let out a sigh of relief.
"Don't scare me like that." She lay back down onto my chest. I caressed the little orb that had materialized as if from nowhere into my hand. It wasn't from nowhere. It was from somewhere far, far away.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Do you want to see what I asked for?" She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. I think she was scared; not of the hungry creatures watching or the uncanny darkness of the night but of the endless possibilities I could have asked for. I pulled my hand up, balled into a fist. Light escaped from between my fingers and I heard her breathe in sharply. "I promised you the world," I said as I unclenched my hand to show her the blue of the oceans and the green of forests and the glowing lights of cities.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-18T06:41:03 | 2019-09-18T06:35:54 | 4,689 | 197 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Not once in my life had something come to me. I had willed, wished, and pleaded with the world that the rest of my body and soul would come flying to my hand after my 18th birthday. It never did. My wife always loved to take pictures, she had a 35mm camera that would fly to her on a moments notice and always contained film. She loved that thing, sometimes even more than me, always taking photos of our adventures, our kids, and family gatherings. The house was littered with collages, artworks made from the myriad of photos. Here I was with nothing, still only half of the person everyone else was.
My first son summoned his soulmate when he was 18. She just showed up at the door one day and asked to meet him. Their connection was unimaginable, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. Just as any object becomes another half of someone beings the two of them became one person in life. Moving forward with only the most pure of convictions. Even when he moved out of the house, I was still hardly alive lacking any sense of importance in the world.
The TV was playing the news, fairly standard when your life was constrained to a hospital bed. I rarely paid any attention to it but today just felt different, the nurses in the halls worked more hurriedly and the air just felt more somber than normal. Well, even more somber than the normal feeling for a wing of dying people at least.
I had been stuck in this bed this entire year, already resigned myself to die without being whole. Throughout my life I had tried to talk to doctors, shrinks, and even self proclaimed witches about why I had never summoned anything to me. No one could explain it, I was just a freak, it’s a miracle that my wife even loved me. She’s always respond with things like “If you can’t summon anything, I’ll make up for it by completing you”.
“Breaking news.” These words drew my attention back to the TV, the newscaster’s face even more pale than the patient next door. His voice low, his tone lethargic, and temp reduced to that of a dying cadence. “Scientist have tried everything; Ceres 1 will collide with the earth tonight at 9pm. The world governments have attempted to destroy the asteroid and have kept its change of course secret for the last 70 years. Tonight, is the last day there will be life on Earth.”
I was shocked, I knew I didn’t have much left to live for, today was my 88th birthday after all and the doctors said the cancer could kill me any day. Looking back up at the TV Ceres 1 was displayed, and finally I felt whole. I couldn’t help but worry that my kids hadn’t yet found fulfillment in their lives.
---
First response ever, never thought I'd actually respond to one of these. | On your eighteenth birthday you can summon one thing. Anything, they say. Steal yourself a soulmate. Get yourself a fortune. I have both. I don't need more than what I have.
"What did you ask for?" I had just blown out the candles on my cake and my parents were waiting in tense anticipation. My girlfriend looked on more suspiciously. I guess she knew me better.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," I retorted. That was true, I think. It used to be true, when the candles were just a wish and nothing tore across the world at breakneck speeds to fall into your hand. It wouldn't come that day. She kept asking me to tell her, but I couldn't. Not until it arrived. It didn't come the next day either. It must have really had to travel some distance.
It was a moonless night when I knew it would come. We were sitting in the gazebo. Crickets chirped. In the distance, a coyote howled. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter, looking out towards the glowing eyes of the forest creatures. "Did you wish for anything at all?" she asked with a disappointed shake of her head. I could barely discern her face in the darkness. It might not have been unlike me to take them all along for a ride and not have asked for anything at all.
I kissed her hair softly. The breeze picked up, as if on cue. "Remember our first date?" I asked. She let out a little groan of annoyance but nodded. I wasn't changing the subject. These things just take time. "I told you that if I could, I would give you the world."
"And the sky and the moon and..." Her voice cut short and she glanced up. A shooting star lit a dim path across the sky. She pulled away from me, exposing my bare skin to the cold air. "The moon. You didn't..."
I grinned, although she couldn't see it. Or maybe on that moonless night she could still see the glow of my teeth "Did I?"
"It would... Kill us all... It serves a purpose, out there..." I knew that. I wasn't stupid. I had been blessed with an excellent education and knew what the moon did. It would be suicide, to send it hurtling towards Earth, even if it were shrunk to fit in the palm of my hand.
"I didn't," I said finally and I heard her let out a sigh of relief.
"Don't scare me like that." She lay back down onto my chest. I caressed the little orb that had materialized as if from nowhere into my hand. It wasn't from nowhere. It was from somewhere far, far away.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Do you want to see what I asked for?" She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. I think she was scared; not of the hungry creatures watching or the uncanny darkness of the night but of the endless possibilities I could have asked for. I pulled my hand up, balled into a fist. Light escaped from between my fingers and I heard her breathe in sharply. "I promised you the world," I said as I unclenched my hand to show her the blue of the oceans and the green of forests and the glowing lights of cities.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-18T07:48:31 | 2019-09-18T06:35:54 | 643 | 197 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Lariam's family made a big event out of it, and he couldn't be more excited.
It happened like this every time his older brothers or cousins hit the right age; his parents, uncles and grandparents would all get together in the house of the new adult, and spend the day eating and chatting, a great occasion for family bonding. They liked to start early, but none had been out and about earlier than Lauriam himself.
"Don't be rude, wait for everyone!" His mom had scolded him when she caught Lauriam trying to sneak to the yard with his hands above his head. "This will only happen once, everyone will want to see!"
"Urghhhh, fine, but not at evening! As soon as everyone has had lunch I'm coming out here and doing it!" Lauriam had said. He just HAD to know.
And now the time had come. With his whole family lounging around, Lauriam extended shaky hands and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and let nature take its course. Seconds passed. Almost a full minute. Lauriam's throat was suddenly growing dry until he felt a slight tug at his finger tips, and at the very edge of hearing, he heard it approaching.
The sound of heavy hooves.
"It's coming!" He said with a big smile on his face. Everyone else fell silent and leaned forward in expectation. From the woods in the back of the house they also heard the sound, and saw the shape. Hopeful smiles turned into confusion and then tense silence as the figure walked out of the woods.
The coat was a lustrous, shiny, incredibly dark purple with wisps of dark ethereal smoke coming from every bend and knot. The mane was glossy, shiny gray, like polished metal, and so were its tail and the hooves.
But not the horn.
The horn was completely and utterly dark, without a hint of light aside from the glossy contour of its shape. The darkness seemed to have been twisted into a long spiral, protruding from the unicorn's head with terrifying majesty. As the creature approached, eyeing Lauriam, they could see its eyes as well: burning, intense and bloodshot scarlet with dark pins at the middle. They shot back and forth, right to left at every single person present. The horn of the black unicorn crackled like a coffin being nailed shut, and Lauriam's family was compelled to step back by an unseen strength that chilled them to the bone. But not Lauriam himself.
"Black plague..."
"Omen of Disasters..."
"Corruption in the flesh...Oh, Lauriam, no..."
His voice had died in his throat; so stunned Lauriam was that he couldn't even make out who was saying what behind him. As the unicorn reached the boy, Lauriam realized how enormous the creature was; he barely reached its chest. The unicorn lowered its head to look at Lauriam in the eye, its horn mere inches away from himself. His hands were still outstretched, frozen in place and fear.
And then the unicorn pressed its head against Lauriam's palm. He felt the touch of the creature burn and send unpleasant tingles all the way up to his chest, but also the tension of the unicorn's muscles slowly loosen under his touch, as if it had not had a touch as tender ever in its life. In the horn of the unicorn a gleam of light appeared and then was suddenly devoured by the darkness once more. Lauriam felt the shivers on the creature as it happened. Under its hooves, he could see the grass slowly drying.
"What happened to you?" Lauriam asked after a long time. He carefully ran his hands through the unicorn's mane, and particles of dark energy disintegrated in the air, but not nearly enough. Instead, the skin in Lauriam's hand bubbled and burned, peeling off. The unicorn opened its eyes and looked at Lauriam again, wordlessly pleading for help. As his family came back to their senses and suddenly started screaming for him to get away from the unicorn, Lauriam just wondered how he could ever find a way to truly heal the creature before the the affliction could destroy both. |
The last year of school and everything felt supercharged and a bit crazy, even to my laid back self. Not only were we finishing up our A-levels it was the year of the gift; the year when everyone got a clue as to the defining purpose of their life. Sometimes you could tell straight away what life had in store for you - the poor lad from a few years above us who got a mop as his object certainly knew what it meant - but sometimes there was a lot of guesswork involved and everyone would get out the books and apps that correlated different types of gift with possible destinies. If you get a pen, not an uncommon gift, did that make you a writer, a journalist or just someone who loves to send letters?
Anyway, to say that life was at a fever pitch would be an understatement. My school is pretty big so that every week you’d get the gossip on who got what, especially when they didn’t come right out and tell you. There was Clara, top of the class (just ahead of my lazy ass) who got a scalpel, which caused a momentary freak out until we all remembered her ambition to be a surgeon. The bittersweet moment Simon, my football captain, got a stopwatch and knew he would have a career in the game but as a coach and not a player. I felt so bad for him, he always worked like a dog in training. And then the tragic ‘look away now’ moments like poor, always angry Sam, getting a knife. Not a kitchen knife but a vicious looking hunting knife. I heard that him and his family are getting mandatory counselling. That one really hurt, we had been in a (terrible) band together for a few years.
As my day approached I had a chat with my folks and we agreed that we would get together as a family that weekend and go for a picnic, then ‘the summoning’ would be the grand finale. I was absolutely buzzing that morning, packing up the bag and filling the cooler with drinks including my first legal beers. Dad joking with that he could finally stop pretending not to notice when I came home a bit ‘refreshed’ from hanging out with my friends. Picnic ready, we went up to the top meadow of our local nature reserve to meet up with my aunts, uncles and cousins.
It really had been a beautiful summers day, everyone sat around on the grass eating and chatting and as it started to get a bit late, I could tell that everyone was waiting for me to do my thing. I put down my plate, got to my feet and coughed a couple of times to get everyone's attention.
‘Righto..thanks for coming..I did try and write a speech but that might be best saved to after…’ I had felt relaxed all day but now at the moment I felt a sudden wash of adrenalin, my entire body flushing cold and then hot ‘I’m just going to get on with it then. Wish me luck!’.
I closed my eyes and held out my hand, tried to relax and let it happen. For a moment there was nothing. Then I heard a whoosh and something thumped into the palm of my hand - I caught it. It felt small and hard. I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds more, not daring to open them just yet, listening to the response from my family. There was a worrying moment of silence, then
‘What is that thing?’ (Uncle Seth?)
‘Is that a….’ (An aunt, not sure which one)
‘Oh my lord…’ (Mum, definitely)
‘Wait, there is something written on it...look!’
And then the laughter began...a little at first and then I could tell it was pretty much the whole group...oh shit. Time to open my eyes and face the future.
The first thing I saw was my Dad, with a look of pride? Confusion? on his face. My mum had her face in her hands, but I wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. My cousins, were flat out on the grass, gasping for breath as great peals of hilarity convulsed them. Still not moving I looked along my outstretched arm to what I held. It was a small container, glass and metal with a printed white label on the front. Oh shit. I knew the type. Medical sample jar. What the actual…? There was indeed some writing on it and I turned it slowly in hand so I could read it.
Sample deposit vessel: Human Sperm. Handle with care.
Oh. My. God. For once in my life I really had nothing to say.
My Dad recovered and came over to give me a huge hug. ‘It’s like I always said, son. Our family has great genes!’. | 2019-09-18T10:20:19 | 2019-09-18T10:15:38 | 54 | 21 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I stuck my hand out in a reaching motion in front of the council. Today was the day of my eighteenth birthday. The council was the nine elders who decided what your object meant and recorded it into the official records. If no object arrived within sixty seconds you were labeled as a null and sent to the labor camps where you toiled away mining for LSNA. Nobody was sure what LSNA was used for but Overlord Odin insisted, and so it was. There were rumored prophecies of a great one who would take down Overlord Odin and destroy his stockpile of LSNA, but the enforcers did their best to keep those rumors quiet.
Forty five seconds had passed and my arm was getting mighty sore. Still nothing. I looked at the ground and my hand began to lower. I was starting to accept my doomed fate as a miner. One of the council members opened his mouth to speak, but a powerful whooshing in the distance quickly quieted him down.
My eyes lit up. *I'm not a null!* I thought.
The whooshing grew louder and louder, almost to a deafening roar. My hair whipped around from the wind of it. *This thing, whatever it is, must be gigantic.*
The roar stopped with a hard thump in my hand, and I felt something soft. I looked down at it. "A... cat?" I mumbled as I looked up at the council members. They were beginning to discuss among each other, as they always do at these "ceremonies". It was a fat orange cat who seemed to not care that it was just seconds ago launched at hundreds of miles an hour into my open hand.
A grumble started to emanate from the cat, not unlike a purr, except this purr got louder to the point of the council hearing it over their own talking and quieting them down. The fact that it was an animal was strange enough, let alone the strange noises coming from it, but it wasn't unheard of. Over time the grumble morphed into speech, like a compressor had been placed over the sound and was slowly turning down. The cat's mouth remained closed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The cat slowly repeated over and over.
Unsure of what to do, I asked it what was wrong. The voice stopped. The cat's head slowly turned to face me. An alarm sounded in the distance. The cat gaped its mouth open wider and wider. Darkness filled the room. Centipede-like legs sprouted from its sides as it grew to fill my entire field of view. A feeling of utter terror took over my soul at the sight of this eldritch horror.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I ate all the LSNA." It groaned. | —disclaimer—
English is not my first language. And i am purely on my mobile. So any typos and stuff, please report them below. Thank you.
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It was my 18th Birthday after all. Everybody in my whole family has distinctive remembrance of the day they turned that age. It is the day, you can summon for the first time in your life. Some people summon other people and find their Soulmate. Others pull objects out of thin air and they will become their destiny in life. My brother summoned a wrench and got mechanic in the shop down the road. No engine in the world, he can’t fix. My mom had a syringe. Guess what. She is a doctor.
Today it was my turn. Sure, i was excited, but in the same way I was affraid. What or who will it be. There’s no mechanism you can decide what you summon. Destiny decides for you. Or the cosmic realm, or whatever. And you can’t summon something else if you don’t like what you get.
After the fate has chosen what you get to summon, you only can summon this. As much or less as you like.
My mom was getting the dinner ready for the family. My dad, my brother, even my grand dad and mom were there to witness my summoning. We first had my dinner and then it began. I was about to summon for the first time in my life.
In the years this happened we had a kind of ritual for that. You would stand in front of your family, stretch your arm in front of you, perpendicular to your body, and hold up your hand, palm upside. Then concentrate and BAM. There should be your summoning in your hand, or in front of you if it was too big for your hand to hold it. So I got ready. Standing 6 feet from my family (the security perimeter ) in pose and ready. I concentrated my will but for the first 10 seconds, nothing was happening. Most freshmen needed 6 seconds or so. Mike (my brother) can summon his wrench within a second or less. 20 seconds passed. Nothing. 30, 40....
As if the universe had issues to grant me a proper thing to summon. A minute went by. Still nothing in my hand. But I felt a coldness on my fingertips. „I can feel something.... Is it getting cold in here?“
„Not more than usual.“ my father exclaimed, slightly confused.
The cold feeling spread out fast. Within 3 seconds my arm felt like frostbitten. And then i felt it. Pure cold. Dark. So cold it would stop any movement in atoms. So dark it would end all light. I can’t describe it better. Take Vantablack and double the darkness. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw, was my family in Schock. My dad was so pale, you couldn’t determine the borderline between him, and the white wall behind him. My mom was about to faint.
Then I looked into my hand. I did t summon one thing. I summoned 2
The first was hanging over my forearm like I was a dark waiter. The second was in my hand. I summoned a scythe and a black robe.
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Criticism is welcome. My first story in a foreign language.
Edit: some typos | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T10:21:20 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "What are you talking about!?" I reply. "Pretty damned hard NOT to notice the dude with skeleton hands in a black cloak just walking around the office."
"Well yeah but I-" he stammers in reply. "You could run away if you saw me! That's a huge problem!"
I roll my eyes and turn dismissively, counting the files in my hand and straightening them against my palms.
"Look, I get that you have a job to do but could you please go somewhere else with the whole 'being the reaper' thing? Some of us have real jobs to do and you're standing between me and the photocopier." I grumble the words angrily.
I feel a little bad about my reply, but since I'd first seen him around I couldn't sleep and i've been on edge for days, and it's affected my sleep. Life has been difficult lately.
"Look." I sigh. "It's and old family trick and the last thing we need is more people like us, so, with all due respect, I'd like to carry on with my day. Don't worry about sneaking up on me or me trying to run away next time, that's part of the trick, it can't work forever. So i'll be here when its my turn, ok?"
"You're sign says 3,000 year before you die though! I can't just take your word for it. I have to fix this!"
"Alright you lnow what, i'd prefer if this little family gift didn't ruin another job for me so i'll tell you and then you can leave me alone."
"Seems... fair. " He grumbles.
"The key is this, always believe anything is possible and always trust yourself over anything you read and whatever you do, don't believe things are set in stone. Especially the future." I flatly explain.
"How could that help you live a thousand years though!? Or to see me?"
"Check how long I live again. " I reply.
"Now it's only a few hours!" He responds flabbergasted.
"And a third time?"
"Now It-" he starts.
"Don't tell me." I say, cutting him off.
"But how?"
"I could do a lot of things in a few hours to lower that number. Like I said, the future isn't set in stone. In the end, it's up to us, our legacy can live on and so can we, or maybe not."
"But that still doesn't explain how you can see me. I'm death, I'm supposed to be invisible."
"You've followed me around a lot lately, I suppose I've just gotten used to seeing you around, one way or the other." I respond, my voice trailing."
We remain there for a time, simply staring at eachother, an ache eeping from my chest.
"But it's like you said. I'm not due yet. I've got time left and life to live. Come find me when you will, but if I could ask a favour. Maybe you could wait a while."
The reaper chuckles.
"Just as long as i'm the one looking for you, and not the other way around." He smiles.
"Time will tell." I shrug, placing the paper folders back down on the desk. "One more thing, this morning, when the man jumped into traffic to save that girl. I noticed something... It wasn't him that was supposed to go, was it?"
"No, it wasn't. "
"I see. John always was a crazy fucker. Thanks for making his stunt worth while."
Edit: glad to hear people liked this one. It made my toilet break a lot more fun today... | I slowly blink as the old man in the black leather jacket with a gun says that I'm not due. Im not really paying attention to whatever he just said. How the hell do you react when someone says you'll for another 3 millenia?
"HEY!" he shouts. I snap out of it make eye contact with him. He looks so... different. I always assumed that he was the generic skeleton in the black robe. Weird.
"How can you see me?" He asks again. I readjust my glasses before starting to answer, or atleast *attempt* to answer.
"I uh...uhh...don't know...I mean, doesn't everyone see you?"
"That's where you're wrong, kid. Usually the only ones who can see me are the ones about to die. See that bloke over there?"
I look behind and see a middle aged man, muscular man of average height with a dragoon tattoo on his left arm.
"He's about to bite it. And the guy who's going to do it is the guy right behind him."
I look over and see the would be murderer, who looks almost exactly like the reaper.
"See, me actually killing the person is a common misconception. I only plan them. My job is to give someone a death that fit how they lived."
"Wait" I say as I turn around. "You're the one who plans all the torture people go through? You're the one-"
"Ain't an easy job kid. But someone's gotta do it."
I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I felt like he was remorseful. I don't know why. You think an eternity killing people would eventually desensitize someone. But he seemed...sad. regretful. He must've realized how he looked because he quickly regained his air of composure and confidence.
"Anyways, that still hasn't answered my question. How are you seeing me?" He pressed.
I raised my hands in surrender. "I don't know!" I exclaim. "I'm just a normal guy, walking down this normal street, carrying these completely normal groceries, and I just get told I'm gonna live for more then a thousand years, and I'm not supposed to be able to see the reaper. 2 minutes ago I was a normal guy. Not an immortal."
"Well, you still aren't. If you're gonna live for that long though....."
He trailed off.
"Nevermind. Just don't worry about it."
I raised my eyebrow. You don't just tell someone they're going to live for 3000 years and just shut up! Even if you are the reaper. He must've read my confused expression, because what he said next really stuck with me.
"Ya see kid...the big guns, the guys upstairs and downstairs, whatever you call them..don't really care about your motives. That guy I just told you about earlier has a wife and 2 kids. He does what he does because that's the only way he'll feed his family. But they don't care...he's probably gonna end up in hell either way. I could try to stop his sentancing, but I'm just a messanger. The soldier doesn't get to edit the generals plan. He just dies obediently."
We both say nothing for a while. Finally, I decide to break the silence.
"I'm sorry.."
He sighs and looks at the guy.
"I am too kid."
He points his finger at the guy and I hear a loud gunshot. I turn around and see the shooter's gun smoking. The guy has a bullet hole in the back of his skull. He lies on the ground, dead. He then turns around and runs. I turn back around and see that the reaper is gone.
That was all 1000 years ago. And now as I sit her, writing this journal, I'm still no closer to answering the question. Why will I be here so long? The joy of life was suck out when my last friend died 900 years ago. Either this is a cruel joke, or I have something to do. I haven't seen the reaper since then, but since that encounter I've seen many...strange things. Spirits wandering and lost. People who don't quite end up in either heaven or hell. Also seen some demons. And angels. Neither are really... pleasant creatures to be around. But so far, noone has answered my question...guess I'll just to have wait and see.. | 2020-01-24T11:44:57 | 2020-01-24T11:08:17 | 165 | 73 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | Sick and bent double, I look up from the bathroom floor and through the sick haze,
A dark smoky form stands in front of me with the face of death.
*Well, nobody lives forever*, I thought resignedly.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head towards the reaper.
&#x200B;
He laughs and looks at his board.
“It’s not your time, son.
In fact… somehow you’re not meant to die for another 3141 years.
Mind telling me about that?”
&#x200B;
I groaned from another wave of pain and shook my head
I was a little bit bummed, to be honest
If it had been my time, this pain could have quickly ceased
And I could have found a little relief.
&#x200B;
Death steps toward me and embraces my body.
Coldness seeps in and numbness takes over.
I fade in
And fade out of blackness.
&#x200B;
When I awoke, there was light everywhere
Men stood talking by a table across from me
And death stood amidst them all.
His smirk never once leaving his face.
&#x200B;
I touched my hands to my legs and face,
Realizing I no longer felt ill.
In fact, I felt nothing other than surprise and wonder
At what was before me.
&#x200B;
The men seemed to glow and shift forms, speaking almost in song-like voices
The reaper stood out starkly against their brightness, the black of his cloak that could not be touched by any light.
“We don’t need this child here!” A gruff man of strength glared at Death.
“I won’t have it!”
&#x200B;
A women who I hadn’t seen before stepped forward and whispered in Death’s ear.
The smirk on his face grew and he looked over at me.
“Yes, we will see exactly why he’s here
And if he doesn’t survive by some strange logic,
We shall bear witness to that as well.”
&#x200B;
I swallowed as they approached.
Nowhere to go but forward, I supposed.
I took solace in my predetermined death date
And the fact that my stomach seemed to hurt no longer.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
(Constructive criticism welcome. I know there wasn't a ton of story to this but it felt nice to get something down. Thank you!) | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T11:27:15 | 54 | 40 |
[WP] Angry at the thief, the witch cast a spell upon him. “The moment your eyes meet with your soulmate, you shall die.” The thief immediately has a heart attack afterwards. “Damn it.” | "Damn it."
Kaz frowned deeply and stared down at his body. This was just his kinda luck. Not only had he never had much luck with the ladies, but of course his soul mate would be the spiteful murderous hot-headed type. Sure, that did it for him, but at the same time it also did him in, so...
The witch was a pretty young thing. At least, she looked young. God knows how old she really was. Witches were like that, Kaz didn't claim to understand their magicks and now that he was dead he figured he never would. He stepped out of his body and closer to the witch--no...his soul mate--and examined her up close. She had dark brown hair that was knotted and unwashed and her pale freckled face was smeared with dirt and other various things. Still, she didn't seem...unclean? More like she was just earthy. Part of the forest that surrounded her cottage, a woman yanked from the ground itself and given a once-over with a washcloth before she was patted on the bottom and sent off on her way.
Her icy grey eyes stormed with emotions as she leaned over and pried the book out of his body's grip. Kaz felt a pang of guilt. He already felt bad for stealin'--he wasn't the type, but momma was sick and he couldn't afford to hire the witch proper, and he was desperate. He felt pain and heartbreak wash over him as he hoped momma would at least go to Heaven instead of stickin' around like he was apparently doomed to.
The witch's eyes went from a sad stormy grey to a hard steely silver. She flipped open her book (as a man of culture, Kaz was pretty sure it was called a grumwort) and started drawin' a circle on the ground in the middle of her cottage. He couldn't help but watch her. She was so full of fire all of a sudden. The way she moved to grab what she needed was so focused it seemed like dancin'. Kaz felt kinda sad he never got to dance with her. She was probably gonna use his body to make a zombie or somethin'. That'd be pretty cool, but it still made him sad. She started chanting over the circle but it sounded like when momma was talkin' in the other room to herself cuz of the fever--she sounded so far away, and Kaz couldn't make out a damn word she was sayin'.
Kaz about jumped out of his ectoplasm when a devil showed up in the circle. He hid behind the witch's cauldron and peeked out just enough to watch the conversation. Seemed like they were arguin' about somethin'. If Kaz didn't love this woman before he certainly loved her now--this spitfire of a maid had her hands on her hips and was shoutin' so furiously at a devil, her face was redder than his! Kaz swooned as he watched the girl of his dreams spit at the feet of that infernal creature and banish it back to Hell.
He crept a little closer as he watched her change a few symbols in the circle, but immediately skedadled back to his hiding spot when she started chantin' again. This time, an angel appeared in her modest little cottage. He shielded his eyes from its holy light, too radiant and pure for his broken soul to comprehend. Sure, he was a Christian man--on Sundays... durin' December... sometimes. Okay, maybe not always, but definitely on Christmas! And once you accept Christ you're saved for life anyway, right?
Right??
He kept shieldin' his eyes.
The witch's chat with the angel was much shorter and far more cordial. She banished it right quick. It definitely felt like a formality, like when momma forced Kaz to write thank you notes to everyone who gave them condolences food when pa died.
After the angel was gone, the witch looked a bit perplexed, but then her face got all hopeful and smiley and Kaz couldn't help but think her smile was even brighter than that angel (but far less terrifyin'). She brewed a cup of somethin' faster than you could say "bless yer heart" and kicked it back in a single swallow--musta been bitter, too, cuz her nose wrinkled at the end and it was awful endearin'. Kaz felt another pang of sadness that he'd never get to take her to the tavern. He'd bet money on her in a drinkin' contest, and he wasn't really a bettin' man...'cept on Sundays sometimes after church. But that was so infrequent that, honestly, it was easier just to say he wasn't a bettin' man.
She put the cup aside and pulled out some sorta pretty rock on a long chain (henceforth known by Kaz as a doodad). This time, when she spoke, he could hear her voice clear as the crystal ball she had in the corner of the room.
"Thief," she began...
Kaz frowned and glared. Thief? Of her heart, maybe! If she hadn't offed him! Her fancy doodad started to whir and spin in a circle at these thoughts. The witch raised an eyebrow at this reaction, then nodded slowly.
"Okay, okay. Soul mate..."
Kaz smiled. The doodad started swingin' back n' forth instead of spinnin'. Kaz wondered to himself if he was doin' that.
"Soul mate, I need to find your spirit so I can put it back in your body. Can you swing the pendulum toward you?"
Kaz's heart swelled with joy at that! Metaphorically, since he was a ghost 'n all. Still, she wanted to resurrect him, which was basically like wantin' to go steady! Kaz thought about the devil and the angel he saw earlier and it suddenly dawned on him that she was probably knockin' on the doors of Heaven 'n Hell askin' if they'd seen him. He momentarily felt offended that she seemed so convinced that he went to Hell, but...he did try to steal her grumwort, so he couldn't really cast blame for that.
Kaz swung that doodad towards him so hard it stood on end and pointed right at him. He was so excited, he could hardly wait! He could introduce her to momma, and she could cure momma, and that'd be a helluva first impression! And he could get to know her by workin' off his debt to her for curin' momma, and he could learn about all her cool magicks, and maybe he could get one of them familiars, like a toad or a rat? Momma never did let him have pets. Oh and when she put his spirit back in his body, he'd kiss her and say somethin' real suave like a handsome cat burglar would, somethin' like...my name's Kaz, what's yours? Yeah, yeah that was good--
There was a flash of light, and a dull pounding in Kaz's temples. His vision was blurry, but he saw a pale face with brown hair and pair of grey eyes hoverin' over him.
He sat up so fast he ended up bonkin' heads with the witch, who was much closer than his woozy vision led him to believe. She groaned in pain, and he managed to sputter out,
"M-my name's yours, what's Kaz?"
The witch blinked in confusion.
"Damn it," Kaz muttered, his face growin' red.
She threw back her head and laughed until she ran out of air, until tears sprang to her eyes. Finally, she leaned forward, out of breath, and replied,
"I'm Lenore."
And with that, she just kept leanin' forward, 'til finally, their lips met in their first kiss. | Paolo lay dead on the floor at their feet.
"Did you really have to do that?" Sven said, looking into the hags milky eye.
With a Haughty Hmph she responds, "You heard what he said." the gnome sighs and nods. He boards the stool beside the body and bellies up to the bar.
"Wench, I would like some wine!" he shouts to the frantic barmaid tending the crowd. He returns his attention to the witch. "Yes, I heard what he said. The thing you have to understand about Paolo is that he's...an asshole."
"That's what I gathered."
"Yes, well, even though he is an asshole, we," he gestures to the Brute and beauty approaching, "Require his services for a while. Could you please fix this?" he pokes the body with his cane
"What happened here?" the Muscled Orc-Man nudges the dead halfling with his foot.
The ample woman gasps, dropping to her knees beside the body. "Paolo! My love! What happened to him!" a tear rolls down her cheek.
Sven takes a sip of his recently delivered wine, "Paolo made a comment about this nice ladies rear and it was not appreciated. She cursed him."
The wrinkled witch sheepishly sqeaks, "I am sorry, It wasn't supposed to be an immediate thing. To be honest I don't like seeing people die. I prefer they be far away when my curses drop." She pokes at the body with her broomstick "I didn't expect a jerk like him to ever find a soulmate. It was really more to scare him."
The woman weeping beside the corpse cuts a glare at the hag, "I am his soulmate!" her meaty digits brush the hair out of Paolos resting face.
"Apparently not. He was looking at me when he died." Her lips spread into a grin. The hags gapped teeth peek out from her smile. The vapors of her toxic breath permeate the area with a foul odor. "I told him he'd die when he looked at his soulmate, he was looking at me, he died. I was his soulmate. Maybe I should have let him live?"
The Statuesque Human woman stands and looks down at Paolo. "How dare you!" She shouts at the body, kicking it onto its side. "I was your soulmate, we were supposed to be married when we could afford a cottage in the hills."
HA! The witch cackles, "Honey, my curses never fail. If he was looking at me and keeled over, it's because I was his soulmate."
The Half-orc brute bellows with laughter, "Well Mala," He says to the woman wiping tears from her eyes, "Looks like your "husband" had other plans." His laughter shakes the walls. "Better luck next time, Sis."
"Shut it Kana!" Mala snaps, her brother cows, his hands up in retreat.
The Witch and the weeping woman lock eyes.
"You Killed my Husband to be," Malas gaze pierces the witch.
The witch spits on the halflings corpse. "He said my ass was much nicer than my face." The half orcs laughter is stifled by his sisters glare.
The Gnome pipes up, "As I said...Asshole." He pokes the corpse with his cane.
"Oh my," Mala says. "He really said that?" The witch nods. "I'm so sorry." Mala lowers her head.
"Don't be." the witch sniffs, "This sucks." The hag lackadaisically kicks the body on the floor. "Not only did I just kill my soulmate, I just found out my soulmate was a philandering asshole."
"First of all," Malas words drip venom, "He was MY soulmate. And second, yes, he's a philandering asshole. That doesn't mean I don't love him. That doesn't mean I don't want him back. Do you mind?"
"Ladies," Sven taps the bar to get their attention. "I believe I can resolve this dispute." The women turn to the gnome, eyes demanding answers. "Madam, am I to assume you were standing there at the bar when Paolo gave you his controversial opinion?"
"Yes." The hag snaps
"And Paolo, being the pint sized hobbit that he is, was standing on this bar stool beside you when you spoke?" Sven indicates the stool adjacent to the lifeless little love machine.
"Yes." She barks.
"Just as I suspected....Ladies, this is going to be difficult for you both to hear." Sven stands in his own stool and looks at the hag. "Miss...?"
"Hilda" the hag concedes.
"Miss Hilda, though I am a bit farther away I believe I am standing at very much the same angle as He would have had in your conversation." He lines up his hand pointing at Hilda.
"Correct." Hilda says, curiosity creeping into her reply.
"Yes, well ladies. It appears that neither you Mala, who has been his paramour, on and off again, for the better part of a year; nor You Hilda whose posterior attracted his attention from across a crowded room, are his soulmate." The Gnome stands tall, satisfied with his deductive skills. "Hilda, please turn around and tell me what you see?"
The leathery witch rotates. Her eyes scan the room as she turns slowly. When she has finished her turn she sees eyes gazing back at her. The eyes are yellow and green, jaundiced and milky. They are her own eyes looking back from the large mirror hanging on the wall at the end of the bar.
"Paolo has never been able to walk by a mirror without checking his hair. I can assume with high certainty that he was looking at his own reflection when your curse took effect. Neither of you were his soulmate. Paolo is Paolo's soulmate...at least he was. As I said previously....." he pokes the corpse with his cane.
"Asshole!" Mala shouts, booting the body against the bar. "Hilda, lets call a truce and make an arrangement."
"I'm listening..." The witch twirls her chin whisker around her finger.
"We need to bring him back. I don't blame you for killing him, he deserved it, but we have a quest coming up and he has some essential skills required for us to succeed. If you need help with the rituals or material support I'll be happy to help." Mala pleads with her smile.
"And what's in it for me?" Hilda's side-eye speaks volumes.
"When we've restored him to life and made certain that his health and his memory are fully intact, we're going to have a very long talk about respectfulness, fidelity, and love. Then we'll kill him again. Then we'll have to resurrect him again. After that we'll decide if we want to kill and restore him once more, personally I think "thrice-dead" has a nice ring to it, or just let him live so we can successfully complete our noble quest."
Hilda nods, her fingertips playing across the warts on her chin, "While that sounds like a tremendous amount of fun, it also sounds like a lot of work. And resurrection is expensive. The crushed gems alone could feed a family for a year."
Mala interrupts, "There will be monetary compensation. He doesn't know yet, but we will explain to him, that half of his share of our impending quests spoils will go to you. He got himself killed, he can pay for his own restorations."
"Then I believe we have come to an accord." Hilda stands, spits in her hand and holds it out to Mala.
"A Binding Accord," Mala says, spitting in her own hand and sealing the deal with a squenchy handshake. "Kana, pick up assholes body and follow us! Sven, pay the tab! Hilda, I assume you have a place to perform the ceremonies?"
Hilda leads them through the crowded tavern and out into the night, "Follow me, I know just the place. I have a house in the forest, how do you all feel about gingerbread?" | 2020-10-29T06:27:03 | 2020-10-29T05:26:08 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] The god(s) have grown to loathe mankind's greed and hoarding. They impose a mortal tax: the speed of aging is now proportional to your amassed wealth. | Agony is a word for it. Eternal pain, maybe? Maybe just prolonged suffering, since according to the laws of the ancients, we will die eventually.
I will die eventually. I'd welcome it.
The rich cried out in fear when the law was announced. Turn over what you have, the gross excess, and give it to those in need.
That worked for a period of time. Many were helped, many's life saw improvements. It was a one-time massive bonus that really helped a lot of people. Those who received loan forgiveness, those who received bailouts, those who received medical care. There were those companies that sought to use their wealth to pay their employees better. It was an incentive, to stay with this company rather than go to one where the head of company, CEO or president, simply gave away their excess at the end of the year.
I'm not really here to talk about those wealthy men who gave away enough to enjoy the 80-ish year life they'd been promised.
I'm here to talk about people like me. People who missed out on the money, or for whom the money was a bandaid and not the salvage we expected.
It's been a hundred and nineteen years since the law passed. Life is good but cracks exist. People fall through, especially people not in well off countries. Here, there was no respite for our countries lacked the billionaires to provide it. Those countries rich with the rich saw enough to spare most of their citizens the agony we face.
A prolonged life with no promise of release. I should be 149 years old. I have the face of a man in his early 50s. My health has remained woefully good. I work my hands to the bone every day to try to provide for my massive family.
I haven't known the touch of my wife in thirty years, for we found that even the slightest touch may lead to yet another mouth to feed. When affection and bodily pleasure is one of the few things left to you, you find yourself craving it in ways you might not imagine. I know she misses my touch as much as I hers, but she is eight years (pre-law) my junior and still very capable of producing children. Without the means to prevent a pregnancy and with our aging and cycles dependent on the will of material wealth, it became almost impossible to satisfy our urges without risk.
I love all of my children. All 23 of them. But I cannot afford to feed another. And she cannot withstand another two or three-year long pregnancy.
Every child set us further in poverty. Many of them have spent years developing. Even the oldest have just reached adulthood. The younger ones have spent half a decade trying to walk, trying to speak. Man of my adolescent children, struck with the emotional instability provided by hormones ravaging their systems, have been wild with rage or passion. Others have become depressed shells. No child should have to spend four times the appropriate years at any respective age.
I used to promise them every day 'this is the day I come home a wealthy man'. I stopped after forty-two years of that. They knew I was lying.
Perhaps to a God, this was a reward for our humble spirits. A God may see longevity as a boon, something to be craved and enjoyed. But when that longevity is attached solely to poverty and pain, it can only be seen as a curse.
The laws were only ever meant as a curse. Those with a beloved life may only enjoy it briefly and those whose lives bring only pain should be forced to endure.
We will endure. One day I shall know the wealth that will bring my family peace. One day I will see my youngest children walk towards me with smiles, hear them say 'papa!' instead of squalling helplessly on rags on the floor. One day the teenagers, whose eyes are clouded by hysteria, will be able to see life again fully and without blemish. The ones who have fallen in love, many times over, may one day be able to match their boyfriend's or girlfriend's ages. They won't have to know the pain of meeting someone at sixteen and watching their partner grow to eighteen, nineteen, twenty before ever knowing their own seventeenth birthday.
One day, I may even see my youngest out of the home and rest well knowing they may finally know happiness. One day, I may be able to lie with my beloved again.
Until then, we endure.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | No one was sure what happened, why it happened or even how it happened. Some were pleased, others... shocked. Horrified, distraught even. The God’s returned to earth. Many from all religions. They were tired of the greed and the fighting of man kind. So they imposed an age tax. They disappeared as quickly as they had appeared all over the world. Twitter had hashtags flying. TikToks of people who were at the sites of the Gods. Recording themselves. And of course, reddit posts of skeptical Facebook Karen’s saying it was all a hoax by the government. Well that was for the first day. Then the second, the full effect took force. Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, Tim Cook among many other CEOs aged overnight. From being healthy and secure, suddenly decrepit and hunched. Their bodies had failed them. Many other lesser millionaires suffered the same fate. Aging so rapidly that they could no longer function alone.
The opposite was held for the poor. Suddenly they de-aged. Reverted. Back to roughly 18. Those without dimes were young again. The news blew up as influencers suddenly became 70 and wrinkly, while the elderly became young gifted a second chance at life. Lifelong partners having another life with each other. Of course the skeptics still existed, but when don’t they really?
That was a year ago... since then the world had changed. The source had been found. The greediness of money. The amount of wealth you accrued would dictate your age. Now, you could still die if you were hit by a car, or some other fatal accident, but you could remain at middle aged for, well ever. Or even younger if you so wished. Famous celebrities now earned money just to give it away. Maintaining their youthful glows and energy. Sports stars remained at their peak forever. You just didn’t see as many changes. No one growing out of the sport. Old, retired heroes of the game back in form and ready to play. It wasn’t an exact math, but from what logicians and mathematicians could formulate, it seemed that having less than $20,000 worth of assets netted one the age of 18. At around $100,000 you would reach 30, $500,000 was 40 and 1 million dollars was around 55. As you grew older however, the money required to gain another year grow exponentially.
I was spared the trauma. Being only 17, the effect didn’t adjust me at all. But it was my birthday soon and I was afraid. I didn’t want to wake up at my mid 30s but nor did I want to live in squalor. So I spent countless nights, searching. Looking. For... well, anything. The ad jumped out at me. “Want to retain your youth? We’ll look after your money until you’re ready!”
I hurriedly signed over my money, leaving myself just under $20,000. My parents had left me large sums so they could be back in their mid 20s. We had discussed my birthday, but they didn’t want their money back. They were having the time of their lives. Again. I signed off my money and went to sleep. I knew the answer would hit me the next day.
That was 30 years ago. I had lived as an 18 year old for, well a year. But having no money, well it sucked. Over time I slowly withdrew my money from the account. The business had grown massive in the decades since. No one quite understood the logistics and what happened to the money while it was stored. Many swore off of it, saying it was horrible. But many also swore by it. Claiming it be a god send that the gods didn’t send. But, I had a loving wife now. She was already at her mid 40s and I had enough money to catch up. I was ready to live the next part of my life. I closed my account.
“Are you sure you’re ready to receive your total deposit and interest returned?” I didn’t remember anything anything about interest and clicked accept. I went to sleep ready to finally be the same age as my wife again.
I awoke the next morning. Everything hurt. My wife screamed as she turned to see me. “Huh, what?” I croaked. My voice was gravelly. Old. I slowly sat up. Nearly sapping my energy completely as I did.
“It’s me honey. ,” My wife stood by the door, her eyes wide as she clung to the frame.
“How, much money did you have saved?” She stammered.
“Only around $700,000!” I groaned as a pain shot through my back. I hobbled to my computer. My wife stood behind me, reading over my shoulder. The words all blurred together for me, I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it said.
“What does it say hun?” I asked.
“You have received..” she stopped “$703,529 at %10 interest over 30 years. New total: $12,276,161.” I felt a tear roll off her cheek onto my shoulder.
“So this is where the money goes...” | 2020-12-02T08:17:52 | 2020-12-02T08:09:48 | 129 | 12 |
[WP]Kevin Hill is a 38 yo male admitted on 2/03 for grandiose delusions and an "aura of divinity" Patient claims he recently became aware he's the destined savior of humanity and can "alter minds at range." On exam Kevin is...dignified, attractive, and clearly correct. All hail Kevin, the Chosen One | The Reign of Kevin began on a mid-summer morning.
He exited the DC psychiatric hospital at around 10 am and headed towards the United States Capitol. In tow with him as he left was thirty-three staff and fellow residents of the hospital. As they made their way down the street, more and more gathered to Kevin’s side.
By the time he got to the Washington Monument there were over 500 followers.
Kevin stood above the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial staring at the capitol. The mid-day sun burning down on his newly formed army of acolytes. Within minutes the capitol itself was brought into the fold of his reign.
The house and senate were in session and all legislators stepped out to swear fealty to their new master. The president himself went on television to inform the nation of the peaceful transfer of power to Kevin.
Of course, everyone not within the current range of Kevin’s growing powers thought this was a joke. But it was no joke.
Kevin sat in the oval office and from there concentrated to grow his powers, within a month the whole eastern seaboard was brought under his control. There was resistance, but Kevin had the might of US military behind him. By the winter Kevin had control of around 98% of the world’s population. Only some, with a certain arrangement of genomes were impervious to Kevin's psychic powers. These became the planetary resistance.
One night, about this time, an alien spaceship was spotted in the sky. The spaceship beamed down a message on all frequencies and in all human languages, stating a rogue Psymorph was believed to be harbored on planet Earth.
When a group of alien diplomats landed on the Washington Monument Grounds, they were greeted by Kevin and his legion. The small alien landing ship was destroyed and the aliens executed, their bodies hoisted in the air and hung from the Washington Monument. With their blue blood, Kevin’s acolytes smeared across the monument’s brick façade “ALL HAIL KEVIN.”
And this is how the interstellar War of Kevin began.
\---
In the infancy of the war, the alien spacecraft reached out to all humans who were not under Kevin’s spell with instructions on how to build a device to communicate with them on a secure channel.
Kayla, the leader of the North American resistance, listened to the broadcast from the aliens and ordered a group of her engineers to immediately build the device. In a week it was built, and she was able to reach out to the aliens, who she now knew were called the Atet, an ancient species from what the human’s knew as the Tadpole galaxy (based off its shape).
At the headquarters of The Resistance, in the heavily forested Colorado Rockies, a stealth Atet lander unloaded advanced weaponry and armor, plus schematics on how to build a large gamma-ray radiator which would nullify Kevin’s powers within a hundred-mile radius. The Atet weapons and armor were customized to fit humans by the engineers of the Atet cosmic cruiser (the giant spaceship currently orbiting the earth).
A hundred of Kayla's best men and women were outfitted with this gear and the spring offensive of the resistance began in earnest. The first attack was coordinated with the Atet cruiser, who had at this point established complete air supremacy and would shoot down all human flights, military or domestic, as they posed a risk to the spaceship itself.
The Atets had no desire to destroy this burgeoning race of humans for what they perceived as their own neglect in controlling this rogue psymorph. Besides, the Atet cruiser did not have the strength, nor did the commander have patience, for a complete assault on the planet.
That is where The Resistance played into their strategy. When Denver fell to the resistance and the anti-Psych gamma radiator was built, Kevin was busy fending off a skirmishing force of the Atet in the Appalachians. Of course, this was only a diversion, an attempt to fool the rogue psymorph into believing this was a prelude to a main assault.
By the time Kevin understood the threat, his mind control over the three million humans in the Denver-Aurora-Lakewood Colorado Metropolitan area was extinguished. Kevin sent the 1st Infantry division, but this was destroyed by the Atet cruiser with a small-tactical nuclear device. When Kevin sent ICBMs, these too were dealt with by the Atets, easily shooting them out of the sky.
\---
More supplies were dropped by the Atet cruiser throughout the world. Many of the pockets of resistance were rooted out and destroyed. But, day by day, those which survived shrunk the boundary of Kevin’s power.
The North American resistance pushed West first, over the Rockies and to Salt Lake City, then along the west coast, freeing eighty million humans over that summer and into fall.
Kevin had become desperate, and, over the snow-covered Eastern Plains, by the millions, Kevin sent hordes of his acolytes against the fortified lines along the great Rocky Mountains of the Real United States of America, or RUSA, as the resistance now called themselves
More gamma radiators were set up. And now Kevin could do nothing but have his acolytes fall back. Or his control over them would evaporate as they advanced within the radius of the gamma radiation.
The RUSA’s winter advance was slow, but by the time of the thaw and the rise of a new spring, they had made it to the great and wide flowing channel of the Mississippi river.
Kevin had blown the bridges along the Mississippi, including the Stone Arch Bridge, the Chain of Rock Bridge, the Memphis-Arkansas bridge. But RUSA knew this would happen and quickly deployed floating pontoons. By the summer, Kevin’s hold had been diminished greatly and the RUSA was advancing on Washington, DC itself.
Kevin, with an understanding of his defeat, sent out diplomats to both the RUSA and the floating Atet cruiser who was still waiting patiently in the sky above.
On August 3rd, Kevin stepped out of the White House and down to the Washington monument where the rotting corpses of the aliens were still hanging high on the statue. Waiting there was a detachment of Atet emissaries and the leaders of the RUSA.
Kevin gave himself up to the Atet who put him in a special metallic sphere. It was said that he had been in that sphere for ten-thousand years before he broke out and escaped to earth. He would spend another ten thousand years sitting inside, waiting out his time.
The Atet spent the evening celebrating with the humans, although, truth be told, they were ready to leave. They had spent far too long on this remote outpost far outside of the limits of their empire. They were ready to see their family, but they understood the sacrifices the humans made to help capture Kevin. So they drank human wine and ate human food and enjoyed the night of celebration as though they themselves had been released from a great purge on their society.
\_\_\_
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Kevin scratched idly at the gentle swell of his belly as he watched the young doctor’s eyes begin to glaze over. Her lips parted with a soft sigh as pale skin turned rosey and clinical detachment melted away with a sudden lean forward.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten slowly, trying to fix the image of the doctor as she had been when she walked into the room as firmly into his head as he could, as if he could paper over whatever broken piece of himself was continually twisting everyone he came into contact with. He only got to 9 before the sound of a chair scraping across the floor snapped him back to the present and with a silent curse Kevin was forced to admit that it hadn’t worked.
Everything he’d said when he checked himself in was true of course, Kevin Hill had been many things in his life but never a liar. Perhaps though, he should have been a little more clear with the guy behind the desk in those few lucid moments before his eyes had glassed over and the man had actually saluted him.
The problem was that he couldn’t stop.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Callaghan,” the woman before him said, her voice breathless, “but you can call me Meghan. I’d like that very, very much.”
Kevin coughed hard as he stood sidling along the room’s left side as he made for the door. It had been stupid to think this would be different. Sure they were doctors but what did that mean in the face of something like this something super—
Dr. Callaghan’s caught him from behind only a step from the door, her small hands turning to claws that sank into the stained old hoodie he wore. When Kevin turned to face her the look in her eyes gave him no other choice.
“You dare touch your god?” the words dripped with venom as they fell from his lips, wrapped up in a tone he’d never had before that encounter just days ago. Desire withered into fear on a face that really was quite pretty. Kevin hated himself for it as he pulled free of her grasp and shut the door behind him.
He ran as hard as he could down the corridor, an out of shape janitor in his late 30s huffing and puffing through the halls of a hospital he himself had checked into as all around him nurses, orderlies and patients fell to their knees in his wake. By the time he made it to the elevator vague whispers behind him had begun to coalesce into something greater, and as he pounded on the button took shape into the all too familiar cadence of a chant.
“KEV-IN! KEV-IN! KEV-IN!” They chanted, the force of his newfound power seeming to grow in time with his terror until it hung over him like a cloud, like a massive storm that threatened to break over him and sweep away all that was Kevin Hill just like…
The elevator doors slid open and red eyes flashed from the unnatural darkness within.
For Kevin the moment hung in the air for an eternity. He recognized those eyes, of course he did. He’d been seeing them in one form or another his whole life. They might disappear for a day, a week, a year, but in the end they always came back, the face around them filling out a little more each time. They had hung in front of him in his dreams like two great rubies in the sky, and in his childhood he’d carved them out in every surface so often that his parents had practically had him committed. It was part of the reason he had come to the hospital now that everything had changed, it felt like home in some sick way.
As the man those eyes belonged to stepped out into the hallway his face filled in like it had in his mind all these years. The harsh fluorescent lights hit the hollows of his dark eyes first then tracked outward over taut skin and fine blue veins, an aquiline nose and the chilling rictus of his smile, hair that flirted with the color of blood.
It was the second time in a week that Kevin had seen the man.
“I see you’re enjoying my gifts,” the man said, his voice carrying a strangely un-placeable accent.
“What the hell did you do to me?” Kevin asked as he backed away.
The strange man smirked at him, following him back up the hall. “I set in motion a piece I played long ago.”
Kevin shook his head hard, not understanding any of this. He could hardly think over the chanting, the intense pressure of all the suddenly worshipful people that now thronged the floor. He spun around, staring wide eyed at the crowd as he screamed at them “Shut up!” he said, “shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Everyone one of them fell silent and all at once the floor felt more like a tomb. No one moved or spoke. They were so quiet he couldn’t even hear a breath.
A slow clap drew him back to the only figure here that mattered.
“Very good!” the man said, his smile now congratulatory though no less horrifying for it. “You should embrace your new powers Kevin, they’re yours to do with as you please after all. Come now, you’ve hated your life for as long as I’ve known you. You deserved a change, a real opportunity. Take this one.”
“An opportunity to do what?” Kevin asked, dreading the answer.
“Why, anything you want my boy. Anything at all.” The man snapped his fingers and a moment later Kevin felt a presence behind him, hands on his back and warm breath in his ear.
“All hail Kevin, the Chosen One,” Dr. Callaghan said. She was far too close.
“See? It wouldn’t be so bad now would it.”
Kevin felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and any decision now might push him off. “Who are you?” he asked, “and why are you doing this?”
“What you mean you still haven’t guessed? I’ve given you years man, come on! I’m the devil, how hard was that?” the man, the devil, shook his head. He looked disappointed with Kevin for the first time.
“As for why I’m doing it, that’s a little more complicated. Your existence is…important to me. Not that you have to do anything specific mind you, you could spend the rest of your life watching TV and bewitching delivery drivers for all I care. I want you to enjoy your powers, anything else is practically criminal, but you fit my goals just by being alive. Kevin Hill,” the devil walked up to him, slapping him on the shoulder as if they were old friends, “you’re my declaration of war.”
With that the devil looked up, through the ceiling and the floors above, through the clouds and the atmosphere and the cold abyss of space, and he began to laugh. From behind him the chant began again, at a whisper this time, the beat of his name filling in around the echo of the laugh like counterpoint.
And there were those small hands on his back again, the too warm breath against his ear, and her voice- Meghan’s voice- saying the all important words. “All hail Kevin, the Chosen One.”
\----------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-02-06T11:58:22 | 2021-02-06T11:37:49 | 252 | 39 |
[WP] Most ghosts are vengeful about their deaths and obsessed with their unfinished business. This one seems at most mildly inconvenienced by both | "OoOoOoh!"
"Claire, is that you?" I called out from the kitchen. My partner was always trying to spook me, but this was a sad attempt. Besides, she was supposed to be at work.
"OoOoOoh!"
Seriously? Dropping my carrot and knife onto the cutting block, I hustled into the entryway, latched onto the banister, and swung around to face upstairs. "I thought you had that open house today. Is this really the time to be playing—"
"OoOo—" Behind me, the voice—the pitiful, stereotypical imitation of a ghost—was broken by a coughing fit.
I jumped. "Whoa, Claire—you don't sound so good." Turning, I found nothing. Just before I gave up and went back to the kitchen, a severely cold chill ran up my body, sending a shiver back down my spine.
Moments later, a deep, resonant voice emanated from the front door. "Sorry, that's my fault."
Jumping again, I grabbed the knob and threw the door open, only to find a few inches of untouched snow on the stoop. "Who's there?"
Back in the house, the living room window slammed shut. "This whole ghosting thing is sort of beyond me. I haven't quite figured it out."
What in the world? Utterly confused, I closed the door, grabbed the baseball bat stowed beside it, and peeked around the corner.
The living room was empty.
"He—hello?" I cocked the bat back, prepped and ready to swing.
"Hi!"
"Who are you?"
"My name's Cliff."
"...okay, Cliff. *Where* are you?"
"On the couch. Can't you see me?"
"...no?"
"Damnit! Obviously, you can't see me." Cliff chuckled to himself, although I didn't really see what was so funny. "Sorry, I'm new to this—well, not really, I guess."
I figured, why the hell not? What did I have to lose? I set myself up behind the couch, got into my old batting stance from my minor league days, and swung through the space above the sofa.
Nothing but air.
"Oi! What was that for? I said I was sorry—I didn't mean to leave the window open! I've just found that I'm... I'm so hot. Is it hot in here? God, I don't even know what way is up anymore." This time, Cliff erupted into laughter.
Then, as he slowed down, he muttered between chuckles. "Oh man. God—*that's* a funny one now, isn't it? I always thought it was silly—all those movies where someone has a crisis of faith. They should try just dying with a little unfinished business. *That'll* teach 'em that God is nothing more than a notion dreamt up by folks who need a way to describe the indescribable."
A religious man myself, I felt touched—kissed by fate. Was this my chance to help a poor soul in need?
Dropping the bat to my side, I replied, "I've always thought unfinished business was stuff that needed to be done before you could go to heaven."
"That might be the case, but as far as I can remember, the only thing I left unfinished was cleaning out the crawl space under the house. I can't imagine *that'*s the thing keeping me from ascending." Cliff sighed. "This really makes me feel like my entire life was pointless."
"...this house has a crawl space?" I rounded the couch and motioned to sit down.
"Hey—watch it!"
"Oh—uh, sorry." I stood, moved over a cushion, then plopped down.
"Haven't you noticed the ungodly smell coming from the southeast corner of the garage?"
I *had* noticed that, actually. It was awful—then again, I was a bit grateful for it. "Yeah, we were able to knock $50,000 off the listing price because of it."
"Get outta here!" Something shoved me, and I toppled to the side. "Good on you—erm, what's your name?"
Pulling myself upright, I stuttered, "S--Sam."
"Well, Sam, there's something dead down there. It's really gross."
"That would explain the smell."
"I went down there once. Didn't get a good look at it, but I'm pretty sure it was an opossum or something like that." Cliff paused. "Come to think of it, that's the last thing I remember—that is, until I woke up in the attic."
"...how long ago was that?"
"It's hard to tell, really. Time is weird when you're dead. You don't eat or sleep, and your circadian rhythms are all out of whack—probably because you don't have a body." He started laughing again, only this time, it sounded a little hysterical. "I also didn't realize I was dead for a while. Real bummer, isn't it?"
Cliff had a remarkably positive outlook for a ghost. Then again, I sensed he was about to crack, so I needed to take care of the situation quickly. On top of that, his voice was grating on me—and that *laugh!*
"We've been living here almost six months, and I think the house was on the market for six months before that."
"Huh. So, it's been at least a year. Whattya know..."
"Have you... been here the whole time?"
"Y'know how you can't open the attic door from inside the attic?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, you can't open the attic door from inside the attic. Anyway, when I 'woke up,' I thought I was just trapped up there, so I called out. That didn't work—I've since learned that my voice doesn't carry beyond the walls of this house."
"Sounds terrifying."
"It was fine, really. I've always been good at being alone. Plus, I thought someone in my family would come and find me. I got really bored, though. Then one day, the attic door opened. I thought I was saved!
Nope. *That's* when I got terrified. That dude was huge!"
I didn't need to think hard on this one to know he was talking about the realtor who sold us the house. He *was* a big guy. Real dark, menacing features, too. He was a teddy bear, though. "Are you talking about Hugh? Our realtor?"
"Probably. Anyway, your daughter came up to the attic the other day, and we played for a while. I convinced her to leave the door open for me." A kind warmth filled the air. "She's a nice girl, you know."
"Thanks."
**\[Continued in comments\]** | “Take some shots of that.” Sandra pointed up at the rusty metal letters above the entrance of the abandoned asylum - *Rosemary Institution*. Brad the cameraman made sure it would come out extra dramatic; he employed dutch angles and dolly zooms in about every recording he made.
Sandra placed her hand against the ornate wooden door, and pushed. The echo of the creak from the door reverberated through the large atrium. She whistled, impressed by the setting. “Look at this,” she said to Brad. “Crazy that the guys from Ghost Hunters haven’t been here before.” She switched on her flashlight, and surveyed the room. It was a mess - crumbling walls, broken down benches and doors that were either missing or hanging half off their hinges. But she could see in her mind’s eye how it would have looked. The classic wood panelling and the decorated ceiling and floor were still somewhat visible, confirming that the place was not meant for your run-of-the-mill mental patient.
“This is great,” Brad agreed. “We’re doing a take here, then?”
“Yup, ready?” Sandra said, turning to Brad.
He nodded, and a small light in front of the camera turned red. Sandra reverted back to her low ‘on edge’ voice. “We’re inside the Rosemary Institution, one of the most haunted places in America. The rich and powerful sent their family members here for treatment… or to remove them in dynastic power plays…” She tip-toed towards one of the doors on the side of the room, Brad following closely behind. “This place has seen a lot of trauma - people being betrayed by their own family, and… at least one psyhiatrist has met his end here - *Slain,* by one of his patients…” She let the words linger for a moment. “Let’s see if we can communicate with the spirits of the institutionalized.”
The red light turned off, and Brad lowered the camera. “Spooky, I got goosebumps.”
Sandra reached inside her hip bag, and grabbed a sort of hand-held radio with dials. “It would be cool if we didn’t have to rely on post production for something spooky to actually happen for a change. Right, let’s find a good place to set this up,” she said, twirling the radio.
The duo moved through the corridor, hindered here and there by debris, until they passed a door which was miraculously unscathed - it still had a glass pane in with the room label pasted on. Sandra shone the light on it. “Wait… isn’t that the guy that was murdered?”
Brad read the label. “Alfred J. Baumhaus M.D. Ph.D… Holy shit, it is!”
“Jackpot,” Sandra said with a sly smile, and she opened the door. When they were both in, she closed it behind them.
Baumhaus’ office was almost untouched in comparison to the rest of the building. The only reminder of its years of abandonment were the layers of dust that had settled on the furniture. On one side of the room, a desk in front of a wall of bookcases, on the other side, a large leather sofa, and a wing chair pointed towards it.
Sandra set the radio device on the desk. “This almost looks like a set. We have to work with this place, the narrative is just too good,” she said, before flicking the device on. As she was turning some dials, she told Brad to take a wide angle shot from the other end of the room.
“Ready?” Sandra turned to Brad, who held his thumb up. She cleared her throat, and started talking into the device. “Doctor, are you available to speak to us?” - No response - “Doctor Baumhaus? Can you give us a sign?”
The device only emitted a low purr, it’s default sound whenever it couldn’t pick up anything. Sandra was thinking of something to say and felt her heart picking up pace. Something about the room made her almost believe in ghosts.
The camera came to the floor with a loud crash.
“Jesus, Brad! You almost gave me a heart attack,” Sandra yelled, spinning around.
Brad had his back firmly against the wall, and was pointing to the sofa with a trembling hand. “T-t-t-t… G-g-ghost…”
Sandra pointed a flashlight at Brad first, and saw how white he was. The camera lay in front of him - the side display had broken off. She swiveled the light to the sofa.
“Nothing… you really got spooked, didn’t you. Can we still use the cam?” Sandra asked, but Brad didn’t move, and kept pointing at the sofa.
“Brad?”
“I-I know w-what I-I saw. W-we need to g-go.” Brad scooped the camera off the floor and sprinted to the door. It didn’t open. He let out a scream and tried to ram the door with a shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. He sagged to the floor in defeat, cradling the broken camera.
“You’re… not joking are you?” Sandra asked while slowly picking up the radio device. She tentatively approached the sofa, and placed the device on an end table next to it.
“Hello?”
The device started producing a loud, garbled static, before filtering out the background noise. The robotic voice in which the device usually responded - after some meddling by the producers - was unusually clear this time.
*Welcome.*
Sandra stumbled back, hand on her beating chest. “Uh, uuuh, who are you?”
*Alfred Baumhaus.*
“Are y-you on the sofa?”
*Yes.*
Sandra swallowed. This is going to be a bad idea. “Can you show yourself?”
*Yes.*
A shade flickered into existence, a three dimensional shadow of a person, lounging. The shade remained for a few seconds, before disappearing again. A few motes of dust fluttered up.
*Pardon. Low energy.*
Sandra flashed a gaze over her shoulder. Brad was staring at the scene, wide-eyed and mouth covered with both hands.
“Do you know you’re a ghost?” Sandra asked, looking back.
*Yes. Quite boring.*
"Why is it boring?” Sandra started to get into the role of interviewer of the supernatural. She’d been doing it for at least a hundred episodes - albeit fabricated.
*Lack of clients.*
“Were you killed by a client of yours?”
*Yes. Tobias Vanderbilt.*
Sandra thought about the string of unexplained deaths in the extravagantly wealthy Vanderbilt family. It was the topic of an earlier episode.
“How… did he do it?”
*Jung’s Anthologies. Bookcase.*
Sandra pointed the flashlight at the other side of the room, and noticed a gap in the bookcase, the only spot that didn't have a book in.
*Hits hard.* The device then erupted into an eerie robotic laughter.
“What do you want?”
It seemed the ghost was hesitating. *Please, sit, chair,* it eventually said.
Sandra wiped her hand across the seat of the wing chair, and sat down, her fascination winning it over her angst. Baumhaus flickered back into existence, and this time was able to stay in this incorporeal form. It looked like a new vigor had taken hold of him. The shade was a silhouette, sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other. He leaned forwards, apparently with a thumb and index finger at his chin, and the other arm cupping his elbow.
*What troubles you?* | 2021-03-08T06:36:12 | 2021-03-08T06:03:22 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Your classmate is convinced you are a superhero and acts like a fangirl around you. There is only one problem: You are actually the supervillain. And she is starting to get in the way of your work. | I was fostered and returned routinely up until the age of ten. For you see i had the unusual habit of dragging the unknown around me like a blanket of darkness.
One day, a man and a woman pressed in pin straight clothes and faces void of emotion signed the papers to adopt me. At first i was baffled then i was quickly disillusioned at finally having a proper family.
I was ignored by my adoptive parents and raised by countless nanny’s that came and went, usually quitting in a few short weeks.
Still they did not return me.
Something grew inside me over the years that i lived in that emotionless household, anger began to boil and burn, fear quickly turned into ambition.
I used my unusual abilities to get small revenges on those that had done me wrong. I began with my first foster family, i never knew torture would feel so...
Satisfying.
Senior year of high school quickly arrived, the one thing my parents always demanded of me was good grades, thankfully they came easy and left me time to develop plans of torture and revenge.
Plans to build my empire.
Then he arrived, his too bright smile crowding my vision nearly causing me to recoil in disgust.
“You look like a superhero!” His first words to me were.
Everyone else chuckled, and i gave him the deadliest glare that i could allow, he didn’t shy away, but beamed brighter.
“Oh you’re definitely a superhero!”
His friend dragged him off before he could say more.
The days then followed with this bright light following me every moment that he could, no matter how much i attempted to avoid him or lose him in the sea of on going students he still found me.
Irritation soon became my most prominent emotion, i wanted to do nothing but grab him by the throat and squeeze his new found curiosity out of him, but i had promised to lay low at school, it was the least i could do for my parents.
Then he began following me outside of school, which delayed many of my plans. Typically i would head to my factories that i had littered around the cities or go to my second house that i had built to plan more of my ‘adventures’, however, he forced me to return home each day.
And each day i wanted to kill him more.
I walked to physics, sighing in slight relief when I realised that he was no longer following me. Over time i had learnt his name, but I would call him nothing but bright light in my brain.
I combed through my physics notes and then jotted down random sketches of things that muddled my brain, when i heard the gunshot shatter through the humid air.
everyone looked around in shock, some confused others, understanding. My acute hearing had already located the area of the gunshot, i was curious so i slipped out to investigate.
The blood was the first thing that i noticed as i slipped into the classroom, then the fading of light.
Someone had killed my bright light.
The earth shook beneath me as the anger spilled like venom tendrils from my body.
My bright light was gone.
They would pay. | "Cmon! Just tell me, Luke! You ARE the superhero Sky!" "You wont listen to me, will you, Kate? I. Am. Not. Last warning", i told her decent angry. Kate follows me since the last few months. I always had a chance, to get away from her, when i planned something, but its getting more difficult, to hide my secret identity.
She follows me again. Shit. If she keeps doing this, she will find my base. I dont think about if it happens, i think of when it will happen.
My phone rings. "Yo boss, we have a new job to do." "I cant talk right now." "This job is a bit different to the others." "Tell me, fast, i have time pressure.", I mumbled in my phone. "Some of the others have made a plan, to defeat the superleague. We both are the main part of it. Dont let us down, cmon!" I sighed. "Same time, same location. And bring No. 1, if you dont, i will go" "Sure boss!"
"Who was this? Wait, wait! I know who it was! It was the superleague!" Damn, i forgot that Kate was following me. Shit. "It was just... a friend. Nothing special. And stop following me! I am just a regular, normal guy." "Yeah, sure. I know your secret identity, you cant hide it from me", she whispered and stepped a bit closer to me. I took a step back. "Go home, Kate. Just go home."
She looked disappointed, that i didnt fall for her, and left. I sighed again and sprinted the last hundred metres home. "Default code 23N, open front door." I got my phone out of my pocket and called my partner in crime. "I am on the way. Make sure, you have the right sword, ok?" "Of course, boss." He hung up.
Well, im the supervillain Nightmare. It took a while, but here i am: in my personal base. Ok, its a basement, but still a base. I got my suit out. A black cape, a suit, red-black coloured, and a facemask, black-chrome. Time, to take the superheros out.
"Heres your sword, boss!" "Thanks, Dryll. You sure, its Yamato?" "I am. Lets go, we have a strict time table."
At the headquarter of the superleague was a group of dangerous looking guys. "Are you all ready?" Like one man they answered me "Yes." "Good. Now do your part, then I will do mine." "Nightmare, beware. Someone told them. We have a traitor among us. Keep this in mind." "I will. Now go."
It was an easy job. I took one hero through the shadows, and killed him. It was perfectly planned. The other supervillains deactivated the security system, and i killed the heros. Of course, it wasnt always easy. The leader, Sky, destroyed half of my mask. Useless, cause he died. A bit less then the half of the league escaped. Probably cause of the traitor.
In the quiet streets of the city, i stumbeled into a wellknown woman. Kate. "What are you doing, Luke- no. Wha-what is this?!" "Not like you expected, hm? Leave, cause the next time my mercy isnt endless." I waved with my hand away from me. "Tell this anyone, and this person, and you will die." Kate ran away completly scared, and didnt even turn around once. She will be a big problem... | 2021-05-19T04:16:37 | 2021-05-19T00:02:55 | 37 | 23 |
[WP]: Turns out that with you being the chosen one, you are immortal until you defeat the Dark Lord. For centuries you have been just doing sidequests to live forever. But now the Dark Lord has finally cornered you to finally get some rest from this curse. | "Here me out."
Time had been kind to the Mad Mage of Mulbyrn, the once regal queen of darkness had lost her beauty many decades ago. Her cheeks were sunken to the point that I felt as if I could see every individual bone in her face, her limbs were thin and her fingers as bony as the skeletal warriors that sorrounded her. I guessed that her sizable army had been made of flesh and blood when I first learned of my true identity as the chosen one, but as time went on their lives didn't continue forever as ours did.
"You wish to confront me with words?" The shrouded witch exclaimed in outrage. "You have hidden from my magic for centuries, but no longer! Today is the day that one of us dies and the nine worlds become one!"
I had almost forgotten about her motivation for all of this. The gods interwoven our fates so that the Mad Mage's magic couldn't reach outskirts of this reality until I was dead, but they also imbued me with an otherwordly immunity to all harm that was unrelated to my destiny. This woman and those who fought on her behalf were the only ones who could endanger my life, so I had simply been hiding and running to avoid my death and keep myself living for as long as possible. I couldn't remember why exactly it was that she wanted to bring together the nine worlds as one, I just knew it was a bad thing, and that my very existence was like a rope physically holding her back from her true potential.
"If you die, I die," I said simply. "I wanna live forever, that's it. I couldn't care less about your plan, but I just want to take my immortality and live my best unending life."
The mage stalked closer, with her army at her heels. They had formed a tight circle around me, there was no way out except through.
"You delay my goals for centuries, murder every beast and criminal in your path, defile my daughter, bathe yourself in fame by working your way up the ladder in every guild, and rid the world of ancient curses that sleep in forgotten tombs for.. the sake of.. living your best life...?" The Mage was still angered, but confusion trumps any emotion
I had to do a double take after the third one, defile her daughter? Than I remember Maven, the hot gothic sorceress that ran away from her kingdom at the height of her mother's power. She eventually aged and died like anybody else, but me and her got together quite a few times before I realized the true extent of the opportunities I had from then on thanks to my newfound immortality. Maven was easy on the eyes, and if it weren't for my immortality I think we both would have been happy with settling down with each other after her mother's fated demise, but I had my eyes set on bigger and better things. I've slept with thousands of women and men and even otherwordly beings since then, it surprised me for a moment that my long ago romance with Maven was still a sour subject for her mother.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I shrugged. "You had a hot daughter and I had literally all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted, she was one of those things."
I shouldn't have said that.
A rigid blast of ice from the Mad Mage's fist sent me flying back into the unprepared line of skeletal warriors that flanked my backside. Their strength was in numbers, not muscle, but thankfully my momentum made that insignificant as I plowed through them and rocketed into a tree a good distance away from the nearest skeletal soldier.
The pain in my chest and back stung like Hell, but they'd heal with time, which I had plenty of. I struggled to my feet and bolted away as more icey blasts of pure magic chased me down, the clattering of more skeletal soldiers at my heels.
When my heart felt like it was about to stop and my legs were ready to give out, I found myself at the edge of a towering cliff. With a wave of animated skeletons climbing the hill, I threw myself off without a moment's hesitation.
I don't know how long it had been when I woke up, but I found myself being gently carried along a river. I stick poked itself into my clothes, pulling me to the shore by the fabric of my pants leg. I wasn't in any pain besides a faint sting in my chest from the Mage's ice blast, but the fall had been inflicted by myself and thus had no effect on me physically.
I smiled as a rugged man hoisted me up and over his shoulder. He couldn't have been much older than I appeared to look, and he smelled faintly of wood and cider. Behind him a gaggle of fairly attractive girls oooed and awed at the sight of a stranger being pulled out of the river. I had no idea where I was, but it was definitely somewhere new.
Somewhere with strong handsome saviors and cute innocent young women, not to mention cider.
Someday I'd have no choice but to confront the Mad Mage of Mulbyrne for real, and finally rid her from this world or die trying. In the meantime, I planned to get comfortable in this simple riverside town. | I was backed into the corner I had been running from for my whole life. For my whole *lives.*
"You're the Dark Lord?" I asked.
"I avoided it for a few decades," Trevor said. "But fate's a bit of a stickler for being followed eventually."
"I suppose we both learned that through experience," I said.
I thought back to when we were kids. Trevor and I had been best friends. Then I was declared the Chosen One and whisked off to train with the best in the known lands. They didn't really tell me *how* I was supposed to find and kill the Dark Lord, just that I was supposed to do it.
As the years of searching wore on though, I found that I stopped aging. While everyone who had trained me grew old and died, I stayed stuck somewhere in early-mid adulthood, with all of the physical ability that came with that. The only thing that aged was my mind.
So instead of hunting down the Dark Lord, I started doing other things. Things that would arguably allow me to hunt them down and kill them, when I felt the time was right. But these side quests became a means unto themselves. Until I came to that battle with the Dark Lord, I was immortal. Hell, there wasn't even any guarantee that the Dark Lord had been born, or was active, or whatever. They were supposed to lurk in the shadows, only evident by their actions. I took out a few obvious Dark Lords in my time, to keep my skills sharp and make people think that I was doing my job, but none of them had been *The* Dark Lord.
"But now here we are," Trevor said.
"Here we are," I said. I drew my sword and it crackled with magical energy, the result of centuries of enchantments I had placed on it. Brightblade had felled numerous impostor Dark Lords.
Trevor didn't seem particularly evil. He looked older than I remembered him, obviously, but we had last seen each other at the age of twelve. I was impressed that either of us remembered the other.
"So what happens when one of us kills the other?" Trevor asked. "Does the other just die? Do we keep aging? Do the years catch up with us all at once? I was busy doing my thing, hiding out, but I watched you, you know."
"Talk about creepy," I said.
"You were my friend, Shannon," Trevor said. "I watched even before the whole Dark Lord thing came along, because I wanted to make sure you were okay."
If I hadn't known that the battle for our very lives was coming when this discussion finished, I might have found that sweet.
"I was fine," I said. "But if we've both been happy being immortal, why corner me here?"
"Because even happiness can only last so long," Trevor said. "And this is the only way."
"The only way to what?" I asked.
"Save both of ourselves from pain and sadness," Trevor said. "I've seen how you react when you kill a fake Dark Lord. There's no celebration It's just another job done. How much longer do you think you can keep going? That *I* can keep going? We can't outlive each other, and the regular folk need to move on from having us as their heroes. We still look young enough, but everything else has moved on without us. Please tell me you can feel that magic is weaker?"
I adjusted my grip on Brightblade. Trevor had a point. I *had* felt the change in magic. But I wasn't about to let my guard down and let him win.
"We should both go while we can do it on our own terms," Trevor said. "We can still fight, if it'd make you feel better, but it needs to be one of those battles where nobody wins."
Everything Trevor said made sense, and even if he was the Dark Lord, I had a sense that he was telling the truth.
"Where's your sword then?" I asked.
Trevor drew a dark blade and adjusted his stance.
And then we fought.
Part of me wished that we had an audience. But fighting alone was the nature of fights between the Chosen One and Dark Lord. And nobody would be able to see the little slips I included here or there. I was confident enough in my own abilities that I was intentionally slipping, giving Trevor a chance to attempt to enact his plan to go out together.
He landed a few blows on me, none more than a scratch. I for my part scratched him a few times as well. Our swords were both heavily enchanted though, so while neither of us drew much blood, I could feel his magic coursing through my veins, and from his face, guessed that he could feel mine doing the same.
Hours later, after uncountable more scratches and exchanges of magic, we collapsed in unison.
When I came to, everything hurt.
Near me, Trevor groaned. "What happened?"
I opened my eyes and looked around as much as I could without moving. My hands were still closed around my sword, but my left arm had something else in it. Trevor's sword. I followed my sword. It was embedded in Trevor's leg.
I extracted myself from Trevor's sword and pulled mine from his leg. Blood started flowing from both wounds, though neither of us seemed to feel it.
Immediately, I attempted to heal myself. Nothing happened.
After watching me, Trevor did similarly with his leg. Nothing.
"We're still alive," he said. "We should be dead."
"Looks like fate had one final joke to play on us," I said. "Do you have any bandages, since our magic seems to be useless now that we've fulfilled our destinies?"
*****
**Thanks for reading!** If you enjoyed this, check out more of my writing at /r/TheLastComment | 2021-11-23T18:01:46 | 2021-11-23T17:52:33 | 56 | 40 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book. | Ivan stood in the center of the sword master’s training grounds. He cut an intimidating figure, even at fifteen, with broad shoulders and a massive, square shaved head. He towered over his father’s best swordsman and stood at eye-level with the archery master, himself a tall lean elf.
But even Ivan had to look up to Cagres, the legendary warrior who cleaved a fully grown Mugobble in half with a single swing of his axe. He was Ivan’s combat tutor. Cagres delegated the technical skills with a blade or a bow to the others. What he taught Ivan was how to kill. And wouldn’t you know it, Ivan was a natural.
*Somewhere above them, soft-bottom slippers fell on dusty stone steps. Ancient spiderwebs fluttered as a figure shouldered past, catching some webbing in his gray beard.*
Ivan and the others were looking down at something that they, frankly, never paid much attention to. It was summoned from Ivan’s palms just a few moments prior. It was thick, covered in runes and emblems, with a leather binding and thin, bible-like pages.
*The foot-fells sped up, the breathing intensified. The stairs wound round and round.*
“This must be a mistake,” Ivan said, looking to his instructors. "Right?"
“This magic does not make mistakes, boy. Don’t be a fool,” said Smett, the archery master. He reached a hand out toward the book.
*A snag. A robe catches under a slipper revealing a skeletal ankle. A figure falls against the wall of a staircase. Morning sun through a window slit.*
“Well, I suppose we should open it,” said Smett.
Ivan looked at Cagres, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not yet.
Ivan rubbed the cover, “Maybe this is just the first of a set. Like my great-uncle who manifested the twin swords.”
“So you’re hoping for a second book?” Smett asked. “This is a waste of time. Any answers we need will surely be inside the book. Let’s give it a read.”
*The feet reached the bottom of the stairs. They broke into a sprint.*
Smett grabbed the book. Ivan looked on nervously. Cagres put his hand on the hilt of his knife.
The door to the training ground burst open. An old man stood there in a robe and slippers, skeletal and heaving. He yelled “Don’t open it!”
It was too late.
Smett stumbled back, dropping the book face down on the stones. He looked up and put his hands to his face. His eyes were gone. Replaced with smooth skin, as if they’d never even existed. He began to scream. The others backed away, except Cagres, who took Smett by the shoulders.
“Steady, Smett, hold yourself.”
Smett was reeling, howling incoherent sounds and scraping at his face, drawing blood. Cagres called for the guards and they hauled him off. Ivan was shaking with fear.
The old man, the wizard Olawart, threw a cloth over the book and scooped it up. Ivan and Cagres and the sword master looked at him in amazement.
“Are you Olawart?” Ivan asked.
“Impossible,” Cagres said, “you haven’t aged a day up in that tower.”
“Come with me,” Olawart said to Ivan, “I'm not the only wizard who heard this book fall into your hands. A new chapter of our world has begun, and I’m afraid we’re nowhere near prepared to survive it. Come, now.”
Olawart was already crossing back to the door he came through. Ivan ran after him. Cagres looked on. He turned to the sword master, “Tell the emperor what happened.”
“He still hasn’t returned from Foxpus Isle. Nasty weather these past few days.”
“Send a hawk,” Cagres said with impatience. “I’m going to check on Smett.”
In the wizard’s tower, Ivan did as he was told and found a place to sit among the tower's old tomes, and tables cluttered with mysterious artifacts.
Perched on the windowsill were three birds who chattered among themselves like old friends. Olawart shushed them and they fell silent. One threw its head back in protest before diving off the ledge into the cool morning air.
Olawart dropped the book in front of Ivan and turned his back to him.
“Read the first page,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” Ivan recoiled, “I want to keep my eyes.”
“You will. The book is your servant. It will keep your secrets – so long as you keep its secrets – and it will punish anyone else who tries to read it. No more waiting. Open it.”
Ivan shielded his eyes and, with one of his massive, meaty fingers, he gingerly opened to the front page. He peeked through his other hand and saw one sentence there. He relaxed.
“There’s something here on the first page, just a few words.”
“Yes.”
Ivan waited.
“Well?”
“Should I turn the page?”
Ostwald stomped his foot.
“Read it, you ape!”
Ivan peered at the words, squinted his eyes. His whole demeaner changed. His palms started to sweat and he scratched his head. He began murmering to himself.
“Louder!” Olawart was ready to hurl Ivan off the tower.
Ivan went louder. “M-muh, meeh…” his voice trailed off. Ostawald’s shoulders fell.
Ivan swallowed. His mouth was dry.
“Ivan,” Olawart said.
“I can’t,” Ivan responded.
“Close the book,” Olawart commanded. Ivan did and Olawart spun round to face him.
“You can’t read this language?”
“No.”
“Then we will find a translator. This is deeply unsettling. Why would a manifested book come to someone in a foreign tongue? I must research…”
“No, I mean... I can’t… read,” Ivan said.
“Anything?”
Ivan’s entire body, the enormous shoulders and thick forearms, stiffened. He bowed his head and his voice wavered.
“I can’t read anything.”
He started to cry. “My brain just can’t do it. My tutors always gave up. I pretend.”
Olawart glared at the boy, but the heaving, shuddering figure was so pathetic, he couldn’t stay angry. His brow unfurled and he put an arm across the boy’s back.
“I won’t give up,” Olawart said. | Emani clutched a bag of beans and rice close to her chest, lowered her head, stepped from the rations tent and into the storm. The rain bit like mosquitoes at her face and forearms, driven into a frenzy by the sudden gale. Her dress, once vibrant greens and pinks, was now as drained of life as her, muted colors all bordering on grey. It whipped and whirled around her shins, fighting itself into a knot.
The camp was vast, as big as any city Emani had visited. She’d been here three weeks now, sharing a tent with a family that spoke a different language and mostly ignored her. And she ignored them in return. But the tent had been big enough to throw her in with them, so in she‘d been thrown.
Now, head down against the wind — neck exposed to the ice-cold chill of the horizontal rain, skimming like razors — she headed east towards the chainlink fence. There were no street names in the camp, or if there were she didn’t know them. So she went by landmarks. By American flags, by Mexican flags, by tents as big as castles, by tents that were now missing and replaced by ashes after fires. She went by the smell of flatbread cooking, or the stink of feces and urine in those makeshift toilet-areas that were really just overflowing holes.
She missed her dog very much today. She missed her dad, too, but for some reason, lately, she missed her dog an awful lot. And not even the affection — not him jumping up at her with mud-stained paws and an oil-wet tongue. It was the need she missed. Him needing her to walk him or feed him or bathe him. Dad didn’t need her like that, and she missed being needed.
A siren wailed over the camp, stretched thin by the wind, and she thought of home at the very end — of bombs and blood and limbs. She thought of her father at the airport, last time she’d seen him, corralling her through the gate, smiling, crying, pushing. She’d been fifteen and hadn’t wanted to leave but he’d promised her he’d find her. And she’d promised him he’d go, if that was what he wanted.
She followed the chainlink as far as the circular medical tent, its fabric base whipped up into an evil grin by the storm. She thought of her leg, the wound‘s rotten colouring. She didn’t think of the attack by a guard that had led to the wound and it was best to keep that event in a dark cage in a dark place inside her mind.
The medical tent was zip locked. Worried about the storm, she guessed. Even if she’d finally had the courage to go in there again, she wouldn’t have been able to tonight.
Drenched through, last of her dress’s dye dripped into puddles, her leg screaming in a silent guttural voice, she finally stumbled into her own tent.
The family she shared with watched her. The mother was cooking something with no smell in a pot. The husband played cards with the son — only their game had paused as Emani limped in and fell onto her mattress.
She wasn’t sure if sleep took her, or delirium, or if she just fell unconscious. But a moment after collapsing she was dreaming. She dreamed of her dog. Then she dreamed of a man with a gun who handed her a spade and told her to dig. Then, once done, with her leg zombie-green, she willingly climbed into the hole. She clawed at the sides of the pit, dragging clumps of sodden soil over her, filling the hole until the light darkened and—
She woke to the boy pushing her shoulder. He said something but she didn’t understand.
Sweat soaked her back and forehead.
The boy smiled and held out a pot of something. The odourless whatever that his mother had been cooking.
He pushed it towards her and repeated two words she didn’t understand. Then he Hmmd and said, “Bon appete?”
This she did just about understand. She looked over the boy’s shoulder. The parents, eyes on her, nodded.
She nodded in return and took the bowl and ate. The steam melted the ice in her belly and brought some feeling back into her toes and heart. Outside, the gale whispered then screamed, whispered then screamed. The tent snapped and shuddered.
She ate slowly. The boy watched. It was a broth of beans and rice — same rations as hers — only with a slight-spiced sauce drowning it. She ate every mouthful. The boy took the bowl and she said thanks in English.
She slept again. Then woke. The boy was near her. He held something now. A book.
Ah, her book. But he wouldn’t understand the writing inside it.
It was her diary. She didn’t hide it as no one here spoke her language.
The boy hadn’t opened it, just held it. He offered it out to her.
”My father gave it to me, before I left,” she explained. She pointed at the boy’s father, then at the book. “When I turned fifteen.“
He seemed to understand. Or at least, he nodded.
In her family, when her brothers had turned fifteen they were each given a weapon they had been trained for. A rifle. A pistol. A rifle. And then they joined the rebellion and—
Her father said he wouldn’t lose his last child. That instead he would give her a weapon that was also a shield. That would protect her and that would still help her defeat her enemies.
It had been a blank book and a fountain pen that she had no ink for.
She made her own ink out of a mix of oil and water and plants. Boiled, poured into a container.
The book seemed neither a shield nor a weapon to her. But she wrote in it because her father had gifted it to her. She recorded her experiences, even if she didn’t have the stomach to read them again once written. She read books, when she could, to see how other people wrote, to learn english, to improve her own writing.
She didn’t know it then, but one day she’d write a book that would be a weapon. And it would be a shield too, for many others just like her. That would change laws and help stop the bombings that had driven her here.
“You could write in it too,” she said to the boy. “There’s plenty of room. Can you write? I could teach you a little English, maybe. Although I’m still learning it too.”
The mother came over then. Pointed at her leg. Said something sharp.
”I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Emani.
The woman took a bottle and needle out of a little bag.
”Clean,” the boy said in broken english. He pointed at the wound.
Emani hadn’t cried since the assault. Maybe not since coming here at all.
But as the woman tended to her injury, she wept for everything all at once. For her dog. For her Dad. For her country and for the world, and most of all, for herself. It was as if the icecaps had melted and the sea levels risen and water had drowned the little island of isolation and denial that she’d created.
Outside, the storm had finally died down, and a quiet, velvet dusk tucked itself into the tent. | 2021-12-12T07:54:23 | 2021-12-12T07:50:28 | 338 | 66 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane. | *"How are you still here, mortal? I have been tormenting your kind since you first sought shelter in caves. None have endured two nights of this torment, and yet you remain?!"*
"Oh hey, so I guess you're the landlord. Any chance you could look at the plumbing? I found this dope bathroom yesterday that was somehow outside and at night, and the stars kept moving, but the water temperature was kinda janky?"
*"You bathed in the Waters of Um'slaad, and survived? Were you not beset by phantoms of your past bent on your unmaking?"*
"I mean yeah man; it was a bit strange. But the last place I had the hot water had been out for like a month, so I'll take what I can get. The cockroach situation in the kitchen isn't exactly ideal either, but at least these ones could talk; we've made a deal about leftovers and they seem pretty chill."
*"You've made an... arrangement with the Leng Roach King?"*
"I guess. Look, it's obvious that this place is a bit of a fixer upper, but dude, I work retail. A place like this on the upper east side that I can afford by myself? I’d expected it to be some weird scam or organ harvesting operation. I see weirder stuff than infinitely long corridors and carpets made of tongue by 9.30 most days."
*"I can see your mind unfolded like one of your pathetic two-dimensional maps. I see the tattered edges and holes burned of madness as landmarks on the city of your soul. And yet you are sane? This is not possible. "*
"Like I said dude, I’ve worked retail for ten years. If you can’t keep it together then you won’t make it past the first holiday. I can fit the whole of my last apartment inside that room with the curved floor and huge sphere of mercury, I can walk to work, the other roommates only want to drink my blood occasionally, and I won’t have to sell any of it to pay the rent… this is a sweet deal dude. "
*"This cannot be. You are anathema! Leave this place, and never return!"*
"No way dude. I know my rights. You are the one who put a snake eating itself in the shape of the infinity symbol in the term of the rental agreement. I’m paying $450 a month till I’ve got enough put aside to buy a place, and in this economy that could be a while. If you don’t like it, you can file a complaint with the rent control board and find out what true existential horror is like." | "Have you not read Harry Potter?"
**WE ARE IT THAT LINGERS BETWEEN STARS—**
"There were movies, too, if that helps. Seven or eight or something. Stairs and rooms moving all over the place in there. They've been broadcasting on television for probably twenty years now, so if you are in fact Lingering Between Stars, they've probably invaded your space somehow."
**WE DO NOT—**
"No worries. I get you. Ancient eldritch whoziwatsis. Probably part of some prophecy. Probably going to tell me I'm the Chosen One of that prophecy because I've lasted 72-plus hours. Which, I will have you know, would deeply interfere with my *strong* desire to eat tacos and chill at any given moment."
**MORTAL—**
"Actually—can we chat about the 'Mortal' thing? I respect you, I respect where you're coming from. I get it. It's tough to step down to my level. But, like, I have a name, you know what it is. I use *your* name, [INCOMPREHENSIBLE WALL OF SOUND]. Can we use mine? It's like a courtesy thing."
**CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER FOR A SECOND?**
"What?"
**WE ARE HUGE FANS OF HARRY POTTER. A TRILLION TRILLION OF OUR MINDS ARE HUFFLEPUFFS.**
"..."
**WE BUILT THIS PLACE SO THAT WE COULD HAVE A MORTAL—APOLOGIES—A NEW CONSCIOUSNESS TO TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER WITH. IN TRUE HUFFLEPUFF FASHION, WE ARE ALL ABOUT OUR FRIENDS.**
"Okay... "
**BUT ALL THE OTHER CONSCIOUSNESSES WE'VE RENTED THIS BUILDING TO HAVE READ 'HOUSE OF LEAVES', SO THEY HAVE A TERRIFYING EXISTENTIAL CRISIS AND THEN LEAVE. WHICH, WE-BETWEEN-STARS GET IT, BUT IT IS STILL SOMEWHAT OF A DOWNER.**
"You know that J. K. Rowling's said some really dumb stuff on her Twitter lately, right?"
**THAT, TOO, IS A DOWNER.**
"No kidding."
**BUT WE-BETWEEN-STARS HOLD FAST TO THE BELIEF THAT A WORK CAN TRANSCEND ITS AUTHOR, AND THE JOY SHE HAS BROUGHT INTO THIS WORLD WILL NOT BE DIMMED BY HER BELIEFS LATER IN LIFE.**
"... You know, I think I can get behind that."
**WE ARE GLAD. THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING, MORTAL—SORRY—DAVE.**
"No problem! Hey, [I'm going to have to get to work tomorrow,](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/srxku3/wp_youve_been_to_thousands_maybe_even_millions_of/hwv7ht7/) but I do have a question... "
**WHAT IS THAT? OH, THIS IS SO EXCITING.**
"You know how in the books, Harry's supposed to have green eyes, but in the movies, they're only green for that one scene in the first one? What was up with that?"
**THAT IS ACTUALLY A FASCINATING BIT OF TRIVIA. YOU SEE...** | 2022-05-29T10:10:04 | 2022-05-29T08:27:04 | 226 | 165 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | A marine stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked forward into the clearing, and saw an exotic hut surrounded by plots of abandoned farmland.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He peered around, and was greeted by plains as far as the eyes could see.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He fell six feet onto gravel, and saw unfamiliar silhouettes carrying lumber across the scenic village.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He blinked in confusion, thoroughly befuddled by the sight of a sixteen-foot bronze statue of his platoon commander.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He slowly lifted his gaze, awed by the kaleidoscopic sunlight shining through the cathedral windows.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He caught his breath, finding himself facing a steam locomotive roaring past at amazing speeds.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked around, then cursed James for sending him to New York.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He barely caught a glimpse of the fireball that engulfed him.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He desperately clawed at the terrain, but saw only barren earth.
The last marine took a minute to set the wormhole generator on auto-shutoff, and stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest. | Michael was the final one to step through the portal. His mind jolted as space bent and distance became as malleable as clay. But this jaunt was different. There was a moment where everything seemed to slow, then accelerate again. He blinked as he took in his new surroundings. A roar met him, a cacophony of incredible force. His eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine, and he found himself standing within an immense amphitheater filled with thousands upon thousands of insectoid creatures. They roared in what he could only interpret as approval. He pulled up his rifle and sighted on the nearest. "What the hell is going on?" He seemed to be adorned in more regalia than the others and placated some of the smaller panicking ones with soothing clicks and whistles. He turned to Michael and spoke, with a throat that clearly struggled with task.
"Are you the Michael? We've been expecting you. I have learned the language of the Creators so that I may talk to you. Your arrival heralds the beginning of a new age"
Michael's spun with the revelation, then looked into the distance. He realised that around the huge stadium, 100 foot high walls were covered with vast masterpieces depicting his squad. He blinked, and saw in the distance huge monoliths depicting all of them, obsidian statues reaching into the sky. He looked back at the creature.
"Do you think I am a God?"
"No, you are the herald. Are you the last one?"
"Well, yeah, I'm the last of the squad. Where are they-"
He was cut off as the creature turned back to the populace and gestured with clicks and whistles. As one, they rose and turned on each other. The race tore itself apart, slaughtering each other. The marine could not take what he was seeing. He turned away, then screamed at the first creature.
"Why? what is happening?"
The creature smiled at him serenely.
"You signify the end of ages, the end of all things. We do this to appease you."
In the distance the statues began to fall. | 2014-09-02T10:07:22 | 2014-09-02T09:28:14 | 342 | 198 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | "Mommy, mommy tell me again the story about the twelve gods"
Sigh "ok sweetie but then its time for bed ok"
"Ok, so long ago there were twelve gods, and while they all knew each other they did not live at the same time, legends said that they just sprang into existence one day, the first god named Randy was saddened that his brothers did not join him, so he set out to make the land more enjoyable for his brothers, however even with all his work his brothers refused to show, after a while he discovered us, and taught us his language, this was the beginning of the first age."
"The first god took it upon himself to teach us how to build a society, the work was slow and some tribes choose another path, but we flourished, within decades a village was erected that would eventually become the city of Gateway, but while the first god was powerful he was not immortal, before he died he made laws and a prophecy, he proclaimed his brothers would visit our world, he could not tell us when only that they would need and provide guidance."
"The second god arrived fourteen years later, and while the village still thrived many had forgotten the first gods rules, when the second god arrived he was distraught, we brought him into the village and showed him the sacred texts, when he wished to see the first gods body some of the younger generation fought him, only to be struck down by thunder, while he calmed down after seeing the first gods body he also got more and more depressed, he had missed his brother, and arrived to soon for his other brothers to join him."
"It was late at night when the second god left, he spend the next few years in the jungles surrounding the village, hunters would occasionally see him, and tell story's about the beasts that he brought down, he was revered as a master of the hunt, and many of the techniques we still use today were created by him, after many years he returned to the village, behind him was a species that was normally aggressive, but for some reason he obeyed the hunters every command, the hunters remaining years were spend training other hunters and more of what he called pets."
"Mommy how did the second god die?"
"No one knows sweetie, one day he undertook a solo hunt and never returned, some say he still hunts the plains to this very day."
"Now the third god, he ......' | "You got a smoke?" I ask Juarez, "just staring at this thing freaks me out." I say gesturing toward the large metal doorway that seems to lead straight into the darkness of hell.
"It's a portal man, didn't you pay any attention during the briefing?" Juarez passes a cigarette over my shoulder. I put the military issue lighter to use and exhale some of my trepidations away. I see several of the specialists ahead of me staring straight ahead, unwavering, as if they have done this a thousand times before. I feel as though I'm doing my first atmospheric jump.
Juarez is the only one I knew before the briefing, we did two tours on Mars during the uprising of colony eight. What a mess that was.
"You getting in your head again man? You gotta be calm during these things." He says as the squad leader begins coming down the line.
"Attention!" Captain Morris begins, and everyone straightens up. "Today we are going to take another step into the unknown, as you all know, we are traveling to Kelper-186f, it is 490 light years from our solar system and we will be making the trip in the blink of an eye. Our mission is to secure the perimeter and set up a return portal. Supply's will arrive one hour after Thompson had breached the portal."
"Hoorah!" I say in unison with everyone else and Captain Morris makes his way towards the portal and is consumed by the black abyss. The line begins to shuffle forward.
"Here take the pack," Juarez nudges my shoulder, "I'm not going to be able to get them there man, so I should just quit now." Somehow he has always managed to lighten the mood. I put the cigarettes into my left cargo pocket.
Four marines through, so far it seems painless. Three more, then it's my turn. I puff on my cigarette trying to kill it before it's my turn. I put the cigarette out on my boot, flick it through the portal, which gets a few looks from the white coats behind the computers, and turn to Juarez. "See you on the other side." I close my helmet and turn towards the void.
Everything goes white.
That looks familiar I think as what looks like stone quickly fills my vision. I put my hands out to brace myself, but I'm already on the ground. I start to get up, but my body feels tired. Everything has a dull ache. My willpower kicks in and I turn over then sit up.
As I take in my surroundings I see what looks like a vast expanse of rock that stretches in every direction. I look for any signs of habitation and I find it right below my feet. In a hole that seems to be blasted out of the earth sits a metallic object. As I pick it up, I realize it is Coopers dog tag, it seems to be slightly bent and has some sort of black marking on it. I turn it over, and it is slightly more legible on this side.
It reads "run." | 2014-09-02T14:24:23 | 2014-09-02T10:00:19 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | The man at the desk looks up at me, and says in a deep voice.
"You get a pick of a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven or a wooden spoon."
"I'll take the vacation," I say confidently.
"I wouldn't pick that is I were you," Deep voice guy replies.
"I'll will still take the vacation," I reply.
Immediately I am transported to the pearly gates. I look around at all of the other people that chose the vacation. I also notice lots of tents with plenty of holes in them. I walk up to a guy in his thirties.
"We can't get in, right?" I ask.
"Sure as hell we can't," he replies.
"Well, that's just great." I mumble sarcastically to myself.
"Oh yeah, you have to go inside those gates over there for it to count as your time," he tells me while pointing over to a sign labeled heaven with gates around it.
"This just keeps getting better," I think to myself.
| It took days (or months, or years, one can never really be sure here) of waiting, but I finally made it to the front of the line at one of the few open desks that formed a line along the back wall of the gigantic cavern in which I found myself after my death. To my left and right, for as far as my eyes could percieve, souls waited in lines at boothes just like mine. The old man waiting on the other end of the both spoke quietly.
"Here is the deal kid, you can get one. A small wooden spoon, or a trillion year vacation in Heaven."
"Well that is easy, I choose heaven."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Very. I'll take the hundred trillion years in heaven, no doubt about it."
The old looking man behind the desk leaned in to me, and lowered his voice even further. "Please thing about this carefully kid, you only get to choose once. You will be stuck here until the end of time itself."
He waited for a response, but I had none to give.
"Listen son, I am trying to help you out here. This choice isn't nearly as meaningless as you think it is."
"Very well," I slowly concluded, "I choose the spoon."
The old man at the desk began to cackle. His skin slowly turned red and monstrous as horns sprouted from his forehead. The cavern around me faded, and then the world turned black.
I woke in a small prison cell, the space dominated by 4 bunk beds. "Hey look!" one of my fellow inmates shouted, "Another sucker!". In his left hand was a tiny wooden spoon. | 2015-06-07T21:46:36 | 2015-06-07T21:20:43 | 58 | 25 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | It had been a good day; I'd had a nice lunch (three cattle) and was settling down for an afternoon nap. Then I heard the footprints. They always think that because I'm huge I can't notice small things, and they can sneak up on me. That one guy, dressed in black with a curved sword, did actually make it pretty far, but he had extra soft boots. And still, I heard him coming.
But this was different. No clinking of armor. And the echo was clearly someone walking down the middle of the main passage, instead of sticking toward the side. And walking regularly, instead of in quick bursts, like someone sneaking from safe spot to another. Either this was the most overly-confident and foolish knight in all of existence, or he was just lost. Then he called my name.
"Hello? Is this the home of Valgraud the Destroyer? I'm---"
Turning the corner, and seeing me laying on my pile of treasure, he paused, both in his walking and his speaking. Then he continued, "Um, yes, I see that I'm in the right place. My name is Thomas, and I've brought you some gold." He threw a coin into the pile. "I have a proposition for you."
This was not something I was used to. Usually they try to steal my gold. Sometimes they promise me gold if only I do something for them. I eat them. I chose not to eat this one.
I fixed him with a stare: "Your money has bought you five minutes of life. Use them wisely, and you may get more."
He looked nervous. That was nice; they taste better when there's some adrenaline in the blood. He said "Well, you see, you like gold, and I know a way to get you lots of gold. Not as much as you've got here, I admit. But still, you'd have more gold than you do now."
I nodded at him, and said "Yes, and what's in it for you? Going to keep some of the gold, are you?"
"Oh, no," he said, "I don't actually care about gold that much. I care about stories. And people care about stories. They like stories so much they'll trade gold for them. I want stories, and I want to share them with people for their money. And I'll bring the gold to you."
I decided he'd get a couple more minutes. "Go on," I said.
"I'm a writer. I want you to tell me your stories, stories of thousands of years of history that nobody knows anymore, and I'll write them down. You'll get full credit, of course, I'm not a plagiarist. But then I'll go and tell the stories to people from what I've written down, and collect the money, and bring the money back to you. I was hoping for maybe two or three hours' worth, and then I'll travel around for a year or so, and bring back all the money, and then we can get a few hours' more written down. I don't want the gold. I just want to tell stories."
This sounded wrong, to me. "Why would a writer be satisfied working as a scribe? If you want stories, you can just make them up. There is something you're not telling me. **Truth, now!**"
He looked terrified. Words started spilling out of him. "People hate my stories. My stories stink. I need good stories."
He sat down, looking dejected. "I'm a terrible writer. I've tried to write my own stories, but I have no sense of pacing and I always get started and then can't figure out where the plot should go. And all the characters end up being versions of me." He kicked at the gold. "I lied when I said people hate my stories. They *would* hate my stories, if my stories were interesting enough to bother hating. Mostly they just don't pay attention at all." He sighed. "When I said I was coming here, people said I'd get killed. I tried to blow it off, but the fact is that I'd rather get eaten than go on as I was, a failure at the only thing I ever cared about."
This was pathetic. I considered eating him, but "pathetic" tastes lousy.
He shrugged. "So, what'll it be? I brought some paper, I can write down some stuff right now. I'll leave you alone for about a year, tell the stories as many places as I can, and bring back all the gold that I collect. If you're happy with how much it is, you can give me more stories. If you're not, I guess you can eat me."
I considered his proposal. Then I ate him. Why should he get famous telling my stories?
| 'I am the mighty Al'Kathum, the great green dragon of the glade. I have lived for thousands of years, building up a hoard of uncountable wealth. Of course, having a seemingly unending source of cash tends to attract a rather undesirable crowd. At least once a week, my slumber will be broken by an incompetent crowd of loonies who think that the magic sword they were given by the lady of the lake entitles them to my treasure.
Of course, one quick puff of fire and they soon learn that some watery tart in a pond distributing swords is no basis for determining their entitlement to *my* belongings. Unfortunately, they only have about a second to dwell on their idiocy before I take the most valuable objects from their charred backpacks. I think I should look into finding a new cave, but I've lived here for several thousand years, the humans only came here a few hundred years ago.
But, I can't complain, my life is pretty simple here. Some humans have taken to offering me tributes in the form of food and gold. I tried saying that it wasn't necessary but they were to afraid of me to understand me. No matter, though, my hoard is growing and I have no need to hunt. The nuisance of the heroes is just a minor concession.
My musings were cut short by a soft *clink*, and then another and as I turned my head I saw the most peculiar thing. Before me stood a human knight. Unlike the heroes of before, he was giving me money. He reached into a coin purse and one by one he threw the coins onto my hoard.
"I see I have your attention, oh mighty Al'Kathum," the hero paused his movements to look me in the eye.
I sighed, smoke rising from my nostrils. I haven't seen this act in a hundred years, but it's still just as boring as ever. Usually the "lone" hero tries to charm me with words while a few mages, archers and rogues sneak in for a surprise attack. But he had my interest with his next sentence.
"I have a rather lucrative proposition for you," he said slowly, "you see, there's this princess. Princess Blythe, I believe her name is. Anyway, I seem to have picked up a reputation as a rather, *ahem*, ineffective knight. So I got to thinking. I've put my family's wealth to use a built a tower, nice and secluded over here."
He pulled out a map and pointed to a location a few miles south of my tower and east of what I assumed was the kingdom where this princess lived. "Anyway, my plan is simple. I wish to impress the princess and the king so that I may receive her hand in marriage. And I need your help."
Ah, so he seeks a boon. Often I will get members of the cult who worships me coming in and asking for such a thing. Usually they ask for enhanced strength or magic, and they always offer something meager like the rest of their lifetime in servitude. Do they not know that their lifetimes are as short to me as the days are to them?
"I get the feeling that you're not easily persuaded," the man continued. Why hasn't he left me to my slumber yet? Can he not see that I care not for his problems? "So let me sweeten the deal. If you kidnap the princess and put on a show while I rescue her, I will give you a portion of the treasury in taxes each year. I will use the wealth and might of my nation to serve you as a vassal kingdom. Just imagine walking through a hallway made of gold, lined with precious gems and filled with all manner of priceless goods."
I guess he does know how what he's doing. Over the remainder of the day, he outlined his plans for the "main event" as he called it. I would occasionally remark about the folly of some ideas. (I mean, carrying the princess in my mouth? What kind of barbarism is that?) Eventually, however, we worked out a plan that seemed to work out for the both of us. I would be intimidating and strike fear into everyone while he would be a legend among men.
A few weeks later, I flew out and kidnapped the princess, hiding her in the tower. Some knights of the kingdom arrived and they were easily incapacitated, minor casualties for the sake of appearing evil. Eventually, the knight from the cave arrived, gave a flashy speech and then we got down to "fighting". Eventually I flew away while he gave chase, and then he rescued the princess.
A few years later he visited me with a caravan loaded with gold and gemstones. "This is the first tribute from the kingdom of Kathum'Rei," he said, "already, we are conquering the neighboring nations and adding their wealth to our own. The next few years will be very profitable, oh Great One."
Then he left, returning on the same day of each year with loaded wagons of gold. This whole kidnapping thing seemed to be pretty lucrative, so one day I started getting to work, kidnapping princesses (and the occasional prince) in return for ransoms or vassalage.
I am the mighty Al'Kathum, actor for hire. For only the low price of-'
The old wizard waved his hand and the image on the scrying screen disappeared. "Bloody informercials," he muttered, "that's the last time I buy one of these at a discount."
***
*I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you liked this story, you should head on over to /r/WritingThePunLife. There's not a lot there (I only started it yesterday) but you'll probably enjoy some of my other stories.* | 2015-10-13T19:21:05 | 2015-10-13T17:20:57 | 376 | 271 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends. | Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
| "Your species is now affected by the Anti-Natalism modifier:
Every 10 points above the average IQ makes it 10% more likely for an individual to refuse to have children and 50% more likely to have children past their primetime (makes it more likely to develop negative status modifiers)."
God closed the pop-up and sighed heavily. "Great, now it will take at least another hundred years, before I can even think about having my first psionic mutants emerge. I probably should have just gone the genetic engineering route, instead of speccing for passives and hope for some random mutations to occur."
God thought back in time. He didn't have much luck with random events. He started with good starting conditions. He had a planet perfectly calibrated for life forms, rich of all kinds of ressources and his custom-created species:
The neanderthals.
He made sure to give them lots of survivability, pain & fear resistance, endurance and strenght. They also had a bit of psionic potential and he hoped that coupled with a high sex-drive, his species would quickly develop psyonic powers, giving it a strong rush potential. He scarificed some points in intelligence for that unusual strategy, but if it worked out Megatron and Loatheb's typical and boring high intelligence build would have nothing against his psionic warriors.
It worked out well, until another stupid random event fucked it all over. A sibling species emerged and instead of eradicating them completly like they were bloody hell supposed to, his neanderthals just enslaved them and kept them as sex slaves.
God almost cried when he saw all the starting advantages slowly disappear over the years of interbreeding. Gone was the fear and pain immunity. Gone was the natural high strenght, which now only can be achieved by years of training coupled with artifical hormones his warrior race were supposed to have naturally.
Psionic potential was extremely limited with a proc chance of only 0.00001% per year to develop a mutation which unlocks it in his species. It was just enough left that people continued the shaman tradition of the neanderthals, but instead of actually having psionic power they only pretend to have them or get insane enough to believe they have them.
But God wasn't one to give up. Megatron and Loatheb left his species mostly in peace, except for the occasional griefing like dropping a few pyramids down here and there and use the stunted psionic receptors to make people hear voices and start cults or become politicans. God just has to play the waiting game, it won't be too long before his species will discover genetic engineering by themselves and he can start showing Megatron and Loatheb's weak, skinny, little green nerds what a real warrior species looks like. After all the potential of their ancestors is still there. | 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T07:26:51 | 1,980 | 158 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | I watched as Spencer danced around on the rooftop, his hair as always sticking out at wild angles and his skinny jeans seemingly painted on. He was cheering as another flash of lightning lit up the night and another meteor like object began its descent.
"Yes! Fucking 'ave it lad!" he yelled pointing to the firery streak. It had been like this for a few hours now, them falling to the cold earth and us sat quietly watching, most of us anyway. Spencer was unable to contain his excitement, he had been telling me for years that "The Underground" would win that "The Man" would be toppled from his ivory tower. The Demon laughed again as the falling body impacted and left a small crater in the street below, a crowd already beginning to gather.
"We should get down there mate" he said slipping easily into the next chair and lighting another cig. "Angel bones are all manner of useful, we could pick a few up and stash em away, not to mention feathers." Kicking his feet up onto the cheap plastic table he turned his dark eyes skyward "Come on you bastards send us another one down" he shouted to the night.
"So you guys finally did it, ousted The Man, toppled God. How long before the ground splits open and the legions spill forth?" I asked taking another swig of my warm beer, we had had a heatwave for going on a week now and I had forgotten what a delight cold beer was.
"You have got yourself a dramatic and boundless imagination there mate." Spence sighed "Do you really believe all that Hollywood bollocks, goat skulls and cults and the ground ripping open to swallow humanity" The Demon wearing my old friends face looked thoughtful for a second "Well, I will admit to seeing a goat skull or two in my time and yes we do have our little cults here and there but the whole iconography and symbolism has been completely blown out of proportion. The media have crafted this nice little of pill of colloquialisms and connotations that they shove down your gob, that's what they want you to think its all about." He gave me a pitying look "Besides mate, it ain't us you have to worry about, because it ain't us that's done this" He leaned back, eyes skyward as another angel fell. | The angel of death stood on the viewing platform of the Empire State building, watching his brethren fall with glazed eyes. He felt it too; the sharp pain in every one of his nerves, the searing heat of Hell opening, the terror, as everything did not go to plan. He got distracted by the screams below, and the immortal flesh of his left arm turned black with rot. It took all he could muster to bring it back to a dull, sickening grey. A legion of heavenly angels screamed and fell to Earth, on fire with red, unholy flames, and leaving a smoke trail as black as sin. Death sighed. He felt selfish. The demon-spawn of Lucifer were attacking Heaven and Earth, and the rising death tolls in both were keeping him alive, if just barely. God and the archangels had left to deal with His Darkness himself, but they were gone, Death felt it.
An immense heat and a dull throbbing appeared behind him. Leaning against the railing, he turned on weak legs and smiled with yellow teeth at the monster before him.
"God," It spoke, "is dead. But I suppose you already knew that, didn't you? I mean, I'd understand if you were in denial, or if you started drinking, but we all have to grow up and face the facts. For example, I lost my Father when I was very young, because he shunned me and my (It gestured vaguely, and took on the corporeal form of Anton Lavey) liberal ideas."
Death snorted, and grimaced. "You weren't liberal, you were evil! You killed for sport and ruined humanity! You broke God's heart! You were his favourite! He loved you and you took that gift and threw it all away to have fun! He banished you instead of killing you because he loved you!"
Lucifer rolled his eyes, and the New World Trade Center crumbled down. "He just saw me as a way to achieve his means. He used me and mine and the prison he built for me as a way to gain power without cheating, as if lying's any better. God," he chuckled, "no pun intended, but he was an idiot thinking I'd just play along with his plan. 'Intelligent design' my arse."
Death trembled, and puked blood. He was too tired to speak, and he let his muscles atrophy. His skin began to flake away, and his last image was Lucifer, standing over him, shaking his head, grinning like an idiot.
When he was certain Death had died, Lucifer took the angel's skull and drew a small vial of blood from a hidden pocket. He dabbed his finger, and drew his centuries old sigil on the forehead. "Luciferi excelci nomine dei nostri satanas," he laughed, and he threw the skull to the pavement below.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Damn autocorrect | 2016-07-19T08:04:43 | 2016-07-19T07:14:04 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer. | "We're receiving an anomalous transmission from the Tau Ceti system," the radio telescope's civilian specialist said, barely containing his excitement. He waved her over to the console with the look of a kid finding a present on Christmas morning.
"Report," she instructed, wondering if this might be the big one.
"It's definitely not a missile, it's way too far away for that. When I picked it up it was estimated at nearly 10^93 lightyears away, but look at it now! It's closed nearly 10^80 of those in the last five minutes!" When she gave him an unimpressed look, he indignantly explained: "That means it's moving faster than light!"
*10^93. That can't be a coincidence.* She surreptitiously slid her cell phone out from her trouser pocket and unlocked the screen with her thumb. Furtively glancing at the still-open Tinder tab, she checked her chat history and immediately saw what she was looking for.
Bb u up?
Mayb y?
U want me 2 hit that?
Idk your pic just look like a bunch of tentacles or something
U dont like that?
Mayb ;) I'm working now
When u ready for this?
U close?
Not really but Imma make a trip for that ass
K ;) meet me near the NORAD array in 30 mins
She grimaced, checking the mysterious match's profile one more time. It had said 10^93 lightyears when that conversation started - that had to be a joke, right? Her heart sank when she saw that it was down to 10^5 . She locked the phone and slid it back into her pocket.
"I've got to go, I have, uh, urgent business elsewhere," she said, edging toward the door.
"Wait! Whatever it is it can't be more urgent than this! We've decoded an audio transmission, listen! I'll put it on the loudspeaker."
It was faint at first, and crackly, but a deep voice was chanting something on the other end. It sounded otherworldly, almost maddening, as though a chorus of angels were laughing in hell. The same two words kept repeating, drawing her in with dark seduction from beyond space and time...
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY**
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY** | Have you ever chickened out on an opportunity, out of pure, craven, abject fear, certain to live a life of regret over missing out... and then, in hindsight, are glad you did?
For me: many times. No credit to myself, though; I never learn. But Nina has been there so many times, pulling me back from the edge of the cliff, beyond which waited a Nigerian prince, or ground floor opportunity, or hot young thing that's just my type (read: combination of catnip, MDMA and kryptonite. Literally. OK, no, figuratively.)
And here was Nina again, sipping a sensible green tea, pouring cold water on the first promising Tinder match that had come along in who knows how long.
"Is that a real pic?"
"I did image search, nothing came up. But just... something about those eyes. That expression. Like maybe this one will cause a little trouble but not too much."
"So: at about 9:30, how far away?"
"10^93 light-years. At first I thought it was a bug. Or maybe she was on the sun."
"That's 93 million miles. A little bit closer."
I punched her shoulder. "Duh. I know. Most PMs were once engineers."
She laughed. "Way back in the day. So: how far away now?"
"10^5. Getting closer."
"More like jammed on the brakes. 10^93 minus 10^5 is basically 10^93. If she didn't slow down, she'd already be here, and we'd be vaporized."
"Oh shit. Relativistic weapon basically."
"Yeah. And there are a few other questions: how can GPS peg a location off-earth, and not even inside low earth orbit?"
I waved my hands; this was quite a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff. "Mayyybe the GPS sats are high-powered enough with spaceward antennas that pick up her location. But it would take 10^186 years for that signal to return."
Nina nodded. "And, since 10^93 ly is about the diameter of the observable universe, that means that unless we're on the other edge, she's coming in from outside." She considered this. "And that's not your biggest concern."
"What is?"
"As you approach the speed of light, your relativistic mass increases. To infinity. Meaning, she's probably a lot heavier in real life than her picture."
The grin drained from my face as I swiped left. "Nina, you've always got my back."
"I don't know why." She sipped her tea and arched a single eyebrow. You know, if I could only find someone like her: cute, smart, just the right amount of sarcastic, and pragmatic as hell... that would be a good match. And she was about 10^-17 light years distant. But this mutual friendzoning was another one of her admittedly good ideas. I put the phone away and looked for something good on TV. | 2016-12-23T09:25:29 | 2016-12-23T09:05:39 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] The Devil appears before you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder, "Look, we need to talk about you putting me in every Writing Prompt." | “But why me?” Satan sounded almost pathetic asking me that, but I was still intimidated. "There are so many other characters you could choose. So many topics.”
“We could submit anything, but you have to understand, the most interesting topics never get read.” I opened up Reddit on my browser to show him the site.
Satan sat reading through popular prompts over the past month. Finally he looked at me, “You know, nobody has ever seen numbers over people’s heads. Even the most advanced synesthesia doesn’t produce numbers of those sorts. Why is that so popular?"
He kept reading. “Time travel is physically impossible. And even if you could travel back in time, timelines can’t be changed or broken. Killing Hitler would be impossible.”
The criticisms kept coming from Satan. “Intelligence sharing makes it very unlikely many government agencies would have undercover agents tripping over each other…. Queen Elizabeth is old, but isn’t some sort of ancient witch. Plenty of people with good access to healthcare live to her age. Why do people have conspiracies about that?…. What’s up with all these implausible theories for how the world ends? Have they not read the book of Revelations? It says it pretty clearly there…. Harry Potter isn’t even that interesting of a character. Hermione does all the work….”
Finally, having gone through everything recent, he turned away from the computer.
“OK, so cliche characters and plots are simple for upvotes. I get why I’m a character. But where are you /u/sketches1637 ? Why don’t you have any top prompts recently."
I responded as honestly as I could. “The mods keep deleting all my prompts that mention or allude to politics, which is what I like to write about. It’s some bullshit anti-politics thing they have going on related to Donald Trump.”
“Wait, wait, wait. The moderators have banned The Donald but let me stay around to be a character in all these crappy prompts. That’s outrageous! He’s about to be in charge of thousands of nuclear weapons and the most powerful military on the planet. I’d think we’d want to encourage writing about him. It’s far more important than stories about mythical beings, magic powers and cliche plotlines.”
I shrugged my shoulders, turned to my computer and typed in *Satan sees numbers over people’s heads that show how many times they’ve thought about Batman killing Hitler.* “Well Satan, you work with the rules you get." | It's not always that you get a visit from the devil. And when you do, you'd expect something bad to happen, like being pulled down to hell, finding out that you're his illegitimate child or being drawn to some eternal conflict that you had no idea that you're part of.
"Look, that's not what I am here for."
Wait... what?
"Yes, I can see that you're already formulating a story in your head. Or a writing prompt, I don't really care. The thing is, I'm here to talk about something else."
It turns out that despite how people describe the devil, with horns, fire and what-not, he is actually not that much different from any human-
"Can you PLEASE just stop thinking about writing a story for a second? I can read thoughts too, just so you know."
And what do you know? Out of all the powers Satan is rumored to have, no one has expected him to have mind reading powers. [WP] Write a story where the devil reads your mind and ends up being disgusted instead.
"I AM NOT DISGUSTED. MORE LIKE ANNOYED."
The devil's voice boomed, shaking the very foundation of the house. His eyes glowed fiery red, and it seemed as if the ground itself was on fire. What could have possibly brought him to the mortal realm?
"I AM HERE BECAUSE OF YOU. Honestly, me and that white good for nothing guy up there agreeing on something? It's seriously overrated! What's with you humans and having to use me for all your story ideas? Or Hitler for that matter? Or Batman and Joker? I'm seriously nauseated with all these overused tropes."
What the humans never realized, in their quest to write good stories, was how Lucifer-
"OMG please stop. Your story doesn't even flow consistently! One moment I'm the devil, next I'm Satan and now I'm Lucifer? Your tenses and grammar don't even make sense! Like I said, please stop using me for every writing prompt or story you have in mind. It's getting old. Why not use Jesus instead? Or Jehovah? That name has better ring to it than Lucifer. And he's omni-"
Shaitan, however, never got to finish his sentence. A loud puff of smoke exploded beside him, revealing a old figure dressed completely in white. Like the figure in red, he was not pleased.
"I am not pleased because I overheard a brilliant idea coming from our dear friend Lucifer here. What makes you think I would be happy being the overused trope in stories?"
"Oh please, says the fella who enjoys being worshiped and adored."
"I don't! And haven't you heard before of the verse, never use the name of the Lord in vain."
As the two figures continue to bicker in an otherwise unassuming house, the protagonist swiftly returns to his computer, his fingers moving methodically across the keyboard.
[WP] The Devil and God landed in your house. They decide to argue about something stupid.
--------------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-01-10T09:39:17 | 2017-01-10T09:02:13 | 119 | 47 |
[WP] The Devil appears before you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder, "Look, we need to talk about you putting me in every Writing Prompt." | "You need to stop putting me in every prompt, man."
"But why? You're an interesting character, much more so than you let people believe." I replied, not even a bit surprised by the fact that the Big Guy himself was in my room. In fact, I was more honored and curious than afraid.
"No, Ryan, that's exactly the point. I'm the stereotypical bad guy. I punish people who do bad shit, I tempted a bunch of dudes and I'm in a perpetual war with God. That's it. There's only so much you can do with that and yet, I'm all over this goddamn subreddit. Just stop." He was sitting in my window, like he was about to leave.
"Or maybe..." He turned to me, while raising an eyebrow. "That's what you want people to think, by only letting them look at the parts of you that contribute to your image. Yes, you rebelled against God and were cast out, but you did so because you stood for something and that's more interesting to us. You desperately want to be a symbol, but let me tell you something: symbols might be inspiring or frightening, but they are not relatable. You are. You are imperfect, but so are we and because of that, you are more like us than you'd like to believe."
The Devil sat down on my bed and sighed with a tired look on his face. "Do you know why you sin?" It was my turn to raise my eyebrow.
"Becuse you hate Him and you want to steer everyone away from Him. I thought that was obvious."
"You sin because I don't want you to care about him, " I nodded. "or me." At this point I was confused.
"But if we don't care about either of you, then what are we supposed to care about?"
"Yourself and the *actual* people that you care about. The ones that you can see and not the ones that you read about in thousand year old books. You are so obsessed with us and the things we said and their implications that you simply forget to spend time with the things that are right in front of you. **You sin, because I want you to live a little every once in a while.** Be curious, be bold, make mistakes. Maybe in a few million years I will go into my final battle against God, but that will never, ever matter to you and it shouldn't. He wants you to be boring. I want you to make something of what you were given. Think about that and take care, Ryan."
As he left, I closed my browser window and just stared for a few minutes. I think I need to make a call.
-
*It would be actually kinda cool to continue with these characters into something* | Dylan sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I mean, really I am not talking about you I-"
The Devil held his hand up with a stern expression, little wisps like ghosts flittering from his fingertips. "Look, I have been the subject of metaphor more than you could possibly comprehend. I don't need to be patronized."
Raising one hand, palm up, to his shoulder, Dylan exclaimed "Then you must understand why-"
"Yes, of course I do." The devil sighed forcefully, leaning over placing a clawed smoldering hand on the desk. "But do you realize how exhausting it is to already be an object of human conception and be given some agency only to have it taken away and reduce me back into another person's black and white perceptions of reality?"
The desk was smoking and scorching.
Dylan attempted to fan the fumes away from his face, seemingly unperturbed. "Okay now you are being a little heavy-handed I think."
"Oh god forbid I have a character trait that makes elevates me past the point of conceptual." The devil rolled his scarlet eyes.
"Was that pun intended?" Dylan queried.
"I mean, I am a romanticized character, not an idiot. Much less a humorless one at that. And that's another thing!" The devil raised his bony pointer finger to a point. "Can't I be likable to anyone? Why can't I be funny to more than just the reader? Why does everyone have to treat me as the epitome of evil?"
Dylan stifled a chuckle."I mean, that is sort of the point after all."
"You know, that is pretty hurtful, being reduced to the first-dimension." The Devil's head bobbed disapprovingly. "You have known me for all of your literary life. I am practically family. Is this how you treat your brothers?"
"I feel like you would be more of an uncle figure you know? You've been around a lot longer than me, you didn't raise me, and you stop in to teach me a lesson here and there, but-"
"This isn't really making me feel any better." The Devil shook his head with pursed lips, deathly white horns shaking the cords of the ceiling fan.
"Well I mean isn't really about you in the end, is it? The narrative is for the purpose of the protagonist."
The Devil cocked his head with an exhausted look. "That is an over simplification and you know it. You can't boil down a literary canon into the story of what you decide is the protagonist. If you are going to treat me as merely conceptual, I would rather you not talk about me at all. You are smart; find some other symbol tear down. I have had enough." The master of hell himself reopened the portal at his feet, descending into the depths from whence he came, a thousand wailing souls bemoaning his return to his domain, the portal closing with a puff of black smoke, quickly dispersed by the ceiling fan.
Dylan sighed and rested his head on his hand, elbow on the desk, staring at his computer screen, smoke still rising from his desk beside his elbow.
"Perhaps... I was the devil all along."
"OH YOU SON OF A BITCH." The king of suffering screamed as he engulfed the house in flames.
Edit: Fixed a word
| 2017-01-10T11:18:19 | 2017-01-10T11:04:25 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You're an astronaut on the first mission to the moon since the 1970's. You begin to dig for samples in the soft sentiment when your shovel hits something soft, yet tough. You brush the dirt away, revealing a dead man in a bloody spacesuit. | This is already a great book..
https://www.amazon.com/Inherit-Stars-James-P-Hogan/dp/0345257049/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1485010734&sr=8-1&keywords=inherit+the+stars
The man on the moon was dead. They called him Charlie. He had big eyes, abundant body hair, and fairly long nostrils. His skeletal body was found clad in a bright red spacesuit, hidden in a rocky grave. They didn't know who he was, how he got there, or what had killed him. All they knew was that his corpse was fifty thousand years old -- and that meant this man had somehow lived long before he ever could have existed. | Just get some dirt they said, it'll be fine they said. *They* were wrong. I had come to the moon on a mission to carry out a few experiments. It was intended to be an extended mission spanning a few months due to the nature of our experiments. A few days ago I set out to gather some dirt to check against our samples so that we can be sure that no outside agents were introduced to our samples. After some searching, I found a soft patch of dirt that seemed deep enough to shovel into. The idea was to get dirt buried somewhat to get the best results. I dug through a few centimeters in when I sit something that was soft yet tough. I had been doing this for some time as it is next to impossible to get any laborious work done in a spacesuit. I thought that all my work had been for nought until I realized that some of the material that I hit was drastically different than the dirt surrounding me for miles on end. With great difficulty I brush away the dirt from where I had been shovelling and find myself absolutely puzzled. I find at my feet a spacesuit, very similar to the ones we were given for this mission. With even greater difficulty I move the body so that the body would be lying on its back. Never have I been more scared, shocked and confused in my life than when I was staring down at a bloody spacesuit that had had to have been there for quite some time. What made this truly scary was that I staring down at myself. | 2017-01-21T06:32:36 | 2017-01-20T22:59:38 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/) | “So, Anthony. You were born in space?”
“Yes. My mom met my d –“
“I’m a doctor, not your biographer.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s just been a long day. I just spent the last 8 hours recreating all my records from nothing because little Jimmy decided now was the time to lose control of his powers.”
“He…?”
“He was born near a volcano,” the doctor replied bluntly.
“Oh,” I said stupidly.
I knew enough about our powers to know what that meant.
31 years ago, an individual called John Timens developed superpowers. He had gained the ability of flight. It was a pretty mild and non-destruction ability. It was fortunate: his case was widely studied and it was decided that Timens was not a threat to humankind. Not long after, more and more individuals were born with superpowers.
We started to notice a pattern: the powers were based on their place of birth. Born out at sea? You’ll develop superpowers like underwater breathing or the ability to control water.
Born out at a volcano? Well, the only possibility was to develop lava or fire-based powers.
“Do you feel anything?” the doctor asked.
“Not particularly. I mean, what powers would I develop? The power to create vacuums? The power *to suck*?”
He laughed.
“I don’t know. My job has shifted over the years from healthcare to predicting what superpowers teenagers like you would develop, but I really don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Concentrate. Try to feel it in you.”
“Wow, that’s vague.”
He laughed again.
“I don’t have powers, so I can’t tell you what – wait, you know what? I haven’t tried this before, but it might work…”
He turned towards the door behind him, slid it open and shouted into it.
“Hey, ALICE! Come out here for a moment!”
“Who’s Alice?”
“She’s my nurse. She also has powers.”
“Aaand… her power is to discover powers?”
“Her power is of molecular disintegration, *but* she can describe to you what your powers should feel like.”
“Molecular… disintegration? How does that even work? She was born near a molecule?”
“You can ask her yourself.”
He stood up and beckoned a 30s-looking lady over. She was slightly shorter than I was, and looked a little bored. Her bob-hair looked like they defied gravity. I choked back a laughter.
I shook her hands and introduced myself, before diving straight into my question.
“Molecular disintegration?”
“Here.”
She placed one of the doctor’s pens on the table, joined the index finger and thumb of both her hands together to form a triangle, then closed her eyes. Right before my eyes, the pen disintegrated. It looked as though it just turned into dust.
“Wha? Wow! Where were you born?”
“Near a molecule.”
I gave her a puzzled look.
“Nah,” she laughed. “I heard you say it. I was born in a molecular lab.”
“Okay…” I said slowly. It still didn’t make much sense, but I just rolled with it. Molecules are everywhere. Just because a lab is designated for experimenting with things on a molecular level, it’s a “molecular lab?”
“Try this. Close your eyes and picture a purple background. Now, visualize a red and a blue dot spiraling in the center of your vision. The dots should be a decently big size. The dots are slowly developing their own streaks of light. Now, they’re spiraling quicker and quicker and they’re turning into an orange mass of colour.”
“Okay… and? I don’t feel anything.”
“Whatever colours you just visualized should be what you see when you’re concentrating on using your powers. As you can imagine, everyone’s imagined colour will be different.”
“Alright,” I said. This is not making any sense whatsoever. But none of this powers thing should anyway.
“Now, visualize the colour and concentrate on an object. Any hand gestures that you think may help are fine. Here, try this pen. Let’s put it on the floor.”
“Hey, Alice! You’re paying for those pens!” the doctor shouted from behind me.
I did as she said. I visualized the purple background, the two dots, and the blob of orange. I held out one hand and pointed it in the general direction of the pen. Suddenly, the colours disappeared.
I opened my eyes. “Wha?” I blurted out, confused at what just happened. The pen was gone.
“Hey, where’s the pen?”
“So, Anthony,” the doctor started. “I think you somehow developed the power over the space continuum. Alice and I were observing. The pen simply ceased to exist.”
I gave a confused look. That sounded incredibly dangerous and nonsensical.
“Because I was born in space?”
“You know… I believe it’s not actually where you were born that matters,” the doctor explained, “But what you understand it to be. You can believe that were born in the middle of the sea right now, and you will develop powers related to the sea. Of course, if you believe that space is an ocean, your powers that we term “sea-related” won’t actually be relating to water, because your understanding of the sea is already fundamentally different.”
“What you’re saying is, it doesn’t matter where we were born, but what we associate our birthplace with?”
“Yes.”
“Remember my molecular disintegration?” Alice piped up. “Now that the doctor mentioned it, I think it fits the pattern for my powers. Because the labs were already associated with the idea of molecules, and I knew about that, I developed powers related to it.”
“Alright, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we have reasons to believe your powers are incredibly dangerous, so we’ll be letting you run a few more, um, special tests.”
The way he emphasized “special” wasn’t lost on me. I started visualizing the colours again, and pointed it at the doctor.
“Wait! What are yo –“ and the colours disappeared.
“Anthony,” Alice said. “That was uncalled for.”
“You don’t seem shocked. Why?”
“I did that to my own doctor.”
| 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-15T00:14:42 | 4,698 | 21 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | It was one of those days that made Silvia want to stay in bed and forget anything else existed. She'd been having a lot of those recently. Beside her bed, an ornate fountain gurgled cheerfully. She'd taken it from the garden of some rich family three days ago, and it was starting to look like Agnes wasn't even going to come by and take it back. Any other villain might have been relieved at the thought, but it hurt Silvia more than anything.
She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard the sharp chime of the entrapment rune she had set on her door. With a groan, she dragged out of bed and into the other room, only to find Agnes of the Silver Moon on the floor, paralyzed.
"Silvia," she grunted, "I see you've learned a new trick."
"What do you mean? That's always been... Oh my god, that thing worked? Oh. My. God. IT WORKED!" Silvia laughed in an almost hysteric fashion, still struggling to accept the facts of the situation. To be fair, it was the first time something like this had happened to her. In fact, no one had ever managed to capture Agnes like this.
"Now, I finally have you right where I want you! Now, I can..." And then Silvia realized she didn't have any way to imprison Agnes for any amount of time "I can..." And then Silvia realized that Agnes could simply blow her away with a single arcane word, while she herself had never managed to learn any actually dangerous spells. "I can..." And then Silvia remembered that her henchmen had abandoned her a week ago when she had run out of money. "I can..." Finally Silvia realized that there was a very real chance that a stronger dark magic user wouldn't even believe her if she asked for help. And then she started to cry.
When Silvia got the tears out of her eyes, Agnes had already teleported the fountain back to its rightful place and was standing over her awkwardly, not quite sure how to handle the situation. "Um, are you okay?" "No..." They were both silent for another minute. "So, why'd you take that fountain anyway? I don't think it's worth very much." "Because..." Silvia looked up at Agnes's beautiful brown eyes and stunning complexion, and the truth died in her mouth. "R-Reasons."
"Okay, well whatever that means, you don't seem very happy. If you ever wanted to stop stealing things, I could help you start over. I have to go right now though. Someone's been running around with the Heart of the Abyss and I gotta go get it back." For a moment, Silvia was stunned out of her misery. "Wait, the Heart of the Abyss? Do you know what that thing does to people? They could've destroyed three cities in the time we were talking! Why the hell would you stop just to get a stupid fountain back?" "Oh you know, reasons." With a flash of light, Agnes was gone, leaving Silvia extremely confused. "What do you mean 'reasons?'" | "Execute order Q-T-3.14." The order rings throughout the lair. Rengar grins to himself as his henchmen go about his demands. He is sitting on his best throne, twiddling his thumbs. This has to be it. There is no way that Ultra Man can be *that* dense. He did name himself 'Ultra Man', but still.
He feels butterflies in his stomach as his plans are carried out. Ultra Man should be on his way now. His right leg starts to jitter in anticipation. An unfortunate henchman is passing close to the throne.
"Hey. Henchman." Rengars powerful voice reaches him. He stops and turns.
"Do I look too threatening?"
The henchman is confused. Rengar has never even looked at him for more than 3 seconds before, and now he was asking him what seemed like a trick question.
"Sir, do you not want to threaten Ultra Man?"
"Well-uh" Rengar stammers. "It's all part of...uh..a plan! Yes. I can't have him too threatened already, or he wouldn't follow through with the rest of my master plan."
The henchman nods his head in what he hopes is understanding. "Oh. Well sir, you look just the right amount of threatening." The henchman hurries away before he can be questioned further.
*I need better henchman* Rengar thinks to himself. He hears an insolent meow. *Ah, yes. Fluffums. Right on time.*
He turns slightly in his throne to see his white ball of fur leap onto his armrest. Fluffums lies down to receive pets. Pets are received.
A siren begins to sound across the facility. *About time.* There is a panic filled murmur as the henchman begin to scramble.
Crash!
Ultra Man breaks right through a side wall, on the opposite side of the layer. Rengar is elated. He waits impatiently as he takes out all of his henchman dumb enough to oppose him. *Wow. My henchman are so terrible* Rengar thinks as he watches them fall to Ultra Man's manly hands.
He finally takes them all out. *This is it.* He sprints to Rengar's throne.
"Rengar! How could you?" He asks. Rengar feels even more nervous, but it is time to put on his act.
"I have my reasons, Ultra Man! Have you come to...thwart me?" He asks, still stroking Fluffums.
"You're dang right I'm here to thwart your nefarious plan! Order Q-T-3.14 will put lives at risk!"
"Order *Q-T-3.14*..." he emphasizes. It's no use, "is necessary to prepare for my other, more nefarious plot, A-QT-IC."
"It's over Rengar! I will tear this facility apart to stop you!"
"You would tear down my facility, but you will not hurt me? Have you grown...fond of me, Ultra Man?" he asks. He can feel his future on a knife's edge, ready to tumble either direction.
"Well-uh...I" it is Ultra Man's turn to stammer, "you are...evil, you know."
*Yes! Now time to reel him in.*
"Am I? Do you know what order Q-T-3.14 really is?"
"Well...no, but-"
"And you just assumed it was evil?"
Ultra Man looks ashamed. "...Yes."
"I am buying a house. The real plan was to get you here so that I could ask..."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to move in with me?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-15T10:51:16 | 2017-04-15T09:54:52 | 179 | 129 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | There were four of us. We'd meet every couple hundred years and discuss the pranks we pulled on the mortals. Such good fun the mortals were. So easily susceptible to manipulation. Would we be so simple if we lived less than a century? Barely the blink of an eye, I can't imagine that being my entire existance.
"Ok, I got a good one," I said as I sipped my poisonous drink. Since we were immortal, alcohol didn't even affect us. Cyanide for me, Arsenic for Tom, and Mercury for Bill. John was the sober one. "It kinda built off yours, Bill."
"Oh?" Bill cocked his head.
"Yeah, remember when you got the primitives to waste precious resources building huge monuments when they could've been feeding themselves?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, those Egyptians were a fun bunch."
"Well, I got the Americans to think they're being controlled by them."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I just leave pictures of pyramids and triangles around, and they just take it from there. So many are convinced there's some secret society pulling the strings."
All three of them burst laughing.
"Wait," Tom said. "So all you had to do was put some pictures around, and they think there's some society controlling everything?!"
I laughed. "Yep. Just added the pyramid to the dollar bill and it took off."
John shook his head. "A secret society of mortals. As if they could organize anything. Some of them still think my costume is a real animal, they call it bigfoot."
"Can't they tell it's a costume?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I use an active camoflage to make the area appear out of focus so they never see me clearly." He showed us a picture, and indeed, you could barely tell it was him. As immortals, we also invented a few things here and there.
"I've been sinking ships at the Bermuda Triangle," Bill said.
"Dude, people have died," I said. "I love it!"
We all burst into laughter and clinked our drinks together. Except for John. Fucking John. | Execution, that is the key to any good practical joke. When you're immortal, you're allotted all of the time in the world to develop a scheme so devious yet harmless that can make an impact on one of your friend's eternal lives. Yet it is so rare that our lives are affected by our friend's practical jokes. How is it so?
Memory. Something that is a mere hundred years for mortals expands into eons for us. Our brains simply do not have the capacity to hold all the small details that accompany these practical jokes. Many meticulously planned out jokes that had extreme potential such as "The Million Birthday Prank" a dozen millennia ago have been failures due to my friend forgetting key interactions.
I still remember it as I mapped out the plan for decades. Each step had to be followed perfectly in order to succeed. It was an operation that I was determined to succeed in. The first step took place on Serena's millionth birthday.
As usual, I arranged a cake for her. As cheesy as it may have sounded, she was my best friend for over 900,000 years and I still throw annual birthday parties for her. We use special kinds of candles,each representing a different multiple of 10. This one was a simple million candle, unlike last year's mess of 9 hundred thousand candles, 9 ten thousand candles, 9 thousand candles, well... you get the picture.
For each year following the millionth birthday, I arranged the other candles in familiar patterns, ones that I thought Serena would remember. The candles were dotted in our secret code, and knowing her, she should have cracked them and eagerly waited for her next birthday. The last coded message was given out on her 1,000,286th birthday.
1,000,287. This was the day that the final step will be executed. Inside, I was nervous. In my mind, I knew that she would arrive at the correct location, but I didn't specify a time. I was perfectly capable of waiting 24 hours though, we both knew that time didn't matter to immortals. That was my mistake, assuming that she would recognize my code when in reality it was forgotten long ago.
Over the next several centuries, I desperately thought of ways that I could make up for the failure of the previous practical joke. There was nothing so elaborately planned as that prank, I even took the time to program thousands of machines to carry out the prank on that last day. It took me time, but I finally thought of something, exactly in time for Serena's birthday.
"Happy Birthday Serena" I said as I slammed her face into the cake. As she recovered from the dive and started wiping frosting off her hair she sighed. "What was it this time, the 1,000,554th birthday?" I giggled. "Just came up with it today. Sometimes, you just have to act spontaneously" | 2017-06-22T21:50:06 | 2017-06-22T19:51:25 | 679 | 104 |
[WP] You've been a gravedigger for 20 so years. Each coffin obtains a button that'll alert you if pressed. A buzzer goes off years after the burial of a coffin. | Danny was on his way home when his pocket buzzed, signifying a text. Being a safe driver in addition to being an upstanding citizen, he pulled over before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Flipping it open, he read the contents of the message: *Coffin 1218 has been activated.* Puzzled, Danny spun the wheel and began a trip back to the cemetery.
He pulled into his usual spot, and got out of his pickup, letting out the sigh that accompanies movement at his age. He stopped by the tool shed on his way to grave 1218, pulling out his trusty shovel. He tried to remember anything significant about 1218, knowing that in the past some folks had chosen to get buried with precious objects, making them a target for unscrupulous people. Nothing stood out in his memory, but it fell from focus as Danny neared the gravesite.
Someone had been fooling around here. Probably some kids, judging by how poorly the dirt was sprayed every which way around the fresh hole in front of the tombstone. Almost like someone drilled a small explosive into the coffin and used that to open it up, except there was no debris from the contents of the coffin to be seen.
Actually... Danny peered into the hole. There wasn't a body at the bottom. Usually there would be at least bones, even after 20 years. Danny had had to dig up a few coffins in the past for some history foundation or other, whose posh representatives had not cared to look at the contents themselves, but relied on Danny's word of what was inside. Not that Danny would lie.
Danny leaned on his shovel, thinking. Most folks would phone the police, but that would bring a lot of trampling and poking, and Danny was hesitant to bring sacrilege of that sort to his grounds.
Danny's phone buzzed again. He checked the message: *Coffin 3885 has been activated.* That was pretty close. Danny snapped his phone shut, gripped his shovel, and took off at a brisk walk. Someone was about to get a very stern rebuke.
When Danny got to the second site, it looked nearly identical to the first. Dirt strewn everywhere, and when he looked inside, it too was empty. The rascals that did this had to be close, Danny thought.
His phone went off again. *Coffin 3321 has been activated.* Danny ran towards the coffin. He'd get them this time. He was halfway there when his phone buzzed again, but he disregarded it. Danny arrived breathless at grave 3321, but again he was too late. His phone buzzed again. Then again. Danny pulled out the phone, and it seemed to open the floodgates; text after text buzzed his phone, he couldn't even exit out fast enough to dial 911.
Then he heard the sound. It sounded like two sticks being hit together, only there were a thousand sticks. Looking up, Danny saw what could only be called an army of undead.
Throwing his shovel to the side, Danny ran. | **That foggy night the chilling sound of the living dead sent shivers down my spine.**
Roger Turner is my name, I am a gravedigger with two decades of experience buried inside me. No one comes close to me in that field, that's why I work alone in Dreamsbury Graveyard, Ominous City's only graveyard... now that I think about it, the fact that all my coworkers disappeared mysteriously on their first night might have to do with my loneliness.
Last year, Major Walter Ekatsim invested in fancy coffins after his mother, Lady Likansy, was found horribly mutilated in her bedroom - I will only tell you that her coffin was almost weightless. Anyway, Walter was wrathful and incensed when he saw the - pardon my expression - shit boxes we had as coffins.
"Finally, investing in what really matters." I said, extasized when I saw the new coffins.
He gave me a disgusting look. "Turner, when was the last time you changed those rags that you call clothes?" He inquired, ignoring what I just said.
"Change?" I said bursting in a hideous laughter that quickly turn into a dead serious stare. "Every particle of dirt, every hole, every stain in my garments represent traces of the dead merging with me. To answer your ignorant question: two decades."
Walter's skin turned pale. "So the rotten smell didn't come from the graveyard." He mumbled as he examined the new coffins.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing at a red button in the top cover of the coffin.
"That's an alarm, in case someone get's buried alive." Instantly answered Walter. "Pretty good idea, don't you think?"
I swallowed hard, my forehead sweated slightly. "Y-Yes g-g-great idea." I stuttered and left.
*"If they only knew the mysteries that Dreamsbury holds."* I thought to myself.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**A year later**
The streets of Ominous contrasted with the darkness of the night. All 11039 inhabitants were celebrating the anniversary of Lady Likansy, as Walter ordered. Everyone but me, I knew what was coming that night.
11:58 p.m: My leg twitched uncontrollably as I waited in my humble hut in the center of Dreamsbury. A rusty shovel, an old scotch, some tea, a worn wooden table, a metallic kettle, a single hob and two stolen cups were all my possessions.
11:59 p.m: I got up and prepared two cups of my finest tea.
12:00: An strident sound repeated itself over and over again across Dreamsbury. A sound that I won't forget. At first I tried to convince myself that it was the whistle of the kettle but the noise was far from a too different.
12:01 a.m: "Don't be shy. I was waiting for you. I chose your favourite tea, you might recognize the cups too." I said, beckoning for her to join me.
The wooden walls of the hut slowly froze as she got nearer. "Roger, what happened to me?" She asked, terror cracked her spectral voice.
I sighed, "please, join me."
"Where's my body?" She asked as she looked down just to find emptiness.
"Lady Likansy I know you are overwhelmed with doubts right now but it will all be faster if you join me and just listen." I said, two decades have taught me how to treat the lost souls properly. "I will be your guide tonight."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I will probably post a part two in: /r/chasisoxidado tomorrow!
| 2017-07-02T21:01:21 | 2017-07-02T20:15:08 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | *Captain S. Hoggoth, of the 40,000th Templar Division, Report on the failure of the Earthican War, Stellar date ASK 29.001..75.16.04*
We thought htat this would be a simple pump-and-dump. We had our Keyship loaded for bear, with thousands of rounds of ammunition. This backwater, the self-titled Earth, didn't even have stellar travel! What hillbillies!
...We did not account for their technological paths.
This species, dubbed *Homo Sapiens sapiens*, have near-unstoppable physical power, incredible healing capabilities without technology, and their weapons...we thought our Empire muskets were top-of-the-line weaponry.
These guys has lightning boxes; machines that would crush our armies and fire rounds so large we thought them *impossible*; flying ships of murderous intent, with their Whirling Blades of Death, and their cyclic sprayers that chew through ammo. Even their hand-arms were incredible, being capable of firing at the rate of a full clip of nine rounds almost instantly, and with better accuracy.
I am one of the last of our Imperial Army left alive. These things are cutting open my squadmates. It's only a matter of time before they come for me. I have uploaded everything I have found on their primitive communications technology they call the Web, as well as audio files through my quantum di-lithium crystal.
Tell my wife and children I love her. I'm not likely to be coming back. | Intel was coming in about an interesting population on the planet. It was called the USA, a place we would have to take out before they could react, as an admiral of their own pity squabbles once put it, 'you cannot invade mainland america, there would be a rifle behind every blade of grass' if this was the case, america needed to fall first and quickly.
This was the plan: one thousand of our finest warriors had been send to capture a place called the white house while another contingent was focused on the surrounding area. About twice as many were sent to a place called Nueva York or New York or a few other things, sources disagreed, contingents were also send to many other citys, LA, Huston, and Orlando were some of their names, but I was headed for a small town in the subregion they called 'Kansas' only a few hundred inhabitants, this would be our landing spot for the mother ship and needed to be fortified, thus a total of 3000 men were send here. This was almost one per 1000 inhabitants, quite an insult to our prowess. I was quite happy about this lax job, there was nothing to fear from a bout 500 primates with no interstellar capabilitys.
I landed on one of the buildings and started to look around. There was a gathering of about two dozen humans in a big building with a lot of their food. This must be a hub, controll the hub, controll the population.
I started shooting at the building, the first bullet hit its target, reload, repeat, after the second shot, they answered with counterfire.
"These guns are not muskets, repeat, these guns are not muskets." I told headquaters.
"They answer every of my shots with a hundred." I slid down the side of the building and made my escape through the fences. Good thing I had my invisibility tech, I may be outclassed in firepower, but not in wit.
I went over a street to flank these primates.
"There!" Someone shouted, and soon they followed me with their trucks. The invisibility gear didn't work.
"HQ order: retreat." Came in through my channel to the HQ and I flew off towards space. Sustaining an injury of my leg in the process. | 2017-08-08T05:41:07 | 2017-08-08T03:18:52 | 251 | 116 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | "They killed the president!"
The news anchor's feed was cut short by the aliens' broadcast.
"Bow down and surrender, or be exterminated"
The news feed returned, showing the gruesome scene. The president and one secret service agent lay dead on the dais, while the aliens huddled in their landing craft, attempting to reload their muskets.
Three of the aliens were dead, and a fourth was wounded, leaking purple blood on the grass of the North Lawn.
Secret service agents swarmed the lander, automatic weapons out, as an armoured suburban crossed the yard with a machine gun deployed on the roof.
A shot rang out, and caught an agent squarely in the chest. His armor stopped the bullet with a loud clank, and he barely flinched, pausing to recover his breath.
A hail of gunfire shredded the landing craft, killing the occupants, as agents loaded the wounded alien into an unmarked SUV, and the news cameras switched to black.
| "Compared to AX-213? No, this is easy," the footsoldier relayed over the wavelength transmitter. Those pitiful beings weren't even at Stage 1 of the Rëitsig Scale of Development. It was the first in the AX galatic classification that bore such a terrible level of industrialization. One would think that the road was well paved, the instructions clear. To grow, to develop travel, to leave and learn from other colonies. It was such an obvious way forward, though the Xaxnar probably knew the best. Their leader had crafted success for many planets in the entire universe, so he knew the best way to develop a new planet. It was all in a handbook, *The Guide to the Galaxy*, a rather pompous title for an utterly boring story.
Even the footsoldiers had done up a couple of planets in their time. The build for it was easy. Develop the citizens, develop the buildings, develop the offence, then the defence. The rest was easy. Destroy any other planet or territory in the way. The aliens loved to do this; in fact, it was a fun pasttime to make planets and develop colonies, just for the main planet to destroy. It was funny, not just because the main planet benefitted, but because destruction and annihilation were tempting concepts to them.
The footsoldier smiled again, as he readied his invasion troops to a new place. Nothing of worth to invade here. Perhaps better resources and a stronger fight awaited somewhere else. Clash of Planets never got more fun that this.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-08-08T07:09:01 | 2017-08-08T05:28:12 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar." | I stared bleakly at the faintly glowing digits. As if it couldn't get worse, the last number - a five - slowly transformed into a six.
"We have reservations."
The average-looking gentleman put out his hand and I plucked the driver's license out of it automatically. It read like any other I'd looked at tonight; the birthdate was just a few years before mine. The numbers over the woman's head read as twenty seven. Blonde and beautiful, her eyes were stunning and fixated almost entirely on her ancient companion. A man five thousand years her senior.
"Yes," I rasped, from a shock-clogged throat. "VIP room upstairs."
He scowled at me then, and I felt a weight of scrutiny I didn't know could exist. Like a bug under a magnifying glass. In the sun. I winced away from those eyes like they were an assault, and backed out of the way, stumbling over my feet. I had no desire to know this man, but I had the unnerving suspicion that he'd now want to know me.
And that couldn't happen. | 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T19:55:18 | 1,408 | 140 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | The call had been placed for eons. Cthulhu, his strong influence touching the minds of men, had been trying to summon those who would wake him. Alas, his influence had been hindered by the watchful eye of the worlds governments. Until now.
Faced with the gravest of threats, an alien race who thought letting humanity linger would cause the end of all life in the universe, the governments of earth lifted their world-ender from its slumber.
Rising from the depths of the mysterious ocean, the grave threat to humanity saw the world ending plague about to befall the humans on the earth. It sprung into action, writhing from R'lyeh, Cthulhu the elder guard attacked the threat to *his* planet.
The battle lasted minutes. The armada which had arrived lay in waste. And with the threat to humanity gone, Cthulhu had time to turn his attention where it belonged. To humanity. Nobody razes the earth but Cthulhu. | "General, Cthulhu doesn't exist as far as we know. The aliens have already taken out most of the Justice League and the Teen Titans-" Mr. Terrific spoke into his comm suite, from orbit within the Justice League Tower, "- and we're still waiting on Diana and Arthur to get UN approval and summon their armies from Themyscira and Atlantis."
General Wade Eiling, short tempered and irate, "Terrific, you know I don't like you or your super-powered cronies up in your high tower but these aliens are a threat to all of us - including us normal non-freak humans down here. There are plans down here even you don't know about, and we would have invaded that bath-tub empire of his a *long* time ago had we not discovered King Arthur's doomsday plan."
"Doomsday plan? In Atlantis? General, you need to start making sense.." Mr. Terrific's fingers already rapidly twitching around his keyboard while dozens of screens before him start flashing images of various searches on various websites and government databases, all looking for information on Atlantean doomsday devices.
"Nobody talks about Aquaman being strong enough and durable enough to put Superman down," General Eiling's voice becoming softer, almost as if he were relishing the very thought of that Super-alien getting his ass kicked in "And we definitely don't talk about his command over every undersea creature on the planet.."
"General?"
"Where the fuck do you think Cthulhu sleeps? Get Aquaman on comms, tell that salty fish-stick to start the R'lyeh Initiative and he better impress me with what the real King of Atlantis can do." | 2017-09-26T11:22:23 | 2017-09-26T11:17:26 | 92 | 50 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | The call had been placed for eons. Cthulhu, his strong influence touching the minds of men, had been trying to summon those who would wake him. Alas, his influence had been hindered by the watchful eye of the worlds governments. Until now.
Faced with the gravest of threats, an alien race who thought letting humanity linger would cause the end of all life in the universe, the governments of earth lifted their world-ender from its slumber.
Rising from the depths of the mysterious ocean, the grave threat to humanity saw the world ending plague about to befall the humans on the earth. It sprung into action, writhing from R'lyeh, Cthulhu the elder guard attacked the threat to *his* planet.
The battle lasted minutes. The armada which had arrived lay in waste. And with the threat to humanity gone, Cthulhu had time to turn his attention where it belonged. To humanity. Nobody razes the earth but Cthulhu. | My eyes became the size of the moon and I froze in my tracks. Did he just say what I think he did? I turned and headed for The Artifact. This was my only real job, ever since I accidentally discovered The Artifact on a deserted planet and became bonded with it.
We had been at war with the aliens over distant planets ever since I could remember. The real issue between our two species is language. Neither of us can truly understand the other and we absolutely refuse to. However, two weeks ago, we interpreted a message that stated the aliens were bringing the war to Earth.
That's when I was called in with The Artifact.
I sat on the front lines and when the drop-ship door opened, I opened the gold-plated vase that contained the worst evil mankind would ever know.
Immediately, darkness eclipsed the dark sun overheard and a surge of power surged forward. An immensely huge being spring from a container in my hands to fill my entire view. He was the size of the alien craft. Cthulhu roared and quickly seized the alien craft, destroying it with six of his fists.
We had no way of knowing the aliens had sent their best English-Speakers to interpret a peace treaty for us. We had no way of knowing that Cthulhu could not be placed back in the vase and needed to devour hundred of souls a day to keep the peace. We had no way of knowing he couldn't be controlled, except by one person.
I had no way of knowing that, on this day, I would become a god to the humans and aliens. | 2017-09-26T11:22:23 | 2017-09-26T11:02:24 | 92 | 21 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | "General, Cthulhu doesn't exist as far as we know. The aliens have already taken out most of the Justice League and the Teen Titans-" Mr. Terrific spoke into his comm suite, from orbit within the Justice League Tower, "- and we're still waiting on Diana and Arthur to get UN approval and summon their armies from Themyscira and Atlantis."
General Wade Eiling, short tempered and irate, "Terrific, you know I don't like you or your super-powered cronies up in your high tower but these aliens are a threat to all of us - including us normal non-freak humans down here. There are plans down here even you don't know about, and we would have invaded that bath-tub empire of his a *long* time ago had we not discovered King Arthur's doomsday plan."
"Doomsday plan? In Atlantis? General, you need to start making sense.." Mr. Terrific's fingers already rapidly twitching around his keyboard while dozens of screens before him start flashing images of various searches on various websites and government databases, all looking for information on Atlantean doomsday devices.
"Nobody talks about Aquaman being strong enough and durable enough to put Superman down," General Eiling's voice becoming softer, almost as if he were relishing the very thought of that Super-alien getting his ass kicked in "And we definitely don't talk about his command over every undersea creature on the planet.."
"General?"
"Where the fuck do you think Cthulhu sleeps? Get Aquaman on comms, tell that salty fish-stick to start the R'lyeh Initiative and he better impress me with what the real King of Atlantis can do." | The fighting had raged for mere hours before everything came crashing down. Their forces were immeasurable, their weapons far beyond humanity's. It was hardly a valiant effort, anything any military tried met with catastrophic failure in minutes.
General Dillian stood on the bow of the ship, he couldn't find the answers for the hundreds of questions that ran by him from the group surrounding him. They were out of options, he knew it, but he refused to let humanity fall to an alien species, to be left at their mercy.
*"Fuck it."* The General said, as the alien mothership came in to land. *"Summon Cthulhu."*
Everyone around him went silent. Hairs stood on end from the mere mention of its name.
*"S-Sir..."*
One of them spoke, *"We won't be able to control-"*
*"I don't give a damn about control. We're on a losing battle, but the war isn't over."* The General snapped. He was well-aware of the consequences. Every treaty that had been formed around the subject stated that The Old Gods would only be used in catastrophic situations as a matter of self-destruction to defeat an enemy... this was such situation.
Everyone hesitated, their hearts were certainly full of fear. They collected their Old Ones manuals, flipping to the page of Cthulhu. In the distance, sirens could be heard. They had a matter of minutes before everything would be over.
*"Ph'nglui..."* The captain said in a shaken voice. Everyone repeated after him.
*"...mglw'nafh... Cthulhu... R'lyeh... wgah'nagl fhtagn!"*
They finished. Everyone went cold, nothing happened for a couple seconds. Just as they thought to start again, the waves parted, and the large, eldritch being had arrived.
Their worst fears, ones they didn't even know they bore, were instantly recognised. On the outside, Cthulhu raged, swiping, thrashing, attacking every ship. They opened fire, but the Old God stood strong.
On the inside, every man who found himself gazing upon Cthulhu had become an empty husk of their former selves.
Madness had fallen. | 2017-09-26T11:17:26 | 2017-09-26T11:13:03 | 50 | 16 |
[WP] Weapons are enchanted by performing incredible feats with them. The harder the feat, the stronger the enchantment.
For example, a rifle used in WWII might become magical, or a lucky ring that someone had on while free running might suddenly become a ring of agility, etc. | War. War never changes. Only the weapons we use to wage it.
For most people, when they think of weapons, they think guns and swords and bombs and knives. A gun that kills an enemy will draw from the death, growing more lethal and accurate the more it's used. The knife that slits the throat of a man will drink in his blood, becoming sharper, creating wounds increasingly difficult to heal. Perhaps the only advantage to bombs is that they tend to be too damaged to resuse. There is no bomb that can become more explosive and more incendiary the more it is detonated. Some think that this limit is the only reason the world hasn't been destroyed by now.
What people don't tell you is that the more you use the weapon, the more it uses you. It's addictive, in a way. Seeing them die. Feeling the power grow. Knowing it will be even easier next time. More damage. More power.
The most deadly weapon of all does not shoot people. It does not cut arteries and let the blood seep into its blade. It does not demolish buildings and kill hundreds. It is far worse than anything else you can even think of as a weapon. In the wrong hands, it can ruin lives, topple governments or destroy societies. It does exactly the same in the right hands.
Right now, a man is holding it in his hands. During his career, he has caused seven corrupt politicians to resign. He has driven six incredibly wealthy and terribly greedy businessmen to suicide, jumping from their penthouse apartments. He has investigated and aided in the capture of five serial killers. He is a journalist, putting the finishing touches to his latest article. A very good journalist. A very good journalist whose work has attracted the illwill of certain powerful individuals, individuals that he never sees but he knows are there.
At first, it was just a feeling. As he rushed out to another interview with his newest source, he got that prickly feeling on the back of his neck. He was being watched.
But he published that article, and it caused such an uproar that they took his dog and split him into pieces and
sent the pieces back, one by one. The only person who remarked on that was the postman, glad that his route was quieter without that dog barking at him. The man nodded as he took the second ear, all wrapped up in bubblewrap and menace from the post man. He wished he could stop writing but it was too late. He had to keep going. Everyday he grasped the pen in his shaking hand, all the while knowing it was holding him even tighter.
Four mothers who died from broken hearts, or was it shame, after he published what their sons had really does for. Three old men, thinking they had left that nightmare past behind, only for him to drag it back up again. Two oil barons, their environmental pollution exposed and their companies ruined.
One by one his family disappeared. The mother who was on the way out anyways. The girl he loved. His brother's newly orphaned child. The police didn't investigate no matter how many times he called them. His neighbours learned it was safer not to .talk to him at all.
And now, he's about to finish his last article. He doesn't want to. He hasn't wanted to write these articles in years. Once he enjoyed this. Exposing the evils of society. Spreading the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so *help me God*. He didn't want to write about those families with dark secrets that the survivors didn't want cropping up again. But once he held the pen, the pen held him and he could not stop himself from writing it. Could not stop himself from sending it off for publication. Nobody can stop it. He is a broken man that breaks things without fail. The pen doesn't let him do anything else.
They are coming for him now. They have realised that he won't stop writing until he stops breathing. They are breaking down his door but he cannot move, sweat dripping onto the pages even as the lock shatters and they burst in. They have guns, but they are not enchanted. They have not killed as many people as his pen has.
And so it is of little consequence, their deaths. The pen drags itself around the room, slashing veins like it crosses the T, stabbing like it dots the i. It drinks in their blood like ink, and by the time the last body slumps to the floor, it has the poor man back at his writing desk, scratching away.
There is much more to be written. | It’d been ages since I’d seen my family, I’ve spent my entire savings for this chance. And my time had come. For the longest I’d been struck by mediocrity in all my political endeavors... This is my chance. I know he existed and perished in Florence. Niccolò Machiavelli, a man whose voice would lay the framework for many to follow, had a voice and a reason governing all of his motives. It wasn’t enough to analyze his text, to study night and day worshipping his methods... No. This would be the ultimate feat of replication. I planned the flight from my home in Binghamton, leaving my loving family all just to satiate my hunger for success. Which for the longest time has gone without notice. Left my loving daughters, and my beautiful wife. Oh the regret she must carry in her soul for marrying a failure of a person as I.
My plan was simple, in the wee hours of the morning I would drive to the burial site and take what was rightfully and always intended to be mine. His ring, he wore it during every speech. Every movement. It was bound to have some form of divinity to it. There’d been cases of people finding these “Divine Artifacts” as I’d referred to them. Nevertheless they were special articles or relics that granted the finder an ability based on the nature and difficulty of the task they achieved. For example on the news some lucky bloke found Da Vinci’s notebook at a street market. A simple fellow as he was known was granted the intelligence to invent, paint, and even engineer great things. Somebody with no education! The media thought it was a facade, some form of supernatural false hype. This was the genuine article however.
*BANG*
Lost in my thought I’d realized I’d just hit the casket of Machiavelli’s grave. There was no more than a few inches of dirt separating me from my destiny. I lift the casket cover and what I find throws me into a horrified stupor. I’d no idea what my eyes fell upon however I was amazed and confused. He was alive, this man who’d been buried for almost five hundred fucking years had been alive this whole time. He hadn’t aged a bit and the artwork had portrayed him perfectly.
“Thank you” he said entirely nonchalant about just being taken out of his grave.
After a few minutes of stunned silence I noticed his quill, a glowing feather, sticking out of his coats pocket.
“I’d been in there for quite some time, thank you for freeing me from that box” he spoke an old, delicate version of Italian. I now understood this mans political knowledge to a further extreme, he knew what to say and had the voice to project his feelings.
“How are you alive” I spoke as softly as I could trying to imitate his level of intellect, all the which was probably smashed to pieces by the fact that my Italian was broken and essentially useless.
“I’m not sure, however this quill of mine is glowing and I recall it to be the one I wrote all my books with.”
That was it, the gears finally clicked, he changed the course of human history. As long as people remembered his writing and his teachings he’d live on. A Divine Artifact useless for anybody but himself.
I let out a sigh.
“What’s bothering you fellow” his heroic voice consoles me.
“You’re quite possibly the most influential writer of your time. Your political theory is still practiced today, and you died five hundred years ago.”
Then with one word he blew all my insecurities away. One small word so insignificantly used in modern life he used it to console a grown man.
“So?”
“People remember you, they will remember you. When I die I’ll be known as a failed politician whose hackneyed beliefs led him to his demise.”
“Your beliefs will not lead you to your fall, they will lead you to those with similar beliefs, and you must lead them. Be their voice of reason. Speak particularly loud for the weak my friend, it is those minds whom of which you should appeal to.”
I was so astonished, five minutes of life and he’s already formulated a plan of what should be done for my horrendous situation.
“Thank you” I said, warm tears rolling down my face.
“Do what you will with the information I’ve given you, you seem to be the most intelligent pupil I’ve ever had.”
I asked him what his plan was with his newfound freedom.
“I will go back to sleep. And I will help another lost soul in need of guidance. Do me a favor on your way out though friend, will you?” He said with a coy grin.
“Anything” I replied without hesitation.
“Bury me so nobody knows of this interaction.” He said sternly.
“Of course” I said, my words and manhood being torn to pieces by the knot in my throat.
I climb out of his grave and before he closes his casket he gives me a reassuring wink to what I can only speculate is his sign of good faith. I began filling in the grave, tearing up at the idea of burying my teacher, the best one I’ve ever had. Words could not describe the impalpable feeling of pride I have. The newfound confidence of learning from the best. No. Nothing compares to it at all.
| 2017-12-05T15:27:39 | 2017-12-05T12:45:44 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Multi-dimensional travel already exists, but no one visits our dimension because it's "that" one | It wasn’t that dimension 13E was too unstable, there was plenty of more unstable dimensions in the multi-verse.
It wasn’t like it was the one with the most dangerous inhabitants either, there were dragons and actual beasts in other worlds. 13E just had their myths and fairy tales.
No, 13E was specifically banned because of a dangerous plague that was unique to the dominant species. It seemed too risky to let them know about space travel, especially since it risked the spread of the horrid affliction; *Memes*.
Memes seemed to be the main cause of terrible ‘Viral’ sensations that would sweep through the populous, sometimes dozens at one time.
It was safer to keep them quarantined, lest the Meme plague proved contagious to the other species of the multi-verse.
Especially because of the affliction known as an “Ear Worm” which seemed particularly contagious. The one called Nyan Cat had infected more people than lived in some of the other worlds of the muti-verse!
*No, it was much better they remain isolated*
-Fin- | *ding!*
The head of the council rang the small bell that sat on the desk before him.
"Presiding, the elected representatives of the gathered multiverse," he droned, a line he had spoke multiple times since he had been promoted to council head. As the murmurs dimmed, he glanced around the room and watched a sea of faces stare back at him from the massive circular table: faces all matching his own.
He shuffled the papers before him and cleared his throat.
"First order of business, we have a complaint from Reality-713 concerning the ban on inter-dimensional drug transfer?"
A scruffy, hooded mirror of himself stood up at the opposite end of the table.
"It's just not fair," he whined, and an assorted groan went up from the gathered duplicates.
"I mean," he went on, "have any of you ever tried [REDACTED IN CURRENT REALITY]? It's addicting *and* harmless!"
The council head shuffled his papers once more and rang the bell a few more times as conversation arose among the assembly.
"We will not be adressing this issue any longer - please be seated, council member-"
He was interrupted as a worried voice rang through the crowd.
"Hey, uh, excuse me? I think I'm lost, and - oh my god!"
As one, the council turned to observe the shocked newcomer: a figure resembling themselves, but sporting a t-shirt labeled 'Supreme' and a small, three pronged, spinning device in his hand.
Member 56 leaned over and whispered to his neighbor.
"Oh Jezezus, it's this guy. Someone get the mind wipe." | 2017-12-24T05:10:16 | 2017-12-24T04:12:00 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death. | 30 seconds until midnight.
20 seconds.
10 seconds.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
...Silence. While Greek Row was normally loud and active, there was only silence.
I was such a fool for staying out this late. I briskly walked back towards my dorm, wary of potential police officers lurking around campus. As I approached the crosswalk, I counted how many seconds the signal had been white. The signal to walk never lasted more than 15 seconds. It had already been 10 seconds, so I took long strides to cover as much ground as I could. Upon reaching my dorm, I attentively swiped my University ID card over the scanner. As the door unlocked, I could hear a car in the distance. Quickly, but carefully, I swung the door open just enough to slip inside and make my way up the stairs. As I stumbled towards my dorm, I tiredly stabbed at the lock with my key until it found its way in. I entered quietly as to not wake up my roommate, blissfully asleep in his bed. Flopping on the bed, I recalled the beginning of the executional edicts.
It had only been two years since the Martial Proclamation was implemented. The Unity Party stole numerous seats from both Democrats and Republicans. They made up a massive majority in both the House and Senate. They were able to pass the 28th Amendment which enacted what most of us know as the Martial Proclamation.
“To combat growing crime within society, the 28th Amendment will provide law enforcement throughout all of America , on the 2nd of each January, the ability to punish any and all crimes, with death.”
No one believed that statement at first. But surely enough as January 2nd, 2018 arrived, more than 400,000 homeless people were murdered under charges of trespassing, loitering, and anything else you could think of. Most of these charges were very weak and lacked evidence, but it didn’t matter. They were orders of death. People began calling them executional edicts. If the officer had the slightest reason to think you committed a crime, your death would be ordered. Even richer and more privileged people were executed by police officers for disorderly conduct or some other bullshit reason. People began taking the new law seriously. From January 2nd to January 3rd, everyone lived under martial law.
I was always a good kid, brought up by strict Asian parents so I never drank or did drugs. I wasn’t ever too concerned with the new law.
But then half of my friends died.
No one ever thought they would raid the dorm buildings. Some of my friends foolishly had marijuana hidden in their rooms. They never got to tell anyone goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to go to any of their funerals. There were too many of them.
As I woke up the next morning, I checked my phone and saw that it was already noon. I slumped out of bed and changed into tight jeans and a T-shirt. Even though it was winter, I wasn’t gonna risk looking like I was hiding something. No one was sure of what was a crime anymore, it felt like anything could get you killed. I took only my student ID with me to the market under my dorm building. I bought a vegan sandwich and tea. As I went to pay for my items, I heard a cry and I turned to see two police officers drag a young woman in tears, begging for her life outside of the market. Moments later, everyone heard one loud bang and a quieter thud afterwards. No one spoke after that. Even the cashier just silently handed me my receipt and items. As I left, I passed by the two officers who scanned me for a moment and turned back towards the young woman’s body. I could hear them radio in a clean-up crew but I didn’t stick around for them to arrive.
I stayed in my dorm the rest of the day, quietly listening to music through my earbuds and coloring my coloring book. My roommate had left before I woke up, and I hadn’t heard from him since. When I checked my phone again, it was already 10 pm. I figured the worst had happened when suddenly I heard the door unlock.
But instead of my roommate walking in, it was a police officer, who strode in and dropped a set of bloodied keys on my desk. He left without a word, leaving me with an extra set of keys and without a roommate.
Edit: Wow I did not expect to get so much attention and positive response to this! I usually don’t write because I don’t consider myself that great of a writer, but I’m glad people enjoyed my story! | WELCOME TO CONNECTICUT the sign read.
*Finally*, the truck driver thought. *I've been on the road for three days now.*
He suddenly realized that today was the Egrup.
He broke out in a nervous sweat. The dial read sixty-*six* miles per hour. He was supposed to be traveling sixty-five.
He quickly eased up on the gas, slowing down drastically to about fifty-five miles per hour, safely below the speed limit.
*That was a close one*, he thought. *Could have gotten myself killed there*. He took note that almost every car was also traveling quite slowly as well.
*Whee, whoo, wee, whoo.*
Police sirens! The truck driver started sweating again. *Not today, not today! Please God, it can't be me!*
He slowed, and pulled over, hoping to dear God it wasn't him the policemen were after.
A few seconds.
Lights flashed in his mirror.
A car sped by, the cruiser followed.
The driver slumped in his seat. Not him, not today. They were going after another man. He tried to stop his hands from shaking. Wouldn't be a good idea driving in such a state. As he watched the speeding car finally pulled over, the cruiser pulled up behind. The back of the car had a sign that read in big, white letters on a red background "Egrup". A similar sign would be on the front, notifying drivers to obey the laws. A blonde, lanky policeman hopped out of the car, hand on his holter.
He drew his gun.
The truck driver closed his eyes.
*BANG!*
He took a deep breath, calming himself and opened his eyes. The blonde haired policeman had walked back to his cruiser and was now talking on a radio. The trucker took another breathe and eased his truck away. *Even closer call*, he thought. *If I hadn't realized the day those officers might have been after* me *instead.*
Back on the road he took extra care to obey the speed limit. About half an hour down the road he noticed a police cruiser behind him. The *same* police cruiser, being driven by that same lanky, blonde headed policeman.
The truck driver felt like the eyes of God were staring down upon him. He started sweating again.
The lights lit up.
The sirens started blaring again.
*Whee, whoo, whee, whoo.*
"Shit!" the man exclaimed. He started pulling over. "Please don't be me, please don't be me," he started mumbling, "please don't be-"
The cruiser pulled in behind him.
"No, no, no, nonONONONO! NO!!"
He would be killed on the spot, he just knew it. Policemen had the right to on this day. He watched in his mirror mirror as the blonde headed policeman stepped out, hand on holster. He didn't rush over like last time. Good sign. Policeman stepped up to the window as the truck driver lowered his window, letting in the sounds of the highway.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and open up the back," he said. Another good sign. If he had been speeding the truck driver would have certainly been dead by now.
"Sure thing officer," the man said, laughing nervously. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he stepped down from the cab, slamming the door shut.
"Just a random inspection is all," he said. A green mini van rushed by, rustling his dirty-blonde bains. "I'm going to need you to open up the back of your truck."
"Alright," the driver responded. He to the length of the truck, passing the iconic stork mascot on the logo. He got to the back, the policeman following a short distance behind. The driver unlocked the door, rolling it and the Vlasic logo up, depicting the same, grinning face of a bespectacled storc. It reaveald dozens, if not a hundread or two carboard boxes.
"Grab one of those down please and open it up, sir," the officer said. His voice throughout the entire interaction was bland, almost bored.
"Yes officer," he said. He cut open a box, revealing a dozen jars of classic, Vlasic pickles. The officer picked on out at random and opened it. He took out a pickle and examined it.
"I'll need to ask you what this is, sir."
The driver staired at him, dumb-founded for a second. Remembering himself he stammered, "A- a pick- A pickles, officer. It's a pickle."
The officer nodded. He took a bite out of it and winced. "It's mushy," he said.
Then he looked down and dropped the pickle onto the pavement.
It made a *plap* as it hit the asphalt.
The officer stiffened, and whipped out his gun.
He didn't give the driver a chance to defend himself. *BANG!*
The driver dropped dead instantly.
The officer yelled at the corpse, "Pickles have to bounce in Connecticut!" | 2018-01-06T22:27:51 | 2018-01-06T21:23:00 | 1,426 | 98 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
| "A mistake was made," said the U.N. Secretary General. Last night depth probes had rained from the Vermont sky. They had been dropped in the hole six months and one day ago, exactly. Now they were back. And we all knew what would follow.
15,000 nuclear weapons had been dropped into the hole one month ago. Humanity had five months left.
Iceland was the first country to divide all of their wealth equally among its citizens. "Make the most of it while you can," said its prime minister. "I wish that you all will live to the fullest, in open defiance of the absurdity that has become human existence."
A dark brooding overtook the world. In every coffee shop you would find young men and women engaged in deep thought, contemplating the strange spectacle that had become their predicament. Political parties rose and fell like a beating heart, struggling to regain its foothold after a traumatic shock. Whispers were heard in street corners, a salvation unmistakably on its way. "This is a trial," many a stranger would tell each other. "We have five months to show that we are worthy of life. If you dedicate yourself to the Good, you will survive. The others will be erased from the world and be forgotten."
As reality began to set in, a strange fellow gained worldwide attention and fame when he assured humanity that he had found the solution to their woes. "This planet is doomed," he said. "But this isn't the only one. We have the funds. We have the drive. We can escape inevitable doom and settle on the red planet."
The Martian Movement grew strong, and with it a sense of optimism dawned on humanity. "There is a chance," was the sentiment. "We could still survive."
The window of time was narrow. In a single month, humanity would have to work together and embark on its greatest mission yet. But there was another faction growing. And it grew strong.
The first body fell 46 days after the first probes. It landed on top of the garbage heap. Some commented that it was an apt metaphor; humanity falling to their grave on top of the steaming pile of mess that had left behind. This nihilistic notion became commonplace. "Humanity does not deserve to be saved." Such were their sentiment. They held counter-rallies to the devout Martians. They argued that man had had his chance, and he had failed. He did not deserve a second chance. The hole only spat out what had been tossed inside. We had failed the litmus test, and so the book closed.
Then, one day, the hole closed.
Time went on, and as the six-month period came to pass, it became evident that it would keep on doing so. The once dedicated groups dissipated like a soup gone cold. The world remained the world. Never would anyone learn the true nature of the hole. It seemed a chance event, bereft of meaning. Humanity would ultimately have to fill the hole with stories. With meaning. And it would keep on drifting through the cold Universe, forever asking themselves the same question: why? | 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T08:53:16 | 4,551 | 537 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
| “Ok, so, Deep goes back a while. Everyone thought it was a new thing when it was found in unprocessed satellite photos, which is funny because the feds had contingents for all of that, but they never expected a high school class to actually get a camera into orbit for that long… Anyway, ok so, the picture got out, have you seen it?”
“Yea, I saw it. So, what? What are you getting at?”
“Right, ok, the picture… Everyone called bullshit on it at first, but when the metadata.”
“Jesus, I know the story. The image was verified by the dude in Australia who recovered the camera after the satellite deorbited. The school was fined for not maintaining orbital attitude, failing to eject the ablative shield after launch which allowed the camera to reenter without burning up, and crashing into some poor fucker’s house. I know the story…”
“Chill out dude.”
“I’m chill, you just suck at telling stories”
“You really are an asshole, if Mom knew….”
“Just get on with it”
“OK! So, the hole has been there for 40 years. Back in 2014, some experiment at Area 51 opened it up. They ran this BLM story, like 100 miles away, or something, where there was this standoff, it was crazy. Well that was a coverup, and the military was moving equipment in to fill it in. When that failed, they asked the NSA to find a way to hide it. All those pictures from before were edited, and everyone was told they had to do it, or they would be shut down. After the high school satellite thing, they couldn’t hide it, and since it wasn’t technically on the military base, people started going there.”
“Yea, we went when we were kids, you were too little to remember it…”
“Oh, I remember. Stop cutting me off! Where was I? Ok, so there has been conspiracy for a few years, and no one really knew what was going on, and of course the military denied any knowledge. I mean, it took 3 years to just get them to admit that they covered up all the pictures, but they said they just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Where is this going?”
“I’m almost there. So…. Everyone has been dumping stuff in there, lots of different stuff. Even explosives, and they can always register a detonation, but a graduate student team from MIT dropped a super magnetic container, with 3 kg of anti-hydrogen, and 3 hours of battery life into it. Guess how big the boom was after the 3 hours?”
“3 kg of anti-hydrogen? It probably registered on seismographs in Vegas”
“It should have registered in Los Angeles. It never went off. The hole is empty, it goes nowhere.”
“Are you suggesting….?"
“Follow the evidence dude… What the hell was the Air Force fucking with back then, and why do we still not know anything about it?”
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:45:07 | 4,551 | 31 |
[WP] There are many gods, who create many universes. Our god, a preschooler, has just submitted our universe for his universe making class. His teacher sighs, shakes her head, slaps an F on it and begins to explain where he went wrong | “What is this? I asked for a universe and all you handed me is this blank canvas.” said Mrs. Smith
“It’s not empty. See, look! I put a dot on it. That’s my universe,” protested Stella.
Immediately Mrs. Smith brought her hand up to massage her forehead. “Oh dear, why can’t you be more like the other students Stella?” she asked. “Universes need fundamental laws and actual finite definitions of infinity. Yours, well yours is just a dot.”
“But Mrs…” interjected Stella.
“No buts or ifs missy. You obviously didn't pay attention again and thought you could create yourself out of this but, no.” said Mrs. Smith as she scorched an F on the canvas and handed it back to Stella. “Bring me a new one tomorrow if you want a chance at passing.” Mrs. Smith gave Stella a disappointed look as she got up from her desk and walked out of the classroom.
“I just wanted to see what happens if I squeezed everything into one spot,” thought Stella. She let the failed canvas fall from her hands as she walked out of the room to join the others outside at recess.
The canvas hit the ground with a bang.
edit: spelling. oops.
| Universe Project Final Grading Rubric:
Completed Project: 5/100
-Student only completed 5% of the project. When asked what happened to the other 95% of his universe, Charles replied that it was full of "Dark Matter" and "Dark Energy." I asked Charles to explain what that meant exactly and he just shrugged.
Original Intelligent Life Forms: 0/100
Charles only created one intelligent life form. While the assignment called for an *original* life form, Charles simply copied his own form, and allowed a few minor variables. When I explained to Charles that this was not what the assignment called for, he explained that he made some of the life forms "different colors."
Aesthics and Design: 50/100
Charles did a great job designing some unique features like "stars" and "galaxies." While his world building seems exceptional, Charles only fully completed one actual world, leaving the others uninhabited, and largely featureless. When I asked why he did not complete more worlds, Charles said the uninhabited "planets" were for the "humans"(the life form Charles based on himself) to explore later on.
Overall Theme And Meaning: 0/100
Charles did not supply a meaning at all to his universe. When I asked him to come up with one, he said there was no meaning to his universe. When asked for the overall theme, he replied "Chaos."
Final Grade: 18(F)
Summary: Charles is a very creative student, but I fear that he has been allowed to talk his way out of doing his work too often. "Dark Energy" and "Chaos" are very creative concepts, but I feel that Charles is simply doing what he can to avoid having to create real and tangible ideas for the multiverse. Please have a talk with him as soon as possible. I would like to schedule a conference for next millennia to discuss his progress. | 2018-03-16T08:25:36 | 2018-03-16T08:07:43 | 156 | 42 |
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