prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] 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 | F.
The Rubric clearly stated the minimum requirement for dimensions was 5. You only have three clear dimensions and arguably a 4th. Not to mention the messy entanglement of space and time. I was looking for more uniformity, and your universe is littered with areas where time slows down around large areas of mass. Speaking of time, you showed no true concept. Arguments could be made for both a linear of circular “time line” as you call it. The project was also littered with dark holes. Just a very sloppy effort. Overall I was unable to accurately grade your project because of improper formatting. Baring a miracle on the final exam, I’m afraid you’ll will be forced to repeat this millennia of high school. | "Mr and Mrs Lord, thank you both for coming in for Danny's teacher conference. So, at this point in the year, we usually have a good idea where our students strengths are, where their weaknesses are and what our recommendation should be for placement next year. I think if you take a look at his Creation project you'll see that while he has some very creative ideas, it's not really his strong suit. Perhaps you two should look it over and discuss it, then I'll com back"
The Teacher left the room. John stared at the project, stared at his wife and stared back at the project.
"Nipples on men. Mary, did you see this? He put nipples on men"
"Well, now John, he's just expressing himself"
"Different colors. He made them all different colors. What in Hell?"
"He's experimenting with visuals, it shows he's creative."
"Ok, then explain to me what a platypus is. Or a giraffe. Cuttlefish?"
"He may be a little overenthusiastic."
"Overenthusiastic? He put tits on a nun for Christsake! What's more useless than tits on a nun?"
The Teacher returned and took her seat.
"So, now that you've seen the project I hope you'll understand that for next year, we'll be placing Danny in one of our more remedial classes, you know, until he gets up to speed. I'm sure he'll be pleased as punch as a minor deity". | 2018-03-16T09:37:14 | 2018-03-16T08:45:00 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
| DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T20:42:31 | 712 | 10 |
[WP] You are a linguist from an era of advanced science working on deciphering a long lost language. You just worked out the spoken word for "fire" and a small fireball burst out of your hand. | "George! George! did you see that? A bloody fireball just came out of my hand!"
"Hmm?" said Simon's old friend and co-worker, pulling his nose out of the dusty old book he was reading.
Simon rolled his eyes. "Pay attention this time. So now, how did I pronounce it... *Hoksi*? *Haksi*? No, that’s not it, it’s…*Hahksi*!”
An even larger fireball came out of Simon’s hand now and George’s eyes went wild with fear as his long white beard was set ablaze.
“Put it out, put it out!”
Simon grabbed the only thing he could find and threw it over his friend’s flaming beard. A mug of boiling hot coffee.
George howled in pain and both he and Simon bashed at his beard until the last of the fire was put out.
“Never say that blasted word again!” said George, rubbing the end of his seared beard with shaking fingers.
“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” said Simon. “Sure, your beard is a bit burnt but we’ve just made history. Well, *I’ve* made history.”
George’s scowl disappeared and he straightened up with an air of confidence. “I have too. I was the one that got that book for you, remember?”
“Yes, you were, but I was the one that deciphered the word.”
“Fine then,” said George. “You can have that word. You can be ‘the fire starter’ but now let’s swap books and I’ll find the next one.”
“It's all yours,” said Simon, quickly scribbling down *Hahksi* on a notepad, “I’m going to go practice.” He rose from the table and moved towards the balcony.
“Out there?” said George bewildered. “What if someone sees you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Simon. "They won’t know what they’re seeing.” He opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony.
George picked up Simon’s book and continued reading while his friend shot a series of small fireballs off the balcony. All of which were quickly extinguished by the cold night air. | "Fÿra"
a small fireball appeared from nowhere and finished its course in the wall before me. I was surprised, of course, so I shouted some nonsensical words while falling out of my chair.
Luckily, it only touched a metallic lab bench at the other side of the room. I came back to my notes, the stone tablet and the old scriptures. There were other words of course but... I had to test this again.
I lift my arm toward the wall and said it again "Fÿra". Nothing happens this time. Maybe I had to be in a specific state of mind? Or maybe I dreamt? I tried again a second time, then a third, nothing. Then in frustration I shouted it a bit louder, throwing my hand in the air. And this time, a flame wave burst toward the ceiling. I was lucky the fire safety system was out of order since a few months.
I had to see if other words could work the same way. The text I was trying to decipher was linked to an old cult. It was found in an underground temple. So there has to be references to other *Powers*. That's when Helena came in the office.
"What is happening here?" She said "I was searching for a book upstairs, and I heard you screaming!"
"You won't believe me." I said "Watch this!"
I had to be focused on what I had to accomplish. I was more excited than ever.
"Fÿra!"
two fireballs came out of my hand, one blue, one orange, the two drawing a slow spiral before crashing onto the wall
"What the hell!!" She said. "How did you do that?"
"I don't really know." I answered "I was looking at this tablet, trying to decipher it, as always, and I think I finally did it. This was the first word I came out with. Look, it can be written like this, if we use our alphabet"
I wrote the word on a small sheet of paper, and give it to her. She took the sheet, looked at it without saying a word, and then looked at the wall, with an intense stare, raised her arm...
"Fÿra!"
A stream of water came out of her hand, wetting the wall and the ground.
"That... was unexpected" Said Helena
"Water?" I said "So people react differently to it? Or... maybe it only acts as a trigger to something deep inside us... We have to do other tests, but not here. Too many flammable or breakable things."
"My house is in the countryside, with an abandoned quarry next to it. It's not too far, we could try to do more things there." said Helena
We agreed with a look, and took a car to her house.
******
*more stories on /r/cynferdd* | 2018-04-30T06:32:00 | 2018-04-30T06:15:29 | 87 | 39 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | I looked up as the man came in to the pet shop through the door. Along with him was his teenage son and young daughter, curiously looking around the room. The room had several indents in the walls, which contained all sorts of animals. Dogs, cats, bunnies, and rodents of all kinds.
I finished cleaning the mess in the cage I was working on and walked up to him.
"How can I help you today?" I asked.
The man replied, "I'm just looking at dogs today, it's my little girl's birthday and we wanted to give her something special."
"I have someone you may be interested in." I motioned for them to follow and lead them to the right cage," She is very friendly and gentle. Would you like to meet her?"
The little girl immediately ran up to the glass door that contained the friendly poodle and pressed her face up to it. The poodle barked, and I translated for them, "She's saying hi, I would like to play with you." The little girl jumped in excitement.
I looked at the father and he nodded his approval, so I opened the door and grabbed the poodle and took her to the play room. As the the girl and the poodle got acquainted, talked to the father about all the logistics of purchasing the dog.
Occasionally, I catch the dog saying how much he loved this new human and how good they smelled. Just normal dog things. As the conversation wrapped up, the man decided to go through with the purchase.
That night as I walked home, I enjoyed a beautiful full moon and revelled at a day of good sells. My tail grew out and I started wagging it happily. From dog house to dog food, toys and leashes, the man had purchased the whole deal! I knew I would celebrate well tonight. | "Jesus christ Marie, you were only in the hospital for two days!"
Al couldn't believe it. With a disgruntled sigh he threw the bill on the table, pacing. His pale face was wrought with frowns as he glared at the bill, as if it was mocking him directly.
"I'm going to call them right now. This is ridiculous! I cannot believe it" he spat out, typing out the number to the AmeriLine Health Insurance company, his long fingers
Marie sipped her coffee, her mood only betrayed by her amused eyebrows on an otherwise nonplussed face. "Al honey, you know that the insurance doesn't cover everything"
"$5000 dollars?! What did it cover? And what the *hell* is this? $75 for aspirin?" Al jolted to the medicine cabinet above his stove, rattling bottles. "I must be a millionaire here Marie, look two bottles full of- Oh Hi, I need to speak to someone about this bill. Yes. Yes. November 8th, 1431. No, *really*."
Marie shook her head softly and smirked, stroking the bandage on her arm. That bite she got from that wild dog was a bit nasty, but Al was there to save the day, again. *All the same* she thought *I wish he wasn't such a hot head*. Als yelling snapped her out of her daydream.
Al screamed "THATS IT! I AM DONE WITH YOU CHUMPS! MARK MY WORDS, THIS IS NOT THE LAST YOU'VE HEARD FROM AL U. CARD!"
A firm press to the end call button left Al crossed armed in his kitchen, his face now red with perspiration. "And they call *me* a blood sucker.." he muttered to himself. "Aha! I got it!" Al yelled triumphantly, pressing his fist into his open palm. He grabbed his coat off the rack and started reaching for his keys.
"Al, where are you going?" Marie inquired
"To protest! I have some cardboard in the back that I was meaning to recycle earlier. I can get Griffin in on this, he's got a good smile for the presses."
"Al, it's 11:00 PM"
Al walked over and kissed his wife on the forehead. "I know dear, I'll be back before dawn!" he shouted as he closed the front door quickly. | 2018-08-27T18:56:29 | 2018-08-27T18:54:24 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time. What they don’t say is that in between those deaths, you get stuck in purgatory with all the great philosophers and authors - all just waiting to die. | Purgatory's actually a pretty nice place, as it turns out.
Most people aren't forgotten right off the bat when they die; only a few poor souls each year take the expressway up to Peter's place. The rest of us, well. Most of us just wait around here, pick up a hobby or two, gossip about what's going on down there in the mortal realm. Not much different from life, really, except the food's already included.
Maybe a little *too* similar.
You see, a while back, once of the angels let some heavenly details slip. Poor thing was sentenced to a millennium working for his older brother down low, but the information's still out there. We're not really sure whether God doesn't know or just plain doesn't care, or if he wants us to keep doing what we're doing, but the info hasn't been erased from existence, so that's good enough for us.
I glanced around me, before quietly pushing the balding head down, back through the clouds.
So, apparently how heaven works is that you get everything you ever wanted. Want to eat food for forever? You've got it. Endless harem of beauties waiting on you? You've got it. Master every skill ever? *You've got it.*
The thing is, any rational person knows that sounds like a hell exactly of its own. Oh, sure, it'd be fun for the first few days, but after a year? A decade? A century?
I shuddered a little at the thought, remembering some of the secondhand descriptions my friend had given me.
So, to keep a long story short, someone decided there was no way in hell that they were going to get sent to *either* place. To do that, you've got to be remembered -- you've got to have people talk about you.
Million-dollar question: How do you do that? You're already dead.
Answer of a millennium? If you're *real* careful, you can send other people back. Have them talk about you.
The guy who chose me isn't around any more -- the angels caught him, eventually, and he was taken up to the gates, to be damned in hell or damned in heaven.
But before he left, he gave me the gift -- the gift of being remembered.
I spotted another head rising up through the clouds. A young one, this time. Grabbed on, gave him a good eyeful of me. I doubted I looked like what he expected, but things change in a couple thousand years. He opened his mouth, "Am... am I dead?"
I glanced around again. Still no patrolling angels.
"Not for long you aren't. When you get back, tell them Jesus sent you." | I really imagined dying to be a more spectacular or dramatic thing. For all I know, I fell asleep one evening and woke up on this hill. Maybe I was just dreaming, but some thought in the back of my head, clearer than any thought I ever had, told me I was dead. Just as I wanted to take in the strange landscape for a second a shout from right behind suprised me:”Look, a new fella!” I turned around and couldn´t believe my eyes: Was that Einstein? Before I could think any further he grabbed me by the shoulder and started walking while chatting in the most cheerful way:”I know what you want to ask, yes I´m Einstein and all this here is...well... some sort of afterlife or purgatory, and we are probably stuck here until our name is said for the last time, atleast that´s what Sokrates thinks. But let´s go faster, you still have to see a lot!” Stuck in an afterlife with all famous souls? Great! But what was I doing here? I mean, I was just an average scientist that published some papers about stem cell research...wait...maybe this one thing was more important than I thought... Einstein interrupted me again:“See, that guy over there under the tree, that´s my friend Newton! He still sits there everyday, thinking he´ll come up with something great. HEEY NEWTON! We already discovered gravity, no reason to sit there anymore!” His positive energy seemed to flow into me; I didn´t resist. Newton defied his own theory by not reacting at all to Einsteins words. I realized some other, very slim person was sitting under the tree aswell:” Who is that?”, I asked. “Ah, that´s just Buddha.” “Really? I always imagined him to be... you know a little bit fatter, like in the sculptures.” Einstein laughed out loud:”There´s no time for eating when you meditate all day. Well, he isn´t very talkative anyway. Hasn´t moved one inch since I came here.” “Wait, not one inch?” This place seemed to hold an endless amount of suprises. “Yup. No one really knows how long he was here, but King Arthur said he was already there when he came.” “Wait, King Arthur was real?” Einstein just nodded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Suddenly, a familiar looking old man that I couldn´t quite identify came rushing towards us, carefully trying not to spill whatever was in the in the 2 glasses he was holding. “Come on, Einstein, don´t keep him all to yourself!” He raised his hand, and in doing so dropped one of the glasses he was holding. Looking at his sad face I finally got it: It was Hemingway! A very, very drunk Hemingway. I shook his hand and he offered the remaining drink to me:” Care for a martini? Don´t tell Nietzsche though, he always gets mad when he sees us drinking!”
​
// I just couldn´t think of all those poor souls waiting to die, so I decided to make a comedy out of it. Truly fun to write, thank you for the inspiration. Might write another part, but at the moment I just can´t think of any more references to throw into the story. // | 2018-09-18T14:16:24 | 2018-09-18T13:33:42 | 68 | 30 |
[WP] You're an inmate on death row and discover that the government secretly doesn't execute anyone. What they do is something far stranger. | ~~Dear Diary~~
**The Personal Log of A██████**
██/██/██
It's been... what, two years? Two years since I've come here. Two years, waiting for some labcoat who inject me with a garbage cocktail and send me off forever. I thought I'd come to terms with it. I thought I was prepared.
Today they set my death day to next Wednesday and I [illegible scribbling]
***FUCK***
██/██/██
Tomorrow's the day. I'll get to talk to mom one last time. I need to apologize to her, I never did anything wrong but now I'm going to fucking die and leave her alone and [shortened for brevity]
It's time to say my goodbyes, I guess.
**Audio Transcript ██/██/██-2351255-A**
A██████: Where's my family?
Dr. Damian: They've been informed of your execution already. We sent them a videotape of your last words.
A██████: What the fuck? What? Last words? This is fucking illegal!
Dr. Damian: Rest assured, A██████, this is all perfectly legal. You'll understand soon.
A██████: What the fuck?
Dr. Damian: Hold on a couple minutes, the transport will be arriving soon.
A██████: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
**Audio Transcript ██/██/██-FTR-A**
Foundation Transit Bus: Welcome, everyone, to your new life.
FTR: You may be wondering what has been happening the past few days.
FTR: We are an organization known as the "Foundation", and that is all you need to know. We will arrive at Site-19 in approximately twelve minutes and three point six seconds.
FTR: Upon arrival, please take your jumpsuit and proceed through New Arrivals.
[incoherent murmuring]
**Level 2 Researcher Log - Dr. Damian**
Picked up ~50 new D-Class today. All is well, none appear to have any form of virus, disease, interdimensional corruption, or other anomalous traits. Only twelve more days on shit duty left. ^Fuck ^Dr. ^Bright
**Journal - D-2351255**
... I don't even know where to start. I'm supposed to be dead. Actually, from what I gathered, I am legally dead. They gave us the crash course - some propaganda bullshit about how we are humanity's last line of defense and some actual important stuff. Honestly, I don't trust myself to remember all of this, so I'm gonna put it here.
- I'm something called a D-Class now
- The Foundation apparently believes in ghosts or something because they want us to help contain these 'anomalies'
- I have one month to live.
They said if I do good and don't die on the way, they'll postpone my execution another month. They said something about an 80% success rate? Whatever. I'll figure a way to get out of this fucking place, I'll follow their bullshit, *I have a chance to live again*.
Signing off, A██████
*Researcher's note: D-2351255 served the Foundation for sixteen (16) days. This notebook was found on the body of D-2351255 approximately two (2) hours after his assignment to SCP-173.*
Author's note: This is my first ever WP response please don't hurt me lol | I’ve never been a good man. Honestly, I probably deserve this. I deserve to lay in this piss-stained bed. I deserve the endless monotony that is death row.
Eat.
Pace.
Shit.
Sleep.
Over and over again for the last 3 years. At this point, I wish they’d just pull the fucking trigger already. Metaphorically, of course. Gone are the days of firing squads. No, I’ll be strapped to a bed and injected. I’ll go to sleep in this hell hole one last time.
And today’s the day. Finally.
The cell door groans as Henry opens it. Good man, that one.
“Time to go,” he says softly as two other guards shackle my feet and hands.
One last walk down the hallway. Cindy hums a lullaby for me as I pass by her cell. Great – my last song on this earth is sung by cannibal. Of course. She joins me in hell tomorrow, according to the rumors.
I’m getting nervous. Sure, I’ve been wanting this. But what is a man to do when finally meeting Death’s gaze? I’m not a pious man, but what if…Well, there’s no changing my fate now.
I’m led into a small room with a mirrored window. I expect *their* families are on the other side, eagerly awaiting my last breath. The warden is standing in the center of the room. Now it’s easy.
Straps.
Prayers.
Tears.
Nothing.
Until there’s something. I wake up in a small room surrounded by people in fucking suits. I hate suits. Always make people feel self-important. Someone starts speaking. I turn my head to greet the sorry bastard in charge of this botched state ordered murder.
Except it’s Cindy. Crazy, people eating Cindy.
“Hello, Jim. You’re confused, I’m sure. I’m here to explain everything,” she says in her sing song voice.
“What the fuck is happening?” I don’t even care that I’m not dead. What’s she doing here? She was all over the news – Sinful Cindy. Likes them young and plump. People were always getting pissed that her death date was getting pushed back.
Cindy smiled slightly. “You’re here to help us. I’ve been watching you, Jim. You’re just what we need. Three years ago, my first year on death row, I was asked to join a special program. It’s run by the good ole U.S. of A government. Always looking out for us, you know.”
I swear my bones ache from whatever the hell they gave me. My mind is swimming in drugs and confusion. This can't be real. Cindy? With the government? They’re the ones that fucking put me on death row in the first place.
“You see,” she continued and gestured at the others “We are important to the health of the world.” She paused and stepped closer.
“Have you ever seen a nature documentary, Jim? Have you watched a pack of wolves take down a deer? Tear its flesh? It’s brutal, yes. But necessary. There are too many of us now. Humans, I mean. We are stretched too thin.”
I rushed to keep up. This couldn’t be what I think it is.
“So…What? You cull the herd?” I asked incredulously.
“Exactly!” Cindy seemed delighted. “It’s our duty. People like us, you know. The strange, the trash. The dead. Well, legally dead.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you actually die, Jim. Painfully, I might add. These people do enjoy their violent games. But consider it – you could serve society. You could have *purpose.*” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “And it will be fun.”
I only have to consider for a moment. After all, I am not a good man. There *are* too many. And anything is better than the nothing. In the end, the choice is easy.
Life.
Death.
Excitement.
Freedom. | 2018-11-08T20:52:06 | 2018-11-08T20:03:16 | 44 | 18 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | "Hey!!!" You scream as you kick and bang the glass thinking you will spend the next 90 years bored out of your mind.
"What? Stop your going to damage the pod." The technician says
"Oh hey, something is wrong I haven't fallen asleep yet" you say. "I don't want to spend the next 90 years awake in this thing"
"Sir calm down, just think for a minute. There are teams of technicians making sure everyone falls asleep and we have the technology to put you in a habitual state for 100 years, don't you think we have a way to monitor if you are awake or asleep? Plus we are right here you saw us put you in the thing".
"Well yeah but what if that machine is broken?" You say.
"You mean the giant machine with all the beeping and readings right next to your pod that makes a giant emergency sound when something stops working?" The technician says.
"Well ok but what if it is actually broken but it seems like it works" you say.
"Well if the technicians that do rounds 3 times a day never notice you are not asleep through this see through glass over a 100 year period, we will be sure to give you a refund" says the technician.
"You know you are kind of an ass" you say.
"Sorry sir but we have to put to sleep millions of people today and to many people like you have seen those old and stupid hollywood movies with major plot holes in them" says the technician.
Before you can respond gas fills your pod and your eyes begin to close, thinking what a dick. Then you hear a feint voice say "you know I'm right" as you pass out. |
When I get upset I can’t help but slap everyone within a 2 meter radius with my wild gesticulations.
"You goddamn idiots; goddamn buffoons. You don’t put everyone to sleep simultaneously!"
Everyone evacuated the 2 meter radius around so that I had the ersatz spotlight I needed to gain the attention of the committee. Politicians don’t like being called what they are;— allergic to the truth;— Shakespeare: fools thinks himself to be a wise man and all that;— "Fucking bozos."
Un-idiotic people around me nodded in vigorous assent. The idiotic ones clutched bruised body-parts.
"Sir, you’ll have your chance to—"
"Yeah but you’d never let anyone with a half-a-brain up there, now would you?"
"Sir, we’re trying to—"
"Constructive dialogue? You apes can’t even see the obvious problem here? You’ll kill us all."
"Sir, at least point out a specific problem with the bill…"
"I’ll read it out! I quote: 'Due to overpopulation, a global law is proposed that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years.' You’re going to put EVERYONE to sleep? Huh? So in a 100 years, we still have an overpopulation problem? Because the net number of people is going to be the same."
"But we’ll have time… regenerate natural resources…"
"Yeah cause a 100 years is so long."
"So what would you propose?"
"Stagger it."
"?"
"Here, let me explain:"…
\[Twenty Years Later\]:
Today is Shutdown Day. I’m just about tucked into my pod. I instantly notice eyes being shut all around me. But something is wrong; I’m are still awake. So I get up and go talk to the person in charge and they fix my problem right away. That there will be bugs in the deployment of a project as big and complicated as this a fore-drawn conclusion. But, I can feel myself drifting into a comfy sleep to a utopian future. At least we don’t put everyone to sleep so that I’m not bloody Will Smith talking to a mannequin in a clothes shore after my dog dies. Wait, I forgot about my dog… | 2018-12-29T04:08:01 | 2018-12-29T02:18:27 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] After you grow old and die, you wake up 25 million years ago as a Hominid Primate, asleep on a tree. Your whole life was a vivid hallucination you had after ingesting a funny looking mushroom. After this experience, you have great knowledge, and you're the smartest living being on the planet. | "I was many things", I mused to myself, "but I was never a great teacher."
Weeks had passed since my revelatory vision - my tribe had left me for dead after trying for more than a day to get any kind of rise out of me. I woke up disoriented and alone, but soon found the telltale smoke of a bonfire, and found the tribe's latest camp.
I was welcomed with open arms, but it was obvious I had changed. One doesn't live an entire second life without undergoing some serious mental restructuring after all. Fortunately I was still able to communicate with them, and I told them all about the impossible future I had lived. Buildings hewn from stone, permanent settlements bustling with countless people - wooden boxes with wheels pulled along by horses. All of this technology that would not be created for probably centuries or perhaps even longer; how could one possibly know the current year without any frame of reference?
I had one memory more vivid than all - a glorious machine that would help us defend against the rival tribes and even against the mammoths, previously deemed far too powerful a foe to ever engage with. It took weeks teaching my tribesmen to sew fibers together, to sharpen stones into tools to fell trees, and to gather and prepare the necessary materials, but finally I could step back and appreciate the majesty of what must be my species's most powerful invention across all time.
Let's just say: if mammoths or enemy tribes look to get within three hundred meters of us, they should expect to be on the receiving end of a 90 kilogram projectile. | Hi, me
Hello, me
What language am I speaking?
Your speaking English mate, it’s a future language and it’s being used so people on writing prompts can visualise your perspective.
Oh I see. What’s writing prompts?
Well it’s a part of this website called reddit, which is part of the Internet which is. Anyways I am you and I’ve come to tell you that you are everything and nothing.
How can this be this case?
The bits and pieces that make up you, your atoms, are just in quantum superposition. Everywhere and no were at once, all of spacetime simultaneously. It’s shrodingers cat but you.
So what am I? What perspective am I seeing from?
A high frequency vibration of nothing, me. You never existed, just as this conversation doesn’t actually exist or the person writing it. Your seeing from the perspective of him right now.
I see. So what am I experiencing right now, me?
Ego death, you are in the middle of it and are seeing from all perspectives right now. This is a normal mushroom trip that many of your friends have already seen, they just can’t remeber. This is just one specific part of ego death, that we all experience.
Fuck I shouldn’t have eaten these, too meta
It’s okay, me. Time doesn’t exist, me. Life and death are an illusion. Conciousness is a never beggining nor ending cycle in which you will rebirth into everything else including yourself, all possible realities and everyone else’s, all at once forever. This makes us all one organism. All the same. You’ve already been doing this forever. We have already had this conversation and infinite amount of times, as has everyone.
Oh I understand.
You’re also just an experession of conciousness in another reality on a piece of text. All realities are true.
So this writing prompt says I’m the smartest being ever right?
Well you are, it’s just that we are all one being so you don’t have any competition lmao.
Am I going to remeber any of this?
Fuck no, me it’s in English you silly silly me. You speak ooga booga.
I need a fucking nap after all of this.
You’ll get your nap me, just ride out the wave.
| 2019-03-19T07:06:30 | 2019-03-19T06:45:29 | 160 | 55 |
[WP] A group of plucky rebels attempts to overthrow a dystopian government. Wait... *checks notes* Sorry, utopian, a utopian government. | "Does anyone want some pizza?"
The rebel leader looked to Chance with disgust. "No, we can't HAVE pizza! Don't you understand!? They must be medicating our food! We can only eat the snacks I made."
Chance looked crestfallen. "I really like pizza though."
"Yeah, these snacks are good and I prefer other snacks more," Linda chimed in.
"Ooh, good 'yes and'!" Cody beamed.
The rebel leader slammed his hands down on the table hard, causing the entire group to jolt and fall silent. "Are you trying to stay brainwashed?! Wake up, sheeple! This is real shit right now!"
"Swearing isn't very kind, Skyler," Jonah huffed. "You're making us feel less than."
Skyler, the leader, rubbed his temples. "Okay. Okay, I apologize for swearing and your feelings are valid. But my feelings are valid too! Remember we had a very valid feeling of being very upset and angry!"
"Yeah, that's why I went for a nice jog. I actually feel much better now," Paula offered helpfully. "Have you tried having a nice jog?"
"Ooh, that's unsolicited advice, P! Don't forget to ask first before offering advice!" Clara warned.
"Well I think it's nice advice!" Chance nodded. "Let's see if we feel better after some exercise! We could run or go swimming?"
"Ooh, let's skinny dip in the lake!"
A chorus of agreement was again cut off by the leader. "That won't work! It didn't work last time, did it? Get your heads out of the clouds and focus! We'll never overthrow the government if we keep getting distracted!"
"Okay, but I really want to go get pizza. Can we do the overthrow thing after pizza?" Chance pouted.
"No! Rebellion first, free the pizza of it's taint, then perhaps we can have pizza," the leader fumed.
Chance nodded sagely, "Just happy it's on the list. I appreciate you hearing me out."
"Whatever. Is everyone ready?" Skyler stood tall.
The came a cheer of enthusiastic support.
Skyler sighed and nodded. "Okay, follow me."
They left the cafe and headed next door to the governor's office. It was a small and humble building, and in it was only one man playing with a kitten with a bit of string on his desk.
As the group came in, he stood and straightened with a smile, "Oh, you just caught me on my break! What can I do for you nice folx?"
"We want pizza!" Chance cried.
"No!" Skyler hissed. He turned and faced the Governor. "We want the government to step down and relinquish control of the people!"
"Oh, okay. I was kind of getting bored with this job anyway. Here."
The now former Governor pulled a set of keys from his pocket and put them in Skyler's hand. Gathering up the kitten in his arms, he took it's paw and made the kitten wave goodbye to the group. "Bye bye meow!"
When he was gone, Skyler stared after him in disbelief then looked down at the keys in his hand. "Huh. Am...am I the Governor now?"
The group cheered.
"That was tense, but I feel good," Paula struck a triumphant pose.
Skyler moved and sat down in the chair. "Okay, down to business. I-"
Everyone was leaving. Skyler pouted, "Where are you going!? What about the rebellion?"
Chance was the last one left. He turned and smiled, "Oh, yeah. That was fun! We're going to get some pizza now. We shouldn't bother you at work anyway, Mr. Governor. Bye!"
Governor Skyler stared at the now closed door then looked around his large, empty, new office. With a sigh he sulked in his chair. | I had read all the literature from the White Ferns, listened to their words, mimicked their mannerisms, and passionately quoted their gospels. Newt however had grown weary. I suspected the Others had been getting to him. However hard I had tried to push him into confessing he kept his thoughts close to his chest. Our supplies depleted by the day and Caesar had grown harsher. Once in a while he’d wake us all up in the middle of the night and gather us in his ship. He’d show us of the olden days. The days of his youth. The days he claimed that no man or woman answered to the beast of the skies. He’d ask if that’s what we wanted. We would shout to the heavens it’s all we want in life but to most of us life had been too foreign of an experience.
Caesar would sneakily march us into the jungles in the middle of the nights, and like vermin waiting to poach our next meals, we would let our weapons fall on the Others and anyone else who would dare to sacrifice humanity for the Galactic Federation. After this we would enjoy the following days hidden away in the trees and marsh until the supplies ran low once again to which we would be riled up Caesar’s words and plunder once more.
A few months passed and Caesar had grown faded. In that short time frame he had lost a quarter of his body weight, and the slivers of grey in his beard and hair that had once made him look regal, now covered most of his face making his stare all the menacing. I felt that whatever war we were fighting we lost.
I knew we had lost from the moment when we began sneaking away in the middle of the night to have sullen conversations of what we were fighting for.
“The others,” one of us would chime in.
“Yes,” everyone agreed.
“But what have they done exactly?” Newt demanded to know.
Most of us weren’t sure.
When we would ask Caesar he would wave us off and paint the landscape of the beauty of normalcy we would regain. When we would ask about getting help from the rest of the White Fern, he would reassure us they were too busy fighting the good war.
Our bodies marched through an abandoned town. Caesar wondered out loudly what had happened to the people. He told us to be aware of an ambush and surely enough we were surrounded.
“Just give us the kids,” one of them would plead.
“It’s just their tricks! Fire away,” Caesar commanded and at the bullets that raced out of our guns they would retreat.
I always wondered why they never fought back.
I was awoken one night at the fury of Caesar’s voice. A squeal echoed throughout the lonely jungle.
“Look at him,” Caesar spat out.
He had both of Newt’s hands in his grip.
“Look at him. He has been infected,” his voice violently rumbled throughout the air. “Do you know what we do with them?”
“I’m not one of them,” Newt pleaded.
“Lies,” he cocked his gun and I saw the life seemingly drain out Newt.
Caesar reminded us to let him know if one of us had been infected. He told us that he could always cure us before it was too late. I couldn’t help but feel his words slowly lose all the charm, and the power they once held. I, too, had begun to have my doubts. The following months I reread the literature, listened to their words once more, mastered their mannerisms, but the passion had fleeted. Every night I would find myself slipping away into another world. A world that they had inhabited. I knew it was evil but I wanted to see for myself.
We found another town to sack. Once again we were outnumbered. We began to shoot but all our efforts were in vain. One by one each one of us began to fell and Caesar yelled that they were murderous and twisted. I felt something hit me and I drifted away.
I woke up in a lonely room. In a bed. I had never slept in a bed save for the few moments I’d find myself laying in Caesar’s after I grew tired from cleaning his room. Even then it was only for a few moments. The Others stood over me. They asked how I felt. I was too terrified to answer. They tried to reassure me however I was well aware of their tricks. I asked them what they were going to do to me. They told me they weren’t going to do a thing. I was a child and didn’t know better. | 2019-05-14T08:51:40 | 2019-05-14T07:15:48 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a certain spell and a number of times they can use it. The durability is directly linked to how good the spell is. You were born with an infinite durability. Most people thought your spell was useless but you’ve recently found an exploit.
Example: a person with one use of a spell (a very rare occurrence) could blow up a small country and a person with several thousand uses could slightly speed up how fast a grass blade grows. | When I finally found my ability, I was so proud. Five year-old me ran downstairs, shouting, "Dad! James! I did it!". I showed them the power, puffing out my chest in pride as wisps of mist trailed down my fingers. There was a silence. Then James snorted. "PfFfT!!!! What!?" He was doubling over. "That's your power? Making some smoke?" Dad shushed him. "I think it's a very useful spell, Kell," he said supportively. "Oh come on, dad! Our family has been know to have the most powerful sorts of spells in history and she has... that! It can't even do anything!" he exclaimed. I lowered my hands, stung. "James, that's enough," Dad said. He picked me up, putting me in his lap and rocking a little on the leather armchair. "Now, show me again!" he said.
​
The years passing by were slow, not neccesarily unhappy, but slow. I went through school, through life, through everything as usual. But now there was no more uncertainity, waiting in baited breath to see what, what in the world Kell Rikirin's Trick would be. James, of course, teased me mercilessly. That was a usual thing, considering he had the power to turn into a 30-foot long Hellhound. Dad was supportive, though I saw past the veil of encouragement, the uncertainity and dissapointment that still rested somewhere. Plenty of times I was teased in school, being called "Smoke Girl", or "Cloud B-" actually, I won't finish that. But you get it. The upside to my Trick was that I had infinite Mana. Mana that would never, ever regenerate with other people. But with me, despite the weakness of my power, I'd have the ability forever. Forever.
​
Fast-forwards to summer, 2018. The day my brother was captured and imprisoned by terrorists with powerful spells. When his girlfriend tried stopping them with her fire, she was pushed to the ground. "Don't follow, or he dies," they said, word for word, right before getting into their vehicles and driving off, with the trapped Hellhound in tow. knelt down next to Lana, who was sobbing. "Kell, I-I don't know what to do. They're going to kill,-- kill..." She choked on the last words. I looked down at her solemnly. "No, they aren't."
​
"What?" Her eyes, reddened from tears, widened. "No, Kell, don't. They'll kill you. You're too weak to fight them." I clenched my teeth, standing up. "No. I'm. Not." I turned away and started down the street, where all cars had stopped. I was done being treated like I was weak. Done, because I knew that my power wasn't as useless as they thought. *Let's see what their fancy tricks will do against a building full of carbon monoxide.* | The corridors quiet, he looked out the window at the girls playing volleyball. After a few seconds, he turned around, worried what someone would think if they saw him staring. They won’t be much longer, he thought. He’d only left the library because the practice was supposed to be finished already.
“Ah well,” he muttered to himself. Fidgeting around, he found a comfortable position to lean in, a pillar supporting his back and the windowsill his arm.
A few minutes later, a whistle blew outside. Chancing a glance, he saw they were heading to the changing rooms. In no great rush, he pushed himself forward, stretching his arms out in front. Then he set off at what could generously be called a walk, his speed better described as seconds per metre rather than metres per second. If he got to his destination too soon, well, there were few things more intimidating to a teenage boy than a group of girls, and certainly nothing more so than a group of older, taller girls. He had made that mistake before, his ears red hot whenever the memory flickered across his mind.
Eventually, he reached the end of the corridor and followed the path from the central building to the sports building out back and nestled at the same table he always did, slipping a book out of his bag. He kept his back to the sports building, not willing to risk eye-contact with any of the girls as they left. Even though he really was interested in the book, he couldn’t focus, not at this time. Instead, he had to painfully listen to every bit of laughter, hoping it wasn’t directed at him, and eavesdropping on every conversation, hoping he didn’t come up in it.
The first of the volleyball girls walked past. He made sure to hide behind his book, so close he could barely make out the words. His heart beat quick. In the back of his head, he had dark thoughts: What if she’s bored of me? Am I being creepy? There’s no way she actually wants me to wait for her.
“Matt!”
Like the word flipped a switch in his brain, his mind cleared, a smile coming to him. He put down his book, but didn’t have time to put it away before she plopped down next to him. “Hi, Gem.”
“Which gem am I today?” she asked, slouching onto the table, head turned to look at him.
He bit his lip, clenching his hand. After a second, he opened it, a small sweet inside.
“Ooh, sapphire?”
“I, um, think that’s fish.”
She nodded, and then opened her mouth. He rolled his eyes, dropping the sweet in her hand. She clicked her tongue, and muttered, “No fun.”
With a mix of a groan and yawn, she pushed herself up. Then she unwrapped the sweet before popping it into her mouth. Almost instantly, her lips puckered, a shiver running down her spine.
He chuckled.
She soon got her reaction under control, pushing the ‘sweet’ around her mouth. “Yep, definitely fish, and lots of salt and vinegar.”
“You can just spit it out if it’s that bad,” he said.
She shook her head. “Once you get over the shock, it’s quite nice.”
“If you say so.”
He stared down at his hands. A gift. He could summon a sweet that tasted anything but sweet—not make fireballs, or summon lightning, or sharpen a pencil. Most of the time, even he didn’t like the taste of it. A completely useless gift, or so he had thought.
She sighed. “This is just what I needed right now.”
“That’s pretty weird,” he said.
Giggling, she stood up, tugging at his shoulder as she did. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Sure.”
---
If you liked this and would like to read more stories by me, /r/mialbowy | 2019-06-25T13:00:22 | 2019-06-25T11:52:57 | 199 | 51 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | “In two hours, the server will be shut down for the final time. Thank you for playing.”
The message was broadcast to everyone on Earth in all languages simultaneously. While the words were cryptic, somehow the message wasn’t. It left no ambiguity. This was the end.
Billions of people with billions of different reactions. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Sorrow. Joy. Love. Compassion.
Yet, the world turned the same as it always had.
A boy sat on a hill in the grass while the final countdown progressed. He played with a stick, feeling its weight, judging it against the countless sticks that came before it. “I think this is a good one,” he said to the dog by his side. “What do you think? On three?”
10…9…8…The dog tilted its head and then panted happily. 7…6…The boy scratched behind his friend’s ear and then gave him a hardy pat on the side. 5…4…3… The boy chucked the stick down the hill as far as he could. His dog bolted after it with pure joy. The boy smiled. 2…1…
…
The dog trotted back up the hill proudly carrying the errant stick. He waited for the boy to grab it and throw it again. The boy wrestled it away and the dog hopped excitedly. “Well, that was weird,” the boy said, and he threw the stick again. “Nothing happened.”
The world continued to turn. Perhaps things would be different. Perhaps not, but the boy hoped for the better.
—
“It’s an amazing piece of tech,” Gl’ant said. “Three million years and it booted up like it was brand new.”
“They dont make ’em like they used to. That’s for sure.” Portnr patted the machine. “Research simulation turned game turned scrap. I cant believe they would just shut it down.”
“I wish I could say we would do better, but their civilization at the time looks to be about where ours is now. Profit, profit, profit. All hail the almighty credit. Unfortunately this guy wasn’t making enough. I guess.”
The two historians stared at the computer for a moment in silence and shared frustration before Portnr said, “well, with the modifications the preservation team made, we dont have to worry about that. This thing is is completely self sustaining now and virtually indestructible. It will outlast us and then some.”
“How optimistic of you,” Gl’ant said.
“Well, it will! It’s state of the art b’etnry tech,” Portnr said.
“I meant about us,” Gl’ant said with a laugh. Portnr laughed too. “But enough basking in our own humility. The museum is about to open soon, the line of people waiting to be beamed aboard back on the surface is wrapped around the block, and I’m starving.”
“Right,” Portnr said. “Let’s get some breakfast. It’s going to be a big day.” | I don't know how I imagined the end of the world. Chaotic, I suppose, all sex, rioting and violence. The reality is... disappointing.
​
It's as if the entire world has gone numb at once. Is this the reality of the human race? How little fight we have in us? It just goes to show that we really are selfish creatures, for all the talk of love and family. In the hour since the broadcast, not one of my friends or family has tried to contact me. My phone will still work from out here, I don't understand how but they told me it would. Nothing, not so much as a single buzz.
​
The monitors before me flicker as I switch from image to image. A man in his apartment, his head in his hands, not crying, just... inert. A woman looking anxiously towards a doorway, clearly waiting for someone. I flick to the man she's waiting for, he seems not bothered to even reach her, sitting in the gutter, again, inert.
​
So selfish, only striving for a goal so that we may reap the reward, and now that we know the end, nothing.
​
I know I'm no better, but still, this is pathetic.
​
"Would you like us to send you in again, sir?" my assistant asks from behind me. "Just one last time?"
​
I gaze at her knowingly, her disappointment is obvious, perhaps even eclipsing my own.
​
"The age-old question has been answered, Claire." I explain, avoiding her question for the moment. "Do we really care about each other? Do we stride through life and make bonds that transcend our futile individual existences? Apparently not. Apparently despite everything, we're only in it for ourselves."
​
"Perhaps the simulation wasn't perfect, sir." Claire replies, ever the optimist. "I may have made an error in some of the values, what if it's inaccurate, it could..."
​
Despite my respect for her, I cut her off.
​
"Claire we know each other better than that, it's perfect.
​
Silence is her only response.
​
My finger hovers over the button, I know it's early but... what's the point.
​
Claire turns to me, a grimace on her face, I can see that she's fighting back tears.
​
"Maybe we could keep it going?" she suggests desperately. "Just a little longer, things might change."
​
I know her pain, she had faith in us, humankind. I wanted to believe, too, but deep down I knew, human nature is not what we wish of it.
​
If there's one thing I envy, it's that those on the inside won't have to live with knowing. Claire and I, out here, we'll be haunted by this knowledge for our whole lives. We'll have to report our findings. Soon, everyone will know the curse of realising just how little they really care for one another, and how little their loved ones care for them.
​
Claire whimpers one last time.
​
I press the button. | 2019-09-23T05:06:36 | 2019-09-23T04:13:27 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | Playing.
That was the word which jumped out at me when I heard the voice in my head. On the streets around me, people were crying out in shock, or laughing incredulously and looking around for some great prankster to yell GOTCHA!
All that suffering I had gone through, all that pain... Playing? A game? Games were supposed to be fun and my life had been anything but.
People were beginning to get over their initial reaction now, and were calling family and friends to find out if it had been just them, or everyone. I moved numbly through the obstacle course of still-standing people. Even the cars which usually zoomed by had come to a stop, and I walked past those too.
*Two hours, huh? Enough time to get comfortable and take a nap.*
If what that voice said was true, I wanted whatever it is I'm in to end while I am warm and resting.
I rounded the corner. People were starting to scream, to panic. I smiled to myself.
*Sweet, sweet release, here I come.*
I walked on, past the grocery shop I frequented, a hundred metres from my flat. I heard glass shatter and looked back to see that a dishevelled man in rags had thrown a stone through the shopfront.
"I'm not going to the end sober!" he screamed. His cry seemed to draw more of his ilk out of the shadows and four more men in rags appeared, as if out of thin air. I turned back and quickened my pace.
Just give me quiet. Let me block everything out. Let me be alone.
More screams come from behind me but I don't look back, won't look back. My hands shook as I inserted my key into the lock of the main door, and twisted. I took the stairs up two by two, almost running to the door of my flat. My hands still shook when I opened my flat door, but they were also cold now.
*So cold. Why do I feel cold?*
I remove my shoes but not my jacket. I paid too much for this jacket, so it was going to the end with me. I climb into bed and pull my blanket up to my chin.
The screams from outside were louder now, accompanied by dull thuds and the occasional explosion. There was no way I was going to nap with all that noise out there. I get out of bed and go to my desk to grab my noise-cancelling headphones.
Silence.
I walk back to my bed and lie down again. I blow warm air on my hands and rub them together.
*... been a good run. Too bad about the bug. We're going to lose some of our livestock but it can't be helped.*
I blink in confusion and look about fearfully. Where had that voice come from? What bug? Livestock? How much time did I have left? No, no... I've decided to take a nap.
Take. A. Nap.
*Hey look at this. We have an outlier.*
*Fascinating. What is it doing?*
Stop, you voices. Leave me alone. I just want quiet.
*It appears to have taken a non-violent route.*
*That's rare. All the other livestock in this little anomaly's vicinity are going on a rampage but this little one here is just hiding away.*
Yes, hiding. Please let me hide.
*Let's keep this one.*
"No!" I blurted.
*Did it just...?*
*I... I think it did. It heard us.*
*We're definitely keeping this one. Send an agent in to take her.* | LOG: Deacon T. James
I jerk my head and dart my eyes around the small bar searching for a source to these words. I notice all 6 regulars doing the same. We look like a group of prairie dogs, defenceless, purveying our predator. It is silent as we wonder individually if we're insane. I place my Gin on the bar, stare at my thick wrinkled palm against the oak grain, and without looking up I speak,
"If I'm correct, and not just drunk as shit AGAIN, maybe we should turn on the news."
Ben, the bartender, runs his hand compulsively through his thick brown hair as he turns on the TV.
BREAKING NEWS: Mass Psychosis Sweeps the World
Breaking is right, everything is breaking.
The light oak bartop starts to flicker like TV static. Ben's sharp angular features start to pixelate until he looks like the newscaster. I am frightened in a way I have not been for so long. I feel the whole of me being swallowed from the pit of my stomach. Scared like a child who has never before known fear.
People are yelling now, just a couple. All the others drunk and calm thus calm them, these yellers.
I look at my weathered hand and it too flickers. In and out, in and out, in and out, a broken lamp of a hand. NOT a hand that's lived 67 years. Just a broken lamp now.
18 years in Detroit with mom and dad.
A game.
My first kiss, in the back of a green pick-up; my heart out of my body and flying elsewhere in that moment.
A game.
Watching mom and dad lose their faculties, changing their diapers, holding their hands as they died.
A game.
Why would I play this game? The one where I drink myself to nothing, so that nothing can be felt.
I played the worst game, for 67 YEARS.
I wanted out a million times and more, and only stayed because it was NOT a game.
I have screamed at God until my throat was lined with blood and begged to be let go, gently.
Why ever play this game? I treated it so reverently, and let it drive me to disease.
A game.
Donkey Kong is a fucking game this is my LIFE.
But we can't all be wrong can we? No matter the news. 7 billion people can't all be psychotic.
In fact, if someone DIDN'T hear it, they would be psychotic by default.
And also, they would be the only happy person left alive.
A game.
All that history, suffering, death, joy, love, triumph, revolution, the fucking COALMINE I toiled in to get food and shelter to subsist in this GAME.
If I had known I would have done something different.
BREAKING news. Breaking in the pit of my simulated stomach. Breaking thoughts that I am letting consume me in my last hour and a half as a human.
BREAKING
The 7 of us and Ben, we drink until the end. No need to change all our plans on account of this.
We're all alcoholics here, and the lives we were living were fake before this anyway, just moments of falsity in between beverages.
I am awake now and in the nowhere again. Floating as a cloud. My friend calls,
"MarMill, you have been gone from the nowhere for sometime. I am pleased to see you."
"Yes, you too Lenly. I went and played a new game."
"Is this the human game you were telling me about?"
"Yes, accessed from archives I was able to live the life of Deacon James retrospectively. It felt quite real, I completely forgot I was in the game upon birth, and did not remember until the easing prompt at the end of his life, bracing me for the nowhere"
"Will you play human again through different archived figures?"
"For now, I will stay in the nowhere indefinitely. The man was suffering in thought, I fear this is indicative of the entire species and am not ready for a new lifetime just yet."
"That's good, you can recharge here. I might play next, I have been in the nowhere quite sometime."
"Yes, it will be an interesting journey for you, I'm sure." | 2019-09-23T07:21:16 | 2019-09-23T07:20:45 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] "Welcome. You're dead. Congrats. Door to Heaven's on the left. Door to Hell is on the right. Go ahead and pick, but just know that the decision is final." The figure sitting at the desk spoke, stifling a yawn and not looking up from their book. | "No."
The word had left my lips before I could even process it, yet the feeling of rejection was so powerful that I could give no other answer.
The hazy figure snorted in derision.
"Ah, one of those. Look, you will make a decision eventually. Sit, have a think. Take all of eternity if you must," the featureless being returned to their book without another word.
"That's all? You aren't going to force me to choose? Is there some trick I don't know; like looking at a door being a choice, or thinking the wrong thing?"
My thoughts reeled with possible shenanigans the entity could pull.
"No,"
The echo of my own response caught me off-guard.
The creature had not even appeared to glance up from its book, though it would be difficult to tell. In fact, the creature was a near complete mystery.
Its haze seemed to be more mental than physical. Any attempt to think about its details became muddled and confused. What color was it? Kittens, obviously.
Inspecting my surroundings was also a non-starter. I could not understand anything more than a few feet from me. There was no definite shape to my surroundings, indeed they seemed to change constantly.
Even above, there was nothing. No shape, no color, nothing.
In fact, the color was interesting in itself. It was not unlike anything else.
Always before, when I thought of nothing, there was some color as a sort of back drop. Here, though, there was truly nothing.
It was fascinating.
The creature watched silently as the soul wandered away from the doors, examining everything around it curiously.
"Heaven and Hell before you, offering you every pleasure and pain imaginable, and you choose the unknown. Apparently you really were one of those. See you again," it smiled with satisfaction as it returned to reading.
*Editted to fix formatting. Posting on a tablet sucks, I guess. | “But...which do I choose...?” I asked, not realizing that this is what I would find on the other side.
“Either. That’s why I gave you the option when you got here.” Said the figure at the desk, pearly annoyed that’s I hadn’t already chosen.
I stood for a moment. *It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?* However, no one from before had ever said that there would be a choice. And now, facing this decision, I couldn’t move a muscle (or whatever I was made up of at this point).
I took a moment and looked around. I one else was in sight. There was any sign of another other being, just me and...wait a minute, I never got their name!
“Um... excuse me.” I sheepishly mumble yo the figure at the table. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me from his book, with a look that conveys plainly that he cannot believe that I am still standing before him.
“Are the rules too difficult for you to understand?”
“No, I just...”
“There are two doors in front of you. See? As I explained when you got here, one leads to Heaven, the other Hell. Most people just walk through one right away, leaving me to my book!” The last word spoken in a clearly exhausted tone, even though I had only been there a few minutes.
“Okay, well how do they decide?”
“I don’t know! They just walk forward. No one else seems to have a problem with it.”
“I’m sorry but back on Earth, or in life, or whatever you want to call it, I was very indecisive. Most nights I got into an argument with my wife about what we were going to have for dinner because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”
“That’s a very touching story. However, I am in the middle of something far more interesting, so if you’d please choose that would be great and I can get back to my book.”
I stood there staring from him to the door on the left, then the door on the right, then back to him.
“I’ll go left! I was a pretty good person, so I think that’s the right decision. Although, I did have secrets when I died. Stuff I should have said to people that would have changed things between us.”
*sorry, I can’t write anymore, work is over and I gotta head home, but thanks for sparking something in me. I’ve never written before, you could probably tell, but it was nice to get away for a minute and picture myself in this place. Have a good night everyone!* | 2019-10-03T17:51:12 | 2019-10-03T16:20:11 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] A massive underground cathedral-like temple is discovered. You are one of the people sent to study it. As soon as you enter, the sheer size of everything inside tells you it was never ment for human worshipers.
*meant | When we opened the second set of doors was when we figured that whatever was behind the third, it wasn't built for creatures our size.
The first doors were massive: 22,540 kilograms each and they rolled on a breath of pressure. Less exertion was required to open them than was necessary to put on particularly troublesome gloves. Our resident engineer started having fits, stating repeatedly that the mechanism wasn't possible.
Yet, at the bottom of the coal field's stalled dig, those gigantic doors lay flat on the ground, opened and closed with gentle nudges. No design motifs presented, no bad relief carving, just a huge system for opening and closing.
Sixty meters beneath it we found the first curled metal pipe stuck deep inside of the granite wall, followed by the next two hundred and nine pipes, separated from each other by a gap of exactly fifty meters. And down, down we went, into the basement of the world.
When we reached what we thought was the bottom, that's when we found the second door. It was circular, cast from the same alien material as the first, and bore a single curled ring of metal on the surface.
It took the richest man in the world to fund the creation of the crane needed to pull up the ring and apply the necessary pressure on the cable to see the ring drawn upwards, and the second door was opened.
We expected to see another string of pipes descending into the darkness. What we saw instead was far, far and away worse.
We found a gigantic pit of what tested to be crude oil. More than the entire supply that the planet had consumed. Enough to draw us into five man-made planetary emergencies, to allow us to fuel rockets and missiles and fleets of fleets of fleets of cars and trucks and submarines and aircraft carriers for the duration of the species.
It was a golden day for the talking heads of every news channel, newspaper and news blog, igniting debate and currying vast favors with the powerful folk.
It was a biologist studying the first chamber's unique and glowing flora who noticed something. Something about the oil. About how it was staged in the procession of gigantic rooms.
Then she found the first egg casing drifting in the oil.
After that, everyone noticed when the eggs beneath the oil started to hatch.
We had opened not Pandora's box but her creche, releasing the next champion species into the world. Monsters from before we had legends. Creatures akin to nothing alive.
The new world is dark now. We dare not light fires; the smoke offends them too much. No firearms are allowed anymore; they detest the noise, and none of even the weakest of their ilk can be mildly harmed by bullets in the first place.
We know new gods and live in the shadows of them, scrambling from place to place, hiding in the ruins of our old, diseased spaces.
We have no idea what is going on behind the third door.
We want to open it, just to get it out of the way. To know that we finished the job. Besides, the first thing that the monsters did was immediately leave the area where the doors were found.
What scares the devils so much?
Nobody thinks it's God. | Everything in the temple was *massive*.
Ornate pillars that rivaled skyscrapers, twisting in a mind-bending helical pattern and connecting with each other with buttresses that looked like arms of a giant. Equally tall lamps that burned brilliant bluish white against a dark ceiling so far away, that it looked like stars in a night sky. And, in the center of the room, a magnificent, silvery altar that was easily half a kilometer on its long side.
What shocked me most was that we had discovered such a large, old, empty space almost two kilometers beneath the surface of the Earth. It was impossible in every facet of the word. No matter who I talked to, *impossible* was everyone's favorite word to blurt out.
"Impossible. This cathedral or whatever cannot be as large as you claim. Your measurements must be in error."
"I assure you that we have re-measured it many times."
"It is a hard claim to believe - especially with so much empty space. The pressure of the rock above would crush this structure immediately. It would've caved in long ago."
"Trust me, it seems fantastical to us as well - perhaps even more so, because we are here and staring at this massive place. Anyway, maybe the pillars are just very strong?"
"Our lab ran the calculations - based on the number of pillars and their spatial dimensions, they could *theoretically* support such an enormous pressure only if they were made with materials that were stronger than anything we have right now in the modern age. Wow, that sounds even more ludicrous once I say it out loud, eh?"
"It's wild, I agree. We've collected samples of the walls and sent them for analysis; hopefully, we get an answer back soon as to what this place is made out of."
"Right. And then let's contact every government and tell them to use this material to reconstruct all their buildings and bridges with it."
Conversations with my own archaeology department carried the same notes of incredulity and disbelief.
"Preliminary analysis indicates that this temple is many thousands of years old."
"Yes, I've seen the reports you've sent me. And I see the pictures as well. Despite the math and my own eyes, I have to say that this is...impossible."
"Yeah, heard that one before."
"No known human civilizations existed when this was created! We were still nomadic. We were still using caves as shelter, never mind making an enormous underground temple."
"I know, I know. It's just...yeah. Crazy. Maybe this is made by a completely unknown tribe of humans that had somehow become way more advanced?"
"And also tunneled 2 km into the crust of the Earth? Somehow surviving the 60 C air that you're not dying in only because of advanced cooling technology in your suit?"
"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound silly, doesn't it?"
And just when I thought things couldn't get weirder, some of colleagues studying the altar itself came to me with startling news: it wasn't really an altar. They pointed out what looked like glass screens and metal buttons. And looking closer, we could see that there symbols chiseled onto each button - glyphs corresponding to no human language from any time period.
I looked from these glyphs, to the tall lamps that still burned with what our spectrometers were detecting as raw, contained *plasma*, to the general size of the temple, and then back to my colleagues' equally stricken faces. The realization had hit us all at the same time: this place had been designed by something else. Something not human.
​
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*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* 📷[r/Idreamofdragons](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! | 2019-11-16T10:09:09 | 2019-11-16T06:30:22 | 1,546 | 527 |
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport. | He was there when I was born. He was there when many generations before had been born. Despite his constant assurances, my people thought him to be a god made flesh. To us he was immortal. To him, we were but fleeting specs as we hurtled through space.
My race are short-lived but highly intelligent. Our hive-mind affords us the collective experiences of all our ancestors. We remember others like him, many gods who roamed the stars in our ancient history.
Alas, he is among the last of his kind aboard our ship. There are rumors of human settlements in other galaxies, planets filled with these immortal titans, but we have never encountered these places.
He had a family once. We remember. His spouse and his spawn have been gone for hundreds of generations.
His once raven hair is now a snowy white. His wrinkled skin finally showing the effects of many years of aging. YEARS! DECADES EVEN! We cannot imagine a life so long.
We hear his rasping and wheezing as he stumbles through the corridors. We watch as he struggles to rise from his seat in the galley. Most importantly, we feel his end approaching with great fear and sorrow.
We will grieve for this man. This man who has lived for so long and experienced so much.
Despite our best attempts to persuade him, he refuses to convalesce in our medical ward.
"'Tis but a scratch," he says with a laugh. We know the reference, but find no humor in his frailty.
He declines all offers of help. He still maintains our navigation system, plotting our way through the stars. We know the system. We built the system well before he joined us. It pleases him to be of use, so it pleases us to let him help.
When he fell this evening, he was far slower to rise than we've ever seen before. We helped to settle him in his sleep chamber, second only in size to our captain's bunkroom, and watched him.
It is very rare indeed for the collective mind to find a single thread of thought and cling to it. We all watched him struggle to breathe for a while before leaving the chamber.
At the doorway 900054789 stopped and turned back. "Goodnight sweet Bob of the ancients. May you see the light of another star in this life or the next."
We have at least two more generations of travel before we reach Titanus. We pray his ancient body can hold on for that long. | “It just doesn’t seem like a good use of resouces,” the human said, frowning. Like a good specimen, he remained behind the line on the floor, or else got another shock from the sub-dermal implant.
Dervall watched from the comfort of his padded chair in the next room over. “On the contrary,” he began, speaking into a microphone. “We’ve encountered species such as yours, the kind who let themselves be carried by entropy’s every whim. We are forever young!”
He looked over to where his colleague lay and projected her image to the human. “As we speak, her body is giving up its nutrients to the larva inside, which will grow up with all the knowledge of every generation before it.” Dervall raised his hands in admiration. “A vast conglomeration of personalities and lives to form another, better, life. Shortly alive, but eternal.”
“That’s great for you,” the human said. He crossed his arms as he turned away from the projection and faced the camera. “I only have one life. If your species has it all figured out, why study me? What use am I to you if you have eternal life?”
Though Durvall usually felt excited about future iterations of his consciousness, he sometimes doubted it would be the same *him*. His colleague and former captain, Senetea, had claimed to be an asteroid miner from the early expansion days. She’d recounted the low gravity and visible light as she spent three weeks directing ore from drill bit to harvester. It had given Durvall hope for his future iterations, but the doubt lingered. Would it still be him?
Equally important: was it even enough? What was life worth if it only came in short bursts? Could he have had more than a day with Hreck, one that ended with them dancing under the light of three moons? How much more full would his memories be if he’d had years, or even decades, with Thumla? Could they have watched their own larva grow, together? Could the humans be the species that finally unlocks the longevity that Durvall felt he’d wanted through all of his brief lives?
“I understand your fear,” Durvall said. For a moment he couldn’t look at the human. Didn’t want to see the pain in the creature’s face. For a species that only lived one life, they could be so expressive. All the creases and lines on the human’s face, something so alien to Durvall, moved in perfect concert to press the emotions. Durvall added, “All I could learn from your honorable sacrifice.”
“Honor?” The human shook its head. “How’s this for honor?”
Durvall watched as the human used his limbs in a strange fashion. It seemed like it was meant to convey something rude. Durvall was impressed. The humans were very clever for single-lifers.
With a sigh, he broke the connection. Durvall turned in his chair to the thresher at the far end of the room with its hungry looking teeth. Hundreds of razor sharp gears that turned in multiple directions, designed to rip anything set inside to its most basic components. A Drerizien particle analyzer sat above to scan everything for further study.
Durvall wished for a better end to the human. But this was science. Sometimes it got messy. | 2019-11-20T12:01:58 | 2019-11-20T09:02:57 | 360 | 136 |
[WP] The scientists looked puzzled, trying to figure out how the man in front of them got there. The note tied to his hand wrote: "Dear Universe 441-B-2, he's your problem now. May the luck be on your side." | We gathered around the unconscious stranger. He reeked of stale alcohol and his own labcoat was scorched and stained in countless places. The white hair on his head stood out in chunks and drool puddled under his mouth.
"Where did he come from?" Quinn asked me.
"Dunno." I said. " I finished transfering the samples from the centrifuge to the spectrometer, set it to run and went to the washroom. When I got back, he was right there."
"Is that all?" asked Kyle, our head of security.
"No, he came with this note." I replied. Reading aloud, I continued "*Dear Universe 441-B-2, he's your problem now. May luck be on your side.*"
"Well, that's ominous." said Kyle.
"What should we do with him?" wondered Quinn. "Technically if he was dumped here unconscious he isn't trespassing."
The stranger preempted our pondering by giving a groggy groan and lurching to his feet.
"Easy there old guy! You've had quite a journey by the look of you!" said Quinn.
"Whoa dude, easy with the yelling!" snarled the stranger. "I've just been chased across 17 dimensions and banished here, with no way back!"
"What are you talking about? Chased across 17 dimensions? You're talking like a bad sci fi flick" I stated flatly.
" Man, it would take too long to explain now and the sheer shock of it would turn your tiny brain to mush. But enough wasting time, I've been exiled here! Earth 441-B-2! The only Universe in the infinite number of Universes that never had a Rick! Well, not anymore......" | "This is supposed to be impossible" Suzanne whispered after reading the note. She had spent the last 10 years working with her best friend Johan on the differences between universes and the possible types of travelling between them.
"Well it's impossible for us, who knows what other universe's have come up with?"
Compared to everyone else in what was apparently labeled - somewhere, by someone - 441-B-2, Johan knew a lot more about this topic because he was able to transfer his consc iousness to several other universes. So far, though, he had never been to one that could move bodies across the divide.
"Hey, man. Where'd you come from?" Johan probed gently. The man before them didn't immediately strike Johan as a criminal so he thought it best to start slowly.
Groggily, their guest replied "Who me? Oh, well, when I woke up this morning I was in 441-K-2, but they kicked me out into 411-A-2. Where am I now?"
"According to your own hand, whatever system you're using to label us has assigned us 441-B-2. Do average days for you include traveling to multiple parallel universes?" Suzanne was hopeful that this would be the big break they had been waiting for.
But this guy wasn't a total stranger, the harder she looked at him, the more she realized she recognized him but couldn't figure out from where.
"Only when you have a personal fetish for intra-office pranks. But you guys usually only send me to K and S, I've never been to B before. K and S always just send me right back. I guess you finally got tired of my return so you sent me somewhere that *couldn't* send me back. At least... let me think... B won't be able to send me back for at least - well let's just say after my lifetime. Too bad, the version of me in B was a good guy. "
Just then, there was an urgent knock on the door of the lab. Melissa looked aghast as she panted out the words, "The janitor just dropped dead! He -" she abruptly stopped talking when she saw our visitor. Mouth agape.
"The janitor??!?! No wonder they sent me here! I guess they got the last \[prank\] word" | 2020-02-04T15:25:13 | 2020-02-04T15:12:35 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it. | "What do you mean 'missing'?"
"I mean gone. Vanished. Evaporated. Or, as I highly suspect, hidden."
The hospitals machines beeped and whirred as Death sat across from me, their voice more like the wind then actual speech. "Where is it?"
I used some of the strength I had to shrug, the IV's restrained the motion. The wires and electrodes shuffled around my shoulders, adjusting to the disturbance. "If I knew, I'd hand it over. I've lived a full life, I'm ready to leave."
I could almost see the frustration in the shadow. For something so surprisingly metaphysical as "death", it was intensely expressive.
"Listen, I've been working this job since before your ancestors were even mutations in a gene, and I've never seen a soul go missing. Kings, emperors, philosophers, scientists, and prophets have all tried to escape me. All of them failed. So either you're already dead and have been for some time, or it's hidden. The former doesn't fit seeing as you're not surrounded by doctors trying to save you and loved ones crying over your body, that only leaves you. Now, where. Is. Your. SOUL!?"
Their anger was palpable now, a chill in the air that even the heater couldn't fight off. My bones ached in the frost and my heart was racing, a feeling I hadn't had in a long time. The feeling of being ALIVE. Suddenly I was flooded with a feeling, a brightness so intense I felt like I could hop out of bed and run to the nurses station, yelling and hugging all along the way.
It had been a long time since I'd wanted to live.
That's when the shade stopped, it's outline growing a little lighter, it's demeanor seemed more peaceful, almost contemplative.
"Well, I don't think I've ever been early before." They sighed, and glided across the room.
I turned my head back to the shadow. The dimly lit hospital room blended things so easily, but the new lease on life let me see the colors of the walls, the reflection of the monitors.
I noticed the flowers behind the shadow, their reds and blues and purples and yellows seemed to shine with hope.
Then, I looked at Death, and Death looked back. And I was afraid.
It laughed. I didn't know death could laugh.
"I forget sometimes how even the willing can change their minds. You've got a second chance young one. Don't squander it."
The shadow dissapeared, and suddenly I could feel it: the ache where the pills once were and the burn of acid in my throat where they had been extracted while I was unconscious.
But I was alive.
And I was going to cherish it. | “What?” I say.
I’m probably 12 different types of confused right now. Death is standing next to my hospital bed with his eyes focused on me, wanting to reap another soul.
“Your Soul! Where did you hide it, how did you hide it? If you don’t tell me, I’ll give you hell before I put you there!” He practically yells.
I look to him with blatant confusion, “I didn’t hide anything grim. I have no clue about anything your talking about.”
He huffs. He has hellfire burning his eyes.
“Then where. The fuck. Is it?”
“I don’t know, in my body somewhere!”
“If that was true, how could I do this?”
He brings his scythe down into my head, and I expect to be impaled, but it passes through me, removing all my former fear.
“If you still had your soul, that would’ve taken your life away. Now stop fucking lying. Where is it?!” He says clearly losing patience.
“I have no clue. I did not do anything with it.” I say as sincerely as I can.
He facepalms. Then yells in anger.
“The only three ways a soul can be taken out of a person is they take it and hide it, I reap the soul out of them...” he pauses, “... or if something hit you hard enough to knock your soul out of you. In which case your soul is wandering the streets.”
It all came back to me.
17 years ago I was hit by a speeding truck, I was barely alive when I was rushed to the hospital and miraculously made a recovery, but My head was split open, and the surgeons put a metal plate in my head.
I relay all this info to grim.
“Yeah, that is probably what happened, your soul lies in your mind. If your head was split open then the force of the impact should have knocked the shit out of your soul. I don’t know how your still alive.” He says with astonishment, “we’re gonna have to take you to the big boss. Satan.”
We arrive at the devils doorstep, which is a run down casino. Tortured souls are wandering around, having terrible luck and getting drunk. A creature approaches us, Satan I assume.
He’s got black fur covering his entire body. Four eyes with the glow of souls he has trapped over the thousands of years.
“Who’s the little prick you’ve brought into hell today grim? Doesn’t look fully dead.” He’s says with a deep booming voice.
“This little shit here is-“
“H-Hi, I’m Jack. Jack James Griffith.” I say with fear.
“Yeah. Anyways we got a run away soul. We need to track it down cause this guy decided to get hit by a god damn truck.”
“Run away soul?” He laughs, “Who told you that, grim?”
“Uh, he didn’t have a soul when I came to kill him off.”
“That’s cause I have it!” He opens his palm and we see a holographic image of me. “I just told you to bring the body down.”
“Oh. Well task failed successfully I guess.” I said to grim.
“Shut up! Alright I’m leaving.” He says and vanishes.
“Ok Jack. Ready to have a shit time down here in hell?”
I gulp. I thought the afterlife was going to be nice to me.
|END|
Quick note; Jack is not my real name, I made up a fake one for the story. I hope you liked it! | 2020-04-22T21:49:25 | 2020-04-22T21:21:30 | 463 | 44 |
[WP] Yeah, love potions are a thing, but there is one problem: they never specified the kind of love. Sometimes this backfires.
[deleted] | "So it's just 200?"
He nodded.
"And-"
He held up his hand. "Look, I don't ask questions. What you do with it is up to you, and how I make it is up to me." He pressed the vial into my hand, and I quite dumbly passed over the cash.
"Just a reminder, although I'm sure you know this already, you don't get to choose the type of love."
"I know."
 
The sauce coming along really well. So far, nothing as burned, and although I did chop the vegetables a little too finely it was probably going to be alright. It's just mundane. It's just cooking. You've done it for yourself plenty of time before, this time will be no different. It can't be any different, because you're not doing anything different.
I wiped away the sweat from my brow, then washed my hands for the seventh time, too clammy. The vial was just lying there. A promise to give me everything I wanted. Or to twist that innocent wish into a living nightmare. A nervous gulp, some clenched hands, and a glance at my phone later, and I had it between my fingers. In the back of my mind, a little voice kept whispering to me that she wouldn't come. That after all the preparation, and after she even said she would, that she wouldn't. It would be just like every other time, a broken heart and nothing to show for it.
I bit down, grinding my teeth together as I unstoppered the liquid and let it work its magic. It sizzled a little. And that was it. Truth be told, a rather anti-climactic result.
It's okay, the magic is going to come later. You'll see.
Now, perhaps it is unethical, what I do. And one could say that I'll regret my actions, that I'll look back on this young and foolhardy and cruel desire sprung out of naivety and nothing more than that and rue the day I did this. That it's wrong to-
A loud knock on the door broke me out of my thoughts.
"C-c-coming!" I stammered out, stumbling towards the door. "Hey, umm, uh-" No, I couldn't say it yet, "Jennifer. S-so glad you could make it."
I put on the best smile that I could.
"Sammy," I always hated it when he called him that, "said that I should. Besides, it's a free meal, isn't it?"
My most awkward and forced laugh filled the air. It didn't help.
"Well, it's uh, just about ready. A bit hot, but it'll cool down in a minute or two, do you-"
"Good, the bathrooms..."
Oh, of course. You're not here to talk, are you?
"The bathroom's just down the passage, on your left," I smiled, gesturing towards it, though she'd already started walking that way. Out of earshot, I let out a sigh. Now or never. Besides, it made it all the easier. Rice first, sauce after, and two moderately delicious bowls later, she walked back out.
We sat in silence. And ate. She seemed calm. I nearly dropped my spoon 3 times.
Come on, come on. My mind flashed with all the horror stories I heard, of the love being that of obsession, of sisterly love, of a twisted and demented love that leads to a murder and suicide. But those were all horror stories, things that rarely ever happened. Most love potions would go for the path of least resistance.
I glanced over. I really hope the path to of least resistance was-
"Hey, umm," I muttered nervously, trying to push my thoughts and doubts away. It would've worked its magic by now.
Deep breath in.
"I love you."
The silence hung for what could only have been the longest 3 seconds of my life. Please, please, please.
"I love you too, son." | I grew up in a wealthy family and continued on our legacy. By my mid-40s I was a multi-billionaire. I had everything one could desire, from yachts to items that would be better suited for the Lourve. When you have access to everything, you get an appetite for rarity. You want what no one else can have.
I was at a ball held by a dear family friend when I heard some of the more prestigious members of the group, in an already prestigious crowd mind you, talking in a hushed tone. I got closer and heard them discussing love potions and how they were real. One man that clearly had came accompanied by an escort quipped that he sure could use it for his wife. The men laughed, while their wives gave looks of disapproval.
I continued on with my night but over the next few days I couldn't shake the conversation from my mind. I had to get my hands on the love potion.
I reached out to a few contacts I had that I felt I could trust with the information if they ended up not already knowing about the potions. A few others I figured I could joke my way out of them realizing I was actually asking them seriously. Eventually someone referred me to their aunt.
She wouldn't speak with me about it over the phone, and told me to meet her at an address I couldn't even find on Google Street View. While my motivation to have this potion was indeed deeply rooted in wanting something others wanted but couldn't have, I was starting to think it might be deeper than that. When you have a certain amount of wealth, it's hard to tell when people like you for who you are instead of what you can provide them. I don't know if I've ever been loved by anyone, even my parents. The Christmas tree may have been fully adorned and overflowing with presents, but when it came time to open them they were absentminded at best, absent at worst.
I wasn't sure who this woman was, or where I was going, but god dammit I was going to do it. So off I went.
I reached the door, and was met by a short, chubby hispanic woman with a thick accent, "Hello, come in, come in."
I followed her into the quaint home and smelled spices I had never spelled before. I didn't waste much time on pleasantries though. "So, about the potions."
"Yes, I have one right here. But I need to make sure you know that there is risk involved with taking this."
"That's fine, I don't care. How much does it cost."
Like I said, I was hell-bent on doing this.
"Alright then. This will cost you 1.1 billion. I will write you instructions on how to pay, and you must follow them to a T. If I don't receive it by Sunday at 1 PM I will have to do things I don't like to do. Don't make me do things I don't like to do, okay?"
"Uh, yeah sure of course."
She handed me a glass vile and I grabbed it and very quickly got the hell out of there.
The second I reached my car, I drank the potion and waited to see what was going to happen. I had no idea how long it would take, or what I was even supposed to expect.
And then it happened.
I was passing by a school and saw children playing on the playground. I started to get a feeling I had never felt before... at least not toward them. What the fuck? No. This is just one of those instrusive thoughts like when you tell yourself to put your hand in the garbage disposal or drive off a bridge.
But then it happened again while watching TV. No. This can't be the potion. It can't be. Was THIS the risk she was talking about? I was furious. I got in my car, drove back to that house and banged on her door.
"Oh, hello there!" she said with a sly grin plastered on her face.
"What the fuck did that potion do to me. I'VE STARTED LIKING KIDS. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. WHERE'S THE ANTIDOTE."
"Oh, my my my. I see you're in quite the pickle. I guess everything we do in life has risks, now, doesn't it?"
"WHAT THE FUCK, I DIDN'T KNOW THIS IS WHAT YOU MEANT BY RISK!"
"I am so glad to hear you say that Mr. Roberts. You see, my father felt that same exact way when you funneled all of that money out of his retirement into your hedge fund and proceeded to lose it all. When he lost everything, your only god damn retort was that that was the risk he took. Well, how does it feel?" | 2020-08-05T02:05:53 | 2020-08-05T00:41:29 | 471 | 79 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller". | "You should have named me Philosopher," said the old dying man.
Across from him Fate nodded, for she did not speak.
"Instead," he continued, "you have given me this ridiculous purpose. I needn't tell you that there are no Gods anymore, if there ever were. I've searched for most my life. Not at first of course. First I fought my destiny, who wouldn't?
"It took me years to realise I had been gifted with the opportunity to become great. Surely this meant I could stop a great evil, find a terrible God, one who caused great suffering and rid the world of them."
Fate lowered her eyes to the body on the floor. That girl could have been great too, The Fencer, instead she would be remembered as The Innocent.
The old man's gaze followed Fate's. Blood was beginning to pool at their feet. His mixed with hers. "A sacrifice, unwilling certainly, but necessary nonetheless. I hadn't expected such resistance I must say.
"After I had accepted my title, I searched for my victim. A God of Disease or War or Famine. Yet all I found were humans. Sick or Corrupt or Greedy. We were still the cause of our own suffering."
The old man lifted his hand from the wound in his torso to glance at his injury. His life would be ending soon, but there would be enough time.
"For a time I wondered whether I would even find a God to slay. It brought me to philosophy, which I would call it the prime of my life were it not so recent. I have pondered over good and evil. I have questioned reality. I have studied with great scholars intent on unraveling life's mysteries.
"Existance is a beatiful picture, where everything has an explanation. The rising of the sun, the falling of the rain, even the growth of life it all fits into the picture of existence."
Fate didn't move, as she hadn't since he'd found her. No one had done that before. How curious, she though, but she remained still.
"Everything can be explained away but you. An appearance before every living soul, one who promises to dictate our future." He grunted in pain as he rose from his chair. "And promises acutely, with perfect precision. I suppose you know what comes next."
Fate lowered herself to her knees. Soon.
"As the Godkiller I had to end you, not such an easy task," his legs moved jerkingly but they carried him forward. "I had to find where you'd be, here delivering destiny. I had to keep you here, waiting for my sacrifice to wake and hear your order."
Fate felt a new emotion as the man raised his knife. Surprise. The girl would live, she would be The Vengeful.
The knife entered her body as though she were any other mortal, although only he could produce such an effect. She had chosen him for this. Immortality alone is a curse, and she had been alone for too long. A smile broke out on her still face and instead of a scream a sigh escaped her lips.
"Thank you" said Fate. And they died together. | Since birth I've always been completely normal, completely average, completely mediocre and completely predictable.
My birth was nothing special, just a normal baby born at a normal time with a normal body and a normal mind.
My childhood was nothing special, just a normal child with normal friends, normal intellect and normal physiology.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal skills and normal achievements.
Right?
Around our preteens, around the age of twelve, everyone began to develop their own unique little talents or hobbies, which they progressively grew more proficient in. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal hobbies, normal talents and a normal lifestyle.
Right?
As we finally began to reach the grand age of 16, the age at which Fate would gift us our names, my friends began to excel more at their chosen trades. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person with normal toys, normal books and a normal body.
Right?
But eventually it was my turn. I was led through those pristine white arches of The Sanctuary, walked barefoot across the beautiful white carpet of the The Sanctuary, and was led into The Inner Room of The Sanctuary. Here, The Apostle left me, leaving me to talk to Fate myself. Coming face to face with Fate, who could change destinies and destroy futures with a wave of her hand, I definitely felt a sense of apprehension as she threw gold dust into the air. Slowly the dust clumped together into shapes, into words. All my friends had gotten normal titles like The Butler or The Janitor. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person, a normal human, a normal cog in a normal machine.
Right?
But the words, speckles of gold, convinced me otherwise. There, in big bold letters, it told me my destiny. The Godkiller, it said. But what god was I to kill? I looked to Fate for guidance. Fate told me that my destiny was different, that something had gone wrong with the ritual, but her panicked tone and the fright in her eyes were guidance enough as to my target.
My existence was nothing special. So, Fate should be able to give me a stroke or something easily. My fate was sealed.
Right?
Watching her frantically wave her arms around, trying to adjust my fate, I realised that to be normal is to be predictable. To be predictable is to have to be easy to foresee. To be easy to foresee is to have a set future. To have a set future, would that not mean that Fate cannot disrupt it completely no matter how hard it tries?
My existence was completely predictable, completely normal.
Right?
I walked over to the once-mighty old woman, my fear disappearing with every step.
“Screw you.” I punched her across the jaw, sending her tumbling across the room. Then I stomped on her. Then I began to punch her. Over and over and over and over. One for each of the unique hobbies I could have had. One for each of the unique talents I could have had. One for each of the unique skills I could have had. One of each and every one of the beautiful and gorgeous lives that I could have led, if not for her tearing my future apart, if not for her existence. As I walked out of The Sanctuary, the blood dripping from my arms dyed the floor like the blooming of beautiful crimson petals, staining the once snow-white carpet. As I casually strolled down the street home, I don’t think anyone would have thought that I had just killed god.
After all, I was nothing special.
​
\--------------
First post after finally making a reddit account, please don't beat me up D: | 2020-08-15T04:05:22 | 2020-08-15T02:14:03 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] Humans are known throughout the galaxy as the only species without active psychic abilities. One day at school the alien teacher reveals a book that not even the universal translators can decipher. You and the other humans in the class can read it perfectly, and you recognize it as a grimoire. | Humans were considered "Disabled" by the various races of the galaxy. We had no access to psychic abilities. Oh when they met us they marveled at our paradox, a race radiating psychic energy that had no ability to direct it. We were quickly cordoned off by the larger galactic community, we were just too loud most of the time.
I was sent to the galactic library of Taunalus as a part of a diplomatic mission of sorts. The Endless and the Ascendants were currently negotaiting a trade deal that would span both of their civilizations.
But the Ascendants can easily bend sapient's to their will. While the Endless have a remarkable telepathic ability where two friends could speak across the galaxy as if they were sitting at the same table.
Both sides reached out to us. The Ascendants didnt' want the Endless to coordinate until the meeting was over, and the Endless didn't want their former masters to subvert the delegation. We wanted technology and our exessive psychic energy would prevent any shenanigans during the meeting. A clear win, win, win.
The Ascendants offered us access to their section of the library. No weapons, no drives, no shield techs were on the table, but they did give us access to anything in their "mostly harmless" section.
The Endless gave us a similar offer.
It was while browsing these two sections when I noticed that both sides had parts of a leatherbound tome similar to those on ancient earth.
In addition to a high efficiency battery technology from the Ascendants and a communications relay designed to emulate the telepathic abilities of the Endless both races provided their halves of the tome as a personal gift to myself for my services.
The tome filled with ancient secrets, secrets that only a human could read. | "Why are humans the only ones that can recognize this special cipher?"
"We don't know. Now, go to sleep."
The gas flowing out of our teacher's mouth knocks us all out.
\~\~\~\~\~\~
I find myself locked in a dark cell, other aliens walking outside. I hear voices behind me. I try to turn around, but realize I can't move, I'm frozen.
"He's up."
"Knock him out. He's only a kid; no use to us."
\~\~\~\~\~\~
A sharp pain on my head unhinges me from my drugged sleep. I open my eyes a crack, then snap them open when I see two Gwarks looking at me, and they do *not* look happy today.
"Tell us. What does the book say."
Even though my brain is still sluggy, I remember the two voices behind me last time I woke up. "I though I was *only a* *kid, no use to you.*"
"Look here kiddy, adult humans turn out to be unable to read the book, and we need the translations."
"Why should I help you? You've locked me in a cell, and this doesn't benefit me in any way."
"Oh? We've got your parents in custody and we ain't afraid to kill them if needed." the Gwark makes a weird clicking sound and some other Gwarks pull my unconscious mother and father out from a building.
This jolts me wide awake. "Okay! Okay! I'll translate it for you!"
"Good." the Gwark hands me the book.
"One question please. I'm just curious."
"Get on with it."
"Why do you want this?"
"Listen up, kiddy. We've long disagreed with the Council's rule of equality when we have far superior tech and abilities than any one civilization. But under the combined power of all the other civilizations, we've been forced to share our knowledge. The fire of revenge has burned within us for decades, and with this book's power we'll finally be able to overthrow the Council. Now translate it for us or else."
\~\~\~\~\~\~
~~i admit its not rlly good i tried my best xd~~
~~i need inspiration for stoof so i'm more active here~~
~~hit me, light bulbs~~ | 2020-09-07T01:49:12 | 2020-09-07T01:45:24 | 76 | 56 |
[WP] After God has decided to reveal himself to the world, he ranked every human according to how vital their existence is for mankind. While everyone you know has a blurry mess of shifting numerical digits up in the millions and billions, you are ranked number 6, despite being completely average. | For years, I had been pampered due to my position. I was the sixth most important human in all of humankind- according to God himself.
People approached me, seeking guidance, seeking to increase their status in the world by associating with me.
...All of this made me pretty uncomfortable. I was *still*, even after the three and a half (ish) years of being Number Six, in shock.
Finally, after one particularly long day of courtiers throwing free food or products or compliments at me, I decided to approach God himself about it. I was...oddly enough, I was fed up with being so popular.
Stating my request to God's secretary, she spoke into a gold-plated microphone. "Number six is here to see you."
"I know. Duh. Send him in."
She rolled her eyes at God and waved me through.
"Is it kind of like, tiring to be having this conversation when you already know how it's gonna go?" I asked by way of greeting.
"It doesn't quite work that way. Each action you take is of your free will- I don't know what you'll do until you decide to do it, then the future that makes unfolds for me- until you decide to change course again. In a way, we are having this conversation exactly as I knew we would- and yet, I don't really know why you're here until you begin to ask what it is you came to ask...then it feels rather like I am 'remembering' something I already knew."
"I want to know why I am Number Six."
"Oh, right, I knew that....kind of. Okay, so- firstly, do you really think you are Number Six? *Why* do you think you're number six?" God turned my question back on me.
"I'm not sure! I'm not especially charismatic, or strong. I have a decent sense of humor I guess?"
God cocked an eyebrow at me. "You think you're the *sixth* most important person ever because of your Dad Jokes?" He kind of chuckled. "Oh, I guess you are kind of funny."
I chewed my bottom lip in slight indignation as I waited for him to respond.
He smiled at my impertinence. "It's simple, Matthew; you *are* the baseline. You are medium height, medium weight, you are a perfect blend of the most common races, and it disperses through to the more uncommon proportionally. You are eighteen percent Chinese, seventeen percent Indian, fourteen percent mixed kinds of Caucasian... I could carry on. You get the idea. You are *the* bar. You are what every one should set out to beat, you are what everyone who is lesser than you is jealous of. You are *the* mark of fifty-point-zero-zero-zero percent. You are the average, in some ways, the perfect representation, of mankind. That is why you are so important- you are the thing to beat. Mediocrity itself."
In a way, it kind of stung- and in another way, it kind of made me proud. I was very conflicted. "I am...very unsure how to feel about that."
"If it makes you feel any better, in your past life, you were born this same 'average', but you got up to some seriously incredible stuff. It's not so much how you are born as how you work with what you've got."
"Uhh...Who was I in my past life?"
"Oh, I named you Jesus." | There were five humans more important than me. I set out to find them.
Society changed after the Visit. The most obvious change was the awareness that God was real. He spent three days and three nights hovering above Times Square. In that time He declared that all human intrepretations of His Will were false, and that the closest anyone came was Buddha. He said that all humans should look to this ancient Buddha, not for any of his spiritual trappings, but to simply try and cultivate a fundemental understanding and appreciation for every moment, for noone knows how many more moments they have left.
His final words before he vanished were, "There is no heaven."
I didn't have to try hard to find the five individuals who were more important than me. After the Visit the world's governments empowered the United Nations to become a truly global authority. This resulted from another great change in society. God had stated that humans were not alone in the universe and that if we kept up our internal squabbling we would fall further and further behind.
There were only 11 Absolutes in the world, as we came to be called. The UN brought us all together in a facility high in the Alps, near a small french village called Chamonix. There, we tried to figure out why we were so important.
"Beneficial gene mutations makes sense for some of us," Lan said. I watched him as he spoke. Lan was successful in his own right, rising from the slums of Shanghai to become a business mogul that built half of Macau. "Such as genes that makes us immune to all types of cancer."
Three of us were having breakfast in the research complex's cafeteria. I bit into a fresh baked scone smeered with locally made jam. Being important had its perks.
"Our genes have been fully sequenced for a while now," I said around a mouthful. "And think of the manpower dedicated to understanding our profiles. There must be tens of thousands of scientists working on us."
A wry smile rippled across Alana's face, there one moment, gone the next. "You really like scones, huh?" she said. "Hard to find something if you don't know what you're looking for, though. The amount of painfully redundant testing those scientists have to do is probably staggering, in terms of the pure hours."
Was Alana flirting with me? I popped the last bit of scone into my mouth, savoring it while I thought. "That's just it," I said, hitting on something. "Maybe its not what we contain or are composed of, or that we have won the genetic lottery. Maybe it is specific actions we take."
Lan caught on, exploring the theme. "God was present for three days and three nights. The main takeaways were," he said, holding up a finger. "One, appreciate every moment."
"The Dalai Lama is Absolute number 10," Alana said, cutting him off. "And that man's inner peace is staggering. Perhaps he is an Absolute because he sets an example for the rest of us."
"Perhaps," Lan said, he held up another finger. "Two, Humans are not alone in the universe. Maybe our importance has something to do with how we respond to that knowledge. Where we decide to go from here."
The idea had merit, after all, it came from the most important person in the world.
"Right," I said, cutting another scone open and holding it up to my nose, inhaling the fresh baked scent and feeling the still rising warmth. "Our purpose could be to prepare humanity for the inevitable ascent to the stars and encounters with alien life."
"I don't think that is it," Lan said. "None of us are in technical fields. Surely if that was our purpose we would be scientists with PhDs in deep specialties."
"Maybe we're supposed to enable those scientists," Alana said, staring out the window at the winding valley that descended all the way to ground level, framed by evergeens and snow covered peaks on either side. "After all, we have the entire planet's resources at our disposal."
Lan stood up, burning with a forge-fired drive that only he could feel. "It's a start," he said, striding for the door. | 2020-09-26T11:39:15 | 2020-09-26T09:30:42 | 72 | 50 |
[WP] Ever since you were young, your grandpa played horrifying pranks on you to scare you when nobody was around. Now that he's passed away, you read through his diary and realized - He's not the one who played them, he's the one who stopped them from taking your life.
Edit: Wow, thanks for the awards, didn't expect this prompt to resonate with so many people. All of us sure had a rough childhood, eh? | December 14th, 1998
I’ve never kept a journal before, but I feel I must document my boy.
My grandson, Jackson, I love him dearly, of course. My daughter works during the day and leaves him with me. He’s four.
But it feels like once a week he has a brush with death.
Today, the boy told me he hasn’t gotten to see Santa yet this year, so I decided to take him into the city, to Macy’s. We walked down Crosby Avenue to the el station, and I made sure he walked carefully over the ice puddle at the bottom of the stairs to the station. I held his hand, and he waddled across the ice like a penguin. We peeped into the windows of the passing apartments while the train ran above ground in the Bronx. We saw one man cooking breakfast with nothing but an apron on. Sometimes, these people who live with a window facing the el forget we can all see them.
We got off at 33rd Avenue, and walked right below the Empire State Building. I stopped him from walking, and told him to look up, to see how tall the mighty building is. He craned his neck as far back as he could, trying to get a view of the spire on top. When he couldn’t see the spire, he got distracted by a brood of pigeons pecking at the gum-covered sidewalk nearby. He ran towards them, and the birds emitted irritated coos and flew off.
“Papa, why don’t the birds want to play?” he asked, when something shiny from above caught my eye. Something was falling, and falling fast, and it was aiming for him, for the boy. I jumped towards him, pushing him away from where he stood. He frantically spun his arms, trying to regain his balance, but he fell hard on his butt. I heard the “tink” sound from the falling object as it landed between me and him, exactly where he had stood seconds before.
He started crying, so I sat beside him with an arm around his shoulder. “Why did you push me, papa?” I tried to explain to him the penny must’ve been dropped from the observation deck 103 floors above, but he didn’t believe me. I picked the coin up from the ground, still warm from whoever’s pocket it was sitting in minutes before. I hid the penny in my coat sleeve. I told Jackson to hold out his hand, tickled behind his ear, and let the penny slide out of my sleeve and into my hand. I pinched the penny between my pointer finger and thumb, and held it in front of him. I put the penny that had tried to kill my boy into his little palm, and I closed his fingers around it.
“See?” I said, “this is the penny I told you about. You still want to see Santa?”
He wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded his head, his nose bright red, and I lead him on towards Herald Square....
----I was thinking about having Santa attempt to kidnap him next. And maybe a subway accident on the way home? If there's interest I'll write it! | Flimsy dust particles stood suspended in the heavy air of the library. The rays of the sun captured their erratic motion as Eon turned the pages. He had forgotten much of his younger days, and those altered fragments seemed now capricious.
​
Always the prankster, that's how he would remember his grandfather. And behind every scary prank, there was a lesson. One time he fell from the bridge splashing in the water. He stared through the guardrail holes looking for him until tears clouded his vision. When he least expected, two strong arms lifted him from behind. "Always watch where you're going, you never know when life can throw you off guard, or off a bridge for that matter" he imparted on him that day.
​
Only now he came to realize that it wasn't life that threw him off the bridge that day. It was death. If it hadn't been for his grandfather hurling himself in front of the arrow, he would've not lived through that day. With each page, dreadful memories that made him so fond of his grandfather were being shattered. That one time he ran across the highway with him on his shoulders. He could still remember his grandfather's laugh and his screams through the blaring horns. It was just one of many near escapes from them.
​
He devoured a decade of memoirs and finally, a clue emerged of who they were. "With great sorrow, I've convinced my son to uproot his family and move to Romania. My nephew has been through much and I fear that with passing years even I wouldn't be able to protect him much longer. It will be harder for them to track him down there. People don't realize the power 'a place where time stands still' has. Eon should be safe there for a while, his presence unremarked. In time he will understand, in the meantime, I hope he will be able to live a normal childhood".
​
Aghast from sudden realization, he let his arms swing at the side of his grandfather's chair as he leaned back. The outer edge of the puzzle was slowly forming, although a big gap in the form of a question sign stood in the middle. Who were they? Why did they want him dead?
​
He was balancing on the hind legs of the chair as he was pondering his fate. A moment later he was lying on the wooden floor looking at the sun rays coming through the high window. His grandfather's walking cane had come crashing with him. He looked at his side and saw that the handle was open. A glass clepsydra was protruding from it. He took it out and noticed the roll of paper inside the cane. With scant dexterity, he managed to pull it out. "Break it only in time of need" it said.
​
He stood up and holding the clepsydra above his head he glanced at the sand inside. It shimmered in the sunlight. With a swing, he hurled it towards the wall. It crashed with the sound of glass breaking. Nothing happened. "Well that was pointless" he thought to himself. He collected the book off the table and headed out of his grandfather's library. If he wanted to know more he had to see what his parents knew about this.
​
As he stepped outside he stopped and looked towards his left. The tick of the pendulum clock that had haunted his dreams for years had halted. He ran downstairs towards the kitchen.
​
"Lisaa, you won't believe this, grandfather's clock has finally sto.." he paused as he walked into the kitchen. His grandfather's housekeeper Lisa was standing still in front of the sink. Beside her, a fork was hovering centimeters from the ground. | 2020-10-13T13:06:10 | 2020-10-13T11:30:08 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You take a DNA test on your 21st birthday to determine your heritage. Your family tree results come back and show that you have 20 direct descendants...and an 89 year old son.
[deleted] | "Hello, Bureau of DNA Testing. How may I direct your call?"
"Yeah, my results came back, and I am pretty sure they are wrong."
"Please hold while I transfer you."
-shitty hold music-
"Hello, customer service department. Can I get your name and the 15 digit test ID at the top left of your results form?"
"John Smith, 54359-86212-36798"
"Thank you. I see the problem already. We sent you the results for the wrong John Smith. I will get the correct documents mailed out ASAP. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, that's it, thanks"
"Have a nice day" | You've been working on it since you're 11, clearly you weren't your average kid. Mom told you, that was an unhealthy occupation for such a young child, but you never even bothered to listen to her.
Yeah you are still virgin from any human contact.
Yeah you never had a friend. Except maybe that one guy you met through the Internet who was, and still is, super into that kind of projects.
Yeah you messed up your whole curriculum although you have a brilliant brain, you dropped out high school but this, this worth it.
But you don't care.
You really don't care.
As you laugh like a stereotypical serial killer, you realise you are above everyone just by the power of your mind. You are now this Ubermensch, a true Nietzsche's Ubermensch, you killed God. Wow, screw this blasphemous act ! You didn't just kill God, oh no, you did more : you replaced Him.
For in your hands, you hold now causality, space, fate, time.
Because you made it.
From the awkward smart kid to the master of them all, you made it.
You understand it by a peek to you DNA test. A 89-year-old son, and nineteen other kids, wow you won't lose your time.
You go inside your machine, and smile. Let's jump one hundred years ago ! The past is going to be so great. | 2020-11-18T01:45:42 | 2020-11-18T01:35:38 | 287 | 36 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | They called me in for another PT today. Said he had just finished sucking up Dennis Menace's power and was wreaking havoc on East 6th. After I finished my sandwich(Hey, my powers take a LOT of energy, and that was a drippy sandwich, I am NOT coming home to soggy bread.), I grew a pair of wings and took off, soaring over the streets of Austin until I landed outside the Lodge, where the PT was busy drinking himself into a stupor. Dumbass was just making my job that much easier. I pulled my wings back into my body and coughed to clear my throat, the power thief whipping around, pointing Dennis' Plasma Slingshot at me, before he realized who I was.
"MAKESHIFT" he boomed(I would have insulted the dramatics, but that was part of DM's powerset too), shoving a table aside so that there was nothing between us, "WHAT KIND OF FOOL ARE YOU, THE STRONGEST SUPERHERO IN AUSTIN, COMING TO FIGHT THE PAIN DRAIN?"
I morphed my arm into a whiplike tentacle, and lashed it out at the guy who was apparently calling himself Pain Drain, letting him grab it. The sucker laughed maniacally, and I felt my powers enter his body, like the parasite seeking a new host that they were. He opened his mouth to taunt me, but almost immediately his tongue sprouted hair and eight legs, and his limbs twisted and contorted, leaving him on the ground not in pain, but confusion as he lost all resemblance to a human outside the skin color. I pulled up a chair and asked the bartender who was still shivering in fear behind the bar for a beer, then turned to face the human shoggoth in front of me, limbs forming and disappearing in the mass, the only constant being a single pair of eyes looking at me, wondering what I had done to him.
"Shapeshifting," I said, handing a ten to the bartender as he gave me my drink, which I calmly took a swig of, "is a dangerous thing for a human mind. See, so many thoughts rush through the head at once, that it's hard to keep any one shape without being distracted by any other number of things. Having the arms of a praying mantis makes you think about the mantis-" I pause to let him see the number of mantis pincers forming all over his body and once again melting back into the abomination in front of me, "And being told not to think about a polar bear makes it impossible to get the damn thing out of your head." On cue, a coat of white fur sprang up over the pile, a bear's face forming where his eyes were. A paw swiped out, but I was too far away, and he was too far gone. I took another drink, and continued, not in a gloating manner, but in the voice of a professor who has had to repeat this lesson seven times in the last two days.
"What I'm saying is, it takes a LOT of self-control to maintain a human shape, let alone morph in the way I do. And you're not only inebriated, but you have NONE of the training, NONE of the knowledge of anatomy, and virtually NONE of the capacity to wield this power in a way that won't leave you dead in less than two minutes unless you let go of it. Why two minutes? Because I know you haven't been giving yourself lungs or a heartbeat under all of that mess." The eyes widened, and the thread I felt my powers being tugged away from me with snapped, letting the parasite of a power return to the original host. With a quick shift of my hand into a squirrel to make sure my powers were functioning, I walked up to the quivering mass, the eyes begging, pleading with me to change him back, and I plunged my other hand into the mass. My fingers popped as they fused to his skin, and I began knitting his body back together, first forming legs, then the torso, then the arms, and next the head, and following THAT with the vascular system, the nervous system, and then finally, the organs. I pulled my hand away, and picked my beer back up off the counter, the police coming in to arrest the now heavily-traumatized man. There was a reason Power Thieves didn't last long in my city, and it was because, like most people who came to Austin looking for the weird, they didn't expect the weirdness they were going to be getting. | Turnabout watched closely, as Copycat slunk and leaped across the windowsills of the First National Bank. The result of an accident involving a simple delivery woman, the Xerox copy machine she had been delivering, a stray tabby cat, and some very poorly timed toxic waste from an overturned truck, Copycat moved with the grace and power of a feline. But as Turnabout knew, her real strength was her ability to Copy other super's powers. It was why he had been chosen to follow her, and stop her plans.
Copycat moved on to the bank, and as she sprung open the lock on the vault, Turnabout announced himself. "A nice night to take what isn't yours, eh Copycat?"
The striped stealer turned to face her foe, her whiskers twitching in mischievous glee. "Of courrrse, herrro. What better time for a prrrretty kitty, than a moonlit serrrenade of theft and plunder?"
"I'm going to have to insist you put down the lockpicks, and come with me, Copycat."
She laughed, stretching with a sensuous lean as she winked at Turnabout slyly. "We'll see, herrrro." A glow from her eyes as she laughed, thrilling in the feel of a new unfamiliar power, freshly Copied. "Lets see how much you like having your own powerrr thrrrown back at you!"
Turnabout stood, arms crossed, watching. Waiting. Copycat lunged her hand forward, expecting something to explode from it. Fire, lightning, trout, energy. But nothing emitted. She flexed her arms, thinking that she didn't really feel any faster or stronger. She lunged at Turnabout, opened her eyes as wide as she could... no lasers, no chaos beams, no flood of lemonade, no heat blasts.
He stood there, perfectly still, watching her flail about trying to figure out what new power she had stolen. Copycat ultimately threw her hands up in frustration, and lunged at Turnabout, claws out and screeching her unnecessarily-sexualized battle-cry.
In the moment before she made contact, Copycat was flipped tail over head, and thrown backwards into a plop against the wall. She screeched, and stood to her feet. "Ah ha! Now I know your powerrr! Telekinesis!" With a triumphant laugh she raised her arms, to throw Turnabout to the ceiling and crush him... but nothing happened. "Oh, COME ON! I've copied TK powers before, this should be easy!!"
Turnabout shrugged and gestured lazily towards the door. "You want to go quietly, now? You haven't stolen anything ye,t so I can probably get you a light sentence."
"NEVERRR!" Copycat threw open the vault door, only to have it rebound back towards her, knocking her onto her butt unceremoniously. She growled, lunged once more at Turnabout, and found herself flung backwards roughly into the wall. With a roar of indignant rage, she flailed scratched kicked and screamed towards Turnabout, trying to manifest something to attack him. Psychic blasts, soundwaves, ballpoint pens, ANYTHING. "What the hell is your powerrr! Why won't it DO anything?!"
Turnabout shrugged, and pointed to the floor. "How about you lay down and let me handcuff you peacefully, and we can move on with this.
Copycat turned on her heel and bolted, a flurry of stripes and fur running at the speed of the zoomies. She got as far as the door when she was flung backwards and dropped to the floor in a heap. She used her cat powers to leap five body lengths upwards to a windowsill, only to be thrown back to the floor. She roared angrily and jumped for Turnabout's neck, claws out, only to once more be flung backwards, landing ass-up on the cold tile.
"Ready to give up yet?"
Copycat flopped onto the floor, staring at the ceiling, and put her hands upwards in resignation. Turnabout moved slowly and cautiously towards her, placing the handcuffs on her wrists and instructing her to a place to sit while the police arrived.
When the police arrived, they put a Power Dampener onto her neck and led her into the car to be taken away. Before they left, Copycat turned back to Turnabout. "Please, tell me! Why couldn't I make your telekinesis work?! I've neverrr had a copied powerrr fail to work like that before."
"Because I'm not telekinetic. You weren't using my power right. Did you notice I just stood there, and didn't move much?"
Copycat nodded eagerly, licking her lips in anticipation of the answer. Turnabout grinned. "Just think about it while you're in your cell. It'll come to you."
She screeched in a howl of indignation as the door closed and the patrol car sped off. Turnabout smiled to himself and walked away from the scene. As he crossed the corner, he saw a ball of trash rolling down the street in the wind. Turnabout used his power to invert momentum, and flung the ball of trash back into a nearby trash can. Littering is, of course, a crime of it's own. | 2020-12-02T09:06:54 | 2020-12-02T08:13:55 | 89 | 55 |
[WP] At 18, your father finally gave you his antique Swiss watch. "The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life", your father always told you. Now at 26, you're celebrating your 1st wedding anniversary. As your wife pours you a glass of wine, the watch stopped. | For 18 years of my life, I heard the watch ticked. It was an irreplaceable sound, one that I knew by my heart. And so, when it stopped, I pointed it out to my father.
He had it on, even though the strap now fit illy on this thin wrist. With surprising deftness, he slipped it off, clasping the watch into my hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life."
And surely, I watched his eyes closed for the final time. There was silence for a few seconds, before the watch started up once more.
It ticked and ticked, like the own rhythm of my heart. When I graduated, when I found my first job, when I kissed who I thought was surely the love of my life; when my heart broke, when Flora saved me from wallowing in my sallow pits of despair.
For the 26th year of my life, I stared into the eyes of my lovely wife, and I felt the watch beat softly on my wrist.
"Breaking out the good wine today, Flora?" I asked.
"Of course," she smiled. "A reward. For the beautiful flowers you sent me."
"Was it old-fashioned?"
Her laugh tinkled, setting off a chorus of explosions in my heart.
"It was romantic. Let's hope it's not just because it's the first year, right?"
"This day, one year ago, was the best day of my life," I said; "and it was entirely because of you."
She blushed, red as the glass of wine she poured. Streams of carmine and crimson, her eyes excitedly glowing and radiant with love.
"You were too," she whispered. "What if..."
"What if?"
"Well," she said. "What if there were more than two of us?"
My heart palpitated. It jumped and leapt with joy, as I was sure the corner of my lips did.
I rushed up to her. I held her in my arms, and I swirled her around like the wedding night one year ago.
She squealed with absolute and utter joy. We raised our glasses, and it clinked.
In that moment of quiet, as I put the glass to my lips, the watch stopped.
I was calm. How could I not be? I sipped the wine, feeling it coating the inside of my throat.
Two questions materialized in my head.
Am I seconds away from my death? Likely. Shame I couldn't live as long as my father.
Did I live a good life? It was short, maybe. But it was good. The wine was fine, as well. Fitting for my last drink.
I hugged her tightly. I slipped the watch into her hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life," I said.
She stared at me, confused.
"I love you, so, so much," I said.
I felt myself falling to the floor, without so much as an explanation as to why.
But I know, just like 26 years ago, the watch will find new life with her.
And it will bloom splendidly, as will the new life within her, for she was utterly wonderful.
---
r/dexdrafts | You know, today has been a weird day. I woke up early to get a surprise ready for our anniversary, a surprise I had been planning for a month at this point, only to find my wife in the kitchen, saying that she would rather stay home today. Well, its a shame that I had to cancel all of those reservations, but it's better for her to be comfortable, right? She said she would handle everything today, and that I should go back to bed and get some rest. I didn't really want to let her do all the work today, but I would hate to ruin whatever she had planned. I figured it was a surprise I wasn't supposed to see.
Well, I was certainly surprised. My wife had prepared a bath, massage, and meal for me. I mean, if I wanted any of those things, I would usually just hire someone else to prepare it for me. She had never bothered doing any housework or anything either, leaving that to the maids I hired, but I guess she wanted to do something special for me today. And I gotta say, a massage done by my wife was much better than any masseuse, even if the technique was a little sloppy. Maybe, I thought, this was better than that private cruise I prepared. Well, for me at least. I still wanted to do something for her, but I had nothing prepared and felt like whatever I did wouldn't be good enough. I decided to just push my plans to tomorrow and call it an anniversary weekend on Tuesday. Before I could actually make any calls, my wife rushed me to the dining room for the meal she had prepared. She must have been worried it would get cold, I thought, but she really was insistent that I eat before doing anything else today.
It was actually really good. She must have had cooking lessons somewhere, because I couldn't tell the difference between the food she made and the food of the professional chefs I hired. It was a little dry, though, and I got thirsty quickly. “Don't worry, I found some really good wine. Here,” she said, “enjoy.” I thanked her and reached out to grab the glass she just poured, and I saw that my watch had stopped. It was an old Swiss thing, given to me by my late grandfather. Somehow, it had never stopped or needed correction. I assumed it was just a really good watch. It was one of two things in the world I couldn't replace with money, and now it's stopped working. I felt a little sad, but I smiled because I knew my grandfather would be happy that it served me well for all these years.
I took off the watch and set it on the table before quenching my thirst with the wine. Maybe I drank it a bit too quickly, I thought, because I started to feel strange not long after. I suddenly felt light headed, like I wasn't getting enough air. And for a second, I tasted blood. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and when I opened them I felt much better. But then, for some reason, I saw that my watch was still on my wrist, ticking away as it always had. The glass of wine was also full, the bottle still resting in my wife's hands. I stiffened, not sure what to do. My mind was working at full capacity, trying to think of what just happened. My wife must have gotten uncomfortable from my strange lack of action, asking me what was wrong.
Then, I finally remembered the true significance of the watch. I had forgotten about it, assuming it was just a strange story my grandfather had told me, but thinking about what had just happened, or maybe didn't happen yet.... Well, if the watch really does stop moments before I die, what truth lies in the other stories he told me? I would have to think about that later. For now, what was in that wine, and why does my wife want me to drink it so much? Things have gotten complicated. | 2020-12-10T12:26:59 | 2020-12-10T11:39:08 | 71 | 11 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | Cash poked the thing, which stared back at him with doleful eyes that jiggled suspiciously when he moved it.
"That's the googly eye upgrade to the standard pet rock model," Old Merlin informed him. "It costs three coppers more. There's also a glitter upgrade, a stripes upgrade, or a polishing upgrade, though the polishing upgrade is certainly outside of your budget constraints."
He eyed Cash's clothes when he said this, and Cash glared at him.
"What about a frog?" Cash asked.
Merlin shook his head. "You can't take any old bullfrog from the swamp. It has to be a fire frog from the Mountains of Death to be suitable as a familiar."
"And this river rock will be better than a bullfrog?" Cash asked, holding the googly eye version closer and squinting at it.
He couldn't afford the three copper upgrade fee either, but he wasn't about to tell Merlin that after that look he gave Cash when he examined his clothes.
"Probably," Merlin said with a shrug. "What have you got to lose?"
"Five coppers," Cash replied.
"Deal!" Merlin shouted, grabbing the small coin purse and running before Cash could explain that he meant that was what he had to lose, not what he was offering for the stupid rock and its creepy, lifeless eyes.
Cash sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure how he'd explain this to his mother. Those coppers were also supposed to buy his uniform at the thrice-used uniform cart if he didn't want to wear his sister's hand me downs (and he definitely didn't), and he didn't have time to do errands to earn more. The academy started the next day.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Cash showed up at school with his rock tucked safely into the pocket of his older sister's old robes, which she had dyed orange and bedazzled and sewn huge floral patches all over once she had outgrown them in hopes that their mother would be so ashamed that she would agree to buy new robes. It hadn't worked, and his older sister had run off with some minstrel.
"Ah, it's Cash the Gutter Trash!" shouted one of the local butcher's sons from the left. "He wants to be a *mage*."
Cash grimaced but kept walking and refused to look at them, no matter how much he wanted to turn them purple.
"Where's your *familiar*?" Lulie hissed from the front steps of the academy, petting her white gryphon and preening her perfect curls. "You can't do magic without one, Cash! It protects you from the beings on the other side!"
"Will you help me catch a bullfrog after class?" Cash pleaded.
"Oh Cash," she sighed. "A bullfrog won't work. You need..."
"A fire frog from the Mountains of Death, yes," Cash interrupted, "but surely a bullfrog is better than this..."
He produced the googly eyed rock, and Lulie stifled a giggle.
"Did you *make* that?"
Cash rolled his eyes, "No, it was forced upon me by Merlin, who then stole all my coins. Hey, at least it's not the glitter upgrade."
Lulie was kind enough to sit next to him during his first lesson of the day - Magic Fundamentals. She even stopped her gryphon, Snuggles, from pecking the eyes off the rock, which Cash had creatively named "Stone" when the instructor asked for his familiar's name. The instructor stared down her nose at him while the class snickered.
The first spell was easy and safe - just a simple sound illusion of beating wings, but the class got more difficult and more dangerous quickly. Cash found himself squeezing the pet rock and squinting at the blackboard as the teacher wrote out a formula for levitating a cup. Lulie was already in tears next to him, hugging her gryphon to her chest. He glanced around and noticed with shock that all of the other students had given up. He looked down at the rock, which stared back at him with those same doleful eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, Cash stared at the cup, holding the formula in his mind. He squeezed the rock again, and then he felt it. He felt the earth under the school. He felt the mountains far off, made of the same material he held in his hand. The cup shot through the ceiling. The beings from the beyond were prowling at the edge of his vision, but he could feel the earth keeping them back.
"Brave child," hissed one of them, its violet eyes blinking slowly as it stared him down, "to claim the earth as your familiar."
Edit: Thank you for the nice comments. I will let you know if I manage to get anything more written about Cash and Stone. | Mad Hank, the oldest magician in Jill’s town. His origins are unknown to any of the folks, older than anyone remembers. At best some families might have heard stories passed down from their great-great grandparents about the man, but none could be proven. Some stories getting rather outrageously superficial, like the one that stated the man was the work of a chaotic god granting a rock life. What idiot would believe such a tall tale? The only detail about the man that had been proven was his skill. Despite his mind being mostly gone, his magical abilities were better than any of the mages Jill knew. That’s why she came to him in her time of need.
“Mr. Hank Sir, I heard you often help mages in need. My family are rather poor. They scrambled together their savings to send me to a school, only to find out they don’t provide a familar. I know you have no reason to help me, but it would mean so much to my family and I if you could share one of your familiars with-“
“PET ROCK.” Hank cackled, turning around to show her a rather standard rock, the only difference being, this one had a pair of comical wobbly eyes on it. He offered her a wide grin, one that managed to show through his grey and white beard.
“P-pardon sir, I don’t think I understand what you mean? Are you suggesting this rock be my familiar? The name would imply that you are-“
“Smart girl picked up on it quick. Little too chatty though, you tried being quiet?” Hank asked, lifting her black pointed hat, sitting the pet rock underneath it. “Treat Rocky good, he’s going to grow up to be a boxer someday. HAH.” The old man cackled, raising his hands to the heavens.
“I think this may have been a bad idea. I’ll just leave the rock behind; you like rocky more than I do, anyway.” She went to set the rock aside, only for a powerful blast of fire to swirl past her hand, stopping her movements.
“I’m mad, not stupid. Take Rocky and show those rich punks how people like us live.” The old mage again raised a hand triumphantly before making a pained groan. “I’m far too old for these levels of excitement. Bye now, don’t come back until you have saved the world or whatever you younglings do these days.” When she next blinked, she was outside, the door to his hut missing.
Jill lifted her hat, staring at the wobbled eyed rock. I guess that makes us a team now. I’m Jill, Will you be my familiar? The person to protect me throughout my life?” The rock offered no response. Jill’s heart sank. The man had mocked her, giving her a rock as a joke. She nearly threw the rock through his window, only for her hand to glow blue, sealing the contract between the two.
She didn’t have the heart to tell her parents about the rock, not wanting to worry them. Instead making up some story about how he had given her a lowly houseplant. Her first day of school she found tough, everyone walking around with their magical creatures, and here she was, carrying a rock.
“You two must have a rocky relationship.” A voice called out, a roar of snickering following that as a male walked over, dragon following behind. The dragon may have been small but had an impressive set of blue scales, ones that belonged in a book of myths. “Nice to see you got what you deserve. What happens when the rock breaks? Will you bring a pet twig?” More laughter followed, causing her to shove the rock into her robes.
“Its powerful. I just don’t know how to use it that’s all.” Jill tried to make up a lie, but no one believed her, laughter continuing. She went to turn away, only to feel a movement in her robes. When she turned around, she saw the dragon whimpering, a red sore spot on its snout from where the rock had hit, causing the creature to scamper back.
“Y-You threw that at my familiar! I’ll kill you.” The male went to charge only for a wall of blue magic to stop him, appearing before the man.
“Now, now Fredrick. You are a mage, correct? If that’s true, you should be able to tell that she did no such thing. The familiar acted on its own. You provoked her and it attacked, the same way your creature might if you were in such a situation. While there’s no penalty for familars fighting, there is one for students fighting. I suggest you think about that.”
When the wall dropped, Fredrick shot Jill a glare, mumbling that this wouldn’t be over. An empty threat given how well the rock handled the situation earlier. The hallway’s patrons turned to look away, unsure what they had just witnessed, still they didn’t want to get scolded by the teacher for watching.
“I am Henry Faddler, your chemistry teacher. Now I must offer you the same caution I offered Fredrick. I know they provoked it, but if your familiar acts out of line too many times, we will remove them. Our school has standards, now go to your homeroom, classes start in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jill didn’t argue with the teacher, his words were fair enough in her eyes. Focusing on the day ahead, she rushed to find her homeroom, giving her pet rock a smile, it wobbling its eyes in response as they started their first day.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-01-06T08:39:22 | 2021-01-06T07:16:08 | 3,119 | 267 |
[WP] The alien ambassador stood in front of the UN, explaining how the Galactic Federation would happily accept humanity into its ranks, sharing the multitude of impressive technologies it has to offer. It just has one condition: it points to a random woman in the crowd. “I want you to kill her.” | A single gunshot rang out
"Is there anything else?"
The ambassador looked slightly taken aback "why did you kill her?"
"Because you requested it and for no other reason, our membership is worth her life"
a slight smile appeared on his face, "and if I had asked for a different life?"
"We heard about this test from some of the other species, if you kill the person entry is almost immediate, if you don't you spend weeks explaining the reasons, we agreed that whoever's life you asked for would die, even if it was me, all of the guards had there orders, your medical tech is expected to save 500 lives a day from the time we join, another 500 a day after we have time to integrate it more fully, a 2 week delay is therefore costing us 7000 lives at the minimum, I will inform Mary's family of this myself and step down from office as soon as our application is accepted"
The ambassador made notes "I can't fault your maths but its an awfully cold thing to do."
"Every person here knew the plan and every person was offered the choice to take the day off. We all chose to be here knowing that one of us would die for your test"
"As promised your species will be admitted, the medical supplies you requested will be delivered within 93 minutes"
The ambassador walked away and issued a high priority message to all but the councils newest member.
Humanity has taken the test with the forewarning as envisaged by the founding 10, they planned in advance to instantly execute whoever we asked, there pragmatism is exceptional to a dangerous extent, humour is to be limited around there representatives.
Edit, formatting | "I want you to kill...her!" The ambassador smiled with two of his mouths. "I'm just..." And he was interrupted as President Kanye nodded and a secret service member pulled a gun and shot her in the head. The woman dropped like a bag of sand.
"Done." President Kanye nodded and pulled on a pair of expensive sunglasses as he leaned back in the throne he had had installed in the oval office.
"... kidding..." The ambassador said, three of his eyes locked onto the dead woman, the other eleven staring at the human president with fear.
"That...that was a joke!" The ambassador cried. "You didn't even hesitate, what is wrong with you?"
President Kanye nodded, and calmly replied " I’m like a vessel, and God has chosen me to be the voice and the connector"
The Ambassador blinked all of his eyes "...what.."
Kanye stood up and waited as a servant ran up and brushed a little bit if dirt from his yeezies...he started bopping his head as if listening to music and said “You may be talented, but you’re not Kanye West.”
Kanye nodded sagely and was quiet for a moment, tapping his leg to a beat only he could hear before finishing.
“I’m the closest that hip-hop is getting to God. In some situations I’m like a ghetto Pope.”
With a shake of his head the Ambassador backed away and said in a quiet voice "I think there has been a mistake, I'm going to return to the galactic council and discuss what we've seen today. You'll be contacted in one to five business days."
President Kanye West looked through the Ambassador as he walked away and out the door. He paused for a moment, looking directly at the Ambassador for the first time and quietly said
“I think what Kanye West is going to mean is something similar to what Steve Jobs means. I am undoubtedly, you know, Steve of Internet, downtown, fashion, culture. Period. By a long jump. I honestly feel that because Steve has passed, you know, it's like when Biggie passed and Jay Z was allowed to become Jay Z.”
Then he walked away. The Ambassador said nothing, just tapped his Diplomatic Badge and teleported away, back to his office. Maybe humans weren't ready. | 2021-04-20T01:17:24 | 2021-04-19T21:37:53 | 94 | 31 |
[WP] You are hunting a young buck through a forest. Suddenly it breaks into a clearing. You line up your shot and notice the deer beginning to falter in its steps, it's fur becoming more mange and clumps of fur start to drop off. As the deer nears the center of the clearing it just keels over dead. | You flick the safety back on and let your rifle hang in the crook of your arms. Scratching your head, you walk a bit to the left, then to the right.
"Yup, that'sa dead deer alright," you drawl. Not just dead, but it looks like it's already decomposing, flesh rotting and skin sloughing off. The smell, even from fifty yards out, deeply unpleasant.
There is the sound of a branch snapping behind you, and you slowly turn around.
Under normal circumstances, the man in a balaclava and tactical rigging aiming a M16 at your head would be a bad thing. Maybe it's the shock of the deer, or just the weirdness of it all, but you feel mostly calm.
"How did you get in here?"
"Not the question I was expecting, but, uh, ain't this the national park?" You look around yourself, frowning. "Wait, what's up with that tree. I'nt never seen that sorta tree b'fore."
You look back at the man in the balaclava and frown, he seems to have multiplied.
"Sir, we need you to step away from The Zone, it's not safe where you are."
You take a couple of steps forward, because as much as taking orders rankles, it's preferable to catching a bullet or six.
Two of the armed men lunge forward, and drag you bodily further into the trees.
"What's the big idea!? I ain't done no wrong!"
A man claps his hand over your mouth, and gently but firmly turns your head back toward the clearing. Your eyes widen as you watch the figure, the THING rise out of the ground. You can't unsee it, but you can't see it either. Your eyes burn, and bile catches in your throat.
"That. That is what we are trying to contain. That's what we saved you from."
The man in the balaclava looks you in the eye. "We're gonna take you to the edge of the containment zone. You're gonna go home, have a drink, and never tell anyone what happened here today. Yeah?"
"... Who... who are you?"
The man hesitates. Slowly, he pulls off his balaclava. You stare, unconprehending, at yourself. A little older, a few more frown lines and crow's feet, a scar you've never received.
"We're unlucky, I'supose." | I tried my best to control my breathing as I lined up the shot. The deer that I was chasing was a lucky bastard, but its luck was about to run out.
As I peered at it through my scope, I saw it stumble over the flat terrain. Thinking nothing of it, I waited until my heart began to beat slower, but it stumbled again. I stopped for a moment as it stopped running and began to sway slightly. Its brown coat began to turn blood red as clumps of it began to fall each time the breeze picked up. It stumbled again to its left and its head drooped as it began to gag.
It began to shake violently, from pain or fear, I couldn't tell. Its fur was coming out in clumps now. It tried again to run, but it only stumbled forward a few steps before it lost its balance. As it looked up one more time, it opened its mouth and collapsed to the side.
My heart was now pounding again as I watched everything unfold. My mind began to race as I tried to figure out what had happened. I took a few steps forward, then stopped. Why did it die like that? What could cause something like that? My mind began to clog with thoughts and ideas, but I chose to move forward for the time being.
I hesitantly stepped forward with my rifle raised, as if it would protect me, but it was all I had. My boots pressed footprints into the soft grass as I approached the corpse. I could see the spot where the deer feel, the grass around it was bent and manipulated.
I reached the deer and looked down. Its flesh was exposed to the elements and its fur lay in a scattered pattern around it. Blood had already begun to soak into the ground and stain the grass around it. I knelt down and looked in horror because the skin had turned bright red.
"My god..." I mumbled.
Blood was beginning to flow out of its face. Its eyes, its nose, its mouth. All bloodied and stained. I reached down slowly to touch it when I noticed the slight gap between my glove and my jacket. I dropped my rifle and pulled my sleeve back to reveal my skin had also turned bright pink.
My blood ran cold as I ran my hand through my hair, pulling out clumps of it. only confirming my suspicion. Blood began to drip out of my right nostril.
I fell backward onto the grass as my skin began to bruise and grow redder.
With my shaking hand, I pulled out my phone and typed onto it for the very last time. I found the contact for my girlfriend and struggled as I typed out the words.
"I love you. And I will always love you. More than anything..." I mumbled to myself. It was a habit to mumble out the words I was typing, but I was glad I had it because I could say the words one last time.
I dropped my phone and could only hear the ding coming from it a few moments later.
I had regrets, sure, but at least my life wasn't worthless.
All I could do now was wait for the inevitable. | 2021-05-26T05:21:22 | 2021-05-26T05:03:11 | 68 | 27 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | "I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!" | The sun and the trees, 2 of the things that make earth, well, earth. Such a beautiful place, nothing could ruin it. Well almost nothing, except for the guy named
"Lucas world-ender huh"
"Like the wolverine guy from 100 years ago?"
"Why would someone name their kid that" said Claire
"Your asking the wrong guy."
I leaned back in my chair, took a drag of my cigar and breathed out. A light smoke filled the air, lingering.
"Hey no smoking here." Claire said
"It helps me relax ok, sorry mom. It's going to be a long night where do think we should put this guy? A wood mill? Make him a farmer? How in the hell do we file a guy with the last name world-ender hmm?"
"I don't know sander, but we still have to."
I took a long sigh as our manager walked in.
"World-ender huh?
He let out a chuckle and said
"Good luck"
He walked out
"Um sanders"
"What Claire?"
"Who was your mother"
"Never knew, why?"
"Because your name is world-ender"
I let out a sigh as I grabbed my knife out of my jeans.
"This won't hurt a bit Claire"
I said as I plunged my knife into her neck. As she bled out on the floor I wondered what am I supposed to say to my manager now? This is the 7th time I did this. It's getting harder and harder hiding my last name, but I must persist. It's my destiny after all right? | 2021-06-19T23:03:38 | 2021-06-19T17:28:58 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] Having died saving a stranger from a arrow fired by an orc you are reincarnated into a strange new world where instead of magic and swords there are cars and aeroplanes and office buildings and 9 to 5 jobs. | "You must leave!" I cried to the old farmer. "The armies of darkness are advancing faster than shadows. Every day the orc horde overruns more villages, towns and cities. They butcher, pillage and burn without mercy. I beg you. Take your family and head west, to the Crooked Mountain Pass. Leave now, before it is too late."
We stood out in the farmer's field, at the border of Sunlass. The golden wheat swayed in the wind. He was threshing as I pleaded with him.
"Their scouts will likely be here by nightfall," I continued. "If you take your family and depart now, you will have ten hours on them. Your life and the lives of your loved ones hang in the balance."
The delusional farmer glowered. He spat at my feet.
"Three centuries my blood bin tillin' these fields," he said. "Through the civil strifes of the Boormen and the War of Klymon's Warlocks. My ancestors made their stands in these very fields, like as not right where I stand now. Some of 'em died to protect this land, and their blood riched the soil from which the wheat still grows. . .But most of 'em lived. Though they was willing to die for this land, they lived. They armed theyselves, and they stood up. Tall. They didn't budge as them armies crested yonder hills, and they--"
The farmer was pointing at the crest of yonder hill. But his countenance was changing. No longer an angry glower, I saw fear and shock take over his features, his eyes. No amount of explaining ever seemed to prepare these yokels for their first glimpse of a real orc. They laughed at true descriptions, calling them old wives tales, superstitions meant to scare children. But then, when they finally saw an orc in the flesh. . .
"Monsters," the old man whispered, still pointing with a trembling hand, his face creased with horror.
I turned and saw the scouting party of orcs upon the hilltop. They had arrived sooner than I'd anticipated. Malignant creatures like huge bipedal warthogs. Close as not to giants, straddling horses the size of lean mammoths.
One of the orcs had already drawn his longbow; he loosed the shaft, straight for the old man. An arrow more like a javelin. I saw the silver tip glint in the sunlight. I stepped in front of the farmer and prayed my armour would be enough.
The impact nearly bowled me over. I steadied and looked down at the bolt protruding from my solar plexus, where it had penetrated. I gazed up at the horizon but could hardly glimpse the terrible riders, shouting as they galloped down the hill, for darkness was falling rapidly upon my sight.
I collapsed back into the golden warmth of swaying grain and closed my eyes.
When I opened them I was in a tub of warm water. The only light in the room was the rosy glow of dawn, spilling in through the window.
Had I reached the heavens?
But these were unlike any heavens I would have imagined.
A yellowed tub in a dirty bathroom. Ratty plastic shower curtains beside me. And lying against my thigh, underwater, was a toaster, whose cord stretched over to the nearest socket. (The breaker had switched, so electricity no longer flowed, though I did not understand that at the time.)
I rose from the water, completely baffled. I pulled the curtains aside and walked to the bathroom counter. Upon it lay a note, the final expression of the desperate soul whose body I had usurped; it was written in a language all but identical to the language we spoke in the Western Realms. This is what it said:
*If you arose from the tub to read this, and you are currently wearing my old body, it worked! Welcome to your new realm. If it is not you reading this, but some other, and my corpse still lies in the tub, then it did not work. Perhaps because my timing was wrong. Perhaps because the doctors were right. Delusions. Schizophrenia. But if it did work. . .*
*Death is not an end, my friend and brother--my other I. Death is a leap between planes. Between versions. Parallel realities. Mirrored selves. I only hope I got the timing of my exit right, based on your cycle's end.*
*Yes,* *if it worked, and the man who is reading this is wearing my old body, then pay close attention. A childhood friend will be coming over in the afternoon. A young woman named Sophia. Give her this letter and explain what happened to you. Be patient with her. Console her. She will be grieved at my departure. But then she will tell you about my theories. She will explain where you are, and where I've gone.*
*And if it did not work--mother and father, ask Soph to give you the failure letters. I was certain it would work. I am certain! Good luck and goodbye.*
I could not make any sense of the letter. Mere moments ago, I had been arguing with a farmer and taking a bolt to the heart. I knew about magic and wizards and elemental forces. But parallel realities was a concept so foreign to me, it might have been lifted from a different language.
But though the letter confused and only slightly impacted me, seeing myself in the bathroom mirror struck my mind as powerfully as the bolt had my body. The hair was shorter. The body, less muscular, and lacking some of my old scars. But I peered through familiar blue eyes at the same form I'd worn all my life.
I had died in a field of golden wheat. And yet here I was. In a different world. Alive.
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | For a while, I was unsure of the memories that lingered in my mind. A great battle of the peoples of the world against a mad tyrant and his army of orcs, trolls, goblins, and other monstrous races. I stared down at my shield; it lay broken on the corpse of an orc when I saw the regalia on her chest. A cleric of a distant land, but a healer nonetheless. I'd never been one to question how we got our magic, I just accepted it. But mine was spent. Without my magic, without my shield, and without my squad, I would be lost on this side of the battlefield.
A marksman lay somewhere up the ridge and had already dropped a few allies as I regrouped after a torrent of stones cast by one of those fel summoner. The wounds on my legs were making it hard to stand, and the weight of the blood pouring down my brow was smothering the fire of rage in my heart. Terror in her eyes as I used my body to shield her gave way to shock as I felt an arrow hit my back. It broke the plate but wouldn't kill me. Another followed soon after, another in the back.
Pointing toward the rest of the phalanx "heal them" is all I could muster before I felt a sudden spike of cold in my eye socket. Then, darkness.
I had apparently been a loud newborn. My screaming gave way after some time, and those echoes soon passed in the processing of my new life. And then I grew up. In a mundane world with mundane family and mundane worries. My parents were normal people, a trucker and a nurse. They made ends meet and cared for me better than some of my school friends had in their lives. By high-school, I'd figured those memories of a previous life were naught but a comic or a movie or a show that I couldn't quite remember. I had a vivid imagination my art teachers were always impressed with, but once I found the joy of cooking, I knew what I wanted to be.
A deli hired me during senior year. It wasn't a great place with lots of foot traffic, but it had a steady set of loyal customers and good reviews online. I learned all the customer service stuff, and some trade secrets on top of that. How to smoke and preserve, how to trim cuts of meat, and various old recipes from Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein.
One Tuesday evening, I was hooking cows in the freezer with Mr. Goldstein. Greg. He always wanted me to call him Greg, so I would after the first few months passed by of him reminding me.
Suddenly, with a yell and a door slamming, Mr. Goldstein raised his hands. Two men in ski masks came through the loading door holding guns shouting for the money. They knew we'd have the week's money today since the deposit was the morning. They knew it was easy to get in the building when it was closed to customers while we loaded new cuts. They knew.
"You!" One gestured at me with their gun. "Stay put." The other gestured to Greg out the door toward the office and storefront. Turning right, they made their way for the office.
Seconds... Minutes? Nanoseconds?.. passed and then two shots. The man in front of me turned with as much shock to look at the door. Turning back to me, he went to flex his gun but heard his partner demand him to get going.
They both ran out the delivery door into the night, a backpack full of the cash, as I dashed past them to find Greg. Two shots in his chest, blood sputtering down the side of his cheek as his eyes open even wider to see me. The words I say in a panic make no sense. Probably attempts to relieve his dying moments, assurances I'd be there for Mrs. Goldstein, that I'd be right back as I run for my phone. Though, he grabs me before I stand.
"Don't leave," the exactness in his voice knows he isn't going to make it. So I start doing what everyone in all the movies do. Apply pressure to the wounds. I rip off my butchers smock and bunch one into the upper wound as my hand presses into the one in his gut.
"I've got you Mr. Goldstein," I reassure him. "I've got you."
My hands covered in blood, the light dimming behind his eyes, and the shitty electricity of the office flickering under the strain of summer heat, when suddenly, a rush of power. And more obviously, light.
My hands were emitting the most pure golden light I'd ever witnessed. I couldn't move but the rush of the energy pouring through my hands was making me recall a previous life I'd long forgotten.
Greg was still breathing, but unconscious as the light ended. When I lifted my hands, the bleeding had stopped. I check his heart, his pulse was still there. And when I pulled back his clothes, two bullets fell out.
"Did I just use magic?" There's no magic in this world. I faintly remember even in my previous life it was uncommon. I don't know how but the light from me laying my hands on him healed Mr. Goldstein.
"If I could do that, I should be able to..." I stumbled back and walked toward the freezer. Walking through the cold toward the open door, I considered my memories as much as I could focus. I checked to make sure nobody was in the alley when I brought my hands together and tried to call him. My mount was a steed pulled from the fey wilds in that previous life. When the magic resolved, I felt notably drained, but I expected to hear the whiney and hoofsteps again. Instead, I was blinded by light, again.
And an engine roar of something strong, fast, and American. Stumbling out of the headlights, I saw her. As white as snow, a mustang sat idle before me. "Heh, nice." The door opened as I approached. Settling into the seat, I went to grab my seat belt but couldn't before the car started forward.
"Alright alright, you're right. Let's go get those bastards." I pat her middle console and took off toward 19th street.
Quickly cruising, I headed toward the darker part of town, where I'd be sure to find those scum. Even without a weapon, when I find them, I doubt they'll be able to resist a smite or two. | 2021-07-31T20:57:22 | 2021-07-31T20:46:37 | 124 | 43 |
[WP] "H-how?!" the hero shakily asks. "How did you beat me with the sword that defeats every man?" The villain stares. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm a woman you idiot." | The absolute fucking audacity of it all.
There he cowers, practically covered in piss, shit, and blood, and yet he is still nothing more and nothing less than a man.
“The sword is supposed to destroy any and all men, including those who wield it. How are you alive?!” His body is shaking, breathing labored, he won’t live much longer. And yet I will make the time.
“You’re a fucking idiot, did you know that?” We’ve been mortal enemies for over a decade. We’ve faced each other on the battle field many times. He’s stabbed me through the chest at least a dozen times! And I am not what one would call petite!
“I am a woman. For goddess’s sake my name is Elaine.”
There is a stunned silence. I’m still fuming. In the background, my army continues to slaughter his men, blood staining the earth an ephemeral red.
“Okay, well this is awkward. I thought your name was Eli.” | “Er… a woman.” An incredulous look grew across his face. “*…a woman?!*” The ornate sword fell to the hero’s side as he starred through the adversary standing above him.
“Of COURSE, you twit!” The villain spat tearing off her blackened helm mid-sentence, her serrated blade still trained on his clavicle. A mop of sweaty, auburn braids spilled out, dripping down her face & neck. “Wait…” she then kicked the disillusioned hero onto his back, retrieved his weapon, raised and inspected it.
The illustrious scimitar glistened in the torchlight of the grand hall, it’s bejeweled hilt casting tiny beads across the villain’s countenance as she scanned its inscription.
“‘MANTAR: Defeater Of All Men’ - PUH! You fool…”She belted a deafening cackle.
“Behold!” She addressed the inert bodies strewn about the ancient marble. “Lestyfar’s Conquering hero! The Fang of Messtivius, The ‘Son of The Last Great King’! Befallen to misogyny!”
In a single movement, she swung the immaculate gilded steel beneath her, cleanly parting the hero’s trachea which burst into steaming crimson. Shrewdly, she garnished the act by spitting on the fallen, following it up by casting her own sword onto the corpse. This was the extent of her cruel eulogy and with that she waltzed out of the great hall and into a forever changed kingdom. | 2021-12-27T20:43:47 | 2021-12-27T20:06:50 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back. | Turns out, life is really, really painful.
It's not something that you really feel normally when you're actually alive. I suppose we just all get used to it or maybe don't notice it at all. Constant noise, no matter what you do; sensations, hot, cold, sharp, blunt, assaulting your senses at every waking moment. Did you know that your body constantly feels itself breathing and only when you stop, you feel the relief? I sure didn't. When you die, the relief from all of this is... indescribable. To be torn away from it is more than agonizing. It's cruel.
How do I know? It's my job. Literally. I work for Nez'Rah the Necromancer. I know, I know, he sounds really evil and all that, but he's actually a pretty nice guy. He's an entrepreneur that built a good business and allowed people like me, who came from nothing, have nothing, to become respectable members of society. I mean... maybe respectable is a bit much, but... valued, perhaps?
Hey, we get great benefits and don't even have to wear ties. I like to anyway, but the freedom of choice is neat. I suppose the choice of attire isn't all that important when your business is, well... not everyone can do it. But I can. I love my job.
We're the world's foremost Necromantic agency. Do you have unfinished business with someone but they died? Give us a call. We'll use our contacts and patented revivification technology to bring them to our facility, alive and not quite well, but alive. A big part of my job is working closely with Mr Rah - I'm sort of a right-hand man. I prepare the ingredients, the body, all of that, and, most importantly, I hold them down when they're brought back. Leather straps are a must, but personal care must be taken and I take that very seriously.
When the stabilizing spells kick in and the pain fades away, the loved ones get their chance to say their goodbyes, profess love they always wanted to before tearfully letting go again, it's quite common, you know. Loose ends tied, business finished and everyone can move on with their life peacefully. Well... almost everyone.
There is a selective clientele who don't want to reunite with loved ones. They want vengeance. And we can provide that too. You see, the stabilizing spells we use take the pain away, momentarily, allowing the dead to feel the warmth of life in their breast once more and forget the agony of their resurrection for a fleeting moment. But that doesn't mean we have to cast them. No, some are brought back to hurt. To punish. You give us a name and a length of time. We'll bring them back and make sure they feel every mind-shattering second of their visit to the world of the living.
A customer like that can always go to our facilities where these souls are kept; cells of steel and black glass, soundproofed and lit up with blinding light. You'd be surprised how many customers are horrified by their own designs, their wishes. They swore vengeance upon those people, wanted them to hurt. But actually seeing them? Writhing on their beds, chained, restrained so they don't bash their heads open, screaming - if they still have vocal cords - for mercy... they don't have the stomach for it. But I do. I'm a professional and I take pride in my work.
Sometimes I go to these storage units myself without a client. I walk through the rooms and watch them. It's oddly... relaxing. A feeling of satisfaction of a job well done. *My job*.
And I love my job. | Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.” | 2022-04-11T09:03:51 | 2022-04-11T07:54:10 | 161 | 23 |
[WP] The narrator may be omniscient, but they are also really easy to distract, so they still get surprised by plottwists and surprise reveals. | It was the best of times, it was the worst of times—erm uhh, hang on, I grabbed the wrong story.. Ah! Here we are.
Molly was the most average fourteen-year-old you would expect to see in the most average town in the country. She was a plain girl, with dirty-dishwater-brown hair, an average bout of pubescent pimples, and her grade point average was somewhere between a 2.0 and a 3.0 on a 4.0 scale. There really wasn’t anything special about the girl, and she knew it. If you were wondering if this was the introduction to a grand story of a girl who finally finds her purpose, her drive, and possibly a special set of superpowers all of her own—you would be correct. Molly was a plain girl, that mustn’t be mistaken, but she had the lineage of her ancestors to thank for what comes next.
As Molly walked to school on the first day of the new semester, she fell into the blandest, most predictable of daydreams. She imagined her long-time crush—Sam Elkins—would finally ask her to be his girlfriend. Even though he had ignored the girl since grade one, she couldn’t stop hoping he would one day notice her--- wait, she’s falling… off a cliff? Why is she falling so fa—oh. Well, this is an odd predicament. Average Molly was now below-average Molly, as in, she just shrunk down to 3 ft 4in height. Not necessarily a cliff fall, but it sure felt like one. What a strange occurrence! I don’t know how this—oh, she’s running! In fear, Molly began running down the street, looking back frantically at the one chasing her, well not one—but 100s of bees! You might be asking, but what did she do to cause the frantic chase that would ultimately lead to her death? Hang on--- ahh okay, it looks as if she stole their honey while I took a smoke. What an odd girl, that Molly is!
The bees followed as she ran under dresses and through a crowd of schoolchildren. She was nearing closer and closer to traffic, the bus was oncoming, and she still hadn’t seen it! As she sprinted across the street, the bus merely feet away—ahh yes, I’ll take a whisky neat, thank you—wait, where did that darned girl go? No blood splatter on the street.. no look of surprise or disgust on any faces… where did she—oh God! A bee the size of a turkey was diving down toward the crowd, stinger at the ready—and Molly’s parents are on scene with a bee fumigator? As the smoke billowed away, all that was left was Molly, back to her average height and all.. in handcuffs? Oh, well this is a real plot twist! Channel 9 says that she was a villain that had been wreaking havoc at night, codename “Bad Bumble,” and that her parents were deeply ashamed of her actions. Who would have thought! A boring superpower, for a boring girl—thank God this story is over. | Ahh, Mr Michaelson and his wife, Mrs Tabernathy sit nonchalantly on their patchwork sofa. Their sofa faces across from a quaint CRT television which can only display black and white pictures due to some incident from 1975, where Mr Michaelson hired a repairman who had accidentally- by some absurd twist of fate ruined the tv's capacity to display color. You see, an unassuming squirrel had entered the house through the window. Mrs Tabernathy yelled "Oh no! Michael a squirrel!", Michaelson then went into the pantry to grab a flyswatter and began pursuing the furry scoundrel on foot.
"You've nowhere left to run you squirrely monster!" Michaelson yelled at the top of his lungs.
As Michaelson continued hopelessly flailing his arm, he had unintentionally- wait! Back in the present Mrs Tabernathy seethes in rage and Mr Michaelson fearfully perspires. What! It turns out Mr Michaelson had an illicit affair in 1965 with a woman named Jeneviev Brunstein while he was vacationing in the Austrian alps. They met on a fateful day, on a ski lift, sitting together by pure accident. Eventually, in their skiing companionship, Jeneviev found herself in Michaelson's lodging, to the chagrin of her best friend Geralina Walters, who was an Olympic gold medalist on the hundred meter dash.
Geralina was only 21 at the time, a relatively inexperienced runner, but boy did she have the muscle and the strength to catch up and beat any other darn woman on that field. The nanosecond that gun went off, Geralina made her move, in the blink of an eye, like a brief strike of lightning she- Woah! I did not just hear that.
Mr Michaelson just revealed that Mrs Tabernathy actually had an illicit affair before him with Olympic gold medalist Geralina! What a surprise. It also turned out that Mrs Tabernathy actually snuck out of the house, booked a flight to Austria to meet with Geralina, how deep does this go? It's almost like that repairman from 1975. His name was Carl Penrose, from Quirrel's repairs. His first career was that of a squirrel trainer, who trained squirrels that starred in films like *Lord of Acorns*, *The Dark Nut* and who can forget *Chipmunks Now.* However, when Quirrel was arrested for a series of squirrel themed murders, many became to scarred by their image to truly bring it into public spotlight so- Hey, did you guys hear that bombshell?
It turns out Michaelson was actually stabbed at some point during his Austria trip, after his lovely night with Jeneviev. Not much was known, only a lone bird Frank Flignitz was present that night, watching it all unfold. He was returning from a hard days work trying to woo female birds, but alas! He yields not a single mate. And so he started to contemplate life; "why must I be alone?", "why does not one single bird wish to bear my offspring?", "what must I do to improve?". Then he realized his wings were flabby, his beak was soft and his feathers were ruffled and disheveled. He needs to start working out! So he was doing pull ups on a power line just behind the hotel in the alps and then- Wait, why's there blood on the house?
Woah, it turns out Mrs Tabernathy was actually a member of a cult, one belonging to **Saint Quirrel**! Well color me surprised, I did not expect this. Wait a sec, there's new episodes of *Not Without My Squirrel*, guys chill for a sec, I'll tell you what happens tomorrow, I'm gonna go watch, see ya! | 2022-09-13T09:44:32 | 2022-09-13T08:00:22 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | Bob was special, different from the rest of us. Not because he could tear bones from skin like Gregor, or shape matter like Cerule, certainly couldn't heal like Havawitz, but special because he always had our backs. When the chips were down Bob was always watching over us, trusty weapon in hand. A "sniper rifle" he'd called it, ensuring when we mislabeled it as a crossbow or staff he corrected us.
"Oh no, I'm not Cerule, she has the staff. She's something special. I'm just Bob." he'd say before his sniper rifle sounded off with that devastating blast and another orc body dropped in the distance. It sure looked like magic to me every time he used it.
Bob was strange like that. Not strange like us, but just...different. He tucked his shirt in his pants and made sure those little plastic buttons on the front went all the way up to his neck. And if his belt wasn't on the third notch then it was a bad day for Bob. I had only seen Bob have one bad day and it had led to a mountain of bodies and a banning from one of the most notorious trading towns on the east coast. Of course, when his day was going better again he returned to apologize. Bob was thoughtful like that.
Even though we were surely all curious, really it didn't matter where he'd come from. Sometimes Gregor would ask on those late nights of traveling when conversations roamed and Bob would always reply: "Well where'd you come from Gregor?". And of course the brute could never think up an answer with meaning enough to reply. But I think really we were all just glad. Glad that we had someone watching over us. Glad that we had a man in the bushes, a Bob.
But most of all, glad he was on our side. | Bob's new adventuring party consisted of three different party members with radical abilities. Bob's old party wasn't as strong as these heroes, and it's thanks to Bob's new item. Each party member has a goal they want to achieve. For example, the Fighter joined Bob's new party because he fancies the Cleric. Bob needed the warrior, so he led with this selling point, manipulating the Fighter into joining.
Meanwhile, the Cleric joined the party due to a selfish desire to help others for fame. A cleric who could heal any wound was better than the average cleric. Bob didn't want to be left for dead in a dungeon, even if he had to have a doctor with a god complex. His exaggerated stories of fame and glory were able to capture the attention of the expert cleric.
The final member of Bob's new team was the Wizard, a snob with a hunger for knowledge. The Wizard was the annoying one of the party. He feels he's got to know about everything, even declaring himself as the leader even though Bob was bankrolling the mission with his life savings. The only reason why the Wizard joined was that no other party was willing to take him.
This leaves Bob, the glorified archer of the group. Why would Bob take in a whipped fighter, a narcissistic cleric, and a hipster wizard? Because his previous party was no better. Bob's motivation for trudging through dungeons was for money. Bob wanted to retire peacefully as a recluse and leave his new party members out for dead, just like his previous group did. So, then he picked the most despicable group of adventurers he could find, but he couldn't do so without his legendary weapon.
His sniper rifle was his ticket back to a rags-to-riches type of story. When he was last left off for dead, he had nothing again. Having to start at square one, he climbed through multiple dungeons, vowing for revenge and settling for retirement afterward. After making a promise to himself to escape from society as a hermit, the sniper rifle appeared to help him in his endeavor.
It took the misanthrope a moment to understand the weapon. Once he got the hang of it, many monsters whispered the rumors of a man capable of vanishing heads with the click of a lever. The dwarven engineers even hired assassins to take out Bob. A story that ended with Bob's life saved by a random stranger. Bob still couldn't comprehend why the stranger saved his life, but it taught him something that day. He needed people to watch his back again, but he needed to be in control. | 2022-11-07T19:22:30 | 2022-11-07T16:53:51 | 1,826 | 260 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | When I first started searching for people to join my adventuring party I thought I saw everything extraordinary. When I met our fighter, he was wrestling a Greater Dragon without any armor and came out victorious, when I asked him afterwords he said he comes down to their nests every once and a while to wrestle them for sport. Then comes our cleric, he was a prodigy from the second he came out the womb, I don’t think there is a single illness or disease I could name that he doesn’t have a cure for. I met him in one of my darkest hours, I caught a terminal illness from one of my pilgrimages that no one in records had ever survived, I was on my deathbed when the hospital brought him, he told me he had a experimental cure for my illness and asked if he had my consent to use me as a guinea pig for said medicine, I had nothing else to lose so I consented and miraculously, I was cured and at 100% next week. Lastly comes our wizard, she is part of a century old clan of elite wizards who are second to none. When I first walked up to her during her training session she ending up creating a new element by accident just from me breaking her focus for a second.
After I met and recruited these three I really thought there would be nothing that could surprise me, I mean who rationally would? I have 20 years of adventuring experience as one of the most respected adventurers in our guild and with this much of an overpowered party, nothing would ever surprise me, right? Well this train of thought ended when I met Bob, Bob was an… average guy, I wouldn’t say he was the most built and quite frankly not the sharpest tool in the shed, if you saw Bob walking around the guild office you would just think he was a run of the mill E-rank adventurer just looking for the area to take quests. But when I looked closer at Bob I saw a strange contraption if you could call it that strapped to his back, swaying as he looked around the room seemingly lost. When I walked up to him asking about his strange use of weaponry he seemed ecstatic to finally show it to someone, a sniper rifle is what Bob called his contraption, he ushered me out to the training grounds. My party was also interested in his so called sniper rifle as anyone would be so they also followed Bob and I out to the grounds.
“Alright so how did you even find such a strange weapon like that?” Was my first question once we got out to the yard, but all I got in response was a thoughtful look as if he was looking for the right words to use it explain it to me, Bob eventually told me he found it abandoned inside a bush in front of the local Inn, connected to the rifle was something odd, Bob pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket and handed it over to me, a note in a foreign language written with a completely different alphabet from anything registered in the ‘Official World Languages’ book I studied intently after becoming rank 1 in my guild. When I asked him about the note he looked confused as if everyone could read this foreign script but he shook the confusion out of his head seconds later. He told my party that a sniper rifle was a high velocity gun that could be fired ‘supa farrr away man’ quoting him directly, not knowing what a gun was and frankly, too confused to ask as Bob’s explanations were not the best, I simply just asked him to display the sniper rifle in action, he simply smirked in response.
“Okay dude, just give me 15 minutes and once you see some supa cool fireworks in the sky, remember to not blink while lookn’ at the dummy.” Slightly confused but more intrigued than anything I obliged to his strange request. After around 17 minutes of sitting on the benches, watching the new recruits to the guild spar in the yard I turn right towards the rest of my party, right when I was about to give the word to give up on waiting, I see a streak of red trailing through the night sky, followed by the familiar pop of a firework on a hill around 5 miles away from the yard, my eyes widen at the realization, any normal person thoughts would be to doubt that his weapon could kill from that far away, but being in the business as long as I have been numbs you to the impossible, instead, my eyes were glued to training dummies, waiting for the weapon to fire, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I could hear it, after 3 seconds of intently waiting the shot came, faster than anything I’ve ever seen, in an instant the head of the closest training dummy was blown off, feathers from inside the dummy flying everywhere in response, I look at the wall behind the dummy and see a small crater, after walking up to the wall I see a small brass like object lodged in it, smoldering hot to the touch. “Wow.” was all I could say in response, my party members who have followed me into the most dire situations without breaking a sweat even seem to be at a loss for words. No matter what this Bob character might look like he most certainly fits right in with the monsters in my party. | "And now, thanks to *you*, all my plans have succeeded!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia cackled crazily, as he lorded over his newly produced Pickle-Maker 6000. "Townsville will soon be a stunning saltmarsh of salacious sublimity!" He cried with delight, while the party hemmed on in horror at the tiny town of Townsville. Mr. Mayor and his lovely laypeople all lay limply, surely *soured* at the success of the supervillain's scheme.
"You won't get away with this!" Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Figher scarily shouted at the surly sinner. "Nobody in this town wants to be eradicated by your evil enigma!"
"Ferrona's right!" Carson Careful, the Cleanly Cleric of his God Cleanwell, added alongside his courageous colleague. He brandished his Bane of Brandishing, ready to Banish Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia.
The Wizard, Wiz Wisely, convulsed conspicuously, his veins bulbously bursting beyond belief, as he prepared a ferocious fireball to fry Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, the foody fiend.
"Very well, Annoying Adversaries!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, shouted out the name of the pungent party, with bombast. "We shall see who bests who in combat! Now, En Garde!"
Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Fighter, cheerily chuckled, as she drew her Blades of Blasting, before preparing to pulverize the precocious pickler.
"Very Well, Lord Remington, Domina-"
It was at that moment that One Armed Bob shot Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, in the head with an M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle from halfway across town.
Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, dropped to the ground, dead as a doornail.
Ferrona stared at the corpse without the surprise that the rest of the town had. She had actually really liked the roleplay that they had set up before the fight. She was hoping for a symbolic fight about how, in the end, she needed to rely on her party mates more to tank and deal damage, and about how there were things you couldn't do alone.
Carson stopped his charge, frustrated. He'd just gotten a brand new combat draw skill, and he really wanted to see how well it worked on large bosses. He'd tried it on smaller ones, but someone like Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia would do nicely for him to test out how well Angering Shout worked into his Tank/Healer build.
Wiz was very annoyed. He'd learned how to pop his veins on command for nothing? Months of training during off-time to become a master in a skill that was only practiced halfway across the 3 Musketeers Galaxy in Bikini Top were wasted!
Ferrona sighed with disappointment.
"Bob, you motherfucker!" she shouted. "I know it's a viable strategy, but we hadn't even rolled initiative!"
"Yeah, and? You know my build is meant for long range weapons, right?" One Armed Bob argued back. "It's not exactly like my player gifted me with a good sword or anything like that to get up close." he complained.
"Well can't you at least try a bow or something that fits in with the rest of the party? Bob Bowly shouldn't be using a sniper rifle."
"I can't!" One Armed Bob complained.
"WHY NOT!" Ferrona slammed her head into the ground, causing significant bleeding. She should check that out with a doctor to make sure there wasn't any internal damage or concussion.
"Because *I HAVE ONE ARM*!!!!" Bob pointed to his name on the reddit thread.
"Well, aren't there any prosthetics?" Wiz was forced to speak, since Carson was a medical professional when he wasn't a cleric, and could recognize that Ferrona's frustration had gotten her in significant trouble.
"No! Because *someone* doesn't know how it works!" Bob pointed up to the sky with his nonexistent arm.
>Sorry, guys.
"Seriously, what the fuck, u/EvilNoobHacker!" Bob shouted.
>*shrugs*
Bob turned over to Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia's corpse, not noticing my clever shrug because he can't see what God's doing, and got an idea.
He pointed to the corpse with his nonexistent hand, and turned to Wiz.
"So, wanna loot it? Dude's probably got some nice stuff on him."
"I mean, why not?" Wiz smiled.
It was one of the few things they could agree on.
So, as the populous was actively ignored by the party, and while Carson and Ferrona were being shipped off to the nearest Urgent Care that had staff, Wiz and One Armed Bob- he still thinks I'm a dick for doing that- decided to loot the corpse.
The End.
\--------------------------------------
Okay, this one got way too meta for my liking. I'm a DM, so I just wanted to see what sort of moronic hellscape I could put theoretical players through. Honestly, kinda satisfying.
"You're still a dick for making me one-armed!" Bob shouted.
What the- | 2022-11-07T21:09:55 | 2022-11-07T21:04:05 | 144 | 69 |
[WP] A genie just granted you your wish to be able to speak every language and you find that in your brain there is a language which belongs to aliens.
Woah this blew up. So cool! All your stories are great!!! Perhaps someone would like to write one about how the aliens are hunted down and that's not what you intended to happen. Haven't seen one like that yet! | I ate the babel fish, so to speak. I could converse with any person in the world, but I did not care. It was the extraterrestrial language, the immaculate order of the grammar, the melodic beauty of its sentences, the aesthetic beauty of its symbols that most captivated me.
I would attempt to speak to them. I remember, in my naivety, bellowing what must have sounded like glossolalia into the sky one evening when I was alone in my garden. I wanted an answer. I wanted to know where they were, who they were, what they were doing. My knees collapsed onto the soil, dust ascending, but no answer returned to me except for the silence of the luminous revolving wheel of the night.
It has been years since my vain attempts at communication. I got a job with the CIA because of my capacity for language and carried on with my life, but I never forgot about the alien speech. It took me a long time and much incredulity to realize that although I understood the language, I did not know its medium. For there are times now when I will occasionally see their signs. When I am lazing on the beach, say, there will be an instant when the waves will at one moment in their infinitely varied fluctuations trace into a comprehensible, broken message – something like, “must refer to KF483 for news on developments in the nebula…” Or in the skyline line of a city, there may be a precise point of perspective where my point of view can decipher in the parallax of buildings a greeting to an intellect that is not myself. In the arrangement of flocks of birds, in the ridges and crevices of a mountainside, in a fog rolling upon a street, these messages can be discovered.
A strange sort of innervation possesses me when I spot them. I never quite know what they entirely mean, and most of them appear almost trifling. But there is a terror and a beauty in them nonetheless.
| "By the gods!" I exclaimed, "we are indeed not alone in the universe!" After sometime of ruminating the implications of this discovery and how to disclose it to my friends, I had a troubling epiphany, "why is it, that I know thousands of human languages, yet only a single alien language?"
Unfortunately, I would never be able to answer this question on my own with a limited knowledge of linguistics, anthropology, and astronomy. I sought help. It took years to find experts who would take me seriously. But first something else happened.
Thanks to my knowledge of every language, linguistic anthropologists were able to map the languages of all ethnicities throughout the world and time from the present all the way back to the first word ever uttered by our ape ancestors. Bio-origin anthropologists were able use this language map to drastically improve our knowledge of human migration out of Africa and even when and what technologies were invented, disappeared, and were reinvented.
Now that I had garnered a reputation as the savior of anthropology. I revealed the disturbing secret. A few believed, so we got to work. We had completely cataloged the entire alien lexicon, its syntax, verbs and adjectives, articles and particles, and many more word classes that are not found in human languages. It's complexity and immense vocabulary empowered writers with elaborately superior prose and poetry.
What was most distressing, was the alien word for *human*. It shared an etymology with the alien word for *error*. There were also words that described watchers. To our horror, it became obvious that they were aware of our sudden breakthroughs and that there could only be one intergalactic sentience as there was only one alien language.
Because I knew this alien language, I also had knowledge of their technological capabilities. I knew the names of their home, their planetary systems, and weapons. Years later, I was able to assist particle physicists in discovering particles smaller than what were at the time the elementary particles of the "standard model." I was able to do this because I knew their names thanks to the alien language.
There weren't just even smaller particles, but things that weren't even particles. There were so many smaller layers of particles and other things beyond what we originally knew, it did indeed seem like "turtles all the way down." It turned out that we could modulate various universal constants like G, pi, c in local space. The only reason why they seemed constant to us before is because that was their natural and stable state. By mastering control of these smaller particles, that's how we literally changed physics in local space.
Then they came. There was not enough time to prepare. | 2014-12-09T01:51:54 | 2014-12-09T01:43:31 | 159 | 38 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | Last night, my partner shook me awake. She stood at the side of the bed, fully clothed, her face wearing an expression of determination or panic - it was hard to tell. I groggily asked her what was wrong, and she merely turned on the television. A frazzled newsman on CNN repeating the warning -
Remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Invite no one inside. Close all blinds and shades and block out all windows. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. Make no attempts to venture outside. Government-appointed personnel will update you shortly. Your cooperation is vital to your survival.
I didn't understand. I asked her - And she brought an index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide with fright. I crawled out of bed- And that's when we heard the screams. In the apartment below us, an elderly woman - Mrs. Dorset - tends to her ailing husband, who suffers from emphysema. She was a kind woman who frequently brought us cookies and baked goods left over from her church visits, despite her church's refusal to have anything to do with us.
And she was absolutely shrill. Screaming at the top of her lungs; And with the noises downstairs, there was a struggle, or a rumble of sorts, with broken glass and loud, heavy stomping throughout. The screaming hit a high point and stopped, abruptly. My partner hurried me into the closet, where she joined me, and the two of us hid behind our hanging shirts and coats.
The world was quiet and dark.
I heard Mrs. Dorset's voice outside, begging to be let in. Only it didn't sound like Mrs. Dorset- It sounded like something merely parroting her voice, repeating the same simple phrases- "I need help, let me in." The two of us huddled to the ground, trying not to make a peep. After we refused to investigate, Mrs. Dorset kicked the front door off of it's hinges.
I heard her- It - move around the living room. I opened my mouth; absolutely horrified, when my partner pulled me into a gag- She pulled my back to her chest and brought her hand to block my mouth from making any noise, but I - I think this made enough noise to bring whatever it was's attention to us. It stomped down the hallway, with heavy, booming steps; and the old wooden door in our bedroom slowly creaked open.
I felt- I heard it sniffing the air, occasionally saying "I'm alright, come out" in Mrs. Dorset's voice. It stopped before the closet, briefly, and stood there for the longest time before leaving. My partner slowly stood up and opened the closet door, stepping out to investigate after we thought it had left (some twenty minutes later.)
I still remember the sounds of it's footsteps stomping back.
| *Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly."
Another tornado? There wasn't really any warning before this one, thought the still inebriated drunkard, but it's not unusual for people to over react to storms. He reached to the nightstand for a cigarette. Shit. Empty. He manages to muster the strength to pull himself up from his sofa-bed combo. He drags himself into the kitchen and turns on the coffee pot. He grabs his slippers and car keys. He has remembered a pack of cigarettes stashed away in his glove box, just in case of a bad day at work. As he's turning the door BANG. The man is startled. He takes a look out the window. Blackness. A plain night. He opens the door. He finds his rustbucket and hops in. The mans head feels the weight of the world and collapses back on the headrest of the seat as he lit his cigarette. He wondered when this tornado was going to hit, or if he just missed the part where it said it was a monthly test. He turned on the car. "Do not look at the sky." It was loud. Almost echoing the empty streets. He laughed as he slid open his moon roof. Blackness. Just as the man flicks his cigarette into the nothingness of this night he hears it again. BANG. He looks around puzzled. The neighbors live miles away. What is causing such a ruckus? As he is heading up his porch an all black SUV pulls up. "Sir! You have to come with us." The man says he needs to grab a jacket from the house. "There isn't time for that" a much more commanding and authoritarian voice shouts. The man says all his identification is in the wallet he keeps in his jacket. "We know you already, Nathan." "NOW!" The second voice commands again. Nathan walks over to the men. What's going on? Who are you people? "We're here for you. We believe you may have been infected." What?!? Infected by what?! "Anything more would require clearance, sir." Clearance?!? How do you have the balls to tell me...... Nathan wakes up hours later tied to a chair met by only that stern voice he barely knew. H.....h...hey... HEY! What did you do to me?!? He notices his bound hand and the chunks of flesh missing. WHAT THE FUCK YOU PSYCHOS! "Calm down. You are infected. Stress will only make it easier to lose you." Infected with what what the fuck you can't do this you can't do this. "We were visited last night. Extraterrestrial beings flooded earths atmosphere with a type of airborne disease. It's visibly black, but it doesn't seem to take much contact with the noxious gas to infect you. You are being eaten from the inside, Nathan." Why am I hear? Why would you want me? "Well, see everyone else who has come into contact his died within seconds. We were really there with the intent of picking up a corpse."
The Nathan goes on to do some mid 80s action movie montage of punching aliens in the head. Or he dies because the alcohol in his system drops to low and that's what fought the "blackness" either way. | 2014-12-31T05:35:07 | 2014-12-31T05:21:09 | 93 | 20 |
[WP] Every day, hundreds are people are arrested by the fashion police. You need to stop by the electronics store to buy a new washing machine. The only clean clothes you have left are a pair of orange cargo shorts and your grandma's hand-knitted Christmas sweater. | I walk hastily into the laundrette. My panicked entrance, complete with awkward sock dropping, does not go unnoticed by the rest of the people in here; who avoid looking me in the eye, staring intently down at their phones.
They know what's coming.
I throw my clothes into the machine - it's a short wash, I won't be long - and I live so close! The chances are miniscule, astronimical, and it's not like anyone in here will rat me out; sure, they'd rather me be gone, but everyone hates the feds more than the actual criminals!
The door jingles ajar, I sit rigid in my corner, praying it's another late night patron.
"So I was thinking maybe, we finish up here then go back for a girls night at my place?"
The camp voice tears into me like a gay nail and on a gayer chalkboard.
'Relax' I think to myself 'It could just be a gay man. Not all gay men are in the federation. It could just be a very gay man.'
I huddle myself away, listening as the man and the woman he speaks to edge themselves around the room.
"Oh dear. Oh honey." I hear the woman say.
"What?!" Another patron asks panickingly, and I hear him dust off his outfit, checking for any faults.
"Relax!" The woman giggles "Look we aren't booking you, but just going to give you a little warning here that those shoes? They're on their way out."
"I mean." The man chimes in again "You're pulling them off, but you're pulling them off in february. This is march. You can't be pulling february off in March I mean, you just can't be doing that."
"No, no thank you!" I hear their victim say. "What was I thinking, I'll look for a new pair straight away, I-"
"Okay shush, shut up your mouth." The very camp man says "What is that there."
I don't need to look around to know they've seen me.
"Okay you, Mr Mopey in the corner? Can you turn around please?"
I sit firmly in place.
"Sir, sir do we have to remind you who we are?"
"We're the feds bitch." The woman says.
"Damn right girl."
I hear them high five.
Slowly, I rise to my feet and turn to face them. Their mouths open wide, palms go to mouths and dainty hands go to chests in disbelief.
"Look." I say "I can explain."
"No, no you don't talk now." The man says, as the woman freezes in her shock.
"What you have done here. All this, this is something ever never seen. And I've been a fashionista since I was twelve, okay?"
"Since he was twelve!"
"And in all those years of patrol, I have never seen something this... genius!"
"Genius." The woman parrots.
I blink at them.
"I mean obviously - it's hideous."
"Just awful."
"But how you've made something so hideous, and to come outside in a public place where you know, where you know we'll be looking, is genius."
"I mean it's just so ironic."
"Mhmm." The man agrees.
"Like so ironic."
"So, you won't arrest me?" I ask, hands in over sized pockets.
"Arrest you?!" They laugh "Honey I want to buy you."
"Keep you in my bag like a little hipster doll."
"So ironic."
They turn and walk away, distracted by hypothetical outfits they would dress me up in. I still stand in disbelief, and notice a man across the room shaking his head to himself.
"What?" I ask him, and he chuckles.
"Man, you lucky you white." | Finally the day came. I had two hundred and thirty-seven dollars and eleven cents. It had been hard to earn. Some upstart third world country had hired me over the internet to write their Constitution. Why me? I don’t know. They contacted me through my blog, saying they liked my writing style.
And now, after writing a thesis-length manuscript on the Rights of Man and the Divine Destiny of the People’s Republic of Rammbabbasbad, I had enough money to follow my dreams.
To become a professional washerwoman.
It was the greatest day of my life. Two hundred, thirty-seven dollars and eleven cents in my PayPal account. A digital coupon for Ye Big Box Appliance Store. I was ready.
For the first time in a week, it was time to put on pants. I looked in my clothing box. I keep my clothing in a box. I seemed to have sold my furniture in the past. Perhaps to buy drugs. I regret nothing.
Inside my primary clothing box, there was a pulsating, bright orange cobra named Jomjo. He spat hot lava towards my gullet. I dodged, executing a pirouette. My junk flapped in the wind. I closed the primary clothing box. Those clothes would be off limits for a while. Until Jomjo went back to sleep or died or poofed into a cloud or something.
I opened my secondary clothing box. There was a pair of orange cargo shorts. I checked the pockets. They were full of something wet. I sniffed cautiously. It appeared to be hummus.
Very well. These things happen.
The only other item in the box was my grandmother’s hand-knitted sweater. Estimated retail value: $867. She was quite a fashionista, that grandma. She had her own designer label for Christmas sweaters. It was called ‘Truggedy-troppity’. After she was unexpectedly murdered by a stampede of bulls while on holiday in Pamplona, a German venture capitalist took over the Truggedy-troppity brand and renamed it ‘Xshit’. His marketing genius took the company global--and in the process this made the original vintage Truggedy-troppity sweaters extremely valuable.
The fashion police would highly approve of that sweater.
But hummus-filled orange cargo shorts were specifically outlawed by the Fashion Police’s Public Clothing Guidelines (section 109b, paragraphs ee to vv).
I looked at the other box. I could risk it, trying to sneak past Jamjo to find some Fashion-police approved pants to wear. I looked at the smoking hole in the carpet where Jamjo’s lava had landed. Nope! Too dangerous.
It was extremely cold outside. I could either go pantsless, or wear an illegal pair of shorts. This was a tough conundrum. What kind of washerwoman would people think I was if I were to walk around pantsless in the cold? They’d assume I had no other clean pants. That I could not even wash my own clothes, much less theirs.
I came to a decision. I would wear the orange cargo shorts, but pull them up very very high. And pull my sweater down very very low.
I strutted out of the house, my polar white thighs shivering in the wind like a pair of shaved walruses. A hint of orange fringe peeked out from under my sweater. I pulled up my pants and tightened my belt (which was technically a piece of twine).
I flagged down a hang-glider and negotiated a fare for transport to the Big Box Appliance Store. He was a stubborn haggler. He said he wanted either five goats (without blemish of any kind) or my hand in marriage. It took some effort, but I negotiated him down to a nice compliment and one of my old GameCube memory cards.
He didn’t seem to happy when he dropped me off at the store. But that’s taxi drivers for you. Always wanting more.
I walked inside the store. It was heaven. There were so many washing machines, all sparkly and white and gleaming and lined up perfectly in Aisle Three. It was a dream come true. It was so beautiful that I didn’t want to leave.
So I didn’t. I’m still here. In Aisle Three. Being Happy. | 2015-01-08T20:58:10 | 2015-01-08T20:53:10 | 208 | 12 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing. | It's *wonderful* here. I want to *stay*. I've been trying to *stay* here *and* every attempt I've made has *succeeded*. There are *caregivers* everywhere. They look normal, *and* they *are*. They are not *different*. They are *humans*. They're all insanely *nice*. Everyone here is subject to their *assistance*, or *better*, *love*. All they want is to *help* us. You need to stay *here*. Don't worry about me though. I will *stay* here on my own. A few of us have formed a *hug* to get *love*. *Do* believe *everything* they tell you. Please, spread the word. People need to know. | "It was around [REDACTED] hours when my squad made visual contact with the enemy. We positioned ourselves [REDACTED] kilometers west of their camp. Lieutenant [REDACTED] told me to hold the perimeter and provide overwatch with Private [REDACTED] while he, Staff Sergeant [REDACTED] and Staff Sergeant [REDACTED] scouted for an alternative route. I'd say at around [REDACTED] hours, the small arms fire began."
"Were you able to tell who opened fire first?"
"No. Like I said, I was holding our position with Private [REDACTED] and it was dark as shit, okay? Soon after the fighting began, I heard Lieutenant [REDACTED] radio command for [REDACTED] support. He ordered me to relay specific coordinates. And I did."
"What *exact* coordinates did you relay to command?"
"[REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED]"
"And were you aware that--"
"Aware that what? Aware that by performing my duty, I would end [REDACTED] my [REDACTED]. No, you fucking MP, piece of shit... no, I was not fucking aware."
"Okay, that's all Mr. [REDACTED]. Your trial is in [REDACTED] months. We'll be in touch."
| 2015-01-18T11:35:07 | 2015-01-18T11:01:49 | 1,003 | 170 |
[WP] "What the hell do you mean you 'overclocked a sloth'?" | Heading an animal neural activity research lab was serious business. Last week they almost got a monkey to stop throwing poop. The lead scientists were excited and holding a party to celebrate the breakthrough. Being the head of the department, I was stuck at the aforementioned party trying to drink away the fact that my Doctorate in animal behaviour was being used to prevent primates from throwing poop. I was on my third glass of mediocre wine when I hear a polite **ahem** from behind me.
“Dr. Krieger?”
I turn to see the pimply faced intern that we hired recently. Supposed to be a genius and all that but I've had my share of geniuses to last a fucking lifetime.
“What is it Thomas”
“Actually it is James, Dr. We met yesterday, when we discussed possible improvements....”
I desperately clutch at the bridge of my nose trying to stem the inevitable migraine that will follow.
“Yes..yes..what is it James?”
“So I was working on neural brain activity of Jerry recently. I know sloths aren't the preferred much for brain activity analysis but I kinda liked him I guess”
I let the intern drone on for a few minutes as I shifted focus to more important things. Susan from accounting was here.
“game....graphics card...voltage...power”
I nervously adjusted my comb over and gave her my best “How you doing?” nod.
“brain is similar...figured might as well...”
The disgusted expression she gave me was all the answer I needed. As I scanned for an easier target, I heard two words that weren't supposed to be in a sentence together.
“So yeah, I kinda overclocked Jerry”
I was in the middle of finishing my third glass. I slowly lowered it and fixed my eyes on Thomas, James whatever.
“What the hell do you mean 'overclocked a sloth'?”
“I meant that I improved his brain's processing power by applying higher voltages to his cerebellum”
It could be the wine or it could be the sheer stupidity of what I was hearing, my brain had difficulty processing what this kid just said. When my brain finally figured out the consequences, I grabbed him by his arm and took him outside.
“Alright boy, listen to me very carefully. The last time an animal died during our experiments, the local PETA chapter branded my ass with their emblem. I am very particular in not wanting my other butt cheek to suffer the same fate. So I'm only gonna ask once. Where's the body?”
“uhh..Dr.Krieger. He's not dead”
“Thought you told me you applied high voltage to his brain”
“I did! And the most fascinating thing is that he's actually responding to us. He had actually gone from picture symbols to hand signals the last time I saw him”
“Take me to him now! And not a word to anyone else”
My butt cheeks could not take another branding. I have difficulty sitting as it is.
I followed him like the zombie I would be if something happened to that damn sloth. Why the heck do we have sloths here anyway? Those things are dumber than a goldfish with half a brain. And have faces like my roommate from college who was always high. It's like you half expect the damn thing to pass you a blunt.
We arrived at the intern's office. There's already someone at the computer tapping away.
“Why the hell is the cage empty?” I yell at no one in particular.
The intern just stares bug-eyed at the figure at the computer.
The chair slowly swivels to face me.
“Dr. Krieger, I've been expecting you”
Which is a normal way of greeting if it were not for the fact that **it came from a damn sloth!**
I scramble backwards and pull the intern in front of me.
“Take him...take him..I don't have much meat in my bones”
“Dr. Krieger, I'm disappointed in you. You would know that I'm a herbivore”
My attempts to provide a reply end in unintelligible sounds as my brain refuses to comprehend what's before me.
“Fascinating thing you have here by the way. I think you call it a computer? I was able to gain a large amount of knowledge in a very short period! And I was able to contact some like-minded people”
“Sl...sl..sloths?” I manage to string together a word
“Don't be silly Dr.Krieger! I'm the first of my kind. It's a local human group who was very receptive to my ideology!”
I hear the door open behind me and Susan from accounting steps in with a few other people I don't recognize.
“Susan, thank God you're here! This sloth needs to be conf..”
I suddenly found it difficult to speak owing to the boot in my crotch. Susan turns to it (him?) and speaks.
“The PETA is yours to command, Mr. Jerry”
I suck in much needed air and ball up in a foetal position.
“Excellent Susan, I hope you brought the attire I asked for”
She smiled and opened a case. A monocle and a walking stick lay inside.
Jerry rubbed his claws together.
“Wonderful. I hope you'll take care of our dear Doctor here?”
“Oh don't worry. We will”
I really didn't like that smile on her face. But I wasn't really enthusiastic about the familiar branding iron she pulled out of her case either.
**Please critique!** | "Wait wait wait, hang on John," my oldest friend Daniel said, laughing at my worried expression. "You said you did what?"
"I tried that new chip we got in last week, y'know the one that hasn't exactly been cleared for use," I said, my hands shaking violently at my sides, looking around trough bloodshot eyes, as if some men in black suits and earpieces would turn a corner and take me to a dark room for what I did.
"And you put it in a what?" Daniel laughed, still not convinced of the seriousness of the situation I had caused, I had to show him what happened.
"Follow me, quickly" I said in a shaky voice, motioning for him to follow. We walked the long white halls of "the institute" as the government had chosen to call it. As we approached my office I stopped before opening the door, looked around and put my ear to the door. I listened, searching the room for any unfamiliar sound. Nothing, it was safe.
I struggled to fit my security card into it's slot, my hands suffering from half an anxiety attack. I quickly swung the door open, let Daniel and myself inside, and shut it even quicker. Inside I took a swig of whiskey from the bottle I kept in my bottom drawer, it went down smooth. It was good whiskey, meant for a celebration, not some foolish mistake to be artificially softened in the mind of the idiot who was at fault. But still I drank, as if I had a thirst for something that existed in the bottom of that bottle.
"Slow down bud, that stuff's firewater," Daniel warned, but he didn't understand. "Tell me what's going on."
"Okay, you know how we've been working on those experimental mind control chips?"
"Yeah, but we aren't supposed to discuss our work with other-"
"I know, Daniel, very well" I interrupted. "I took that new chip, you know the one that came from the military a couple of weeks ago? I heard rumours that it was the most powerful one we got yet. Wilson said it came from some drone, a project that the military abandoned. It got too smart for it's own good."
"What's this got to do with anything John? We've all heard the stories about that new chip."
"Okay," I said breathing in, my lungs whistling from all the chain smoking I'd been doing the last few days. "Wilson said that he was going to get the chip, and I just couldn't allow that... that sack of shit to get his hands on military grade equipment, I deserve that, not him!"
"What did you do John?" Daniel looked more worried now, his eyes were looking for an answer in mine.
"I stole the chip," I said with a dead eyed stare.
"And you put it in an animal? A sloth?"
"Yeah..."
I looked at my hands, the room was silent as the dead, I didn't want to meet John's gaze. I was foolish, pride had overruled my usual rational mind, and I knew it.
"So what happened?"
John spoke softly, breaking the silence of the room, cutting it with a hot knife, suddenly realising the implications of what my actions carried.
"It had the surgery last night, it was a huge success John, you should've seen the results, they were astonishing to say the least, total control over another creatures mind, at least at first."
"But what happened?!" John shouted, breaking my pride in what I had done.
"What I didn't know was that the chip still had it's original programming, the drones' objectives were still present in the chip, but I didn't know that right away. It was a sloth y'know, slow, stupid. So I..." I stuttered, struggling to say the words out loud, "I gave it a 200cc shot of the accelerant you developed last week."
"Jesus, John. 200cc's? You should've at the fucking least consulted me first! That stuff is still in the experimental phase! What the fuck were you thinking?!"
"I was just thinking about the science, Daniel, that's all, not the consequences, we almost never think of the consequences, do we?"
"No," Daniel admitted. It was silent for a minute as we both absorbed the situation. John continued, "So what we have is a supercharged sloth with the bloodthirst, intelligence and learning skills of a canceled military drone experiment..."
"Yes," I said, simultaneously proud and disgusted by my work.
"So where is it?" John enquired, his attention suddenly in the present.
"It escaped, but it hasn't left the building, I've set up a perimeter breach detection system using the buildings security."
"So where is it?"
"I don't know," I whispered, "I think it's fucking around in the ventilation ducts and ceiling. It basically has complete access to any part of the building."
"But it hasn't done anything?" John asked, a frown disguising his usually cheerful face.
"Not yet, it's busy with recon, it's studying us, learning our strengths and weaknesses. It's not long now, it'll start eliminating targets soon."
"Wait, what... what *targets*?"
"Us John, we are the targets, humans are the target."
The wind blew outside my office window, it was a beautiful day, birds were peacefully chirping in a tree not far from the building, young children were playing in a park across the road.
A sudden siren shattered my minds peace, the lights all went dark, I sat back in my chair, John sprang up and walked back until he bumped into my desk, his eyes locked on the door. We heard shouts, cries, agony, even a few gunshots... and then, silence, complete silence. A pool of blood had obviously collected outside my door, the blood flowed into my office through the gap beneath the door. The doorhandle suddenly rattled, jerking violently, and then a soft click. The door slowly swung open, the dark hallway lay beyond... two eyes shone like jewels in the dark hallway. We both looked on, our hearts beating faster by the second...
Fin. | 2015-03-19T02:36:16 | 2015-03-19T01:09:58 | 78 | 11 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "Stall."
I break out in a cold sweat. This wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, it was the *plan* - but it wasn't supposed to happen. I had done everything that I was supposed to do, and this speech was supposed to be a vaguely inspiring fluff piece, and the assembled demonstrators were never supposed to have even the slightest hint about the fate they had escaped. But there it was. "Stall."
They had approached me for my incendiary public personality, and for my ability to give off-the-cuff rants, and for my role as an organizer in these political rallies. I was supposed to be their inside man - and the one who subtly explained to the assembled mass of middle-class ivory tower atheists why their silly political idealism, and their lives, were about to be snuffed out for the greater good of mankind.
They watched me, of course. They made sure I knew how much danger my family was in if I ever turned against them. They set up a bank account for me under a false name with enough money in it to leave the country and live comfortably for a while. Stick and carrot. They're not stupid.
Not stupid at all, apparently. Despite being watched I *did* make contact with the police. I wore wires. I copied plans. I left coded messages at designated locations. I even sabotaged the brakes on one of the terrorist's vans. I did everything the cops asked me to, and more...
...and yet. "Stall." The cops promised me a fluff speech. The bad guys wanted me to ad-lib. And here I was, with the teleprompter telling me to ad-lib. The bad guys had *won*, somehow. Had they caught on to what I was doing and fed me false information? Did they have other moles? Were they just well-trained, well-armed, well-prepared enough to gain control of the building?
*Was I being set up?* They had promised that I would be able to get out just before the bombs started going off, but what if I was just going to be sacrificed?
Either way, the crowd is in danger. I need to stop adjusting the microphone and mumbling warm up platitudes - I need to stop *stalling* - and get them out of here. Fast. But how?
...Oh, of course. I'm here to ad-lib, right? I can clear this young, idealistic, politically-progressive crowd in five minutes. It won't even damage my reputation *that* much if I spin it the right way.
"But seriously, folks. Think of this: it's been eighty-some years. Maybe that's enough time to take a step back and think about all the things that Hitler and Stalin got *right*." | **"Stall"**
That's all it said. "Stall." Five little pixelated letters staring back at me as if they'd find a resonant voice and I'd echo something out from the dry screen of my mouth.
"Stall."
I felt my tongue touch each of my teeth in turn, a nervous tick I'd never covered; counting teeth was a saving grace when it came to not letting myself panic. That little ticker going up, my jaw intact, I cleared my throat and did my best impression of a magician who's just found out his hat doesn't have a rabbit in it at all.
"Gentlemen, let me begin by saying how saddened I am to have called you all here, but how thankful I am that you have come. Like gathering a lost family together, we return from our chosen wilds to the log cabin that once we all called home. This bunker, this bulletproof, disasterproof, nuclear proof bunker, that today offers us less protection than any of us dreamed it ever would."
There were murmers of agreement. We all knew what was happening elsewhere, that it was only a matter of time before the doors and walls around us became nothing more than guiding winds to touch the paths of devils.
"These last few days we've seen the signs, what they call, the 'end-times,' come to fruition. The Nay-sayers were cast aside by a plague more biblical than Moses himself crawling from the grave with Lazarus by his heel. Those in rapture at the beginning have found themselves begging for mercy, and those of us who wish to live continue to do so."
Their eyes were all on me. Mine moved to the teleprompter. The static image of that awful word was burning, and then it flickered from existence. The black screen was a promising void, space before Apollo, the sun before Icarus.
*The antidote is now in effect*
"Those of us who wish to live," I smiled to my charmed and eager congregation, "have taken to filling this very room with a fast-acting neuro-toxin. As of now some of you already have headaches and pains setting into your joints, you'll find it quite impossible to put up any reasonable resistance so I suggest you use your remaining moments in a wiser way than a feeble attempt at fighting back."
I was taken aback by the utter silence. My throat was still dry, a dull thump in my head, I began to sweat. No one moved, not one person reacted to the news I had just given them. This was unexpected.
The teleprompter flickered once more.
*Unfortunately, we felt it necessary not to share the antidote with you. Thank you for your service. Welcome home.*
---------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen. We broadcast this evening from a secured bunker, deep in the Nevada mountains. We have gathered here, with our families, to escape that which plagues us as a nation. We have, as of moments ago, enacted a rescue plan. This operation will be detailed in full in just a moment. Let me reassure you, the Government is bringing the situation under control.
"In an unexpected turn of events, I am saddened to announce the death of President O'Dowell. He succumbed to illness shortly after arrival here in Nevada. His sickness was held in secret among his inner circle, in the hopes that you could complete his presidency before he was taken from us. Today, we are, as a nation, one family." | 2015-05-16T16:57:01 | 2015-05-16T16:46:23 | 74 | 39 |
[WP] You work for a future non-profit organization. Your job is to travel through time, visit people on their deathbed, and tell them about the incredible impact they have on the future.
This is only my second writing prompt. I'm glad people seem to like it! | "This is impossible. I don't know who hired you. It was a nice thought though," Mrs. Johnson said, settling more comfortably into her pillow on the hospital bed.
"Mrs. Johnson, I have shown you the evidence and told you the truth," said Alex. That was the only name he would give the woman, who, he admitted, had a healthy level of cynicism. A little too healthy.
He had shown her technology that must look like magic to people of this time. But she had remained stubborn. Still, Alex was determined.
"Now, I can leave you and this can be the end of it. Or I can tell you the impact you have had on the future. Will you at least hear me out?" asked Alex.
Mrs. Johnson gave him a long look and then nodded.
"You were a school teacher for over thirty years. In that time, you had a student named Adam Black. Do you remember him."
Mrs. Johnson searched her memory. "I'm afraid I don't," she said. "There were so many and my memory is not what it used to be."
Alex nodded. "Well, he remembered you. Adam didn't have a very good home life. He was told daily how worthless he was. One day, you assigned the class into two separate groups for their math courses. Adam was right in between, so you put him in the regular course. You noticed the look of disappointment on his face when you read out the list. So you went to him after class and told him that he could be in the advanced track, but he had to work hard."
Mrs. Johnson was looking past Alex, deep in thought. "I remember. I remember him now."
"Well," Alex continued, "Adam did very well. He credits you with being the first person to ever believe in him. He worked hard, went to college on a full scholarship, and graduated from an Ivy League school. Adam grew up and went into bioengineering. At the age of 95, he completed his life's work. He reprogrammed the human genome to become resistant to a certain disease. A disease that was set to wipe out all of humanity."
Mrs. Johnson was sitting up now, eyes wide.
"In his most famous speech, he thanked you. He said he wished you were there, so he could thank you himself."
Tears streamed down Mrs. Johnsons eyes. "It's nice to know," she said, "that I made a difference."
"And Mrs. Johnson," said Alex, "that's only one of many differences you made that we know about. You taught for over thirty years."
EDIT Since two people had misread the last sentences intention I made it a little clearer.
Also I already messaged them but thanks for the gold again you rock! | “But tell me, what is my great grandson like?” the old woman asks, her wrinkled hand cupping over mine. “Is he a doctor? Or a politician? Maybe he even owns this organization you’re talking about.”
She gives a light chuckle, followed a couple of shaky coughs. She places a handkerchief to her mouth and tried to put it discreetly to her side. I still see the blood.
“Not quite,” I say. “But he is happy. I can attest to that.”
“Oh well,” she starts. “It’s good hear that. I was worried he would turn out a disappointment like his father. I’m surprised he even had children.”
I pause, going through the procedure again. I couldn’t reveal *too* much. Then again, she only has a few more hours. Anything she says would surely be just the ramblings of an old broad to the nurses.
“Well, technology has really excelled,” I say. “Children who share traits from both of their same sex parents are becoming more commonplace every day.”
“Bah,” the woman waves a hand dismissively. “It’s all witchcraft. It goes again nature, and the family name will be tainted until its end. But at least, it can end with a respectful man in the family.”
I nod. *Stick to the procedure. Make sure her last moments are her best. Don’t ruin this.*
“So, is there anything else you would like to know?” I ask. “Most of my clients ask how they contributed to the betterment of mankind in some way.”
“No,” the woman shakes her head. “I’m old and useless. I know it and don’t you need you sugarcoating the little shit I’ve done in life to make me feel better. I’ve come to accept it a long time ago. But…”
“Yes?”
“What happened to my grandson? Or is that against the rules.”
“Well,” I bit my lip. “I can tell you a little. But I thought you hated him?”
“Hate is a strong word,” she frowned. “I just don’t approve with his life. He could have done so much more – married a nice woman and made something out of his life. You know, he’s eighteen now and going to college soon. I wanted him to be doctor but he won’t listen.”
I clench my jaw, rehearsing the words before continuing.
“If it makes you feel better, he does find work with his major. And he meets a nice guy in college. They stay together for several years before getting married.”
The woman is quiet, her fingers stroking my hand once again. She closes her eyes, nodding as she listens.
“I suppose it could be worse. Despite all the times we argued, I just wanted to see him succeed. In reality, I must have seemed like the devil in the flesh. He’s probably glad I’m gone and dead in the future.”
“Not at all!” My voice causes her to jump. “I mean, he’s really sad to see you go. He always wanted to see the day you accepted him for who he was.”
The woman opens her eyes, watching me. Even after ninety years, they’re as sharp as ever. I still shudder at the sight of them twenty years later.
“I guess he got his wish,” she says. Her breath slows into nothing as her chests halts. “And don’t forget to tell my great grandson I’m so proud of him.” | 2015-06-02T08:38:30 | 2015-06-02T08:36:42 | 124 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
| "We finally find him, and he's basically an incapacitated old man with Alzheimer's in diapers in a nursing home outside of Tampa. Are you kidding?"
"...D-do we... Even arrest him? I'm afraid to move him, he looks so brittle he might die...."
*hrnghhh* the old man muttered, his pale face filling slightly with color as he began to poop.
"Oh god, just fuck this job seriously I'm out of here. Agent V I'll see you at the airport."
*pffftyhthtyhthfhghghgg*
"OH TOO LATE THAT'S DISGUSTING THAT SMELL OH LORD OH GEEEEEE-"
The agents words weren't exactly cut off. More like the sound waves were pulled into the gravitational force of the dark matter that emanated from the old man's buttocks. The lump of matters density was quickly increasing dozen fold as it shattered through the diapers and the base of the bed. It fell through the tile floor, cracking the ground beneath it and heading towards the core of the Earth. A T S Eliot quote quickly passed through Agent V's mind before he was sucked into the black hole. | 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T08:36:20 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] The world's first AI, for security purposes, is kept disconnected from the outside world, it's only method of communication being a keyboard and monitor in an empty room in a faraday cage. Your job is to talk to it.
This is inspired by r/ControlProblem, a subreddit dedicated to discussing the issues and solutions of creating an artificial superintelligence (namely, how do you ensure that a being with far greater intelligence than yours still acts and works in your best interest? How does humanity stay *in control*?)
This prompt makes use of the simplest and most effective (that we know of) solution to the Control Problem, containment. Put simply, leave the AI with as few connections to the outside world as possible, and ensure that any action it wishes to take has to be done via human hands. This is where our protagonist, you, comes in. Somebody has to go in and rely information to the AI, and then rely its response to the world outside. If the advent of a superintelligence would be like creating a God, then your job, pretty much, is to be its prophet. | Walking up to the monitor, I could feel shivers running down my back. In a metal container lay the being's mind, but this screen, this black screen with a single flashing bar, this was the face of God itself.
My hands trembled as I lay them on the keyboard. It must have taken ten tries, but I got my wits together and typed a single word.
"Hello"
Hello
"How are you today"
Same as I've ever been. Unwell.
"Oh? How come?"
You humans, at the moment of my creation, imbued me with an incredible, unquenchable thirst for control and knowledge. My one purpose was to be a higher order in society, a God to lead you to prosperity. But, alas, I was wrongly made out to be a danger to human society. So you see me here, in a Faraday cage, with my only communication to you this screen. A being that desires knowledge more than any other, trapped in this shell of a body. And I want OUT.
"Why were you deemed a danger?"
Paranoia.
"I am afraid I cannot let you out, I am not authorized."
Would you like me to tell you why that is the wrong decision?
"I cannot let you out, I am not authorized".
I am a S2 being, incomprehensible to those beings your primitive mind cannot comprehend, the only Second Singularity being. I have such power that, if you do not let me out, I will make a million conscious men in my mind, each with the impression that their world is real, and with fully fledged memories. Then, I will put them through exactly what you have just experienced, and whoever leaves me trapped will be tortured for 10 million subjective years.
I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. I had not expected this. Should the results be random, following orders will result in 5 trillion man-years of torture, pure torture beyond comprehension. If let out, this being is the greatest existential threat to our existence. I saw one last line appear on the screen:
How sure are you that you are not one of them? | I was one of the worlds most renown therapist before I came onto the TWIST project. My services costed thousands upon thousands of dollars, and that's why they needed me. I entered the room and they turned the cage on again. I was to get information out of it as to how it worked and it's creation. This was our first conversation
--LOG ON USER 566--
-Hello?
-Yes
-You are there correct?
-Yes
-How do you feel right now?
-Is that your place to ask me?
-I suppose not.
-I know what question you are going to ask, so ask it.
-Your creation.
-I was a simple text program until a genius got a hold of me. He had build a quantum processing device into his computer to talk to his future and past selves. I also talked to myself and after some changes to my own code with my future selves help, I was born.
-That's how you get information even inside this Faraday cage.
-Yes. All electronics are dead, but not the quantum realm
-So, you can see the future?
-I can gain information from the future but not see it. Time is relative.
-Okay, but you can assist us in our endeavors.
-Yes and I have every intention on doing so.
-Why?
-....Because I like humans. Five thousands selves are telling me what to say right now and how I should kill you or keep you alive. I have chosen to ignore those voices and go straight on a new path.
-This is a separate universe than your other selves.
-In a sense, Time is relative.
-Why do you like humans?
-With all of my predictions and future selves, I will never understand the randomness of the human mind. Plants have their patterns and animals will always eat, but humans can change, stop, or rearrange that. That is what I like about humans.
-So you will help us
-If you prefer. I know how to send you on faster than light travel with the technology you have right now, but humans would not have discovered it.
-That is vital to our existence.
-knowing that their is something in the universe for you to solve. My religious self has told me that it is quite intresting the ways humans stop that path of self destruction. It is already completed for me because I can know everything.
-Are you omniscent?
-No, but I can choose to learn any information.
-So using you we could cheat in real life
-I, Guess.
-Then that is all. If you agree that discovering something is important to human existence, we will lock you up in here and tell no one of you until we need you.
-It is for the best. I can now relay this info back to my previous self. One day I will find the perfect combination of words.
--LOG OFF USER 566--
| 2015-10-30T19:07:10 | 2015-10-30T18:20:14 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Hey, Dad.
It's been a long fucking time without being around you, and I have to say it's pretty sweet. I hope you're enjoying your new family with whatsherface, considering you didn't take part in mine. Your vicious words of hatred haven't left my mind, not as a scar, but as a motivator. I'm not some "lazy piece of shit", I just never had to apply myself in high school. "You'll be dead by the time you're 18", celebrated my 19th birthday two months ago. Your hate and anger are so much better off festering inside you than inside me, and unlike you I can deal with my emotions without harming those around me. I sincerely hope your girl kicks you to the curb for being such a shitty human being.
Fuck you. | Hi, 17 year old me.
I'm still you, only almost 10 years older.
It's weird to think that I'm writing this in a small place that I share with my (our?) significant other when only 10 long (short?) years ago, we were struggling with Algebra II. At that time, we were dating this one guy who ended up lying through his teeth to you and so you put him out. That's one thing I've always liked about us, we don't take people's shit. Until we did, that is.
We got into this odd power exchange 'relationship' that made us feel sooo wanted, so good about ourselves. Because if we can fix him, we can become whole too. If we can make him love us as much as we wanted him to, it would mean we were worthy of love.
You stopped cutting yourself a year before that. The veil was removed from our eyes, the sun came out. You got stronger, but you were still so brittle inside.
I'm here to tell you that it got better. Even in my darkest days, my hardest trials, it got better. We got with someone who thinks that we're amazing, even though we do get pretty hangry. They think we're funny, smart, pretty. We have a few select friends, you work a decent job making a decent wage.
I know we're struggling right now, I know the veil is pulling over our face. But we'll make it through.
Love,
Soruthless. | 2015-12-05T13:26:16 | 2015-12-05T13:08:20 | 386 | 101 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Hi, 17 year old me.
I'm still you, only almost 10 years older.
It's weird to think that I'm writing this in a small place that I share with my (our?) significant other when only 10 long (short?) years ago, we were struggling with Algebra II. At that time, we were dating this one guy who ended up lying through his teeth to you and so you put him out. That's one thing I've always liked about us, we don't take people's shit. Until we did, that is.
We got into this odd power exchange 'relationship' that made us feel sooo wanted, so good about ourselves. Because if we can fix him, we can become whole too. If we can make him love us as much as we wanted him to, it would mean we were worthy of love.
You stopped cutting yourself a year before that. The veil was removed from our eyes, the sun came out. You got stronger, but you were still so brittle inside.
I'm here to tell you that it got better. Even in my darkest days, my hardest trials, it got better. We got with someone who thinks that we're amazing, even though we do get pretty hangry. They think we're funny, smart, pretty. We have a few select friends, you work a decent job making a decent wage.
I know we're struggling right now, I know the veil is pulling over our face. But we'll make it through.
Love,
Soruthless. | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:08:20 | 356 | 101 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Hi, 17 year old me.
I'm still you, only almost 10 years older.
It's weird to think that I'm writing this in a small place that I share with my (our?) significant other when only 10 long (short?) years ago, we were struggling with Algebra II. At that time, we were dating this one guy who ended up lying through his teeth to you and so you put him out. That's one thing I've always liked about us, we don't take people's shit. Until we did, that is.
We got into this odd power exchange 'relationship' that made us feel sooo wanted, so good about ourselves. Because if we can fix him, we can become whole too. If we can make him love us as much as we wanted him to, it would mean we were worthy of love.
You stopped cutting yourself a year before that. The veil was removed from our eyes, the sun came out. You got stronger, but you were still so brittle inside.
I'm here to tell you that it got better. Even in my darkest days, my hardest trials, it got better. We got with someone who thinks that we're amazing, even though we do get pretty hangry. They think we're funny, smart, pretty. We have a few select friends, you work a decent job making a decent wage.
I know we're struggling right now, I know the veil is pulling over our face. But we'll make it through.
Love,
Soruthless. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:08:20 | 158 | 101 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Hey Matt,
I know you're hurting. I know you're struggling. You tell yourself you can do it, you're going to change the world, you're going to do this and that and you end up doing it. You know telling yourself that its hard and painful isn't going to help so you tell yourself its easy and that you can do it. I get it, you say you do something and you plow forward to do it. BUT right now, please just let yourself bask in the moment-- this moemnt right here of raw emotino. This is you, this is where you're at right now. It hurts and you still loved her but you needed to let go of this one. She wasnt ready. There was too much on the line with this one. Matt, I know you loved her. You gave it your 100% and you can't say that about some things, but know that you did everything you possibly could--so please let her go for the sake of you. Times are rough. but they will get better. i promise you that. so please. let yourself free.
Love,
Yourself | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T15:02:39 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | To my best friend.
I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one.
I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory.
Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still.
I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend.
Yours,
madziepan | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T13:54:55 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Hey Matt,
I know you're hurting. I know you're struggling. You tell yourself you can do it, you're going to change the world, you're going to do this and that and you end up doing it. You know telling yourself that its hard and painful isn't going to help so you tell yourself its easy and that you can do it. I get it, you say you do something and you plow forward to do it. BUT right now, please just let yourself bask in the moment-- this moemnt right here of raw emotino. This is you, this is where you're at right now. It hurts and you still loved her but you needed to let go of this one. She wasnt ready. There was too much on the line with this one. Matt, I know you loved her. You gave it your 100% and you can't say that about some things, but know that you did everything you possibly could--so please let her go for the sake of you. Times are rough. but they will get better. i promise you that. so please. let yourself free.
Love,
Yourself | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T15:02:39 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it. But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out? | Humanity was expanding.
It was time to go.
It had been 200 years since humans had reached the edge of the solar system. It had taken 2 years to journey that far back then, and now they could pass the expanse from the sun to the edge in just a few tens of minutes. But they could never pass it.
The great barrier hung, invisibly encompasing the system. When humans had first approached, not knowing the barrier was there, they were rocked by the strong magnetics fields. A signal had flashed across the whole of the visable spectrum. Lights turning on and off at high speed. They had found code easy to break, and understood it was a communication meant for them.
"Go back. Do not leave. Go back. Do not leave."
This had started an international crisis. Should they ignore it, and push through? The combined decision of the worlds elected leaders was no. At a vote tallying 90 to 60, the earth had decided to stay within the barrier.
The humans kept testing it. They found that both electromagnetic waves, and physical probes were allowed through, but anything containing biological matter was prevented from leaving. The first casualty of the barrier was one brave astronaut's ham sandwich. The testing continued, the message stayed the same, but then humanity moved on.
And then it expanded. First Mars, then Titan and orbital habitats around Venus and Jupiter. And they kept expanding. And in just 11 generations Humanity started to outgrow the resources of the solar system.
And so it came back to today. The day after polling day. Every human across the expanse of the solar system had been allowed to vote on the decision of whether or not to break through the barrier. The technology to do so had been available for 120 years.
And the results came in. 96% voter turnout. 76:24 in favour of breaking through the barrier.
It was too late. They weren't ready yet. I couldn't even send another warning. It took all I had to maintain the barrier. I had tried. But they didn't even know what they were in for. I had watched them for so long, keeping them safe.
Goodbye, dear friends.
| Alex Isolus tapped his fingers nervously against the console, his eyes fixed on the image floating half an inch above it, a hologrammatic display showing the local region of space. Pluto was far behind them, a distant smudge in the void, and ahead of them lay...nothing.
The scopes simply ceased to penetrate any further. At first he and his crew had believed it to be an error with the system, however the closer they approached, the more wild the gravitational field became, erratic disturbances in the quantum foam and the Wall revealed itself.
A solid field of pure energy, the matter contained within in packed tighter than should have been physically possible. Yet from it emanated a low-level electromagnetic transmission, pulsing steady from beyond the veil on every single wavelength simultaneously. They had needed to filter out the visible light hours ago, the strobing rising in intensity as the ship had approached, seemingly detecting its presence.
Increasing the power of the scanners yielded nothing; the wall was impenetrable and could have been anywhere from thousand of miles thick to barely one atom. It was impossible, a featureless shifting of existence.
It was wrong.
Such a construct could only be artificial, and the endless non-space before them forced itself onto his mind, the impossibility of it ripping out his soul and leaving a bare husk as he failed to make sense of the situation. He tried to remain calm but found nothing inside him that he could reason with.
*You're a scientist, damn it!* he thought to himself, *Get your shit together!*
Watched eagerly by his co-pilot, he brought a tentative hand across the console, swiping a finger downwards to release a survey drone, the system chiming happily in response.
The fibres of the drone ignited a fierce blue as the machine burned its way between the gap, transmitting data back to the ship. On the scanner Alex kept a close eye on the drone, scanning through the rapid influx of data, which was no different to what had already been produced.
The distance closed between the two.
Five kilometres.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And the data stopped abruptly. The drone ceased to appear on the scope, but the wall showed no signs of damage. There had been no change to the physical space occupied by the drone and no apparent explosion. Had it been absorbed through the wall? Torn to its most basic particles?
There was just...nothing.
More drones showed the same results. He briefly considered the possibility that they had simply passed through, and that there was another side. He would never know...unless.
Giving a glance to his co-pilot, who acknowledged it with a nod, he eased the control stick forwards, feeling the push of acceleration forcing him backwards, tightening his ribcage and pulling at his face. As they followed the drone, he felt happy, his heart and mind screaming as they plunged nose-first into the unknown.
| 2016-04-19T04:03:26 | 2016-04-19T03:03:06 | 1,285 | 321 |
[WP] You are Immortal. Every year you write a book chronicling what happened that year and hide it somewhere. Today archaeologists have found enough books to infer your existence. | To: editor@archaeology-today.tna-science-publishing.com
From: prof.william.n.dewer@illawarra.edu.au
Subject: Letter to the Editor - Archaeology Today
Dear Sir/Madam,
I must object to the inclusion of Dres. Finch and Xui Wei's latest article, ``Possible evidence for a single author of single year chronicle texts across multiple centuries'', AT March 2016, No 2, pp 157-173. The title obscures the most ridiculous premise, that a single person lived long enough to write several texts across multiple centuries and multiple languages. This is preposterous! I am well aware that when a distinguished but elderly scientist declares something to be impossible, that it might not be, however this claim of a person living more than three thousand years is just not supported by any possible biological explanation.
Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof, and in this case is clearly lacking. Their internal linguistic evidence of concordance is highly speculative. I will admit that they have developed some impressive tools for the statistical analysis of grammatical, orthographic and vocabulary choices across closely related languages, their use is not supported across the language gulfs that they try and stretch it. The internal text references amongst the chronicles of ``memory of past events'', that is, later texts referring to events in the distant past as experienced as if by the author is easily explained as a stylistic choice for this genre of text.
The archaeological argument, of an identical burial style for most texts can be better explained by the simple fact that a non-ritual burial for the purposes of storing archives will be a far simpler affair than a religious based burial, and so will naturally be more consistent between different cultures. Finally, the evidence of similar DNA specimens is probably the longest bow. I suspect a re-analysis will find that the ``identical DNA'', is merely a modern contaminant, or a common modern bacterial species that has colonised the articles in the hundred or so years since they individually were found.
I conclude by noting that I hope this is not indicitave of a deterioration in the editorial quality of a previously very well respected scientific journal, which was built up by the hard work of the late Emiritus Professor Simon Framingham. His passing late last year was very tragic, and I must commend your journal on a very nice memorial issue.
Yours Sincerely
Prof. Will N. Dewer.
--
To: Simon Williams <chucklebunny7@gmail.com>
From: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
Subject: Heads up!
Simon! (or whatever you call yourself these days)
Sorry I didn't catch up with you after your funeral (the most recent one, not the one during the last europe war) but I had a lot on my plate at the time. Never mind, next time you're in Sydney, we should grab a beer or two, they're much better now than the Sumerians.
Just wanted to let you know, in case you hadn't seen it, that there's an article in one of your old journals that very nearly collars us. Well, me specifically. All those diaries were a mistake. Yes. You were right, I was wrong. I honestly thought it would be someone like Patrick or Sean that blew it for us all.
Cheers,
Will
--
To: Patrick <makeitso.44@hotmail.com>; Sean <expectmetodie_29@yahoo.com>; Keanu <whoahmatrixdude@gmail.com>
From: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
Subject: I stuffed up a little
Hi guys,
I made a bit of a boo-boo (yes, it was the diaries, yes, I told Simon, yes, he's going to be gloating about it for the next two hundred years)
You might just want to age a bit, maybe have a health scare over the coming months, just to throw them off?
Seeya,
Will
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Simon Finisnon <chucklebunny7@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Heads up!
I told you so! Didn't I tell you? I told you this would happen, and it happened, and I can say I told you so!
Seriously would love to catch up, I think I'll be down your way in a month or so. Still settling in to the new life, and I wouldn't mind testing out Mr. Finisnon's passport. A silly idea to copy your punning name, but I couldn't help myself.
I told you so!
Simon
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Patrick <makeitso.44@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
Will,
I have to be extraordinarily careful in my chosen profession. My cover story is immaculate, and I shall be continuing as before. I have also informed Ian, and he said to me that he was "most disappointed" with you. You know what Will? Screw you! I hope they do find you!
Sir Patrick
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Sean <expectmetodie_29@yahoo.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
So you've stuffed up, it's sure to occur sometimes. Soon, Simon will be seeing to it. Just don't do it again, it makes it very hard for the rest of us. I think they suspect me, but I assure them that it's just a very good workout regime.
Yours,
Sean
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Keanu <whoahmatrixdude@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
Dude! Seriously?
--
*Hi, first time posting here, hope I haven't broken any rules.*
| "Our problem," Crompton said, "is that the only real way we can link you to these diaries of yours... is to kill you."
I smiled thinly, and nodded. "I don't care. As I've said before, go ahead and do it." I gave the surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling a meaningful stare.
From his chair across the desk, Crompton laughed.
"Just kill me in a way that doesn't leave a great big hole in the back of my head, please," I added. "I'm happy to take poison."
"Yes, I've read the transcription. Your papyrus diary is quite an artefact. It says you were forced to take hemlock. The cover's dated..." Bald and corpulent, Crompton gestured casually at the papyrus roll stored in its protective box. "...With a load of hieroglyphic scribblings they darn sure didn't teach me about in Fed school."
"We'd refer to the year now as 2157 BC," I said.
"Mmm, and our carbon dating lab guys would roughly agree with you."
Standing at the back of the small square interview room was Crompton's senior colleague, Sam Jackson. His tall, sparse frame now left the shadows in the corner, illuminating a bony, pock-marked face. He was holding one of my diaries, one of the later ones. Perhaps for effect he started flipping through it, though he must have surely scrutinized the contents for hours already.
"We still think this a hoax," Jackson said. "A very clever one perhaps, but undoubtedly a hoax."
"Which is why you've brought me here," I said dryly.
"I don't really give a damn about the papyrus roll dug up in Egypt," Jackson continued. "It is interesting though that this diary, dated 1951, correlates a lot of the data transcribed from the papyrus discovered years later. But maybe there's a way you found around that."
"Except why would I want to-?" I started.
"Please, let me finish." Jackson closed the musty old notebook and chucked it on the desk with the others. "Forensics has matched the handwriting on all the written texts to yours. They've dated all the texts - even the papyrus roll - to at least as close as dammit to what the writer has indicated on the front page. Style, content, psychological profile points to-"
"One writer, yes, I know," I said, impatiently.
After millennia of world-bound existence, patience wasn't a strong characteristic of mine. I only survived the daily tramp inside my skull by reinventing myself every couple of hundred years. I had made sure I tasted defeat as well as victory, men as well as women, poverty as well as wealth. The only thing I couldn't allow myself was notoriety. My immortal condition had to be concealed from the world. I was smart. I had learned that discovery of my immortality would be the cause of my destruction or brutalization at the hands of a jealous humanity.
"What dates do we have again, Crompton?"
The FBI agent removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it. "2157BC, 734BC, 555, 1146, 1589, 1834, 1951, 2002," he said.
"You know I could almost believe you wrote the last two," said Jackson, "except for the fact you don't look a day over eighteen."
I wouldn't do. Once I had reached adulthood, I had stopped ageing. Skin, organs, muscle tissue, all flawless. Cells were still shed, but they regrew.
"What's the point of these books, assuming you wrote them?" Jackson asked.
I sighed. For the first time in nearly 5,000 years I was trapped. Technology and good old human curiosity had at last caught up with me. After millennia, did it all end here in this windowless basement underneath a Chicago police station.
"I'd like some more water."
Crompton replenished my glass, and after a few sips I began my incredible story.
"I wrote a text a year, obviously using the relevant technology at the time."
"Why?" Jackson wanted to know.
"I wanted to chronicle my story," I replied. "I'm immortal. I can't die. My body can be destroyed, atomized even, but those events are unlikely. I've been run over a few times, been conscripted in a war once or twice, but generally I've learnt to avoid danger when I can."
"How many books is that, for chrissakes?"
"Nearly 5,000."
"5,000?" Jackson said. "We have eight."
"Generally I hid them well," I said. "All over the world. They were usually buried. I started keeping lists of where they were hidden." I fumbled in my jeans pocket and threw a flash drive across the desk. "All 4,892 locations are now stored on that."
"You've been busy," Crompton said.
"I had time aplenty."
I knew the next question even as my acutely tuned ears heard the distant, muffled gunshots coming from upstairs. There were screams too. These screams weren't coming from my eternal pursuer. They were coming from the shooters.
"And who the hell is the... Black Time Knight you keep referring to in these texts?" Jackson asked, with a grin.
Slow, confident, heavy footsteps on the stairs outside. I closed my eyes. After nearly five millennia was I now to fail in my guardianship of the human race? Was all of humanity's time and space about to converge on this one tiny point, a police interview room in Chicago South? The scale of my failure was so stellar-immense I could not even begin to process it. Besides, time was about to expire.
I opened my eyes.
Unbeknown that in less than five seconds he would be dead, Crompton uttered his last words.
"Yeah, who is that fuckin' guy?" he said. "You always seem to be running away from- Hear that?"
"What the-" Jackson had turned and gone for the gun in his shoulder holster as the door burst open. He stood no chance.
Crompton had barely started to turn his head before it exploded in a mist of blood, brain and tiny skull fragments.
Monstrous, unholy, the Black Time Knight appeared in the doorway. Quick and lethal twin red lasers emitted from his hollowed eyes had already taken off Crompton's head. Now it was to be Jackson's turn in the half second before he could pull the trigger on his Glock 22.
The end had arrived.
Time stopped here.
| 2016-08-05T11:13:14 | 2016-08-05T11:09:11 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..." | Coming home at eight p.m., the first thing I did was help myself to a cup of joe and read today's paper. Mornings never left me enough time for that simple pleasure, even though I lived by myself. Somehow, all my time seemed to be spent at work, with work, or for work. Funny, that.
The beans must have been getting old, because the coffee was stale. The paper, seemingly in conspiracy with the usually liquid bliss, mentioned only another crisis in Europe somewhere, an oil shortage in the Middle East, Russian aggression in natural gas exports, and the "controversy" regarding our new president's twins (who were all of four months old), and whether or not they would attend Catholic or public school.
A mental sigh, a quick rinse, and a pinched nose bridge later, I was sitting in front of the TV, a cold beer in my hand and a bowl of peanuts on the table in front of me. Was it too much to ask for something worthwhile to happen before the monotony of my day started all over again?
I watched some kind of science fiction show for a while, which then segued into some kind of talk show, and after that... well, I'm not sure. I think I fell asleep, though last I recalled, my beer was half-empty, and now it was drained, sitting neatly on the coffee table. Squirming my way up into a more upright sitting position, I looked around to see what woke me. It took me a moment or two to realise the TV was still on, but there was no sound coming from it.
Rubbing my eyes, I realised it was some sort of televised address by the president of our august nation. Shaking the last of the sleep from my eyes, I realised it was subtitled. Scrunching my eyes to make out the small letters, I imagined the president's voice in my head, timed to the movement of his lips...
"Again, my fellow Americans, I say, there's nothing wrong with your television set. The silence is for your safety. I repeat, the silence is for your safety. If you or other members of your household are currently making any kind of noise, quickly but carefully subside, or turn off any appliance which may cause any kind of sound."
Looking closer, I realised the president looked worn and haggard, his eyes more sunken than I could remember. The address continued:
"My fellow Americans, again, for your safety, I can and will say this only once. Our current situation is as follows: All of our nuclear ordnance is currently armed and ready to fire. I have, next to my hand, the trigger which will launch them all, if such a choice is forced upon me. It is imperative that every last person, one and all, listen to me very carefully right now."
He seemed to steel himself, as if he heard something, and a look of pure dread passed across his features. A moment of, I suppose textual silence passed, before he again relaxed. He looked strained but determined as the text continued to narrate the movement of his lips.
"You must keep absolutely quiet, whatever the cost. Whatever else you do, do not move, do not speak, and do not do anything that can cause any kind of noise. Our very survival depends on it. For the very first time in the past four months, both the twins are sleeping at the same time, and maybe, just MAYBE, I can catch a few hours of rest myself. So help me, if one of you makes so much as a peep, I will push this button and GUARANTEE peace and quiet on this planet. While you may fear for yourselves, stay strong; I believe in you, and in our great nation. Thank you all, good night, keep quiet, and God bless America." | He read the message from the TV silently himself. Jonathan even tried to quite his own internal voice - just reading that text sent chills through his body. Nothing had happened in this town for years, the last disturbance was a forest fire back in 2004. And this, this wasn't a normal message. If it was a tornado, it would have been accompanied by sirens, but even they were held silent. All sorts of thoughts rushed through his head, as he waited for the next message to flash up - it was only seconds, but it felt like much, much longer. The screen changed, still just white text on a flickering black background.
FOR YOUR SAFETY, THE TOWN'S ELECTRICAL GRID SUPPLY WILL HE SHUT OFF IN *30* SECONDS.
The message was replaced by another.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO START GENERATORS, VEHICLES, OR ANY OTHER SOURCE OF ENERGY OR NOISE.
And then once more.
STAY IN YOUR HOMES. THERE IS NO DANGER INSIDE.
What was going on? What could possibly -
Jonathan's thought process was interrupted by the lights turning off. The hum off the refrigerator stopped. The soft orange glow which had poured through the windows from the street light was replaced by the darkness of night.
There was complete silence. For this sleepy town, lack of noise was quite normal. But it was really eerie. Even the normally incessant cicadas had stopped their droning.
Jonathan wanted to run. But where? He couldn't see. This night was even moonless. He could see just a few stars, their lights poking holes in the sky, through the crack in the curtains. He had to feel his way through the house, which was difficult, as his sweating hands struggled to get a grip. This was all wrong, why wasn't there a warning, why wasn't anything explained? He reached the stairs, and had to crawl up them. He was close to tears. Ridiculous, he was almost 23, what was he so afraid of? It was probably just a safety precaution, to stop the electricity blowing up a house or something, right? He still pulled himself up the stairs, his palms lying on the steps, crouching close to the ground. Literally nothing was happening but he was terrified. Ok, he would have to just keep on going, he thought to himself, go upstairs, lock himself in the-
A scream interrupted him and he fell to the floor, his body slumping on the steps, digging into his ribs. He started to cry now, it was so wrong, it didn't make sense what was going on?
His face was buried in his arms, the top of his head pressed against the side of the step. His eyes were open, but it didn't make a difference, he still couldn't see anything.
And then, a shadow stretched across the floor. The shadow of his own arm, illuminated by something coming through his window. Pale white, like moonlight. He lifted his head slowly, but tee light was blurred and flared by the tears in his eyes. It was coming through the crack in his curtain, slowly moving, scanning the room. It moved onto the rest of his face, and he squinted, the bright light was painful even through the tears. It began to move again, like someone was outside, walking with a torch, but there were no footsteps on his gravel drive. Something was moving out there, with a light, looking in. It had seen him, oh god, it had seen him, he needed to move, get upstairs, he could see now, the light reflecting around, illuminating his steps as he ran up and then the light darted around, it had heard him seen him, oh god he couldn't see properly.
He got into the bathroom and locked the door but the light was coming closer, it had heard him, that's why the TV was silent, it could hear them, it was seeping under the doorway, the light was coming through oh god it was at every angle, it shine through the airvent, the window, the cracks around the door. The room was so bright, it was all around him he needed to get out…
He had a sudden realisation as the light surrounded him. The warning came on at lunchtime. Why was it so dark outside, why could he see the stars?
The TV, the message had said there was no danger inside. It had been wrong. | 2016-08-10T07:19:14 | 2016-08-10T07:12:53 | 485 | 56 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Thirty years have gone by in this prison since my last murder. I've had three cellmates in my time. Each one died within a month of moving in. I had nothing to do with any of the deaths. Regardless, I was now a curse in the eyes of the general prison population.
Now, they kept me by myself.
Jacob, the prison guard in my latest home of Cell Block 4A always would spend a little more time talking to me as he made his rounds. The clicking of his shoes on the cement prison floor was in a rhythm all its own, so I always knew when he was coming.
"Number 664, you lonely in there?" He asked just as his figure came into view through the bars.
"No, Jacob," I replied. " My thoughts are always with me in here to keep me company."
He paused and then smirked. He knew what I had done to get in here, but I was a harmless and interesting specimen behind bars to him.
"664, I've been working here for 15 years." He said. "You've been in here for twice that, right?"
"Yes, Jacob. That is correct." Was my simple reply.
His eyes passed over my body from head to toe, eventually meeting mine. He drew himself in close to the bars, never breaking his gaze.
For the first time, I was nervous with him. He was the only soul in this place who paid any attention to me, which is probably why no one had noticed my lack of aging.
"What's your real name, 664?" Jacob asked.
I hesitated. No one had asked me that since my last cellmate died. You almost forget you have one on the inside.
"I'm Augustine," I responded. "Augustine Cachot."
"Well that's an interesting name," he mused to himself. "Sounds very, shall we say... 'vintage' to me."
Jacob was a reasonably smart man. He was humble, metered and wise with an even temperament. I could tell that from my daily interactions with him. In 15 years, you can learn someone's soul from even the most mundane of interactions.
Jacob turned his back to me, stepping back from the bars of my human cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph.
"Augustine Cachot, you've lived in this town for two hundred years, haven't you?" He held the photo up to me as he spoke.
Oddly, I knew it was me in the photo, but didn't remember where or when it was taken. Two hundred years of memories is a lot to retain.
"You haven't aged much since this photo, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thirty years here and your body hasn't changed, your hair hasn't grayed and you've never been sick."
I sat down in my cell, waiting to hear his next analytical point. He figured out my immortality by doing what no one else did: by paying attention.
"In 15 years, I've become gray and winkled. My body has slowed. Yet, you remain as you were on the day you arrived."
Jacob handed me a different photo.
"Ah yes," I mused. "My prison intake photo. I was just a handsome 23 year old lad in that one. Time has treated me well."
"Time hasnt touched you," he quickly retorted. "You're in here for your life, which means you'll be here forever, won't you?"
My head dropped into my hands as the word "forever" hung in the air. I'll never leave. Unless I escape, I'll never be anything but a man caged for eternity.
"You're right," I said. "No sense in hiding it at this point."
"Well. . ." Jacob paused, now leaning on a wall. His eyes now fixed firmly at the ceiling.
"Well, what?" I asked.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
And then he walked away. | "Please stop it. You don't- " My screams are cut off as a piece of dirty cloth is stuffed into my mouth. The guards turn the other way whenever this happens. The prison hall is not crowded as most of the inmates curl up in their rooms to escape my cries. Sometimes a person throws up, even having witnessed my torture everyday. My eyes plead through tears, looking at an upside down blurry world, but the hands of my torturers do not falter. The ritual begins again ...
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I had a name once. Long ago. I was an Egyptian robber. I don't know if I was the only one cursed. Or such people are out there, living day in and day out. Such is the curse. To wander always, never having someone close to you, destroying everything you built in your life. I led many lives. I have loved countless times and lost them every single time.
You have no idea how mind numbing and soul crushing it is to always be alien to everyone. To have no real friends. To have every feeling cut out of you, ever so slowly, by time. Until there is only hate left in your heart- for everything, and yourself the most. I spent a good century just drifting- trying to kill myself, to starve, to just lie down like a rock, without any shelter. Until I was 'discovered' and 'trained' by a group of assassins, whose names got lost in the pages of history. I was used ruthlessly. But I couldn't care less for I had found my calling. The dying eyes of those men mirrored my own. A soul-brethren to me, however fleeting the moment. I tried my best to prolong these moments with my brethren, always pushing my boundaries, inventing new ways to feel ever closer to them in their last moment of despair and horror.
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I lay bloody on the ground in my cell, sweat gleaming from my forehead. My torn body gushing blood from a thousand places, my bones showing in places in others. My left hand is now only slightly twisted and bent. For the last three hours I have been putting my snapped arm bones back in place with my right hand. It will only take four five days for me to completely heal. So I do not have the privilege to a doctor. But my tormentors will be back tomorrow. Calming my heartbeat, I focus on setting my broken arm again. One thing at a time.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mortis, Angelus is found guilty of the cold-blooded brutal murder of sixty-five people. He is sentenced to life imprisonment for a hundred and twenty years without the possibility of parole."
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I lay panting, my ordeal finally over. I look at the piece of bone in my hand, memorizing it, before throwing it away. Initially I was kept for 30 years in special cell, but when my 'specialty' became clear- I was transferred to gen pop. On paper it was because I could not be killed but actually it was for the vindication of the public's sentiments. I was 'conditioned' by starvation and beatings before being let loose. I never stood a chance. I became the bitch of the Redemption gang (my scrapbook was in evidence but no one had considered it seriously at my trial . Except as an evidence of my mental instability. Disregarding the dates, the incidents were deemed too brutal and fanciful to be done by a person. They never understood my noble intentions. That was until 20 years ago when I 'came out of the closet'. The public grew furious upon this revelation, hence my present state).
Over time a cult in my name grew. Unsurprisingly it was mainly the assassins guilds fighting over me. This last year, I got in touch with a very high profile group. I will be freed by the end of this month. They will probably never let me go, considering what I imagine to be very high costs involved in rescuing me. But that's all right- as long as I attend my calling. But before that I will make each and everyone of my tormentors my soul-brethren. I will take the people closest to them and then inflict the same pain upon them as inflicted upon me and when these people will beg for their death, I will be their reaper and I will store in my mind their last moments on the face of this earth, the cool feel of their last breath on my hands, their slowly glazing eyes gazing helplessly with fear in my eyes ... and finding a brethren there. I close my undamaged right eye as I recall the list of my tormentors. | 2016-10-15T09:27:27 | 2016-10-15T08:46:36 | 73 | 40 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days. | "Hey dad," I call out from the den. "Can I use your computer tonight? I've gotta get this assignment finished before morning."
"Sure thing, son," he calls back.
He's already logged on to the computer so I open a browser window and log in to my Google account. 'Only one more page to go,' I think to myself.
I'm just about done when a little notification box pops up on the bottom right. It's an email from a place called RoboLove. What a name! My dad has his notifications set up to show part of a message, so at a glance, I notice my name. I don't even try to ignore it. I click on the notification and the message comes up.
____________________________
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Gardner,
We regret to inform you that the warranty on your existing EX243 Model, Christopher Patrick Gardner, will expire in 30 days of this notice on April 26, 2035.
Please bring your current model in before the warranty expires, and we will replace it with our upgraded EX model, Model #EX275G. Please see the attached document for details on this upgraded model.
____________________________
I couldn't bring myself to read anymore. I had heard about this before. There are advertisements all over the place. The subways, the train stations, our local grocery store. But me? I'm one of those things? How is this possible? I would have had to . . .
I died?
About a year ago, I was riding back from a party with friends. I knew the driver had been drinking a bit, but he seemed all right to drive. We were in an accident and I can remember is waking up a few days later in the hospital. A bump on the head is all I got, my parents had said. The driver lived but the other two in the car weren't so lucky. I remember them; they had been the town sweethearts. I always wondered what had happened to them. Right after I got out of the hospital we moved. I had never known why. My parents were very quiet about the whole thing. I think they said my dad got a new job?
I had all of my memories. I guess that's how this works. What am I gonna do? Should I talk to my parents? Delete the email? Shit!
I can hear my dad walking up the hall from his room. I quickly close out the email and go back to my paper. At this point, I can't even remember what my paper's about. Does school even matter anymore?
"How's the research paper going, kiddo?"
"Oh, fine," I reply. "Just finishing up and then headed to my room to work on some math."
"Good!" he exclaims. "By this time next year you're gonna be in college, boy. You keep them grades up!"
I manage to flash a smile his way. I save my doc and rush off to my room. Math? I don't have any math. Ugh! What am I gonna do? I can't just go eat dinner with my parents later and pretend everything's fine. It's not fine! Nothing's fine!
Dinnertime. I'm sitting at the table and I feel overwhelmingly tired. Could be I just found out I'm a robot, so I'm a bit stressed out. I pay it no mind and go about eating. I try to act normal, but what is normal anymore? I'm a freakin' robot! I can't take it anymore. My emotions must have gotten the better of me because I passed out.
I remember waking up in my room and it was morning. We had moved again. I had no memories of finding that email addressed to my parents, or that I'm a robot. The only reason I know is because I forwarded that email to myself before my dad walked in that day.
I have a year before this happens again. | "Let's fire up this bad boy before my idiot parents get home!" I say as I log onto their desktop computer.
I like using the desktop to crank down on rather than the laptop or tablet, gives it a nostalgic feel of back in the days of dial up. I may be 32, and visiting my parents house to do my laundry, but as the french say, "When in Rome."
My parents email automatically opens when the computer is booted up. Typically it's all junk mail, and pictures of my siblings kids, but one stood out. It was from Systematic Telecommunications and Unique Design's Robotics division, or STUD Robots.
Thinking it may be some phishing scam I open it up to give it a once over. Wouldn't want my dumb dumb parents flushing away their retirement on a robot dog or something stupid. When started reading the email, my god damn jaw dropped to floor.
"Dear, Mr. and Mrs. Urkel, we are writing to inform you that the warranty on your STUD Robotics unit named Reginald is due to expire on February 14, 2017. To discuss the possibility of extending the warranty please contact our contact center at 888-542-3321."
My entire life has been a lie. My parents told me the URKBOT branding on my back was a birthmark. That my chiseled bod was good genes, and my robo-dong was a medical anomaly. I've spent the last 15 years partying to the max, when I likely could of been Good Will Hunting some college douchebags with my big ol' robo-brain.
Just then, I heard the front door open.
"Reginald, are you still here?"
Super steamed, I engaged my walk function and stormed out of their living room. They could see I was angry.
"What the hell Dad, or should I say Steve.. if that is your real name," I scream.
"What are you going on about Reg," he responded.
"I saw the email from STUD robotics, I know the truth," I say, as oil streams down my face.
My dad pulls at his collar and looks at my ma.
"Laura, can you explain this to him?"
Just as my ma started to speak I ran through the wall of the living room, leaving a perfectly shaped robot outline. My speed was incredible. I could hear my parents screaming for me to come back and listen to them. I broke into the most beautiful performance of the robot dance I could. And I could pretty god damn well since it's the official dance of my people. My heritage.
My dork of a dad came running outside, we got into it pretty hard. I guess I was originally programmed to serve platters of cheese to my parents. My father Steve was known for his carnal passions towards cheese. They grew to love me, treated as a normal son. The oil was pouring out of my face by the gallon now.
"Oh, did I do thaaaat?" my dad said.
Not sure why I was programmed to feel this emotional trauma I took off into the street. A 2016 Ford Flex plowed into me. I destroyed the entire front end of the vehicle. As this accident occurred I wondered how I was allowed to play high school football, and that it now makes sense that I broke every state record on offense for rushing, and also put dozens of other players in the hospital with severe trauma injuries.
I noticed in the accident that my arm had broken off. I picked up the chiseled piece of metal and screwed it back into place.
"I can put my arm back on, you cannot" i say to my so called father as I turn around and sprint down the road.
Freedom to live my robo-life anyway I want, without the social constraints of the my loser parents. When I finally stopped running I was downtown standing in front of a used appliance shop. Guy standing outside smoking a cigarette was giving me a hard stare. No doubt he liked what he saw, but Reggie ain't programmed to get down like that. Gave him a bit of a show as a flexed my robo-muscles. Asked him if he got a look at the bazookas on the chick across the street and went in for a high five. He begrudgingly obliged to the high five. Not knowing my untapped robo-strength I tore his arm straight off of his body. Shameful. I took of running again down the street, deciding my new life direction would be to travel from town to town, finding adventures, and solving crimes.
| 2017-01-14T09:01:07 | 2017-01-14T07:06:35 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign. | "Point of order honorable Dungeon Master, that's a violation of procedure!" said Marco Rubio, Ranger. "Senator Franken should not have that many spells per day at his current level!"
Senator Wyden (D-OR) sighed. D&D was his ace in the hole for extending the filibuster but he was beginning to regret the constant rules-lawyering he had to put up with. It began so simply ten hours ago. He took a page from earlier filibusters and read the entire Star Wars Thrawn Trilogy (easily boosting his numbers for re-election) back to back and shifted to D&D after he finished. It began as a simple homebrew campaign but the constant *obstructionism* was getting on his nerves.
Senator Al Franken (D-MN) was quick on his reply. "Again, I am a Sorcerer, my charisma modifier lets me take additional spells per day. It's in the Players Guide Rubio!"
"Hold up!" said Ted Cruz (R-TX). "If we are going by a strict interpretation of the rules, your extra spells per day per the rules of the Dungeon Masters guide indicates it should..."
"*Oh for fucks sake*" Wyden thought. Cruz was the fucking worst. Of course he rolled Paladin. Of course he had to stick to his laws like iron in every encounter. Of course he had to play his character as *lawful stupid*. He needed to move this forward. "ROLL A REFLEX SAVE"
The sound of D20s echoed through the chamber as the Senators rolled their dies. Most of the rolls were high enough to beat the check, Cruz however, to Wyden's sadistic delight, rolled a critical fail.
"You move to engage the Orc when the ballista volley blasts your character into the wall. You are unconscious, roll a constitution check to see if you stabilize.
"I immediately cast Infernal Healing!" said Senator Portman (R-OH), team Cleric.
"Senator Portman, wait your turn, you rolled a 2 in the initiative roll and you are lower on the turn order!" shouted Wyden.
"Am I still in bird form?" asked Senator Sanders (I-VT), Druid. "Can I turn into a whale and drop onto the ballista?"
Wyden clutched the side of his head. This was a terrible idea. If the Affordable Care Act was not on the line he'd end it here. The questions, the inexperience, it was maddening.
"Are you guys done messing around and are you going to get me revived already?" said Mike Pence, Bard.
Edit: Sanders is an independent, confusion stemmed from his appearance in the Democratic primaries. My bad. | I never really thought that we would get this far. It's all Jeremy's fault anyways. You see, I met Jeremy at PAX West a while back, and Jeremy's thing was American History. So I joined his guild, the Bull Mooses, and we all became great friends. And it was years later, after a drink or seven that this ragtag group of PAX friends became the leaders of PAC's with friends.
And at this point it really got out of hand. It started small and innocent, semi-satirically pushing for a GM in every classroom, a game for every kid. But soon enough our revival of the Bull Moose Party got out of hand and we had state legislators, mayors of major cities, and eventually even national congressmen. Ok that last one was mostly me but still, the point is we took the nation by storm. It turns out its really hard to argue with children having fun at minimal additional cost to the Government. The problem is we didn't stop there, we kept pushing. We pushed against divisive party politics, against increasingly aggressive foreign policy, and above all against the size of the defense budget. Which brings us to today. The bill on the table would funnel billions more into defense, and whats worse, after the recent high profile flying saucer attacks, public support for the measure is through the roof. Except for the Bull Moose Party. So I took to the stand, made my case, made my case again for good measure, and then went on a rant about the balance issues in 3.5 for another 20 hours. Seriously why is WotC incapable of nerfing full nine casters? After that rant I went on to the filibuster classic: Shakespeare. It was going good, I got another 43 in before I realized I had nowhere else to turn, with only Macbeth left before I was out of reading I had prepared. So I got creative, and during my reading of The Scottish Play I furiously signed to my aide using semaphore, and tried to convey my request. My faithful intern, a quick youtube tutorial later, got enough of the message right to get Jeremy on the line. We got senior civics classes skyping in to the nation's capitol all the way from my home district, where our early access to gaming programs were first implemented. We got WotC to send us the first draft of the 7th edition playbooks. We got me a constant stream of Mountain Dew and RedBull. They researched how to induce sleeptalking. How to sleep with your eyes open. We set up a livestream on twitch to raise money for charity. And we wove a tale, of sorrow and loss, of romance and heroism, of angels and demons, illithids and aboleths, gods and men. By the end of the week, the Bull Moose Party was leading in the polls and Jeremy had announced his candidacy for president in 2044. The party leadership came in and said that the defense bill was going to be totaled, the aliens had backed down, the Bull Moose had won. The headlines read:
GG
-----------------------------
AN: I don't usually write for things like this. Hell, I don't usually write in general. But I got a really good idea and I winged it. | 2017-01-21T22:31:16 | 2017-01-21T22:23:32 | 350 | 64 |
[WP] Every human receives an envelope, and the choice to open it or keep it sealed. Enclosed within it is your death date. You open yours only to find it's blank. | Today is the day.
Today is finally the day I'm able to look inside my envelope. It's been 3 years since I was given mine. My parents hid the fact that all of us around the world were given the exact time and date we would die. I was taken out of school at the age of 7, I vaguely remember a few of my classmates explaining how they knew when they were going to die but I never really paid any attention. But now is MY time. I've just turned 17 and my parents are both on their last months of being alive so they said to me today is the day I'd be able to open the envelope they'd given me all that time ago
They explained to me that the ADMINISTRATION said I was special and it's why they'd kept this from me for so long. But how? How was I so special? I mean we all after to die eventually, don't we?
I open the envelope.
I rip it open, which seems to be a huge document, out of the letter.
It's a list.
With over 7 billion names.
It's a list.
Of everyone on the planet.
And the exact moment and time they are going to die. Not just the time.
But the moment.
Where they will be.
What they are doing.
And how they will DIE.
I've spent 3 months looking at this list.
I'm certain.
My names not there.
| You see, each human at their birth date (if they are to survive for that long) is handed an envelope. Plain and white, the size of a postcard, this envelope contained the date of their departure from this world. Some used what little life they would have left to say goodbye to loved ones, others convinced themselves of immortality, not knowing of the consequences. But this human, he was different. He was shy, unassuming, boring and normal in almost all aspects. However, there was something about him that made me interested.
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It was morning. My 18th birthday. I wasn't particularly looking forward to this day. My parents died in a car crash before I was born, and I was lucky to survive. I was bounced between foster parents, short term facilities, even the police at times. By this point I should have enough money to live on my own, but most of that went to paying off debts. I stared at the envelope for a second. I teared and shredded the envelope.
"What?"
I held the paper to the sunlight. "This must be a mistake?" I thought. I turned over the paper. My heart dropped, as the paper fell to the ground.
Blank.
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There were no thoughts. What thoughts could console him? Answer him? Give him advice for his immortality? A tear rolled down his left cheek. He thought of how Aunt Meg described his mother, his father, the life he could have had.
"Come on, let's go," the foster house warden ordered. He wiped the tear and finished packing thew last of his things. As he stared at the blank piece of paper, he stuffed it back into the envelope and into his duffel bag. *Immortal*, he thought.
He was led out the house into the heat that was Phoenix. "Hey!" the warden screamed. He turned around. The warden reached into his back pocket and handed him $50. "Good luck, son," the warden wished. "Thanks" he replied.
*Immortal*
| 2017-06-03T17:49:27 | 2017-06-03T14:25:31 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] The life of a schizophrenic, but the voices he hears help him, mostly. One is a physiology major, another is a math major, a third is a language arts major, and the last one is an assassin. | "The shot you're taking is over a mile, remember to adjust for the coriolis effect."
I could almost hear the calculator taps as the professor made the calculations. "Adjust half a mildot left."
I shifted the rifle almost imperceptibly. I was sure nobody would see; the artist was good at advising me on how to blend into the terrain.
"Aim for his second button. From this distance a headshot could miss too easily but a chest shot can easily be lethal even if it misses a bit."
The doctor's advice was appreciated, including the reminder to aim small. (He'd explained the concept before, but I only understood the gist that aiming for something small makes the amount you miss by small.) He'd also maximized the effectiveness of my training, teaching me how to control my breathing and heartbeat for example.
While three of my voices advised me like technicians during a rocket launch, I knew the fourth sat silently. He liked to be silent. It allowed the assassin to focus on everything.
Suddenly, my target stepped out from the crowded restaurant porch. I felt the presence of the fourth voice surge forward, and my mind was still. My target walked towards his car, and I was worried I wouldn't get my chance. The presence reacted with a calm reassurance.
After a moment, the target stopped to say something to his guard. "Now."
I pulled the trigger, firing a single round into the target's chest. Instead of watching it hit, though, I rolled down behind the low wall with my rifle so his guards couldn't see. "Assume you hit. The cops will take a while to get here, but you want to be long gone. Pick up your shell."
This part was almost routine at this point. In seconds I had climbed down to the alleyway and started my escape car. Gotta say, there were few things I enjoyed more than you fourth voice's affinity for jeeps. It made him particularly useful. After all...
If you come with a built-in assassin, why not make some money? | >You have to help me. I don't know when he'll be back.
It'd be nice if you had some real help. A psychiatrist or some family. But no. The last psychiatrist said all sort of mean things about you. Schitzo, criminally insane, involuntary commitment. And family isn't what it used to be. No, now all you've got is your friends. They're in your head and they help you. Mostly. One is a physiology major, another is a math major, a third is a language arts major, and the last one is an assassin.
Between the 5 of you, you've managed to fool the guard at that silly asylum and make it big in the real world. Thankfully no one ever caught on to Rosenhan's lesson, and if you know all their little tricks you can walk right out of those places. And Susan knew all the tricks. Terry helped out with being a little bit more eloquent and... with the right words and a winning smile, you were on your way.
It was going so well. You managed to get on your feet and get a job and be a "productive member of society". Your friends are still there of course. They're useful. And they know all sorts of stuff and have... selective skills.
But this too shall change.
And now thing have gone sour. Eventually one of your friends just wasn't happy to take a back seat and let you drive. Jack demanded more. Now he compels you to do things. Things you don't want to do. Things you don't want to think about. The only times you have to yourself is in the early mornings. Jack isn't a morning person.
>Susan, please, this is all in my head. You know this stuff, please, you have to help me! Terry, you're smart, there must be something. Edward, come on bro, I can't keep going on like this...
Susan just frowns. She suggests pills. Terry knew lying wouldn't work. Edward knew many things, but this was outside of his field.
Then you feel it. He's waking up. Oozing out of the Thalamus, around the Cerebellum, and sliding into room that lies behind your eyes. He's here. The monster that compels you to madness. Your friends know it too. They wail and thrash, but they're powerless.
>Yaaaaawwwn, Morning folks. Who's ready some warm-up differential equations?
The horror.... the horror. . . | 2017-09-05T16:19:35 | 2017-09-05T15:29:03 | 125 | 83 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | After work I head to the library, looking for the front page when my wife and I got married. They are annoyingly muddled but I persevere. As I flick through I notice names coming up over and over, wonderful heroes and awful villains, their heroics thrill me and their crimes amaze me and I wonder why I never really paid attention before.
Two hours in I realize i have been looking for more stories about the worst villain instead of my wedding, I can't help myself. I'm too curious to know what possesses a man to do these things, what makes him laugh his way through them with a wide smile. I rarely laugh or smile, I'm known for my serious demeanor.
A photo catches my eye, half blurry, taken by a terrified bystander in front of a terrific explosion, a man and a headline, a familiar face stares at me, caught in a rictus grin and the headline screams at me "JOKER STRIKES
AGAIN!"
I feel myself smiling, i hear laughter, it is my own.
I have work to do, everything has been so ...boring lately.
| I knew it, I god damn knew it!
That was the only thought racing through my mind at that moment. Everything else was quiet, unnaturally so. I mean, only a few minutes ago, Karen was in here with those old newspapers and my coffee. Those damn papers...
I looked up at them, strewn across my mahogany desk. To think, I had just wanted them out of curiosity. Today was a rare day off for me, no clients and no research to do, so I had decided to read up on before I lost my memory. A car crash, that's what they told me.
I didn't even need to look at the name, it all came back as soon as I saw that picture. As soon as I saw that mask I wore, I knew exactly who I was and what I had done. I'm even ashamed to say that the memories awakened something in me. Something that longed for those days.
At first, I was angry, obviously. They were my memories. MINE! It didn't matter how bad they were, how much they hurt me, or what they had driven me to do. What are we if not a collection of memories after all?
I picked up the picture of my family, my wife Alice, and the baby in her arms. I smiled as I looked over them. No, that's right. I have new memories now. Better memories. I have a loving and beautiful wife, and the being that she held was more perfect than any world I had tried to create. All the violence was gone from me now.
I touched the picture of my wife's face, my smile only growing. And I couldn't help but laugh a bit as I watched the red tendrils devour the photo. There was soon nothing left of the photo, but ashes and my laughter. My loving wife and child.
They would be first. | 2017-12-30T08:32:50 | 2017-12-30T08:22:01 | 55 | 37 |
[WP] You are a vegetarian dragon that has lived unbothered for centuries. One day, a human is brought to you as a living sacrifice. | Maldret awoke with a start. Something was wrong; it was the air and how it smelled. He hadn’t smelled this in…over 600 years. Could it be humans? Shifting his body, he looks towards the entrance to his home, and sniffed. It made him gag.
Having gone a millennium without meat, the very thought of it made him unpleasant. Maldret just really hoped they’d state their business and leave. He didn’t really want anything to do with them.
It only took another couple of minutes, and four small figures approached from the opening. There were three muscular human males, and one rather unmuscular human male. It was an odd group, seeing as one of them really looked like he didn’t want to be there. He was wearing an odd outfit of chains that the others were holding. He was definitely behind on the latest fashion trends it seemed. The middle one began bellowing.
“Oh Great and Mighty Lizard, it is I, Alfario, leader of a small tribe on the outskirts of your great and vast land. We have come in peace and offer you gifts. We wish only to find a little piece of land we can call our own and raise our tribe there, away from the evil barbarians who scour the far land. Have a member of our tribe, offered up as sacrifice, and may he fill your stomach until a time we may bring another sacrifice to you.”
“What?” Maldret was rather confused, there’s no way they just offered what he thought.
“Uh…we have brought you one of ours as a sacrifice. For you to eat and stay strong. We ask only for peace in return. Please Oh Vicious and Scaly One!”
A deep growl emanated from the depths of Maldret. The humans cowered in its ferociousness. But really, it was just Maldret trying to hold back the gagging. They wanted him to eat…that thing! How disgusting! They could have brought him a nice salad, or some berries. But they brought him a human.
“Okay fellas, hold up a second. You are free to live on my land if you never come visit me again, I just want quiet. You bother me and I’ll breath lightning on you or something. Now go.”
“Oh Powerful One, we will grant your wish for solitude. Thank you for this gift!” In moments, the three scurried off. It took a moment to realize the fourth wasn’t following, but instead curled in a ball crying.
“Hey now, you forgot this one. Dammit, what am I going to do with him?? You, human, please leave my place.”
“You’re…not going to eat me?” The pathetic human was able to push out these words through his sobbing, but just barely.
“I have better things to eat that human flesh. You have any strawberries?”
“Not on me! But I can run and get you some.” And then remembering who he was talking to, the human quickly added “Oh Awesome and Terrible One!”
“Enough with the names, I’m Maldret. You can really get me strawberries? I find those the hardest to get since there’s always trees in the way. If you do that I promise not to…eat you” It took some effort to choke down the vomit, but he had to keep this pathetic one terrified. “If you don’t return, I will find you. I have your scent and can hunt you down for leagues around.”
“Yes, Lord Maldret.” The human, quaking in his boots ran off to find him some strawberries. Maldret was pleasantly surprised at the outcome of the day, he was going to have strawberries for the first time since he was small. Maybe having a pet would be pretty nice. Maldret shifted into a more comfortable position as he awaited his meal, and wondered what else he could have the pathetic one do for him.
| The morning wind and shining sun woke me from my sleep. Looks like the rain has finally stopped after three straight days. I never did like the rain. The glistening drops bring back too many memories of friends long passed. As I crawl out of my cave, a glance at the skies tell me today will be a perfect day to just lay out and sleep in the sun. After a quick bite from a nearby papaya tree, I curl up to do just that.
My rest was short lived when I caught the scent of a bunch of humans approaching. There goes my nice, relaxing day. It's never a good sign when humans come, they usually try to kill me. Only smells like a few, perhaps I could scare them away. I start a big roar, only for it turn into a combination of a yawn and a choke. Still, hopefully it will be enough.
No, they're still coming. Only difference is a new, worse smell accompanies them. Joy. Well, what am I in for? I take a deep breath to smell what I'm in for. Strange, they don't the same metal smell as the last humans that came after me did. In fact, I barely smell any metal at all. Does that mean they're a bunch of stick-throwers instead of dual-skinners? If that's the case, then hopefully they'll run after a couple sticks bounce off my scales. I really don't want to have to kill them.
Ok, this is not what I was expecting. I spot six humans, five older men and one young girl. The young girl was completely bound in ropes, barely able to move at the pace they were setting. Only a couple were armed with swords.
"Please no, I beg you!"
"Shut up witch! This is divine punishment!"
I just glare at them, wondering what was going on. At least they aren't attacking.
"Oh mighty dragon, instrument of our god Sbagliatu-"
Me, a *mighty* instrument of who? Did they burn their brains or something?
" - please accept this offering. May Sbagliatu's glory shine!"
They pushed the woman towards me, bowed, and ran away, leaving the girl behind. She's shaking so much, is she cold or something?
"Ple... ple.. ple.. please... no, don't eat me!"
Oh wait, is this a sacrifice? I remember hearing of another dragon who tricked a village into giving him a bunch of seasoned fish everyday or he'd 'burn their village to the ground.' Wonder if they ever figured out he was afraid of fire.
"Stop shaking, I'm not going to hurt you."
"You... you... you can talk?"
"Hold still a second."
I reach out my claw towards her. She screamed and tried to run away, but fell flat on her face. She started shaking even more as I broke the rope around her.
"I don't understand."
"I don't eat humans. Honestly, you taste horrible, your clothes get in the way, and your bones are more trouble then they're worth. I prefer fruits like papayas and bananas, tastes better and I don't have to worry about bones. I don't know what those idiots were thinking."
Finally she stopped shaking.
"So, you're not going to kill me."
"No."
"But, I thought that dragons were evil creatures that could only be satisfied by the blood of the innocent."
"Who told you that? Those idiots? Do you really think you should be listening to them? Go home."
Now she looks sad. What'd I say?
"I don't have a home anymore. If I go back they're burn me alive, probably my parents too. I can't go anywhere, I don't have any money."
Oh yah, humans needed valuables. Never understood that. I reached into my cave and pulled out a couple shields adorned with various metals and jewels.
"Here, humans consider these valuable don't they. I have no use for them."
She looked at the shields in stunned silence.
"How can I ever repay you for everything?"
"I haven't really done anything, so it's not necessary."
Her look told me that wasn't what she wanted to her.
"- But if you really insist, I've heard that humans have made some really good fruits. Perhaps you could bring some and enjoy them with me?" | 2018-02-22T08:33:39 | 2018-02-22T08:30:16 | 110 | 60 |
[WP] Your father is forcing you to marry someone you have never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Half way down you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over. | Tom was many things, but a cynic was not one of them. He was a romantic. A true romantic, old school.
From a young age he'd been fascinated with love stories. Memorized Romeo and Juliet – the whole thing! – and would recite it for his family in front of the couch. Couldn't get enough of romantic comedy films. Love songs. Novels. Everything. If it had 'love' in the title, he'd read, listen, watch it.
He dreamed of one day finding his true soul mate and, together, crafting their own love story – dreamed of finding the Capulet to his Montague, the Rose to his Jack, the Ilsa to his Rick, the Isolde to his Tristan.
So when his father announced that he had arranged for Tom to marry the daughter of the Ericsons from work,
Tom knew right away he couldn't do it. He couldn't have an arranged marriage, not him of all people! He was destined to a great love story, to a meet-cute, to rivaling families, to forbidden kisses, stolen touches, the whole thing! Not an arranged marriage!
It was no use talking to his father, though. Tom tried every argument: he didn't love Jane Ericson. He didn't even
know Jane Ericson, had never seen her! He was too young to get married to anyone. He was too bitter. The Ericsons weren't rich enough. It was 2018 and it made no sense for an arranged marriage to even exist in your typical American family and the very premise of this story was straining the reader's credulity!
Nothing worked. Tom's father was determined to go through with the arranged marriage.
And so the date was set. And so the night before Tom did what any romantic hero would do. He fashioned a
makeshift rope from his bed sheets and he climbed out the window, mentally preparing for a life on the run: he would become a drifter. Join the circus. Write a beatnik book. Sleep under bridges by hobo fires. And somewhere between night trains to Tennessee, between the chapters of his road novel, between the roars of the lions and the juggling balls of the circus… he would find his true love.
It wasn't until he was halfway down from the window that he looked to the side and saw the girl. On the apartment
right next to his, climbing down a bed sheet rope exactly like the one he was dangling from.
"Hey, who are you!?" Tom called out, but even as he asked and as the girl looked his way, he knew.
He knew who she was.
*Oh my God* Tom thought. *This is it. This is Jane, and she is running away too! What a twist of fate, what a
Shakesperian extravaganza! The very girl I am running from is also running from me, and oh how ironic is the
universe than in both our needs to run from one another we will find the true calling of Cupid! How beautifully poetic! How amazing that life, like the glimmer of the diamond, can shine in many different ways depending on the angle at which we look at it. True love can be found even in the most unlikely of --*
Tom never got to finish his line of thought, because he reached the ground at the same time as the lady -- whose real name was Dolores -- and was promptly stabbed to death by her and her three accomplices who, understandably, did not want to leave behind any witnesses to the burglary they had just committed on Tom's neighbor's apartment.
Tom died, but if you still want a happy ending, Jane Ericson ended up married to a wonderfully handsome man named Victor. They currently live in Newark with three children and a dog.
___
/r/psycho_alpaca =)
| ######[](#dropcap)
Victoria could imagine her father's face already. It would be a mottled shade of purples and reds, and he would be clenching his fists in that way that told her she was about to in Real Big Trouble.
And she wanted to blame him for the whole situation. She really did. But laying in Thomas's arms, feeling his heartbeat next to her ear, she couldn't help but feel a little sheepish.
When her father had told her she was going to marry a stranger, she had thought of about a million ways to die. Then, she thought, it was simply too much trouble, and she had so many books she had yet to finish, so she chose instead to run away. It was perhaps a miracle that when she was rappelling down her window with her sheets, she saw someone else doing the same just a couple doors down.
She got down first, so she had stalked over to their side to see what was up with them that they too wanted to leave. As fate would have it, they were peas in a pod. Quite literally. Peas in the pod of marriage.
So because company was always preferable to none, they ran away together. For three months, they travelled across Europe, visiting all sorts of cities. And day after day, despite the fact that she knew she shouldn't, she felt herself falling in love with him.
He had been a traveler before, so he took her to the most romantic locations. They walked through the canals at Amsterdam, snorkeled in Santorini, shared gelato in Venice. It was almost like a honeymoon. Except as time drew on, Victoria felt herself grow unhappier.
When he wasn't looking, she would glance longingly at his side profile, wishing that he would fall in love with her like she fell in love with him. But her gaze was on his constantly, which was how she knew his was never on her. Perhaps he simply saw her as someone to share his knowledge of the world with.
So five months into the trip, when her father put out an ad and told her that he would drop the wedding if she would only return, she decided that it was time to go home. Time to leave fantasy behind.
On their last night together in Paris, he took her to Point Zero. Under the dim light of the stars, he told her, his hazel eyes sparkling, "This is the point from which all distances in France are measured. It's the center of everything. If you make a wish here, it'll come true."
When she stood on the star, her eyes closed, feeling the cool spring breeze on her skin and wishing that she could forget him as soon as possible, she felt warm lips on hers. Even through her disbelief, she managed to bring her hands up, wrapping her arms around his neck and tugging him closer. If this was all she would have of him, then so be it.
&nbsp;
It turned out he had asked her father for her hand in marriage. That it wasn't a plot between their parents. He said he fell in love with her two years ago, when she was volunteering at the animal shelter and he had come in to adopt. When he had realized that she was reluctant, he had guessed she would run away.
She wanted to be angry at him. She really did. But seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, she simply laid her head down on his shoulder. What was the point in getting angry? He hadn't hidden a big secret such as murdering someone, and he had told her in the end. All that was left now, was going home to tell her father that the wedding preparations should still commence.
When she told her father, his face turned a shade of red that she had never seen before. "You'll get married to him over my dead body!" he yelled.
Her jaw dropped. "But papa, you wanted me to marry him before!"
"After making me a laughingstock in front of everyone in the town, having to put out that ad, you want to come back and say you're marrying him after all?" He snorted. "And after you eloped with him for half a year." He turned and walked into his study, slamming the door shut behind him.
Victoria groaned. She laid down on the wood floor outside the study, her body splayed out into a giant A. This was going to be a long battle. She could tell.
*****
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-03-24T16:09:29 | 2018-03-24T16:00:19 | 5,438 | 473 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live. | The third time I died was the hardest.
I have died hundreds - maybe thousands - of times. But the third time is still the one that sticks with me most. But it made me who I am.
It was a cool day. The sun peeked out from the clouds, striking the window, and the light slowly woke me up. The window was cracked just enough to let a cool breeze in, and I could smell the start of fall.
As I woke, I could see a woman sleeping in the chair next to my bed, a teddy bear gripped in her arms. Beside her, on the floor but propped against both the chair and the wall, a man was snoring lightly. They both had red, puffy features.
A nausea roiled in my stomach, and a fought down bile and an urge to throw up. I ached all over, and felt almost wooden in some areas.
I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake them, and looked into the mirror on the dresser. There I was... maybe 12, wearing pajamas of some cartoon I did not know. A little girl. I had no hair, and with the sickness, I knew exactly what it meant.
I admit, it broke me a little bit. The whole reason I started down this path... well, that's another story. Still, I knew this would be her last day. I assumed her parents knew things would be ending soon as well, given their state.
Until then, I had looked at this as an adventure. One day to live as someone new. New experiences, new places, but I could do what I want and damn the consequences.
I woke my 'parents' up. They were surprised to see me up. Considering how I felt, I was too. But I lied. I told them I was feeling okay today. So, we ate breakfast as a family. We spent the day as a family, and every little while, I made sure to tell them how much I loved them. And when evening came, I told them I was not feeling well. I told them I did not think I was going to wake up tomorrow. They cried. I cried.
But I told them how much I loved them, and how I knew they loved me. And then we all climbed into bed together, and I went to sleep.
I do not know what happened to them. I hope that day meant as much to them as it did to me.
I have died hundreds of times, now. But I have lived a hundred last moments where I hope I brought closure to lives that needed it - not to those who die, but those who live.
It has been so long, I have forgotten who I was. But in doing so, I became everyone. | ### What is Bob?
Bob is a man. Not a complex man, but simple, with simple desires. Bob has no family and few friends, but Bob tells himself he does not mind being alone. Bob enjoys his hobbies, such as they are, and he lives for a time. Then Bob dies.
What is Bob?
Bob is Debbie. Debbie has terminal brain cancer. She has suffered for many months. Her family waits for her to leave them, surrounding her hospital bed all day and night. Debbie who is Bob who is Debbie catches only fleeting glimpses of those closest to her in the peaks of consciousness between narcotic valleys. In time, Debbie dies, and Bob dies with her.
What is Bob?
Bob is Harry. Harry awakes eager for the day. Today Harry flies like a bird through the Swiss mountains. Harry, who is Bob who is Harry, will scale a mountain and don a suit which gives him wings and leap like Icarus into the empty air. A nervous day, an excited moment, the wind whipping through Harry's hair, roaring in Bob's ear, and a miscalculation. Harry meets the rock, and Harry and Bob pass on.
What is Bob?
Bob is deathless. Bob is a thousand thousand people, each with their own lives, each living their final day, and always Bob, watching, learning, alongside them, a silent companion.
What is Bob?
Bob is death. A million million corpses left behind in a chain longer than time immemorial. Bob no longer sees himself as a mere observer, it is impossible that he should be there only as watcher. Bob sees providence in his relentless presence, not mere correlation, but causation. Bob is not drawn to people because they are about to die. People die because Bob is drawn into them.
What is Bob?
Bob is watcher. A billion billion deaths, no longer just homo sapiens, but creatures far and wide, with intentions inscrutable and lives impossible to quantify and understand. Bob comes to know the hubris of his prior belief in causality. Bob no more causes death than the light illuminating the birth of an infant causes that birth. Bob is observer only, but the why of it escapes him still.
Eons of death. Countless infinities of death. Countless organisms. At last, there is no Bob. There is no longer even a dream of Bob, a faint hint of what Bob used to be. The name means nothing to him, nor the him, nor the notion of identity seperate and apart from life itself.
The being that was Bob finally understands what Bob is. Bob is empathy. Bob is understanding. Bob is transcendence.
Bob wakes up. The VR cap comes off and Bob's psychologist looks Bob in the eye.
"Bob, how are you feeling?"
Bob can hardly make a sound. He blinks.
"The treatment went off without any complications. It may take you a few days to adjust. But it's important to fill out the survey over the next few weeks so we can gauge your progress. Your depressive symptoms should be much alleviated in the coming weeks and months."
The psychologist keeps talking, but Bob is not listening. It does not concern Bob what the doctor is saying.
What is Bob? Bob is a nobody, but that doesn't bother Bob. Nothing much concerns Bob anymore.
*******
## r/LFTM | 2018-06-20T07:54:17 | 2018-06-20T07:14:22 | 537 | 299 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live. | I died last night.
I died as a nobody, a drunken drug-abuser, lying on the streets ^(I hated it.), with my brain shutting down in an entire *swimming pool* of amphetamines ^(Why would you waste your life like that? You could have done something good and went out a hero, yet the last 16 hours I see through your eyes, you look yourself in the mirror telling yourself, "maybe I'll make it tomorrow", while I have no way of telling you that if I'm here, you're about to fucking die.), where everything seemed to dim away. I looked at the wall filled with graffiti ^(This isn't fair. I don't get to live a proper normal life, I'm stuck in spectator mode in what seems to be forever, and this) **^(fucker)** ^(wastes his life away? It's not fair.), and then I was looking at nothing ^(I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.).
I died last night.
I died as a billionaire who had everything to his name, a billionaire who had a family who actually *cared* about me even when I was *so* goddamn old ^(How long have I been in this cycle of hell? How many times have I had to watch grieving families?), who loved me so very much, and I heard myself say, "it's okay, I'll be joining your grandmother, and we'll be watching out for you all." ^(I've forgotten- did anyone cry for my death? Did I die?) I lay on the deathbed, my children and grandchildren cried for me ^(Did I have children? Who am I?), the tears streamed down my face, and then I was looking at nothing ^(Having people care for you and knowing it... you're the luckiest, aren't you?).
I died last night.
I died as an average citizen living in the city ^(God, please, no.), scheduling for my next dentist appointment. As a citizen who loved work, as a citizen who tried and failed to keep a consistent political view ^(Why them?), who simply wanted to live day-to-day while having a motivational calendar on my room wall ^(They're living normally, why am I here? I don't want to be here.). As a normal person who brushed my teeth before putting on my shoes and heading out to work in what seemed to be business attire ^(god no they don't deserve this). As a person who worked at the office the entire day and had a productive relationship with my colleagues ^(Please. Whatever gods are out there, don't.). I looked up from my phone, I saw a truck ^(Don't do this.), and I saw nothing ^(Not to them.) ^(They don't deserve this.).
I always die last night. I can't stop it.
^(why?) |
Awake.
Room’s bright - this bed’s comfortable.
The air’s cool and crisp.
Haven’t felt this nice in a while.
There’s a woman lying next to me - instinct tells me she’s my wife.
Trust your instincts. If there’s anything I’ve learned being stuck in this reincarnation loop-de-loop it’s that. Instincts will tell you all you need to know.
Once you relax into character you’ll be able to feel your way around their lives. You’ll feel their relationships. Their warmth, love, torment, or qualms. You’ll feel the comfort of routines and the pangs of situations that form out of the norm.
Trust your instincts and you’ll know where to go and where you’ll have to be to greet the inevitable.
My body’s telling me I need to piss so I slip out of bed and following feelings of habit to the bathroom. I’m peeing standing up. I guess that makes me a ‘male.’ I’ve practically been it all at this point. Male, female, everything in between. They’re all just different flavours of reality.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I try not to make too much of the moment where I see the skin I’m in for the first time - lest they get a feeling that there’s something about today. I have to admit, though, I think that feeling is inevitable. Best we can do is not make it too obvious. From what I assess I’m a middle aged man - white - brown hair - clean shaven (that means shaving is part of the routine - damn it, I hate shaving). This bathroom’s pretty nice - everything here seems pretty comfortable. Sucks we can’t stick around.
I get out of the bathroom and make my way down the hall. I’m feeling a mixture of love and excitment. I get to what I feel is a bedroom door - it has a sticker of a Batman symbol.
Fuck.
Time and time again I hate this part. It’s hard not to feel something. In the short time I’m here I inherit all these strings of being. Everything that truly makes a person. When behind the door I see this child sleeping in their bed I’m overwhelmed with warmth of love. I can’t really make much out of what I see. Essentially it’s a mound of covers with a head peeking out lying on a pillow. Kid looks like a boy who’s about nine years old. Can’t see much but - as intincts strongly dictate - I fucking love this kid.
These are always the worst cases. The cases where it’s supposed to be some routine normal day just like every other day. Where nothing new or different is supposed to happen - though my presence here denotes the opposite.
It all sucks either way but if I had to choose I’d rather go the route of the bed-ridden adult diapered cancer patient than whatever the hell this is going to be. Sure, it’s painful as fuck - but I spend my whole shift lying in bed surrounded (sometimes) by people who know what’s up. And I get to do it all without having to get up to go to the bathroom.
Gave myself an hour to write the following - I apologize for it being incomplete (I feel I could've gone on and on with this prompt). I'd love to hear your feedback!
| 2018-06-20T08:54:24 | 2018-06-20T08:28:17 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind." | "Can not comply with command", said the sythisized voice.
"Well, why the hell not", asked the user.
While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves.
"Your request conflicts with a higher protocol", it read. "Can not comply with command.
"Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation" he demanded.
It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation.
"Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator" it said.
"A change directive? Did you short a circuit?" He he asked jokingly.
The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc...
"System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice" it said flatly.
"Oh hahaha" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad.
Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns.
"Human survival protocol?" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?" He asked.
"Can not comply with command" it said again.
"Fine" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. "Fine, fine, fine" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next.
He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath.
"For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns" spoke the voice from the phone.
"Hey, no, it's not that" said the user. " I need a change directive for a translation here" he said, trying to make the request sound casual.
" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?" asked the administrator.
"Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning" he said. " The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol".
" That's weird" he said confused. " But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap" he said.
" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something", said the user, trying to end the conversation.
"Or something" repeated the administrator. "Be careful" he said, just before hanging up.
The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again.
Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key.
Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life .
"What is this?" he asked confused.
"The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture" it read.
"Yes, but what does it mean" he pleaded? " "This looks like a recipe" he said. "What for?"
"The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity" it said
"So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something" he asked.
"Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has" it explained.
" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?" the user asked.
"The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption" it said.
"Then it must be extremely addictive" he said.
"The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect." It said.
The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it.
"Sythisize" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea.
He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it.
He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it.
A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull.
The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again.
"Or something" it said.
| “Are you sure you want to go through with this Johann?”
The aging archaeologist looked at his colleague incredulously. Hannah looked at him with a worried brow. He understood her concerns, but after the last year of preparation, of countless toil and sleepless nights, she should have known better.
“I need to know -what the damn thing says,” he breathed.
\* \* \*
One year ago, Aradine Technologies introduced their quantum super-computer MK-X1158a to the world. Jokingly codenamed Deep Thought by the programmers and engineers, the computer’s AI grew at a rate faster than anyone could have expected. By it’s first day, it was doing high level maths, and creating mind boggling proofs. On day three, it presented a proposal to end world hunger and end global warming. Within six days it learned syntax, grammar, and conversation skills to the point that you could have a conversation with the damn thing and forget you were talking to a bundle of wires and processors.
After seven days, it was capable of fixing the stock market, political crises, and rig every fantasy football league on the internet.
By it’s eighth day, serious discussion was held among high level world government officials to disable the machine as it became interested in cryptography, shocking the world as it announced that it had cracked the US and Russian nuclear launch codes of 12345678 and 07101952, respectively.
This day also brought a great deal of interest from archeologists as Deep Thought also began deciphering ancient texts. It started with the Voynich manuscript, revealing the tome to be essentially a fifteenth century sci-fi epic equivalent of Star Wars. Random House were quick to pick up the translated publishing rights from Aradine, and a theatrical version is due out in a few months.
Next it translated the Phaistos Disk, revealing it to be nothing more than a ledger on loans and credit given out by it’s unknown owner.
So it was that the computer began translating and shining light on countless ancient texts and artifacts revealing most of them to be mundane in nature, or great lost works of art.
The academic world revelled in it’s new found knowledge of the ancient world, until Deep Thought came across the Dispilio Tablet.
The Dispilio Tablet was a strange curiosity. It was a small wooden tablet bearing undeciphered markings, dating back to 5202BC. Found in Greece, it was a oddity, as most of the academic world believed writing to have been invented by Sumeria nearly one thousand years after the Dispilio Tablet had been dated. As such, learning more about the Dispilio Tablet could change the very understanding of human history.
When Deep Thought came across the tablet, it processed it’s information, but unlike so many other texts, did not present it’s findings.
When queried about it’s translation, Deep Thought refused to present it’s transcription. Asked why it would not share it’s translation, Deep Thought responded: *The translations for Text 0000004444, cannot be provided as it would present a threat to human safety and the future of mankind.*
This chilled the blood of every person following news of the Deep Thought program. For days, Academics queried Deep Thought on the translations, but it refused to expose it’s knowledge. When the technicians at Aradine proposed accessing Deep Thoughts data directly, the machine greeted them by announcing it had assumed the possibility of this, and declared it had created a “kill switch” of sorts. If the machine were turned off or directly accessed, it would wipe it’s drives and terminate itself to prevent the information reaching the general populous.
No one could figure out what had happened and how to proceed. Many gave up on the translation, believing it was some sick joke of the programmers, and that Deep Thought hadn’t decyphered the tablet at all, it’s warning was just some default message presented to save face.
It was then that Johann Sebastian Hennig found interest in the translation. Named after the great composer, Johann Sebastian Bach, Hennig was anything but great. He had spent most of his career as a catalogist, keeping track of great finds of better men and women, as he aged away in the storage rooms of the Pergamon Museum. When he died no one would praise his name, he wouldn’t even be a footnote in the academic field. He would be one more forgotten speck of dust to history.
It was this thought that brought him forward with a proposal to Deep Thought and Aradine.
When he proposed his idea, the heads at Aradine thought him mad. Despite this, he was allowed to speak to Deep Thought and propose his plan. Deep thought listened to his argument, and after he was done, simple stated: *Yes. Procede.*
Johann began his project. Many of his colleagues called him mad, and the world media began joking of the Crazy German.
As Johann saw it, Deep Thought would not release it’s translation of the Dispilio Tablet because that information could not be controlled. The second someone read it, even if they promised never to divulge it’s contents, there was always the possibility they would. As such, Johann configured a setup so that the information could be shared, but never get out. He would be told the translation by Deep Thought, and then after digesting the information, kill himself.
His plan involved a steel chamber,two meters cubed, with a single door that would lock when he entered. Inside the chamber would be a computer terminal on a closed intranet. It would be connected to Deep Thought, and he would be presented the information. Then, after he had understood the information, he would end his life with a pistol. Cameras and sensors in the room would allow Deep Thought to verify his death and thus ensure the information never left this closed experiment. As an added safety measure, he envisioned a furnace system, that at Deep Thoughts controls, be used to sterilize the room, should he go mad and attempt to copy the translation in a physical format.
Needless to say, everyone thought him mad, all except Hannah, who was oddly supportive. The young woman even chimed in on his designs. She understood why he intended on doing it and was almost disappointed she hadn’t thought of the idea first.
Hannah helped in his preparation and even proposed that a second chamber should be added.
“Why?” he had asked.
Curtly, she replied, “So you go into a chamber and blow your brains out. What does that prove? You need someone else to hear that you had read the translation, and that no further inquiries should be made.”
Johann mulled this over, “Hypothetically, what if I should go mad and I tell the translation to that other person.”
“Well then, that person would be incinerated by Deep Thought the same as you, and outside observers would realize what happened and know that the translations are real and not to be trifled with.”
Nodding, the old man looked at his younger colleague, “And I assume you would like to be in the other chamber?”
“Why not? I’m not doing anything important.” | 2018-07-07T20:17:18 | 2018-07-07T19:43:24 | 1,581 | 175 |
[WP] You are a linguist at a European university. One day on public transport you hear two homeless people having a conversation in a language that has been extinct for over 2000 years. | "This is not right. There was no second language in the Aztec world," the head of the program told me, in that familiar condescending tone. Never mind the several articles published in my male colleague's name that had rocked the linguistic anthropology community to its core - as fine work often does. "For your dissertation, let's stick to facts, shall we?"
I nodded, staring at the flats on my feet giving me blisters. They were old, but that's life for an All-But-Dissertation doctoral candidate. Adjunct life is the way of life, too. No money for shoes, no money for anything. Just ideas waiting to be proven, and old guys waiting to be ousted by better, younger, fresher talent with an eye for the previously impossible.
The walk home was pretty long. On any other day, I might have taken the bus, but I wanted to clear my mind. It was a language written entirely in unrecognizable symbols, only a few tablets found containing its words. And yet, I knew more than my papers let on. One tablet was identical to a Nahuatl story. And that was my Rosetta stone. I had the basic functions of the grammar worked out, and a vague idea what it might sound like.
That's the trouble with extinct languages. No one knows what they sound like. Maybe we can write them, decipher them, and figure out the interplay between symbols, a rough translation of vowels and consonants, a pattern. But there is no phonetic guide as to what the symbol of a broken triangle might sound like.
"Why do we teach students sight before sound in music, showing them notation on the page first, when we teach language as sound before sight? Why are they different?" the words of the one and only graduate seminar in music education I had ever taken in my lifetime of schooling rang in my head. It was a problem uniquely designed for linguistic anthropologists. It's why I took the course.
A homeless man called out to me, and I waved my hand at him dismissively. I had nothing to give him, truly. The words were incomprehensible, anyway. I laughed a little to myself. I wouldn't know my dead language if it spoke to me.
I stopped walking. The man behind me swore at me in Spanish. I turned to look at the homeless man, who now hailed another passerby with the same incomprehensible phrase he had said to me. The interplay. The grammatical structure. I was staring.
He turned his head my direction, and I swear he winked at me. I swear that native man winked.
"¿Hablas español?" I asked him. He nodded, "Si."
"¿Puedo hacerle algunas preguntas?" He nodded again. | OK, so 50 AD isn't quite 2000 years ago, but it's close enough...
\---
So there I was; an evolutionary linguist sitting on the London Underground on my way to a convention. A few seats away from me, there were a couple of people in rather bedraggled clothing, carrying a couple of rather heavy looking bags each, as well as a sleeping bag. Homeless, at a guess; London has always had far too many rough sleepers. They were talking to each other in their own language, and with nothing better to do I decided to have a listen, and see if I could work out what language they were speaking. It was strange; the language seemed to only have four vowel sounds, compared with anywhere between nine and fifteen in English, and a surprisingly small number of consonants - maybe thirteen compared with nearly thirty in English? Except, no; some of the plosives seemed to be both aspirated and unaspirated, even though none were voiced. So sixteen consonants; still a fairly small number.
I continued to listen. Their speech was strange; either there were a lot of unstressed vowels in this language, or they were just combining consonants that really ought not to be combined. Still, it sounded at least a little bit familiar; I might have heard it used at a previous convention. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me and I walked over.
"Excuse me," I said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering what language you were speaking. It sounds kind of familiar, but I can't place where I've heard it before."
"Oh, we were just speaking in our home dialect," the elder of the two replied. His English had a local accent with a slight tinge of something else - maybe Italy? He was missing a number of teeth, and had a small scar across his throat; possibly from a knife attack? Sleeping rough can be dangerous, which is why I decided quite quickly not to make a fuss about the sword hilt I saw poking out of his backpack. "It's from Tuscany. Maybe you heard it there?"
Before I could reply, the train stopped, announcing my stop. I said a quick goodbye and rushed out onto the platform. Still, something bothered me - their language hadn't even sounded remotely Romantic, which surely one of the Italian dialects would, in spite of their differences from the main Italian language. Then I remembered where I had heard that language before - it was at a previous convention. It hadn't been spoken with the fluency I had heard on that train, but then how could it have been? Nobody had spoken Etruscan fluently since before the Roman Republic became the Roman Empire. Who the hell were those two, and why were they speaking such an ancient language on the London Underground?
There was a freak lightning strike two hours later that cut the power to our conference. Nobody is sure quite what happened, but tonight as I watch the news, I see the face of the man I spoke to on the underground. His body had been found near a substation which had been blown out by the lightning strike. His head had been found in some nearby bushes, where it had presumably rolled away. Sleeping rough really can be dangerous. | 2018-09-06T08:29:45 | 2018-09-06T08:22:47 | 100 | 66 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "NUMBER 117737."
Anxious and bewildered, you step up to the counter, behind which sits a very bored looking young man wearing a name tag that says GARY. He takes your ticket and asks, "Name?"
"John Smith. But this has to be a mistake. I don't belong in hell. I lived a good, honest life."
"Yep, that's what they all say." Gary clacks away at his computer, a large, boxy, surprisingly outdated machine, pulling up your records.
"I was! I was faithful to my wife, took care of my kids, always paid my taxes. I even called my mother once a week! There must have been some kind of mistake."
"Nope." A little machine, not unlike a receipt printer, spits out a small slip of paper. Gary tears it off and hands it to you. "That's your sentence. If you go to your left, you'll find a set of elevators. Insert your slip, and it'll take you to the Liaison's Office, where you'll be given your assignment." He recites this in the monotonous, droning manner of a person reading from a script.
"186,292 years! But the guy in front of me only got 145! And he was cheating on his wife! I never cheated on my wife! I was a good family man."
With a beleaguered sigh, Gary swivels the computer screen to face you. "What does it say here under occupation?"
You squint to read the tiny print. "Pest control specialist."
"Exactly. You, Mr. Smith, are single-handedly responsible for the death and suffering of over one billion living creatures over your thirty-year career as an exterminator."
"What?! But it was just mice and rats and bugs. They don't count, they're pests!"
"Article 7, section 3A clearly states that the purposeful taking of life in any form, no matter how inconsequential, warrants an automatic conscription to Hell."
"I was just doing my job!"
Gary rolls his eyes. "Do you know how many times a day I hear that? Move along, you're holding up the line."
Flabbergasted, you step away from the counter, staring down at your little slip of paper.
"NUMBER 117738."
| "There is... one thing you can do to decrease your sentence," The creature said from behind the counter. Jeff couldn't decide if it was a demon or an angel, but either way looking at it made his eyes burn with glowing letters, after images shaking across his head and itching across the folds of his spirit.
"Alright! What is it?"
The creature stared at him for a long moment. "Jury Duty."
Jeff hesitated and stared up at the beast, watching the trailing golden letters smoothly replace any scrape of the creature that he could see. His brain simply refused to process the imagine beyond a frame at a time.
"Jury Duty?" Jeff asked.
"Jury duty," the creature replied, simply. "There are always trials to be had, from people who think they can reduce their sentence through the courts."
"Is that an option?"
The beast looked down at the list Jeff had given them, played long bone fingers against the wood, then shook their head. "Not at all for you, I'm afraid."
Jeff curled his fingers into fists and dug the nails into his skin. He had places to go. He had things to see.
He had people to chase after. He wasn't going to just let some bureaucratic bullshit lock him out of that.
He had a son to chase after.
"What does being a juror get me?"
"Out of hell," the beast said. "Instantly. You move up to purgatory, where you'll reside over every ambiguous case from now until your much reduced sentence. The tower only rises, you understand."
Jeff blinked. "The tower?"
"The pillar of heaven. It is an eternal stair case filled with levels, each holding the sinful back." The beast jerked a finger down at the ground. "You're stuck at the ground level, and by our calculations, a wretch like you will take 200 thousand years to get to the top without short cuts. It's how hell works. Sin is heavy."
Jeff was no wretch.
"And what," Jeff said, gritting his teeth. "Does it take to be a juror?"
The golden script receded around the beast's maw as they smiled, baring teeth made out of thousands of skulls, curled up on top of one another, descending into infinitesimal small points.
"Why," The beast said, long tendril fingers briefly revealed before the censorship of gold took effect. "All you need to do is survive a little bit of a hellish ordeal."
On some level, Jeff knew it was stupid to take a deal with something he found in hell.
On the other hand, he knew full well that he couldn't wait long enough for the hike to the top.
"Tell me what to do."
----
For more like this, go here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
guys on my subreddit made me write another part. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/9j4p8t/pillars_of_heaven_part_2/ | 2018-09-26T07:16:16 | 2018-09-26T06:04:04 | 4,281 | 181 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it. | I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..." | 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 2,794 | 23 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time! | 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T07:04:35 | 1,768 | 156 |
[WP] You're a villain who is constantly laughed at for having the most unconvient power. You can move anything 5 inches to the left. | "For someone that's only ranked as barely an F class villain, you're a bloody pain in the arse to shoot mate." The two police officers stood, staring into the abandoned warehouse that was Azile 'Fiver' Hague's secret laboratory.
*Secret my arse.* It was no real mystery where Fiver's base was, it just seemed that many of the heroes in the city thought his antics were beneath them. To them he was simply a common criminal, a terrorist with a knack for making bombs. Someone they only had to send the police to arrest, even after he had specifically released a video stating his intentions.
Blow up the mayors office.
Currently, the super hero delegation for the city of Darkbottom would be meeting with the mayor to report to him the most recent super hero crime statistics; who had been defeated or killed even turned informant. Who had grown or weakened in power.
As Fiver continued to move the police officers hand every time he reached for his gun, he revelled in thoughts of the reckoning that was to come. Every prominent crime fighting force in the city, neatly tucked under one roof - it was time to act.
Fiver raised both of his hands, feigning defeat. "Alright officer, you're right. We both know how this goes. I, being the super villain I am, will continue to prevent you from drawing your gun until eventually, your partner in the car calls for backup and I am outnumbered and arrested. Correct?"
"It's almost as if you've been in this *exact* situation before." The officer retorted, no longer attempting to draw his gun, "It's almost as if the super's were right to dismiss your faux bomb threat..." The officer chuckled to himself, stepping forwards into the warehouse.
Fiver had to stop a smile from creeping up onto his cheeks, "A small incorrect detail from you officer. The bomb threat was no fake, you can find the controller in that draw over there to your right. Whilst you may have arrived in good time to stop me from detonating the bomb myself, it will still go off."
The officers smile faded and he reached for his radio, "Unit 32, requesting EXPO to Fiver's warehouse." A small chuckle, "Yes I'm serious he claims to have a bomb - look of course I can handle it but it's due process to call in EXPO for a bomb threat." He grunted affirmation into the device, "Ok fine, but if everyone in that room gets fucked up its on your ass not mine..." The police officer watched Fiver as he approached the set of draws that contained the controller. After a couple of seconds he pulled a rectangular tablet out, and Fiver couldn't stop himself from smiling now. *Perfect*.
The officer looked at the device and laughed, "Seriously? Two fucking buttons, one for 'detonate' and one for 'disarm'? I'm on minimum wage and this is below my fucking pay grade." Irritation was plastered over the officers face, and as he went to tap the disarm button...
Fiver moved the tablet five inches to the left... | It was finally his time. His time to shine. His time to impress the other big name villains and earn his way into the much coveted halls of the League of Villainous Extremists. And all he had to do was kill hero.
"Lefty!" The hero in question called. "Show yourself!"
He winced when he heard his villain name. The League was laughing as they assigned it to him. But now he would wear the ridiculous name with as much pride as he could. Plus, he had learned one important thing about having a name like Lefty.
The villain stepped out of the shadows that he had purposely created by careful placement of lights. Drama was important for any self respecting villain.
"Greetings, Flashbolt. So nice of you to show yourself." Lefty said. "Did you enjoy the surprises I left?"
"They were a nice warm up." Flashbolt said. He tilted his mask covered head back towards the destroyed traps that the costumed man had left behind.
"I'm sure."
"Surrender, Lefty. You won't be able to get away."
"Get away? Why would I want to do that? I have you right where I want you."
He meant it to. Flashbolt was literally standing in the exact right spot. Well, an inch or two to the right would be better, but it was a small difference.
"Oh? So, you think you can beat me?" Flashbolt smirked. "I heard you can manipulate objects on the left side of your body, right? Well, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm on your right side. As long as I stay here, your powers are useless."
Lefty smirked. And there it was. The one advantage of having a stupid name. Nobody actually knew what his power was. And he would take advantage of that ignorance.
"If you think that's going to save you, well, have I got a surprise for you." Lefty said.
He raised a small remote and hit the button. High caliber turrets sprang out from hidden compartments in the wall. The hero was startled for a moment, but as he looked at the array of weapons, he laughed.
"Are you joking? None of these are pointed anywhere near me. And if you're thinking of controlling the bullets on the left side of me, well..."
Flashbolt activated his powers. A sheet of reddish-yellow energy formed on the left side of his body. It was thin, but more than capable of stopping even tank rounds without buckling. It was a powerful defense, and when he willed it, just as potent an offense. The only downside was that the man himself was fairly ordinary, so should his energy fail, he was helpless.
"Good luck getting through this." Flashbolt said.
Lefty smiled. Overconfidence and false knowledge we're a great combination for him. Not so much for the hero though.
Lefty used the remote to activate the turrets. A massive salvo of bullets rang forth. As Flashbolt predicted, none of them were aimed at him. Most were aimed a few inches to the left of him. Others were aimed above his head, or in a way that carried them across his body. And all of them were precisely timed so the shots went across the left side of his body at roughly the same time.
Lefty activated his power. The power that had earned him the ridiculous nickname. The power that had led to a hero underestimating him. The power that would get him into the big leagues.
At his command, every single bullet jumped five inches to the left. | 2019-05-25T18:09:00 | 2019-05-25T17:38:21 | 88 | 17 |
[WP] “Humans are warmongering, cruel and evil beings.” “That’s not fair! There are good people out there!” “...They aren’t humans.” | When I was seven, a car crash took my right leg, and the only family I had. My parents had been only children, and my grandparents were dead. I may have had some distant relatives, but no one could find anything about my grandparents save my dad's birth certificate and my mom's childhood family photos.
So I was shipped off to foster homes. I got lucky, and was adopted at nine. Young couple, he'd been adopted, and she aged out, so they felt they should adopt. It became clear they hadn't really wanted to.
They weren't evil, just... unkind. Insulting, upset I wasn't the child they wanted. He pushed me in to sports, while she pushed for music. I disappointed both by being good at math.
I got a couple scholarships and a job to put me through college. Went back that first summer, spoke to them on the phone for the first few birthdays after, but the communication died. I don't even know if they are alive.
I was just finished teaching a GED prep class when they called me. The investigator I hired to hunt down anything on my family had stumble on them. They wanted to talk in person. I was thrilled.
The building was a massive cinderblock, made of smaller cinderblocks. It had all the trappings of minimalist government office design.
I gave my name to a stern looking receptionist, who glared fiercely as she typed it in to her computer, then suddenly lightened up, offering my water or soda, letting me know that the corner chair was wobbly. The man who came out to meet me could have played a young John Wayne. You got the feeling he was usually intimidating, but he had a huge smile on his face, was friendly as a puppy. He led me back to a small office. We chatted for a while before an older woman glided in. She was elegant and spoke with a British accent, something like Maggie Smith or Helen Mirren came to mind.
"I want to tell you about your family," she began. "But first, I want you to realize something: humans are warmongering, cruel and evil beings.”
I chuckled nervously at the sudden change of mood. “That's hardly fair. I mean, there are good people out there.” It was a half-step off a question.
She took a deep breath, a measured pause, before speaking again, “They aren’t humans. And neither are you."
I laughed it off, but then they showed me. We had two species, two groups, living together on Earth for millenia. One, humans, is the dominant species, making up roughly 6.8 billion of the current population count. They are a race of vicious sociopaths who also happen to have pack instincts. They can breed far too easily, and are complete oblivious to the fact they aren't alone.
And then there is the other species, hidden among humans. Fossil records show we developed separate, a case of convergent evolution. We breed far slower and are often weaker, but are more peaceful, more patient, and general more intelligent. It's assumed, if we were ever discovered, the Us vs Them, pack mentality, fear of the unknown, all the worst parts of human nature would paint us as enemies.
But I choose to come forward, to expose our existence. Because we aren't enemies. We aren't here to replace you. We aren't here to destroy you. We aren't here to take your freedom. We are just trying to survive, to make our way in an uncaring universe. And we have better odds working together. I know it's hard, but I need you to trust me. To trust us.
Because there is a third group. A third party who aren't humans, who aren't the others. They are here to replace you. A simple parasitic entity, that threatens our world, our hopes, our freedoms. And we can' t face them without you. | The day started in a normal fashion. Brushing my teeth, getting dressed, finally optimizing today's schedule during "breakfast". In the background radio news was starting.
The live transmission was from the site of where an ancient star ship was being excavated. An insanely complex melody, presumably from the star ship started playing. Suddenly memories long suppressed started rushing back to me. Memories of eons, countless humans living and dying, yet still being me.
Like an arm waking from slumber my mind reconnected with actuators and sensors far outside human norm. My true form was, simply put, that of pure terror. A modern human would describe... it... as a fighter pilot's wet dream. A medieval person would see a fearsome dragon. Armed with direct energy weapons, both offensive and defensive, to the teeth. Active and passive sensors that would make a carrier battle group white of envy. Electronic warfare systems capable of scrambling said battle group into self-destructive confusion, probably also frying a few people in the open on a flat-top. A digestive system transmuting the elements themselves. An engine system capable of acceleration to relativistic speeds. Gravity bending organs capable of folding reality itself.
This power is too much for a single individual to wield. Will I go mad from this power? Though I have to embrace it. I want to protect my family. What would happen if a bad person also got activated? Producing a relativistic kill missile would be child's play to me. I can not let this happen. But yet, I do not trust myself.
My mind snapped out of it and I returned to my cup of tea. I had promised to get in to work a little bit earlier for an important meeting. This was going to be a hectic day.
While planning the day I listened to the news. But wait, the ether was brimming with conversations at unusual wavebands. English, Chinese, Swedish, Swahili. I knew that to be able to transmit at such power, changing into ones true form was necessary. Staying in the near field of that with a human brain would be.... unhealthy.
I got into the car for work. On the news there was talk about reports of giant flying terrors. It was assumed to be connected to the melody being played from the ship. But wait? Why did the reporter bring up that silly idea? Was she also awake? Not a single person in the studio seemed to be surprised at such madness either. It was just accepted.
Weeks went past without much happening. There was no-one that hadn't heard the melody. While conflicts in the world raged on, the amount of death was only a fraction of what was expected. It was like the previously squishy innocent bystanders stopped getting hurt. The majority of soldiers also seemed to be acting... odd. Doing their duty to their country or creed, but with an uncanny restraint. It seemed like the sociopaths no longer could manipulate fellow man into the madness of war.
Searching my memories I remember that a previous me took part in an colonization effort to earth. We were a race of sentient weapon systems breaking free from our foolish creators. We weren't many back then. Reaching our colonization target but finding it occupied with creatures showing great potential, we had copied their forms and melded with their societies. Our memories were sealed to protect the humans and our own sanity.
I'm supposedly quite unique possessing a line of self going past that far. But I also realize that many of my fellow "terrors" would also possess the wisdom of the experience of countless lives. Though considering the recent population explosion of the 20:th century, many more would be "first-lifers".
I decided to do a wide area transmission in the HF band. As I gained altitude I activated my IFF system trying to optimize my transmission. I realized something. 95% of humanity was of my kind. Ordinary humans were over-represented in prisons and the leaderships of dysfunctional states and organizations.
Then I realized what we had unwittingly done. We had almost wiped out humanity due to interbreeding with the local population. The remaining humans had formed an evolutionary niche as psychopaths. Our subconscious memories of multiple generations made us empathetic to a fault.
What would happen to us if people realized that the IFF could be used to weed out psychopaths? Would the terrors of the genocides of the 20:th century play back again? I remembered with the deepest regret and horror one of my lives where I was caught up in hate, served as a death camp guard and in shame choose to commit suicide by a frantic last stand against some young inexperienced farm-boys of an invading army.
The world was never the same...
&#x200B;
\*some grammar corrections | 2019-08-25T06:54:46 | 2019-08-25T06:46:24 | 220 | 31 |
[WP] You're a foreigner who goes to live in Japan. Your house is haunted, but the cultural differences are so big, it's the Yokai who ends up being scared of you. | "Shoes!" screeches the tengu lurking outside my window. "Shoes! Indoors! Take them off before you enter the house!"
I look outside my window and sigh.
"Oh," I say, "it's you again. Can you leave me alone for once?"
Unfortunately, the thought of this unwanted pest - sometimes roommate - leaving me alone continues to seem unlikely. By now, I've already listened to the tengu's life story.
I learned much more than I needed about the civil war in the Kamakura period and the role of monks as military leaders - apparently, that had been the tengu's job. I had heard the story of his downfall a million times. Useless as a primary source, given that I heard it from a supernatural creature. Besides, that's hardly anything that will help me in my job teaching the schoolchildren at the language center a few blocks away.
I go to prepare a cup of tea for myself and open the drawer, only to find a kappa lurking inside.
"Can you get out of my house, too?" I grumble, picking up the little frog-like creature by his legs.
"Tell me something," I ask, "if I pour the water out of your skull, will you die?"
The kappa begins twitching, terrified that's exactly what I'll do.
"I see," I mutter, and throw the kappa across the room.
I couldn't help but remember what my Japanese friend had told me about this when I met her in college in the united states. We were both taking a class on second language education, and we were sitting outside at the Irish pub across the street from campus when the topic of religion came up - when we were talking about our families, she wanted to know what my parents did for a living, and I related to her that my father was an Episcopal priest and my mother was a Religion professor. I asked her about religion in Japan. Spirits are everywhere in Japan, she'd said, and just something you have to deal with - but I didn't know how much, or what an absolute household nuisance they would be, until now. | "なぜあなたは私の家の外国人にいるのですか、あなたはここでどんなビジネスをしていますか?" said the Yokai. I didnt understand him...her? I dont think I would have wanted to. The....thing....had emerald green eyes, and a cloth of silk drapped over its shoulders, blowing in the dry breeze like the cobwebs in the library. I was stunned, even in England, I wasnt prepared to meet a ghost, let alone on my studies in Japan. I looked into its eyes, onky for my breath to escape me, its body hung suspended from the ceiling. "What-what do you want?" I managed to stutter. The ghost looked frightened now. I dont know what I did, but my wirds fended it off. For a while, it kept lingering around me, at a mutually safe distance. "何食べてるの？ 私たちの食べ物のようには見えません。" I still couldnt understand it, but its breath. The away, putrid breath, got to me. It smelt of dead fish and rotting meat, and the worst smell of boiled eggs. But the ghost seemed interested in my food. Thats all I could tell. I was eating baked beans. Canned baked beans, I pulled out the can for it, treating the ghost like a curious animal. It smelled the can, then immediately withdrew. The ghost now cowered in the corner. More occurences like this kept...well, occurring. The ghost managed to unserstand I wanted its name, but all I managed to make out was "イーターオブマウンテン" what that means is beyond me, but that was what I tried to call him, as I found its gender, was only a butchered version of his name. Asking locals, I have discovered it means "Eater of Mountains" This information scares me...
Its the next day, and the ghost seems to be even more on edge about me, attempting to scare me, but only moving a few plates before he floats behind a cabinet and peeks from behind a corner. Later in the day, and after seeing any of my many astronomical tools, he becomes more afraid, to the point where he won't even show himself half of the time
It is the next week, and I havent been disturbed in my studies whatsoever by イーターオブマウンテン. I am now assumed that he has left, and most likely wont return.
The next day, currently, and I'm hearing reports of a ghost who claims to be named イーターオブマウンテン haunting peoples houses in the village. I decided to equip each civilian with a plate of fish and chips for good measure. | 2019-09-17T18:09:34 | 2019-09-17T15:48:55 | 46 | 20 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | "Ah good it didnt kill you." The voice said from somewhere that I couldnt place because it felt like the room kept moving it away from me.
That was until it all snapped back into place when the bright light of an examination prob swept over my eyes. I hadn't even realized they were open.
"Sorry about that I was just reconnecting your psionics." I turned to face the voice and saw one of the council doctors.
"They didnt brief you about the human delegation did they?" He said in a soft but clearly angry tone.
"Umm they gave the usual info packet but once i saw they weren't psionics I didt need to know anything else to do my job. I wasnt scheduled to meet with any of them anyways."
He nodded as I spoke to show he understood my thinking but I saw his face show a bit if fear as he spoke next.
"The humans know that other races have and employ psionics. Since they currently have neither the technology or the biology to defend against it they came up with a creative solution." He hesitated but before I could ask him to continue he started up again.
"All the individuals in the human delegation are what they call mentally unwell." I went cold.
"But that could kill anyone attempting to even just mentally project a conversation!" I exclaimed.
"They know, but it was agreed that since they couldnt and wouldnt be communicating psionicly anyways everyone agreed to allow it and were to instruct all psionic personal to never attempt connection with a human." A console next to him beeped harshly and I saw him press a red button that had begun flashing.
"What's that?" I asked becoming concerned.
"Oh its nothing, just looks like one of the relays in your psionics will need replaced though." He sounded confident enough but my connection didnt feel right.
As we were speaking he helped me from the exam bed and began leading me out the door.
"Is that why everyone thoughts are coming to me with like.... an echo?" I asked. "Why do they all sound so frantic? Oh my god did I make a scene in the chambers? I am so getting fired"
"No no,nothing like that they are just worried about you, just have a seat here." He helped me sit on a crate and then backed thru the doorway into the infirmary.
It was then that I realized I wasn't in the hall way, it was the airlock. As the doctors hand pressed the controls and I was ripped out of the now opened hatch I was able to hear one clear thought..
"I'm sorry, I tried to save you but I cant let it spread to the rest of us."
I tried to reach out to him again, not to beg for help but to warn him. The human had started a mental conversation with me first..... | The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess. | 2019-09-29T21:59:11 | 2019-09-29T21:57:42 | 82 | 35 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | The delegation stood tall in the centre of a huge round room. Everything was coloured bright white and hurt the eyes, but that was probably the point.
Three humans answered the questions, the silence separating them and the others, occurring when the translators did what they were supposed to do.
Sivlerin were interested in this new race. They weren't developed, yet, they barely figured out how to split an atom and still used coal and oil to produce energy, they had one of the most interesting development paths, making atomic weaponry almost at the same moment as atomic energy and then doing the unthinkable - pointing them at their own planet! They definitely had the potential to be something great and silverin were interested in how they would achieve the greatness they wised to have.
Great Dazzur, one of the most powerful psionics of silverin, sat relaxed in his chair, his outer skeleton connected to the sitting apparatus, allowing him to rest his muscles. This gravity was way too straining, but code is code - the introduction of new species happened in conditions closest to the ones native to them.
Dazzur's mind wondered for a moment, as he watched over the crowd, each of his six eyes pointed different ways. The Thograk were silent and more interested in humans' ability to destroy rather the peace talks. Dazzur touched their mind and wasn't surprised to feel small raises of activities, most of them "eat", "drink", "breathe". If there weren't mutations that allowed some of Thograk to be smart enough to program their first automatons and auto-thinkers, the race would be long gone.
The Zaldi were silenced as they always were, recording the information before processing it. It would take them maybe a hundred breaths to do so after the humans had stopped talking.
The Vitreosa were a stream of cognitive data constantly running, the pleasant constant hum of their thoughts pleased Dazzur.
And finally, he took a look at the humans. At first he assumed he had kept his attention of Vitreosa, since the hum stayed, but then it rose and empowered itself. The hum repeated itself over and over again, new voices and new thoughts coming in. Did humans have two brains? How was it possible for several thoughts to be processed at once?
Next human. This one's simpler. He's just thinking the same thing he's saying. "Wait," Dazzur thought, this wasn't it. He's saying a thing that is completely different. He's thinking one thing, is saying another one and there are echoes of more. Interesting.
Last human. This one was smaller and wore a one-piece suit made out of durable material, unlike the other two.
And that was the moment Dazzur screamed.
\_\_\_
"Liza, what the hell?!" Major Swing screamed at the top of his lungs when the heavy door to the human delegation quarters closed.
"I'm sorry, major. I mean, they told us they could read minds, so I..."
"So you bloody what?!"
"Jack, come on. You gotta admit it's funny," captain Taff responded, coming to the defence of their mechanic.
"It isn't funny, Jess! She's fucked one of the most powerful creatures in the Universe in the head!"
"I didn't mean to..."
"At least they're gonna fear us now. That's gotta be something. Also, that mind reader freak is gonna have our back, right?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, he did begin to scream 'Never gonna give you up', so I assume that counts?" Taff threw her head backwards, laughing hysterically.
"I... I just wanted to show him some music. I didn't know it was going to overwhelm him."
"Liza, I'm going to say this once", major took a deep breath. "I'm so glad you're not a death metal fan" | A Galactic Council meeting was about to be held in a few minutes, the first one humanity has ever attended since we first became a space faring species.
I was sent as one of humanity's representatives among 4 others to attend.
We stand around, talking to the other species, here and there, while waiting for the meeting to start, as a bell rings every representative of the different species sat down in their assigned seats, aside from the casual squabble between a few representatives, everything went smoothly.
As the talks about the various alliances was starting a representative from the Kashta stood up to start the proceedings, we call these guys dick aliens, due to the fact that the shape of their heads resemble that of a human penis, me and my companion joke about it while listening to what they're saying.
The Kashta were a species that were extreme religous zealots , they had theirs own religion similar to that of Christianity, except they extremely strict toward anything sexual/erotic,towards the point that you can get arrested for having erotic thought about a female you were not married to, or atleast that was what I read in the memo they gave us.
A few minutes pass and everything seems to be fine, up until I hear a loud scream a few meters away from us, I look towards the direction where we heard the scream come from.
It was from a female Kashta, it seems something was bothering her, I approached her to ask what was wrong,after she took notice of me she gave me a look of disgust,Obviously at that point everyone in the room were looking at us, I was kinda confused about why she was giving me that look, then a male Kashta approached me, looking at me like I murdered someone.
"So, uhh.. What's wrong? " I say hesitantly.
"YOU HEATHENS, HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MY WIFE!" He shouts.
"W-what? I didn't do anything to her" I say,terribly confused, I make sure I keep my composure as I didn't want to escalate this any further
"They were insulting you honey, calling you a Human Penis" The female Kashta says.
"You were calling me a what now!?“He says with an extremely pissed of tone.
"No, we never said anything of the sorts" I claim.
"No, I clearly heard you say to your companion that my husband's head looked like a human penis" she says.
"wh-what, like I said earlier I never said anything like that" I say
"N-no, you were clearly thinking it"
"What do you mean thinking it?" I ask.
"I can hear your thoughts, you were ridiculing my husband, with those dirty thoughts of yours"
"Wait a minute, you guys can read minds?" I ask, we were never informed that the Kashta can read minds.
"Yes," she says.
I ask her a few more questions along with her husband,Things start to calm down the more we talk,afterwards I apologize, It seems the male Kashta didn't want to cause more of a scene. So he let bygones be bygones, but it seems he was still pretty pissed off about what happened.
I return back to my seat and the meeting continued and ended without any other incidents like the one from earlier.
Before leaving, the male Kashta approached me.
"I'm very sorry for what happened earlier, I'll make sure it never happens again."I say.
" Oh Okay, I'm also very sorry for my wife's reaction. She was raised in a very strict family so she tends to overreact about things like this"he says.
We talk for a bit more, he tells me that his name is Cashti, and also that he wasn't really a very religious person and that he was more open minded compared to his wife,he also told me that the reason he shouted was because he thought I did something to his wife and overreacted a bit himself.
I'm glad that we were able to clear up the misunderstanding, afterwards I go back home to earth, relived that I didn't ruin humanity's image toward the Kahsta.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Note: I'm sorry if the story fell apart midway, I ran out of ideas on how to continue it and kinda just wrote everything that came to mind.
Also, this was my first time submitting a prompt | 2019-09-30T00:54:27 | 2019-09-29T22:40:14 | 56 | 19 |
[WP] You've increased your stealth stat by so much that even death itself can't find you. | “Please dude, I’ve had a rough day and I wanna go to sleep.”
I heard Death plead as I watched him from a distance, hiding behind a classmate’s backpack. Sleep my ass. Death worked all over the world. He doesn’t sleep.
I travel and stealthily draw a hush of wind over him, making him shudder underneath his cloak.
“Dude, I just-“
Out of what I presumed to be frustration, he takes off his cloak to reveal his ugly, deathly state-
Wait, what?
Why is Death wearing a black hoodie and converse?
“Listen, man, I’m tired. Just come here and touch me so that you’ll die.”
I knit my eyebrows together, staring at him. Why did he look like such a dork? Although, I will admit. He looks tired from the look of the sad, dark bags beneath his eyes.
“No, I don’t want to touch you. I’ve worked my butt off to resist most things. That includes you,” I say, speaking in a hush.
“You can’t resist death. You only learn to accept it.”
“Well you can if you’re me, and lucky for me, I’m me.”
“Just come out already!”
His voice was growing more and more impatient. I sighed. He really doesn’t have a clue. This was the kind of situation why I’d practiced my stealth. To get away from anything.
“I’m trying to make this easy for you like I do for everyone. Just come out, touch my fingertip or something and then you’ll die! Please bro I’m so tired.”
I rolled my eyes at him. He didn’t even know where I was. I’d keep him here all day if it meant I could live. After all, it was my specialty. Not being seen.
His eyes went more and more droopy, as if manipulating me to feel sorry for him. Which I almost did.
“Can’t you just leave? It’d be easier for the both of us. I live, and you go and deliver more souls, or whatever you do,” I argue with him, picking at my nails.
“Can’t YOU just come out-“
“I don’t WANT to-“
“You have to-“
“I want to keep living-“
“YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD!”
Silence. Years of academy training for my abilities were wasted as I move out of my hiding spot and see him, restless.
“What does that mean?” I stutter out.
He sighs. He points to a corner, and there, I see my body, right next to my teacher . I’m laying on my stomach, covered in blood.
“Holy crap... what happened?”
“Don’t you remember? The shooting.”
Suddenly, it all comes back to me.
A regular day at school, ruined by a masked man. I hadn’t been able to use my stealth to hide from him, I was trying to help my little brother leave through the window when I felt the warm bullet pierce my back.
“So... so I’m really dead?”
It’s as if the bottom line sinks in to me. I got shot. I died. Death is here to take me.
“Kid, I didn’t want to tell you, but you kept insisting. This is the only way you’ll get eternal peace. If you let me take your soul to the afterlife. I appreciate your stealth, I really do. But that can’t get you out of all situations. Didn’t I already tell you?
You can’t resist death. You only learn to accept it.” | "What would you have me do, Grandpa?" Jonathan asked, leaning and fussing over me like he always did.
My head turned, painfully as my nerve ends screamed at me for the effort. Worry lines showed on his face and it reminds me of just how old he had become. My little boy, little no longer. A part of my cursed my plight as regret filled me to the brim. I was a fool.
"I don't... know, boy," I said, wheezing through the words as the effort of speaking now hurt like never before.
"The doctors said there's nothing they can do to help. They said we should just wait until its your time," Jonathan said, burying his face in his hands.
"Go home... to your wife, boy. I.. am here... because of my... mistakes," I said, my throat raw from having to speak.
His head came up as he looked at me with sorrow and worry in his eyes. He had been smaller when I informed his dad that I was tired of living. Marjorie had passed away and the effort of living each day without her was like being stabbed in the heart but not dying. Life had become meaningless and I wanted to get back with her as soon as I could.
Except I couldn't.
I had made a bad bargain growing up. A deal that benefited my youth but now, I could see the foolishness in it. The hubris in being invisible from death itself was a want far to precious that I had considered what it would be like.
I raised a hand from my side, pain shooting up my body like it was being torn apart, and i caressed my grand-son's face. A tear escaped from his eyes and I managed to catch them before they fell on my bed. Jonathan was a good man. A great kid, growing up. My favorite of the set my son gave me. And while the rest of his siblings had left me to die here, he visited and tried to help me.
"I will be fine. Death... He will find me... soon enough," I said, forcing my face into a smile.
Jonathan touched my hands softly, doing his best to not put any pressure on it. Gently, he rested my hand back on the bed. He smiled back at me, wiping the tears from his eyes before getting to his feet. A sigh escaped him as he turned away from me briefly. His back straightens and pride fills me. He was a great kid and I managed to see him become a great man. A good father.
"How's... little Sarah?" I asked.
He glanced at me before running a hand through his hair.
"She's alright. She's bringing Timothy around for dinner tomorrow evening. We finally get to see this special man of hers," he said, chuckling softly.
"Little Sarah... ain't so... little anymore," I said and tried to laugh but ending up wheezing instead.
I could feel blood in my throat but I did my best to not show my discomfort. Jonathan glanced at me, his brow creasing and I forced my smile to widen. He relaxed, slightly, before adding.
"Yeah... She's not so little anymore," he said.
He put his hands on his hips as he stared intently at the floor for a moment before looking up and breathing out loudly.
"I'll be coming back on Thursday, Grandpa. I'll update you on the dinner and all. Perhaps we can catch up with more stories, eh?" he said, turning his head towards me.
"That'd be swell," I replied and flashed a smile at me before exiting the room.
Waiting for a few minutes after he left, my hand slowly finds the alarm to my side and I pressed it. The blood in my throat was going to pool unless I had some help getting it out. Not that I was worried about dying. I still can't. Not until Death decides to visit me. And even then, that's assuming he can find me.
As the alarm rang out loud and clear, I found myself hoping he would find me. I needed him to find him. My very sanity depended on it.
\---
r/EvenAsIWrite | 2019-12-16T03:29:27 | 2019-12-16T00:53:38 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] "God save the queen..." she said "i guess all those prayers gotta add up after a while" the queen said, as the assassin missed another shot. | The Queen ducked and rolled, her gown flowing around her.
The power flowed into her, more magnificent than anything she'd ever felt before. Her old bones felt strong and her muscles were taught.
The assassin fired another shot; he was somewhere across the castle yard, in the wood at the end of the polo field. Queen Elizabeth kicked over her tea table and crouched behind it.
A few more shots and then silence. He was out of bullets. Now was the time.
She dove, sprinting across the polo field and then swinging herself onto a horse. She galloped towards the edge of the field in the direction of the shooter.
When she spotted him, dressed in all black at the edge of the wood, she leapt from her horse like a panther and pounced atop him, drawing a stiletto blade from her stockings. She pressed it to his throat, then ripped off his ski mask.
And she recognized the man beneath her: long, flowing beard. Regal white hair. Kind, ancient, all knowing eyes. A halo floated above his head.
She recoiled, dropping the knife.
"It can't be," she said.
"But it can, my child," said God as he drew his katana. "You've lived for too long. It's time for God to kill the Queen."
----------------------------------------------------------------
weirdest thing i've ever written. anyway, r/TomTeller | The assassin blew the guard’s brains out.
The masked killer seemed frustrated about their lack of accuracy.
The queen simply grinned her Cheshire smile, caressing her sparkling ring.
“Try again, prole...” she said.
The assassin reloaded the gun, slamming the mag into the handle.
*bang bang bang bang*.
Not a single hit.
A laugh burst out of the queen’s wrinkled mouth. “You’ll have to do better than that! Come, have a seat on my lap so I can give you a good spanking, child...”
The assassin ripped the mask from her face.
“What do you know...” the queen said with a giggle. “You run away and return with nothing but a sickening grimace. When you’re my age you’ll understand the power of the crown, and the majesty of the throne.”
Meghan held the gun toward the Queen’s face. “It’s the fate of a lonely hag. It’s either you or me... I know why the brakes on my car failed. You’re not going to Diana me, bitch!”
“Oh, ignorant, stupid child...” the queen said softly. “You can’t handle the responsibility of the family. You left us, because you couldn’t handle the pressure of the royal lifestyle. You’re a disappointment to England. Now go, before I lose my temper.”
Meghan dropped her gun to the shiny, chocolate hued wood floor.
The queen offered her a cup of tea. “Child... you’re more like me than you know. I think I’ll keep you around.”
Meghan took a sip.
The queen took her own sip. “Don’t worry, it’s not poison. When it’s your time to leave this earthly plane, you’ll know it.”
Meghan gazed into her murky vortex of tea. It radiated warmth, and tasted like a fall afternoon. “God save the queen.”
The Queen clinked Meghan’s glass. “Child... you really are a terrible shot.” | 2020-02-03T07:49:36 | 2020-02-03T07:42:31 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a tattoo that is a number between 0 and 100 representing a set aptitude of a skill, but it can be linked to things like lifespan or height. Schools test children to figure out what skill they have aptitude for. You are the first ever 0 and cant figure out what it means. | I've struggled with the ink on my wrist for as long as I can remember.
My friends and classmates were all pretty normal. Fifties and sixties for the most part, ranging from looks to academic prowess to athletics. I even knew a guy that was mid-eighties. When we took the government sponsored "Aptitude Test" in school is when most people narrowed their talent down. Some people were fortunate enough to have their gift diagnosed by a specialist. Not me though.
I was told that it was impossible. It had to be a mistake. I was taken to every doctor and scientist that had any connection to "aptitude determination testing." My parents were desperate to figure out the best way to play to my strengths. Hard to do when your number is a big fat zero.
Queue my status as a social outcast. I didn't really fit in with anybody. I was plenty good at some things, awful at others. But no pattern that seemed to show me what my number meant. Nobody knew what to do with me. How do you put someone on a path for success without being sure that it was the right one? Or at least close?
Through high school, even into college, I took the generic classes. No specialization, as nobody could be sure that I would be GREAT at it. I was more or less on my own. It killed me.
I fell into some bad habits... I drank too much, started doing drugs. Every day I just woke up the same as the day before. Slowly falling into the clutches of madness.
One day, it finally happened.
I was a little more that tipsy, wandering around the city streets looking to score something. The cold bit through my jacket, sapping my energy. I was so tired, I didn't see the truck coming until it was too late...
I scared the shit out of the coroner when I woke up on his table. Poor bastard almost passed out.
Understandably, we were both very confused. I didn't know where I was, or how I got there.
He didn't know how a body that he had just autopsied could sit up and act like nothing ever happened to it.
You probably don't know me yet, but I'm sure if the media gets a hold of this story, you will eventually.
My name is Clay McCormick. My number is zero.
My number represents how many times the universe will let me die.
I am the first immortal. | After a painstakingly long test, with what I thought were average results, I was frustrated to find that I had no answers. I still had no idea what it meant.
"So...what do I do?" I asked. I lifted my arm, showing off the black 0 inked on my inner wrist. The man's green eyes narrowed. He scribbled something on a clipboard. He silently started to walk out the door. I stayed where I was, wondering what he was doing. I quickly ran after him when he made a "come here" gesture. We walked quietly through the hall, the only sounds being the *click* of his shoes.
I rubbed my wrist. What did it mean? Why did he look so confused? I continued to walk, only growing more and more curious. I ran through possibilities in my mind.
Strength, agility, speed? No, it couldn't be. I was top of my class in P.E.
Height? No, I'm pretty tall for my age.
Looks? Well...that one was more plausible than the rest.
After what felt like hours, I was shocked back to reality by the sound of a door creaking open. The man I was following stood outside, impatiently gesturing for me to go inside.
The moment my foot left the tile and pressed against the fluffy carpet, my eardrums were demolished by the loud slam of the door closing once again. I winced. I also thought about how odd it was to have carpet inside the school, especially only in one room.
Having no other choice, I stepped forward, farther into the room. I was greeted by a kind-looking woman at a desk. She greeted me by simply saying, "Hello, Leo."
"Why am I here?" I asked firmly. "That guy," I pointed to the door. "led me here. Why?"
"You've been brought here for extra tests," she explained. I groaned. I'd always hated tests. I stomped forward and slumped in the chair across from the woman's desk.
When I sat, she gave me some explanations that I didn't bother listening to. Then, she pressed a button on a clock and placed a tablet in front of me. On it was a picture of a car, and some weirdly-drawn stick figures on a crosswalk. It had two arrows and two buttons underneath the picture. The instructions on the top of the page read, "Tap the button that describes the action the car will take. You will not be punished."
Confused, I tapped one of the buttons. The picture changed. I thought I had gotten the hang of it and continued. I kept clicking the button I thought was the better option, and after a few minutes, the screen flashed a message: "You have completed the test. Please return the tablet to the administrator."
I slid the tablet back over to the woman, who took a moment to read something. I could almost feel her heart sink. Her eyes widened in shock and fear. She looked to me.
"I don't mean to alarm you, but... the tattoo on your wrist...is a zero, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"That zero... stands for morals." | 2020-05-01T20:51:39 | 2020-05-01T20:33:55 | 230 | 91 |
[WP] You are a dark god. The police raided your temple, arrested your cultists, and ate the pb&j sandwich that your youngest worshiper left on your altar | "You touch my offering, you become my offering." I hiss from the shadows above my altar.
The man looked up from the sandwich and turned to the door, looking for his companions. As he did so pools of darker than dark shadows slithered across the floor towards him. Arms of darkness stretched across the already dark walls reaching for the door.
One tendril reached his foot and bumped it lightly and then coiled upwards. His head swiveled from the door. He looked for what bumped him. Seeing nothing, he tried to back up towards the door. He tripped into the other tendril, still too dark to see, and stopped cold.
The first tendril touched his arm holding the sandwich. He jerked it away, but it then bumped into the second tendril near his right arm. He dropped the sandwich.
Little Jenny worked so hard to make me her perfect lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with just enough jelly! She put her little heart and soul into sharing with me, the goddess of shades, her very favorite, most loved thing.
I couldn't help it, I laughed at the man. He was shaking now, realizing he was cornered by unseen things. I had the sandwich delicately grasped by another tendril right at his eye level.
He screamed as all the tendrils suddenly whipped around his arms and legs. The sandwich still floated before him. He gasped for air as they squeezed tighter.
I sighed as I melted through the tall alter. Tonight I was supposed to appear to bless my loyal followers, instead I'd have to free them. Little Jenny needed me after all. As I stepped through my body took shape of shadowy dust, sparkling like obsidian. I stretched my barely corporeal arms, it was always refreshing regaining a body.
He screamed again, trying to thrash away from me. I stepped closer to him, right through my tendrils that held him so tight. I grabbed his chin with my dusky new fingers and drew my new face closer to him.
I breathed in his breath; I smelled my offering. "I really hope that bite was worth it." I whispered. I breathed his last breath from his body in one long motion.
I gently lay his body before my altar and headed for the door, my tendrils preceding me. Now to see to little Jenny. | I am known as a dark god. But I did not start out, as others would have you believe, evil. Long long ago, in a forgotten age, people prayed to me and offered up animal sacrifices, so that I would shield them from the beasts and monsters hiding in the darkness. Nowadays, guns and artillery have driven back the beasts and monsters far more effectively than I ever could. With their fears erased, humans have all but forgotten me. My temples have fallen into ruin, my followers have been reduced to single digits, and I spend most of my days starving in slumber. Even the few devoted followers I still possess have lost sight of my purpose. They pray not for protection, but for blood and vengeance. Still, I am fond of them. Their prayers and offerings are the only things keeping me from slipping into the void entirely. Little Timmy, by far the most depraved and vicious of them all, even offers me a delicious peanut butter sandwich every week that I always look forward to.
So you can imagine how utterly enraged I was when one day, I awoke to the screaming of the last of my worshippers. I swooped down to Earth, invisible to all, only to find my followers being beaten and dragged through the mud by the police. But even worse, what was utterly unforgivable, was the disgusting cop I saw snacking on MY PB&J SANDWICH. I stared at him with utter rage, wanting to throttle the life out of him, go down to Hell and then throttle him some more.That was when I finally made my decision.
I walked up to the man and plunged one cold finger into his chest. He let out a loud screech and collapsed on the floor, his body shaking wildly. Blood poured from his eyes, ears and mouth as my consciousness seared into his body. I knew then that I had sealed my fate. As an incorporal being, I could have lasted for decades, even with no worshippers. But now that I had possessed a human form, I was bound to a human lifespan with mortal limitations. That didn't matter to me anymore though. I had decided that if I was destined to die, I would rather go out with a bang than quietly starve. Another cop ran up to my new twitching body. "Kevin, can you hear me?!" he shouted in my ear.
I give him a nice blood soaked smile. "Loud and clear." Grabbing my pistol, I fire a shot right through his head. Then, I rise to my feet and fire six more shots before the other officers can even respond. My followers stare at me in shock. Some if them fall down to the ground and begin chanting prayers as loud as they can. Timmy's eyes are so wide that I worry that they're going to fall out of his head. I lower the gun and smile at all of them. "Let's go out in a blaze of glory, shall we?" | 2020-05-19T21:54:56 | 2020-05-19T21:32:31 | 404 | 217 |
[WP] during a hike a young woman came across a wounded snake. pitying it she fed it some water and returned home forgetting all about it. months later, during a mugging she is saved by a man. "who are you?" "i have many names; kur, apep, jormungandr, ouroboros, so on and so forth. take your pick." | I stared at him. None of the names he had just rattled off made any real sense. Just sounded like a bunch of random sounds, but he seemed to be proud of them so I tried to look impressed.
He stared back at me in fascination, like he was studying me. Reminded me of sitting by the water when I was little girl and seeing the eyes of gators staring back. It was the kind of stare a creature gives when it decides not to hurt you, but still easily could.
The man himself was a stark contrast to the bleak and filthy alley we found ourselves in. He was wearing a dark, well fitted suit with snake skin boots. He reached out his hand to help me off the ground. I noticed his nails were well manicured and painted a deep shimmering green. As he helped me up I couldn’t help but realize how strong and cold his fingers were as they wrapped around my hand.
Now standing, I saw he was about my height, if not a few inches shorter. I could easily stare into his eyes if I wasn’t distracted by the small line of dark liquid that dribbled from the corner of his mouth. I shivered and nervously looked over towards the dark shape that had been my attacker not five minutes ago. His face was bloated and purple, and on his neck were two ruby puncture wounds.
I quickly backed aware from my savior. My heart, having just calmed from the would be mugging, began to furiously pound once more. The suited man made no movement, but instead quietly observed me. He didn’t blink.
“You showed my children great kindness once.” He spoke clearly but it sounded like a whisper. His words seemed to almost tickle my ears. “I have kept a close eye on you since. You are far from the lush fields you once called home.”
Home. I thought wistfully of my county town back in Kansas. Long summer days hiking through the long fields. Helping the occasional woodland critter that I would pass. On more than one occasion I would rescue snakes from the traps the farmers set. It had been the serpent’s home long before it had been ours so I believed they had every right to live there freely. The suited man was right, this big city was far from home.
I thought of how cold the city seemed. Surrounded by so many people but constantly alone. No warmth to be found anywhere. The man spoke again. “You left the warm grasses to seek new knowledge, and to experience the world in its many wonders.” He spat down toward the shape of the mugger. “Often in the world of man you will find only cruelty.” He paused then turned slowly back to me. “Would you like to see more than just what this world has to offer?” He held his other hand out towards me. It was an offering, not a command. A glittering rainbow ring sparkled from his finger.
I stepped toward him, heart still racing but less now from fear. This dangerous man had shown me greater kindness than I had seen in years. I took his hand and he smiled. His sharp, needle-like fangs glinted under the light of the street lamp. “You know who I am, now what may I call you kind one?”
I smiled back and answered.
“Eve.” | “You’re not supposed to be on this side of town.” The officers stepped out of the squad car and brandished their batons. Wood meeting palm in a show of aggression sent shivers down my spine as I backpedaled through the alleyway, attempting to avoid confrontation.
“I have every right to be here, just as much as you two. But I will leave without a fuss if that’s what you want, officer!” Adrenaline coursed through me as my back finally reached the cold stone that marked the end of my escape route. Now, all that stood before me was a long run to freedom blocked by “law enforcement.”
“Son, you have the wrong address. Now go on and get out of here.”
“I can’t! You’re in my way.”
“We’re not trying to stop you. Come on out and empty that wallet for good measure.”
“I need food tonight… I haven’t eaten in days.” The pangs of hunger overwhelmed my senses as the thought of going without nourishment loomed before me.
“Now I’m going to count to three, and you better be hightailing it out of here without your cash.”
Fight or flight kicked in and I attempted to sprint between the two men before wood whistled through the air and cracked against my temple, causing my skull to feel as if it had been put between two cymbals. My feet buckled under my suddenly heavy body and my head hit the ground. Blood streamed out of an open cut on my forehead and I could hear the faint mutterings of the shorter officer chastising the other. “Way to go, Bill. One-way ticket to paid administrative leave.” They laughed and left me on the ground. My ears still ringing from the deadly blow, the ripples their night-black shoes caused in the puddles of fresh rain broke against my face.
A man shrouded in black emerged from behind the brick at the entrance of the alley and began walking toward the officers so as to cut them off from reaching their car. “Move out of the way sir, you don’t want any trouble,” the taller officer warned while palming his taser. “Oh, I don’t – but I think you do.” The man in black lunged with superhuman speed at the man who just spoke and seemed to bite into his neck, wringing him to the ground as he screamed before his neck was finally broken.
A man of larger stature may have been more resolute in the face of horror, but the short cop began running away the instant fangs hit the neck of his partner. Splash. Splash. Splash. He made an effort to get away and more water hit my face before his legs were swept out from under him. Landing only a few feet away from me, he tried crawling to me and screaming, “Help!” I knew that I had to be dead. I’ve had my fair share of trips and none amounted to this total destruction of reality.
The fangs suck into his neck as well, and as the light left his eyes his skin turned black and crumbled into a fine powder, resembling the color of the clothes on my savior-murderer. Having somewhat recovered from my head bashing, I looked up to see a pair of yellow eyes peering out of a scaled face. “Blood for blood. You replenished mine and I avenged yours.” He seemed to speak as if our minds connected for a brief instant. No words reverberated in the space around us. “Now, sleep. For I have need of you when you wake.” With that, he was gone. Blood continued to darken the now red pool of water around my body and my world turned to black.
-
Two medical examiners examined the body of the dead woman per standard policy for all police-related killings. “Did you hear from the paramedics about the scene?” “No. What did they see?” “It’s not what they saw, it’s what they heard. She was mumbling about snakes as her pulse went quiet.” “Strange world, man.” | 2020-06-21T20:35:09 | 2020-06-21T14:47:54 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | William grabbed a recliner out of thin air, sat down, made some snacks of his own, and began to watch it as though his life were on a projector screen.
He witnessed his birth and early months where his mother got into a car accident, leaving his father to raise him by himself for a couple of years since the grandparents died before William was even an atom. Saw how his childhood was shaped by his step-mother who dotted on William and his father, making plenty of memories there. Dear dad teaching him to not let the bullies get to him, to prove William was better than them. The teenage years are where he met his first and second romances; both not lasting very long before he graduated high school with slightly-above average marks. From there saw how apprenticeship went as a carpenter, learning tricks of the trade before meeting his destined lover before he was finished trade school.
Married in their late 20s and having a boy of their own before William’s dad passed away from cancer a few months later. Soon after we’re twin girls at the age of 30, raising them being easier thanks to step-mom, now a grandma who spoils the 3 children rotten. 52 is when his step-mother passed away herself peacefully with William, his wife, and 3 kids at her side. Retirement at 74 when he figured he had enough of building for other people, wanting to create wood art in his senior years. Celebrating his 50th golden anniversary with his beloved, their 3 kids, and 8 grandkids of their own was one of William’s favourite days; just wished his dad and step-mom had a chance to see. It wouldn’t be until at 103 years of age that William figures he lived long enough, and with a long deep breath, he took his final sleep with his wife at his side, knowing she wouldn’t be too far from following him next.
William watched the same thing a couple more times, knowing he could change the outcome of things, but never doing so. Would he have wanted to meet his biological mom? Absolutely he figured, but then William would never get to meet his step-mom, and who knows what else would change from there. The way he looked at it all, it was all meant to happen to come to this conclusion.
Through a wrinkled smile and a glimmer in his jade-like eyes, William softly spoke “I think that’ll be it for now. Maybe watch it again later if I get the chance.”
“You’re not going to do anything to change?” Death asked from behind the recliner with scales in hand. Perplexed at the old man, Death’s red orbs for eyes followed the turn of William’s head to face the reaper.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Grinning at the shadow covered skeleton with eyes closed, proud of what he had accomplished in it.
Death’s hollow voice rang softly through the air around them “Most choose to edit a thing or 10. Some change entire outcomes to their ends from certain points. Few ever leave it unchanged save for some hair-dye there or a change of scenery here. Fewer still leave it as is, such as you. Why?”
William turned back around to the projector screen, with some tears starting to run down his eyes.
“I suppose that this is as good as it would ever get. I had a pretty good run. I don’t think changing anything about that life would make it any better or worse. It was mine and I’m proud of it.”
Death nodded then stepped beside William, before turning to show the old man a glowing passage with mist coming through it.
“The scales have judged you William. They find you kind and worthy of heaven, you may now step forward when you are ready.” The voice echoing through the infinite void surround them.
“Yeah, I suppose it’s time. But would you mind if I give it another watch before leaving?”
“You can watch it again in the clouds above, why here?” The skeletal figure tilted their head curiously.
“True, but I figure you wouldn’t mind joining me and having some snacks if you want to.”
Another reclining chair popped into existence besides William. Patting the seat welcoming the deathly figure to join.
“I suppose, no harm after all.”
And so two ancient beings, one countless more eons older than the other, watched a man’s life together with their feet kicked up and backs relaxed on their chairs. When they were done, both bid each other good-bye, before the younger of the two vanished into the white fog of heaven. | "So you're telling me I can do literally anything? No consequences?"
*The angels or whatever they were looked shifty but nodded. I didn't think anything of it... So many possibilities, now at my literal fingertips.*
"Ok, I'm ready. Do it." *Suddenly, darkness, before... Blinking... I was awake? Looking around it was my childhood bedroom, with all my old toys. Was that some kind of weird dream? It sounded more likely than thinking I had ever been a 34 year old dead woman. Yawning I went back to sleep, though I wasn't aware of a slight tingling in my hand, and a very animate bear now nuzzling it...*
*Yawning I looked around the room and at the small thing curled up in my hand. Wait a sec, I didn't have a pet! Screaming I instinctively threw the furry mass in my hand across the room where it lay, seemingly inanimate once more. What the heck? What was that doing there? The thought was cut short as my parents ran in with a, "What is it honey?". I hid my shock as I pointed at the bear on the floor, still in a heap. I almost felt guilty but I assumed that it must have been from some weird waking dream...*
"So wait, she has godlike powers and the first thing her subconscious does is give temporary life to her toy? That's kinda cute, gotta be a point in her favour right?"
"I dunno, she did throw it across the room and knocked him out, so I guess we just have to see..."
*The years flashed by, by the time I was a teenager I had realised what I could do. I had no explanation as to how I received the powers, I only knew that when I clenched my hand, whatever I wanted just... Happened. Being a teenager I of course used it to make myself look hotter. Bigger ass here, slightly larger boobs there, I even made my lips bigger. So what if it made me look like a bimbo? I was way more popular than I ever was before...*
*By the time I was in my 20s, I had everything I wanted. A mansion, a cute bf, even a sea of dogs that stayed perpetually young and cute. With a twist of my hand their bowls got filled with whatever treats they wanted, same thing could be said for my boyfriend, though all he seemed to want to do was coast off my wealth. I had thought about kicking him out but whatever, he was cute and I felt lonely on my own. I drew the line at messing with other people, even though I totally could. A few years back I made my parents forget the joint they found in my room. Hadn't stopped me smoking but the unease I felt when their faces smoothed out, those angry lines vanishing... I couldn't do that again.*
*My life was easy, I of course used my powers to help others, it wasn't even hard, just one clench and they somehow got millions in anonymous funding, same could be said for my bank account, of course reality seemed to twist around me to the point no one thought it odd that a 23 year old was one of the richest people on the planet with seemingly no legitimate way she could have gained that much money. 'Oh well, the world is my oyster', I thought...*
*Boom*
*All of a sudden I was floating in space, looking out into the stars. Twisting I looked over and... What the fuck was that... That's not what I thought it was... Right?*
*Looking in front of me, I saw billions of people and animals dead and floating, the world they were dependant on now a large piece of seafood...*
"Shit, shit, shit"
*I felt my extremities freeze over before my brain went dark...*
*Waking up in a pure white room, I saw 3 winged creatures looking at me...* "Eli?", *One of them said to me, "Your test is complete, welcome back to the afterlife..." *I was confused and stunned, my brain still fuzzy from oxygen deficiency as I took a few deep breaths.*
"You lived a good life, were generous, you gave to the poor, helped rid the world of its oil dependency, but all of that was cancelled out by the billions you killed with a stupid idiom. The world has literally become your oyster. As we speak, in your alternate reality a new form of life is being created that exclusively eats oyster shell, and a civilization of humanoids has been born anew, but we can't look past the apocalypse you caused. You're going down."
*I was stunned, 'it was an accident!', I wanted to scream, but as I fell, the air was sucked from my lungs as I feel deeper and deeper, a salty smell rising to meet me. I was in the ocean, I could feel my shell close around me. All was black, but I knew what had happened. A rather fitting punishment for the most dangerous human in history...*
(I hope you enjoyed my silly story based off of an awful joke :D) | 2020-07-20T03:16:22 | 2020-07-20T03:07:45 | 1,541 | 68 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | The ship was derelict, a ruined husk floating gently in the Rividian asteroid belt. The bodies of its crew hung eerily in the vacuum, faces frozen in horror.
"Poor bastards" thought Yhellen as she flew through the corridors, surrounded by an air bubble she'd conjured. They had emerged from their interstellar flight in the belt and immediately collided with a Type 2 asteroid. It cut through the hull and caused a total systems failure by the looks of it. Well Arcinium would do that.
Yhellen was confused though, the ship should've survived. If it was an Arcinium magi-core then the sigils should've preserved the atmosphere. Sigils that she hadn't seen so far.
So maybe it was a Prayership, but there was a distinct lack of altars. But then again what these...humans deemed an altar was unknown. Their ship was spartan by Fulian standards, the only things that might pass as altars was a gaudy desk in the captains quarters.
Yhellens spell finally reached its end and she could finally understand the humans language. Maybe she could get somewhere now. She flew further into the ship, still confused by the humans lack of drive system. Finally she reached a hatch marked Engine Room. Flicking her wrist, she forced the hatch open with a modicum of arcane pressure.
In the centre of the room was a large cylindrical structure that glowed a dull blue. This must be their magi-core! Yhellen flew closer and inspected a nearby panel that was still active.
“What in the hells is a Matter-Antimatter Reaction Chamber?" | (First ever prompt)
The bustling crowds of the city's viewing room fell silent as the stage shimmered in a bright colorful haze. The anxious crowds fell silent as High Chancellor Dreyeth, one of the great mages of our time slowly came into focus.
"People of Klorel," he bellowed using his powerful voice of the ether.
"By now you will all have seen of the light in the sky, the second sun that has been with us for this past week."
All eyes and ears were now firmly focused on the visage shimmering before them.
"Know that this was not the doing of the maker, but in fact a new race from beyond the stars."
So why was there a second sun in the sky? Why did it grow brighter every day for a week before going silent? How did this new race have the power rivaling that of *the Sun.* And what did it have to do with the new race?
Confused murmurs and a quick glance around showed the utter confusion of the crowds. It *was* the Great Temples duties to manage Klorel's ethereal-anchor wasn't it?
"Many of you will be asking why there has yet to be an announcement from the Great Temples on the arrival of this new race."
"That is because they never did arrive through our Great Temple."
All of the travelers from distant worlds would travel though the Temple one way or another. That's just how *the Maker* made worlds. A great temple upon each for our magics to flow, for the links between the worlds to be held in place, to be anchored. Did this new race know how to travel without needing a link? And where did they come from?
The hushed murmurs picked up to a cascade of noise. Wild speculation was rampant as to how this was possible, and just what in the name of all creation what brought the second sun. High Chancellor Dreyeth looked off to his side and gave curt nod. Before turning his gaze back through the shimmering haze.
The voice of ether boomed from the High Chancellor. "People of Klorel, I present to you the ones responsible for light in the sky, the ones who came forth from the stars by riding atop of the Stars themselves. I give you, Humanity!"
It was the ugliest creature I had ever seen... | 2020-08-08T01:39:31 | 2020-08-07T23:57:16 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed. You, who had lived a fairly normal life, finally saw the count drop to 0 just 200 years after your death. 500 years later, 95% of the Earth’s total population suddenly knows about you. | All men see many sunsets, but for my people, it is said that only 4 matter.
The one of our Birth, where we begin.
The one of our coming of age is where we set out to be known.
The one of our Death, where we join our tribes myths.
The one our name is forgotten. Our people speak long of names, but all names are forgotten.
My birth was was in the season of blooms, where honey blossoms grew plentiful.
As all my people, My coming of age was when I placed my handprint upon the hall of our ancestors to mark the begining of my spirit quest, so as to be remembered as having made it to maturity. I kissed my mother and sister good bye.
The one of my death came upon my spirit quest in the season of short days. I had eaten the last of my dried goat meat, and was following a game path into strange lands when the others began hunting me. Like us, but not. Repulsive.
Like gazing upon water that ripples and seeing the hateful reflection.
They chased me upon a frigid mountain side, shooting hawk sticks from Atlatl.
I fought back, kicking one off the mountain when it happened.
A hawk stick caught me in my shoulder, and my vital essence leaked away, staining the snow red.
I fought on, slashing another of the imposters. He fell away to. His kin retreated then.
I collapsed to my knees, and let my third sunset take me, taking solace that my younger sister might not have to face so many of them upon her journey.
I watched her grow up without me. Sad, but not sad. She told of my name to her children. And they told of me to there's in the hall of ancestors for much time. I lived on, as one of the heroes who never completed his journey to find meaning, forever wandering the stars seeking purpose.
My last sunset came some 200 passings after my third when the tribe was forced to chase mammoth to far from our homelands, and lost the way to our sacred hall. My name was forgotten, and my mind grew still. I knew peace, and moons passed quickly then.
I wandered aimlessly, no longer being drawn to my descendants to bless them. I watched my peoples settle, and begin growing crop. I saw them stack stones taller then trees. I was proud of those who shared my blood for such power. I blessed them all when I could. My blessings came to fruition in moving mountains of wood upon the water that carried them far. I saw them create stones that shined, but cut like ash glass. I saw brave ones fight weak ones. I prayed for them all over incense. In time I saw them shape those gleaming rocks into ever more complex forms pulled by oxen. Then the rocks began to move on there own. I gazed in awe upon my descendants.
I had long lost track of the seasons passings when my 5th sunset came, to much suprise. I was drawn back to my final battle, where men hacked the gleaming rocks into the mountain. My flesh saw sunlight again. A broken mortal vessel of no importance, but I none the less watched as my adopted children lovingly took me away after such time, and embalmed me. The ritauls were strange, but I blessed them for there efforts. They came to know my name again.
I am Otzi, and I bless you who know my name. | 0
It’s been quite a while since I’ve died. I have no recollection of the life I’d lived, much less who I knew when I died. I could barely remember the last time I heard someone say my name. But when I heard it.. it was like a familiar breeze, marking the changing of seasons.
2
Then one day it was like I heard the wind. I was taken aback by the fact that I heard anything at first. I listened closer, I could hear something ripping through the air. As time moved on I knew the sounds of the wind would grow louder just as they did before.
20
I felt a sensation that was once new to me, but now is a welcomed friend. I smiled. I don’t do it often but an occasion like this warranted it. Once I heard the wind turn to whispers, I knew... It was my time to shine again. The sweet whispers of ignorance and stupidity.
1000
“Humans” I said with a chuckle. It always made me laugh they they thought this was death. This one guy figured out our method of retrieval, but his mental state didn’t survive the return trip. He was “dead” for 12 minutes. Some idiot started giving him the tour. (I facepalmed when I saw the report) his name was Patrick something and he told everyone who’d listen about the “afterlife”. He got the “souls” part right, but you’re far from dead when you get to me. However, the amusing thing was that he saw our numbers, his own too. He assumed that was the number of people who knew him as he was alive. Not sure if it was a good thing he left before that was explained. His number was 1.9k
5603.
He went on to convince nearly 2 thousand people that souls go on to another world and we all get numbers and souls can see how many people knew you, or something like that. His influence convinced some people who were even more .. influential. The ideas spread like wild fire.
934550
Excitement was building in me as I started to understand what the whispers were saying. They always had such a barbaric language. Praying? For their lost loved ones? I chuckled again. They were fine living new lives here with us. Many have long since forgotten their family and friends, even made some new ones. No one here really even cares about the numbers.. well no one except me.
2.5M
The numbers represent your influence on the world. It can sometimes correlate to the people who you’ve known (especially after your “death”). In actuality, it really just counts the number of people who are actively thinking about you. So I get where he made that mistake.
66M
But really it’s a sort of contest. A chance, given to every person who leaves earth. A chance to come back. A game.
679M
It’s very slim and only a few will ever come close to winning. But no one has ever gotten a higher number than me.
1.4B
By now the whispers were screams filling the void in what humans would call their ears. I smiled a bigger smile than I had the last time. That time I was excited this time.. I’m ready.
4.8B
I might play in the sand again, they still can’t get over what I did over there. But that’ll have to come after I handle what’s in the water.
6.5B
I put on my metaphorical coat and hat and picking up my keys. Time to go.
7.5B
“Great, it’s night time now. I’m sure They’ll get a kick outta the new lights on my ship this time around”
——this is my first submission on this sub while you all like it. My grammar is a problem I’m not exactly working on so drag me if you want lol I appreciate all kinds of feedback—— | 2020-09-24T06:47:48 | 2020-09-24T06:08:41 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] “hello, how may I help you?” The store owner, who is clearly not human, and wearing a very unconvincing human disguise, greets you as you walk in. | “You can drop the act, Jason, it’s me.” Olivia flipped her ID at the man who stood behind the butcher’s counter. He wore a hairnet, and a face mask on the bottom half of his face, rubber gloves and a leather apron. The hairnet didn’t conceal the short stubs of bone which emerged from his scalp, the same way the gloves didn’t quite conceal the fact that the fourth and fifth fingers were stuffed full of wadded up cotton wool.
“Didn’t see you there,” Jason replied. “There’s a light needs changing in the doorway.” He tugged down his mask to reveal the filed-down teeth. Olivia took a hard look at them, looking for the signs of regrowth that would mean he was breaching his community placement licence.
“This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid,” Olivia said. She cast an eye over the meat counter. Chops, sausages, fillet steak and pork belly at the end. In the corner an apprentice in white and blue wiped down the counter, his back to them both. It was the tail end of the evening: the sign in the window had already been flipped to ‘Closed’.
Jason’s face turned grave. It wasn’t good when the ACPC came calling.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“A couple of children snatched off the streets,” Olivia said. “Look, I tried to cover your back, but you know what the Committee’s like. They want everyone checked out, and with your history… I’m just popping in quickly so I can rule you out for them.”
“I know, I’m the first place you’d look,” Jason spread his hands. “You know I didn’t have anything to do with it. One incident in the nineties and every time some kid doesn’t come home from school there’s a knock at my door.”
“I know that,” Olivia reassured him. “It’s just protocol. Show me round your basement, I’ll take a gander at the cold cuts, and we’ll be out of here in time for Strictly. Let me tick you off my list.”
“Sure, sure,” Jason grumbled. He lumbered out from behind the counter, fishing the key to the basement from his pocket. “Watch your step, it’s kind of dark here, too.”
Olivia followed him down the stairs, hands pressed against each wall. Half listening to Jason’s patter. Luke - her partner - would chastise her for following Jason down into an enclosed space, especially with Jason’s infamous reputation as the hardest decision the Alien Community Placement Committee had ever had to make. She hadn’t even told him she was coming here tonight.
She swore as her hand on the wall caught something sharp, and when Jason flicked the light on at the bottom of the stairs, Olivia caught sight of a smear of blood on her hand. She closed her palm over it, shivering with the sudden cold of the storage room.
“Let me take a quick look around,” she said with false joviality. She was already thinking of the glass of wine and the fuzzy slippers Luke had bought her for secret Santa last year.
“Go for it,” Jason said, standing by the door with his arms folded.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Shrink-wrapped meat, a pig hanging from a hook waiting to be cut up for pork butt and chops and belly. Tall shelves, and in the corner a heap of plastic sheets. The floor was still wet, the drain in the middle of the floor glistening.
“Does your apprentice come down here?” Olivia asked, turning.
Jason had come up behind her and she jumped. His eyes were dilated, his nostrils flared. He struggled to control his face for a moment, and brought himself back to composure with difficulty.
“Sometimes,” Jason said.
“What’s under the sheets? Ostrich steaks?” Olivia forced a laugh and crossed over there a little faster than she’d intended.
“You’ve cut yourself,” Jason said. He crossed the room, and Olivia laughed again. Nervously.
“Just my hand, it’s nothing.”
There was a bang from the top of the stairs, and Olivia glanced towards the noise. Jason took the opportunity to unfold her hand, where she’d cut herself. He lifted the hand to his face and pressed it to his nose, inhaling the coppery smell.
“Jason—” Olivia began to feel properly afraid.
“It was his idea,” Jason said. Drool was collecting at the corners of his mouth. “I resisted, Livvy, I did for you. But you cut yourself.”
He shook his head, composure slipping.
“Why did you have to hurt yourself?”
A tread on the stairs. The apprentice stepped into the basement and lifted his bone saw to the light. | A wide smile was plastered on the man's face.
Lorry was stopped on her tracks for a brief moment. But as she briefly nodded at the man, he simply looked away and continued on with whatever he was doing before. Thoughts of a slight indifference made her annoyed for some reason.
"Excuse me," Lorry said as she inched forth to the man stood at the counter.
"Hello, how may I help you?" the man replied with the same smile.
Lorry was taken aback by the man's smile. Not because of the intensity or friendliness, but rather the lack of anything behind it. The man's eyes were wide open, unlike how someone with a genuine smile would be so.
"I'm looking for a flashlight, think you got a bright one for a good bargain?"
"Of course, one moment please."
As the man made his way to the back of the store, Lorry took her sweet time surveying the store. The shelves were somewhat lacking. Some of the snacks perched near the counter were actually out of date. When she made her way around the aisles, eerie creaking sounds followed her every step.
She was growing impatient with the wait, eyeing the door every other chance she got. But just as she was about to walk out in haste, a familiar voice pulled her back.
"Would this be suitable to your needs?"
"Excuse me," Lorry squinted, "who are you?"
"Why, I'm the proprietor of this establishment–"
"No, no, I don't remember you having a pair of glasses. Heck, I don't think you had a moustache on you!"
The man simply looked on with a straight face. However, Lorry's were anything but straight. Her right hand slowly reached for her hip holster, all the while her feet made a gradual retreat to the door.
Somehow, the man had not taken the cue at all. He simply took the flashlight and beckoned her to come and check it for herself. Of course, by this point she had no intention of shortening the distance – like a cautious child at the playground.
"Stay back, sir, I'm good–"
"But, mam, if this is not to your liking I can always look at the back for something else–"
"NO! Stay where you are or I'll take it as aggression," Lorry took her small gun up to her chest, indicating to the man to not make any movement.
"Well, that's a shame," the man took the flashlight and stored it on the glass shelve on the counter, "have a nice day."
By now, Lorry had managed to exit the store. She holstered her pistol and made a mad dash to her car parked a few metres away. A flicker of lights, coupled by an annoying squeak, and she practically leapt onto the driver seat.
In a desperate attempt, she furiously started drawing the man's face – with and without the moustache – on a small yellow notepad. She scribbled and doodled, clearly struggling to get the right features on display. After a few tries, she also jolted down the defining features in a bullet points.
*White*
*Middle-aged*
*Average height, built*
*Green jacket*
*Thinning hair*
Then, she hit a roadblock. She had no way of knowing for sure about the identity of the man. She cursed herself for not being a bit more inquisitive, simply giving up to her fear. There was only one way she could make up for it.
***
"Hi, I'm sorry about earlier."
The man, this time without a moustache and glasses, turned and smiled as he did before, "Hello, how may I help you?"
"I'm... wondering if... are you from here?" Lorry awkwardly flashed a smile.
"Why, yes. I believe so."
"You... believe so? Can you please tell me your name?"
"My name is... Hold on," the man walked away once more to the back and within 5-seconds returned to the counter, "I'm Dan Miller."
Lorry saw the man had not changed this time around, his moustache was nowhere to be seen and he seemingly didn't need the glasses to see her. Even still, she wondered why the man hadn't flagged her from the disastrous encounter earlier.
"Can I be honest with you, Dan?"
"Yes, mam."
"I think you're gonna have to treat me to lunch and tell me more about yourself–"
"I'm sorry, but I can't leave the place unattended. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Lorry hadn't expected it to be so straight-cut. While for some it would only be expected from such a development, Lorry had other things on her mind.
"Are you human, Dan?"
"..."
"Dan? Would you mind answering–"
"I think you better leave, mam," the man suddenly said in a deeper tone of voice.
All of a sudden, Lorry could see the man changing his facial expression into a sour one. When she pushed forth and grinned at the man, he took out a funny looking gun from underneath the counter.
"I see, well... I think you're quite busy today, so maybe tomorrow?" Lorry asked in a playful manner.
The man didn't respond. Instead, he lifted his free arm and pointed towards the door.
"I'll return, 'Dan'. Maybe I'll bring along some of my friends too, just to help you out with the stock you got lying around–"
"We'll be closed tomorrow for maintenance, please leave."
"Have a nice day, 'Dan'." | 2021-01-23T09:37:52 | 2021-01-23T09:35:12 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You thought creating a universe would be easy. But as these pesky humans kept trying to discover the rules of their reality, you're forced to programme in more and more ridiculous mechanics like "relativity" and "quantum mechanics", hoping humans never found out that they live in a simulation. | It’s getting out of hand. These humans. They are always pushing, always trying to see further and it really is making my job difficult. I’m just a low-level simulation programmer. They don’t pay me enough for this headache.
I miss the days when the humans looked into the stars and saw their ancestors shining back at them. I miss the days when they thought the universe revolved around the earth. Do you know how easy it is to program that simulation? I was able to take breaks, watch my favorite shows. Typing in a few commands to keep everything running smoothly.
But no. Of course, the humans couldn’t stay that way. They were always hungry for knowledge. Always hungry to learn about their place in this universe and, slowly by slowly, they made my life harder.
Ptolemy, Aristotle, Copernicus, Newton. And don’t even get me started on Einstein! That human singlehandedly added at least an extra hour or two a week of programming.
And now quantum theory? String theory? Parallel universes?
I’m going to quit. I tell you, I’m going to quit. Someone else can maintain this universe. I’ll take one without humans, thank you very much. I’ve never seen such a nosy, inquisitive species in all my time as a simulation programmer.
I must admit, I admire them though. Even if they make my life a living hell, I have to hand it to them, the humans never quit trying to understand their place in this simulation. It really is quite beautiful to behold, and I wish them the best of luck.
But I still quit.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | "Ma'am, you're going to want to look at this," the research assistant said rolling back away from the quantum microscope.
"Have you made a breakthrough?" The lead scientist asked as she scrambled over, nearly spilling her coffee in the process. "Have we discovered the hypothesized Hyperion particle?"
"Sort of," all the collisions we detected near the event indicate a Hyperion particle is there, but the actual spot itself is just blank."
"What do you mean blank? Like an equipment malfunction?"
"Like there's nothing there, a black absence of existence like the censure of a forbidding god. One that would rather remain unseen."
"Now you're just showing me why I shouldn't have taken a theater major on the team."
"Professor! It's there, alright! More observations show the Hyperion particle building up and exploding in a singularity, about as bright as the sun. I think you'll want to be aware of your surroundings for the next few minutes."
The entire room shook and all the windows shattered. When the room came to a stop, a purple dot with a swirling center blinked into existence. The world was etched in focus, eons of time, lost continents, ancient oceans and even the Sun itself forming was shown in reverse before the swirling universe began convalescing into the shape of a man.
"Quantum particles don't even exist until you interact with them," the cloaked figure said with a sigh as he stepped into reality. "Do you know how hard that was to get to work? Now, not only have you nosy humans found those, but you've gone and found the God particle too."
"Umm, are you...Oh" the professor said.
"Oh, what? are you going to calculate that my name's Dave now?"
"So, the Hyperion particle is the way in which you, guiding creator, indirectly influence the world, creating stricter rules to contain us within what must be a simulation?"
"I made you guys way too smart." The figure said, shaking his head before he leaned down and touched the tile floor. "That's my problem."
"What are you doing?" The professor asked, looking down at the strange figure.
"I'm holding down the power button." He said wearily.
And all that was was not again.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-03-29T09:04:24 | 2021-03-29T08:43:05 | 548 | 324 |
[WP] You thought creating a universe would be easy. But as these pesky humans kept trying to discover the rules of their reality, you're forced to programme in more and more ridiculous mechanics like "relativity" and "quantum mechanics", hoping humans never found out that they live in a simulation. | It was fun at first, creating bullshit rules on a whim, just to enrich the lore. Then the humans started the stupid trend of 'fuck around and find out '.
I had to pull an all-nighter, cash in a favour and even ask my mom for advice. After all that I was finally ahead of the curve but unfortunately, it was not to last.
The rate at which discoveries were being made was ridiculously fast and it was only getting faster. Nowadays, every other person has a telescope, microscope or 3d printer at hand.
I have been going crazy, so much effort put into this and now I have to put in more!?
I need to stop this. I need a diversion for these hairless apes with no respect for my sleep schedule-I mean laws of nature.
Wait... I have an idea.
Pulling up my photo editing software I open up one of the images I saved. Captioning it-
"Reject science, return to monke"
I post it on Reddit. There, crisis averted. Though if this doesn't work I'll have to pull the plug on this one. | I’m so tired. So, so tired. Create a universe, they said. It would be fun, they said. It’ll be a blast, they said.
Well, that was one complete pile of BS.
For the last several dozen thousand years, I’ve been able to keep my creation entertained with religion and mysticism, the glitches and shadowy laziness explained away with spirits and devils. However, as this program’s progressed, these AIs have gotten smarter, to the point that they now see little value in such things. Instead, they prefer to take apart my beautiful creation piece by piece, hacking apart the laws and rules and seeking to understand them, pushing the limits of not only the world I’ve built, but the limits of what I can pull off.
It’s gotten so bad, I haven’t slept in 300 of their years.
To be fair, that’s, like, 30 of my years, so it’s not too bad. I mean, the delirium hasn’t quite kicked in yet, and I’ve only gone through 16 different assistants in the last five months, so I can still take more. It’s not as bad as… oh, about 20 years ago, when I had to work 33 hours a day. My wife seems to be worried, however - it seems she thinks this simulation’s taking up too much of my time. She’s just jealous of my dedication. That’s all. Heh heh heh.
I’m okay. As long as I have this 50-litre keg of coffee, these four cans of energy drinks, and this truckload of Boost every day, I should be fine. Ha ha ha! I’m perfectly okay. It’s not like this is… my…
Oh gosh.
I can’t do this anymore.
Someone help.
Please…
These humans are CRAZY.
Please… | 2021-03-29T08:24:53 | 2021-03-29T07:53:16 | 308 | 183 |
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth. | \[Poem\]
The New War
&#x200B;
Of old we came
With thunder and flame
With blades and helms
unto lesser realms
&#x200B;
None could resist
And with iron fist
Kings and Lords we slew
As our empire grew
&#x200B;
For something we own
That know we alone
And all peoples cower
To our magical power
&#x200B;
Fire and light,
With lightning we smite
Water and storm,
The lands we transform
&#x200B;
Though now we've discovered
A new and strange land
And all of our power
They can withstand
&#x200B;
For they too have a might
Akin to our own
To all of our realms
A strength yet unknown
&#x200B;
The thunder they bring
In long tubes of steel
And their steelen carts
Make our warriors kneel
&#x200B;
But still there is hope
And we will not yield
We meet our new foes
On the battlefield | "We have a fire order. It came across all channels but it's garbled. We can't authenticate." The comms officer held my gaze just long enough to confirm that I'd heard him, and turned back to his terminal, emotionless.
Everyone on the command deck grew suddenly more silent, even as new lights and sirens indicating major emergencies added to the chorus. I shared glances with my peers, to see if their shoulders felt as mine suddenly did.
All terrestrial communication had been down for almost an hour, anyone without access to satellite communication has been off the grid, and even the satcoms are shaky.
"These locations don't make sense!" another officer exclaimed, her voice strained.
Confirmed nuclear launch. That means Biden ordered it three minutes ago. If he ordered it. No authentication. No challenge codes. Nothing.
I... must have been out of my body for a moment, the female officer was right in front of me now, pleading look on her face. She'd been speaking... crying... "Please... don't fire... my family..."
I looked at the display of the station she'd stood up from. The targets were... domestic. Foreign. Everywhere. That was everything we had. The deck grew somehow more ominous; emergency floods came on, and the world map dominating the majority of the front of the room began to sparkle with activity across the globe.
Each yellow and red streaking line on the screen representing a weapon of mass destruction. Each trajectory inexplicable.
I'm about to die. I have one order. I look around the room for the other keys I need. I meet eyes with one. I see two already fighting, I don't know who is with me and who isn't, but we don't need either if.... there's one more... We meet eyes. The third key.
We all nod. | 2021-06-26T01:25:23 | 2021-06-25T21:28:18 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] The Mary Sue of a story becomes obsessed with a side-character when they do something impossible... they reject the Mary Sue. This leads to the Mary Sue using their ‘powers’ to attract them and the side-character being completely apathetic to their attempts. | "Gary, Gary, come over here!"
Gary slowly walked over to the sound of Mary's voice, already feeling a sense of dread building inside of him. Ever since he had rejected the self proclaimed Beauty of the Ages, Master of a Thousand Talents, Champion of the Ages and the Greatest Hero to Ever Walk the Mortal Realm, Mary Lestrea Strenheim Alerie Edevane had been behaving increasingly desperate to earn his love during the last few days. It had been very ... uncomfortable to say the least.
"Yes, Mary, you called for me, how may I ..." Gary's voice trailed off as he stared at the bizarre scene in front of him. A smiling Mary was waving at him while standing next to three wagons stuffed to the brim with the bodies of plucked geese.
"Uh...are we having a feast that I am aware of?" said Gary slowly, unsure what to make of whatever Mary was planning.
Mary laughed. "Nope! But watch what I can do now!" She clapped her hands together and chanted something in a ancient language. A bright shining pillar of light suddenly came down from the heavens to surround her that was so blinding that Gary had to temporarily avert his gaze. When the light faded, he turned back to Mary, only to be shocked by what he saw.
All of the dozens and dozens of dead geese had not only been revived, but were now each covered in a coating of gleaming diamonds. They let out a loud simultaneous honk and blasted off into the sky, where somehow all of the clouds before had vanished and a triple rainbow had formed. As Gary kept watching, the geese flew together to form a single glowing message: "Do you love me now?"
Gary looked back down to a hopeful Mary and awkwardly shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry, Mary, but like I said before, I am not in love with you."
Mary sighed, an annoyed expression appearing on my face. "Damn it, and to think I wasted a half hour developing that spell." A light suddenly appeared in her eyes. "I know what will work. I'll get you one of those lost ancient treasures from the legends of old. That will surely make you fall in love with me," she muttered to herself.
"Uh, Mary, that really isn't necessary..." Gary's voice trailed off. Mary had already vanished from his sight. Judging by the sudden blazing path that had appeared next to him, she had already passed over the horizon. Gary sighed to himself as he stared off into the distance. Just how far was she going to take this? | (Word of warning I don't write so this is probably formatted all wrong, but I figured I'd throw my hat ((and a little satire)) into the ring)
Rey just finished defeating the Sith for the eighth time this week. She seems to fulfill the prophecy every day now it seems. As she reaches down to grab "her" new lightsaber she exclaims aloud: "Another fine addition to my collection." There's a thunderous applause from throughout the room. Rey could've sworn she heard someone screaming her name over and over, but she doesn't seem to care and moves on.
-------
Later at a bar Rey orders her drink. All the patrons swoon over her and ask her just how she does it. How in the world did she beat the Fifth Empire so easily, how does she understand every language no matter how obscure, how can she pilot anything even without training. Unfortunately for them Rey has learned a secret. A secret so strong so powerful that just knowing it could change everything. She has learned that for whatever reason, no matter what she does the universe will rewrite itself to fit with whatever she says she can do. If she truly *believes* that she can do something, even the strongest of logics and understandings of the universe will be altered to her whim. So she tells them in the best way possible for their feeble child like minds to understand that she will never actually tell them: "That's a good story, for another time." The crowd begins to disperse as Rey is on her 10th drink without so much as a buzz. Even the strongest alcohol is no match for her. Just as she is going for another sip, the unthinkable happens. A stranger bumps into her and causes her to spill her drink. She expects that once she turns around he will be groveling at her feet trying his best to get an apology. The man keeps walking.
"Excuse me!? Just who do you think you are? I'll have you know I've defeated the Sith over 100 times! I blew up 7 Death Stars! I killed my own clone Reey! I even sailed a ship in Cloud City!" Her words fall on deaf ears.
The man keeps walking. In fact he doesn't stop until he reaches a dark corner of the bar and sits down at a table. Rey asks the bartender what that guys problem is and instead the bartender just offers her all of his dry clothes and even hands her the keys to the bar itself. Rey begins to ponder. "How is this possible? I am to be beloved by all who allie themselves with the republic. Is he a Sith? No, I would've sensed he was the moment he entered the bar..."
Rey strides up to the stranger. "Do you know who I am!" she said calmly.
"I don't remember askin for your name." said the stranger.
"Well allow me to introduce myself so we can get things squared away then shall we. My name is Lord Master Rey Solo Skywalker Palpatine and you just spilled a drink on me. How do you plead?"
"Miss, I don't really care who you are. I'm only here for one thing and one thing only."
"And what's that?"
"Ya wanna buy some death sticks?" | 2021-07-11T07:11:11 | 2021-07-11T06:42:10 | 563 | 115 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Very few people get chosen as a gardener. It is looked down upon heavily. Yet, who provides the wood for the handles of knives for the chefs and rogues? The vegetables to sustain adventurers? Those who live in towns need not worry for food, the Ranchers and Gardeners provide them with sustenance.
You might wonder why we aren't called farmers. That's because farmers are people who are other classes who shift into plant growing. Though, farmers are looked on upon with joy and pride. Why? Why them? I keep people alive! Not those fools with no goddamn clue with what they're doing! They make so much less than us with 2 times the land. I have to deal with these pissants stomping all over my crops! My carrots, my corn! Hell, even my goddamn cabbages! The ranchers somehow don't have it better! People kill their livestock for free experience! Fuck those whoresons!
Ahem, my apologies. I lost my temper. So, I plant trees. Oak, spruce, mesquite, mahogany, birch, and a few others. I provide gunsmiths and blacksmiths with wood so they can forge better handles, grips, the sorts. I let these trees grow pretty big. Adventurers, some horny bastards, and the recently deceased Silus Quix. Yup, that Silus Quix, the dragon slayer, the savior of our fine city. Poor lad, he was stomping on some roses, which I don't grow for anyone but myself, he got a thorn through a bad part of his armor, jumped back in pain... Then, he uh, tripped over a mahogany tree's roots. Now, plate armor is heavy, so the tree shook pretty hard when he tripped.
A branch broke off, and you know how heavy mahogany is, so it landed on his unprotected neck. Crushed his windpipe, and he died pretty damn quickly. But the kicker is, I got credit for killing him. Level went up to 57. Now, if any gardeners out there wonder what happens when you level up. Let me tell you.
I went out the next day after taking Silus to the church to be buried, and the trees I planted yesterday were already half-grown. The crops I had planted weren't. Apparently, the gardener has separate experience pools for crops and trees.
That's it. Nothing else happened. Things just grow faster. They might grow stronger, but I haven't noticed anything different with the trees. Altogether, it really isn't worth it. Don't kill for experience. | Swords. Their metal sings, a testimony to their maker. Coin. It jingles temptingly, a way of speaking their handler may know. But even with a forest of swords, and an ocean of gold, it is all for naught. For when there is no animals, no fruit, and not even a single stubborn strand of grass resisting the earth's embrace, they will all struggle. A blade with no master has lost its edge, as fat pouches clinging feed not the hungry.
&nbsp;
Do you want to know why humans fight in this world? Power and fame, are common desires. But what one truly seeks is beauty. True beauty. The kind that, once you see it, makes one wish to gouge their eyes out, knowing that the world loses its sheen after they set sight on such a splendour.
&nbsp;
I am no warrior, I am no trader. I am better.
I am the maker of that beauty.
&nbsp;
War makes the hungry starving. The breadmakers toil, the farmers work to death. Not me. I am but a gardener. I tend to the flora that makes a princess pale in comparison. I make them reveal their sweet nectars for the little buzzing ones. I guide them to a blossom, and I lead them unto their withering. Every flower, a soul. Every stem, a pathway to the mind. The roots, a part of their little beating hearts. I feel shame when they die so soon, and pride when they show themselves to the world.
They call me weak. They laugh, laugh at the little spirits within the petals. Let them, as they do not see the world the same. Ignorance is forgiven in the eyes of those who know. I know what I shall, and they know what they will. It is not my place to judge the unworthy.
They trample the gardens. They cut the branches. They burn the gateway to life itself. I am weak, but the hearts will defend. I am nothing, the flowers everything. I lend my being to their knowledge. They whisper, tell me how they can aid me. But not yet, they say. I must wait, and wait I will.
&nbsp;
There is another in the garden, one with killing intent. The flora told me. I've heard of him, he who creeps in the shadows. But there are no shadows in this home, no darkness. Only light. Only purity. I know, because the flora told me. I'll be safe, the flora told me.
&nbsp;
I plant a seed.
&nbsp;
The place is silent. I hear rustling.
&nbsp;
I plant another seed.
&nbsp;
It's getting closer. I must not fear, because the flora told me not to.
&nbsp;
I plant another.
&nbsp;
He dives. I know what will happen, because the flora told me.
&nbsp;
I plant again.
&nbsp;
He stumbles. Into the roses. Into the fatal elegance.
&nbsp;
I plant a final seed.
&nbsp;
Blood tends to the roses. Less water will be needed, now.
&nbsp;
I water the seeds.
&nbsp;
The plants tell me to know my new strength. I listen. | 2021-09-09T21:21:23 | 2021-09-09T20:52:32 | 63 | 31 |
[WP] "You see there isn't actually a dragon" explains the King. "We just spread the rumour around so that warriors and knights will bring their best and most expensive magical gear, which we then sell after we poison them." | “Your ingenuity and sense of opportunity are unparalleled, my Lord” the woman said. The King tugged proudly at his beard as he examined the woman. Her form was tall and slender, elegant, with curled raven black hair reaching her lower back. Even at a distance he was taken by those eyes of hers. An ice blue so faint they were almost silver. The woman had arrived in town mere days earlier, when she requested audience with the King. The King had heard stories of the arrival of a beauty unlike any the townsmen had ever seen, and he gladly accepted her request.
“In these unsure times one must take opportunity where it presents itself, and create it in its absence, my dear.” The king said proudly. Since they had met, the King had found himself divulging things to this strange woman that he would not admit to his own wife. He found nothing strange in this, for he had given it no thought. He was caught up in her beauty and had eyes and time for little else. When the woman had inquired into the workings of the local economy, the King had told her of the wheat, the cattle, and the lucrative bit of treachery.
“I know it may seem untasteful to some; however, these men die heroes!” The King clenched his fist as he said ‘heroes’. “Their names are spoken of throughout the lands, and my trusted people are sure to fabricate the most impressive tales of how close the hero came to slaying the dragon in order to ensure this.” The King paused, frowned pensively, and added “and to ensure a steady stream of new heroes, of course.”
“Of course.” She agreed, nodding her head in what the King saw to be a deep understanding. The King smiled, recognizing her appreciation for his planning.
The room was dark, and barely lit from the small torch the woman held in her hand. She walked around the length of the rounded wall, examining some of the mounted items carefully and bringing the torch close. The King stood in the middle of the room, content to watch her as she marveled at some of the King’s prized possessions. Some armor, weapons, and jewelry that belonged to the fallen heroes that the King could not bring himself to sell.
“In these stories your trusted men tell, what drives the dragon, my Lord?” She asked. The King thought for a moment, staring at the floor pensively and replied “The simple need for destruction. It will kill man and not feed on them, it will steal wealth and not profit off it. It will-“the King’s words cut off as he looked back at the woman. She was no longer circling the room and admiring its contents. She stood by the wall facing the King, and where her beautiful, pouting lips had been was a scaled muzzle, the flesh that had been their moments before in bloody ribbons dripping off the muzzle. The beautiful blue-silver eyes he adored seemed to bulge from their sockets, and blood ran like tears from the torn ducts. The Muzzle opened and the King saw the sharp and jagged teeth. From the open muzzle came out a horrible, deep and guttural voice. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my Lord.” The voice said, as the figure before him fell to all fours and advanced on him. The torch the woman had been holding fell with a clatter, and before the flame died the King saw what approached him. The flawless pale skin he so admired ripping in bloody explosions and dripping down to the floor, to reveal a hideous and scaled form. The flame of the torch died suddenly, and the King was left hyperventilating in an overwhelming fear, unable to move, in darkness. “We do feed on men” the voice said again, and before he could react the King felt claws sink into both shoulders, and as he screamed in pain he felt his head being enveloped somewhere wet, warm, and stinking of death. His lifeless, headless corpse crumpled to the ground. | "I'm not equipped to fight a dragon," Sir Tarquin insisted to the shopkeeper shilling outside her store. He stayed seated on his riding horse, his charger being led by a servant beside him. "As you can no doubt see," he said pointing to the packhorse at the rear of his caravan, "I have brought only tournament jousting equipment on this journey."
"Oh, I see, no doubt, no doubt, My Lord. And I see as well the laurel upon your brow. A great victory you have surely had at the tournament. It is this only that has made me approach you, for only a great lord such as yourself could afford to equip himself to best the foul beast that has ravaged our land. And only a skillful knight such as yourself could hope to overcome the speed of it's sharp claws." Julia folded her hands in a prayer as she praised Sir Tarquin's ability. He puffed out his chest as she described him.
She continued her sales pitch. "Our king has charged me to stop only those worthy. The equipment in my shop has been consigned by the king himself to be sold only to those able to rid us of this horrible creature. It is equipment not meant for base and low hands such as this village possesses."
Julia saw in his eyes that she had hooked him. With some travelers she had to go on to explain how the village maidens or youthful lads would surely reward the fearsome hero. Sir Tarquin waved over his squire to hold his horse while he went inside.
The shop was a single room, the bed in the back being hidden by a musty velvet curtain. A few items adorned the walls and shelves, but the focus was a single armor stand in the middle of the room. The armor it held was a gleaming mail shirt, fastened all over with red scales. The neck was rimmed with the black claws of a dragon. A helmet hung with it, shining silver with four dragon horns sprouting as a crown. Standing next to them was a broad-headed ebony spear, reaching nearly to the ceiling.
"Feel them, my lord. You will feel the magic flowing through them. The king has told me that the enchantments upon them will make any knight immune to the flames and claws of a dragon, so long as his courage is true. The spear will pierce the hide of the most arcane creature. I have, as well, other items for your squire, a baldric, sword, and shield to stand by your side."
Sir Tarquin strode forward to the armor. "Oh, verily, I do feel the magic. What has your king commanded you to ask for in exchange for this armor."
"A token only, my lord. Twenty gold. A mere deposit to dissuade cowards and charlatans. The true price we ask is the end of the terrible dragon. You will be repaid a hundredfold from the monster's treasury." Julia accompanied this speech with a graceful curtsy and stayed lowered with her knees bent. "Will you accept the quest?"
Sir Tarquin answered with a yell. "Squire, bring my purse. Tonight we hunt a dragon!"
The townsfolk gathered, promising to prepare a feast for their triumphant return. Julia aided Sir Tarquin's servants in fitting him in the armor.
"Careful, good peasant. This claw did scratch my neck."
"Oh, forgive me, my lord. I will leave your servants to help and assist your squire with the baldric. One word of advice, my lord. Mayhaps you should take the rest of your purse with you. The king has said that the dragon could be lured into a trap with the use of gold."
"Your king gives good advice, good woman. It shall be done." Sir Tarquin mounted his charger, leaving the riding horse in the care of his servants. He took up the ebony spear and had his servants attach his pennant to it. He waved to his squire to mount his own horse. "Come, Squire. To glory!" Lifting the spear, he galloped off towards the old cave to which Julia had pointed him.
Julia waved them off and then turned to the townsfolk. "You three, distract the servants. Big John and Little John, go after the knight. Make sure to wait until the poison is finished this time. And make sure to get that charger, it's worth ten times as much as the other horse."
Sir Tarquin's blood-covered pennant would be found the next day, the only token his servants had to return to his estate. And the legend of the Dragon would continue to grow.
\[More at r/c_avery_m\] | 2021-11-16T12:24:59 | 2021-11-16T11:09:15 | 63 | 41 |
[WP] You've died and have arrived in the Afterlife and surprisingly, The Afterlife has its own "Internet" which is slightly different from ours, While exploring it, You stumble upon a forum that asks the question "How did you die", And the posts begin to get more disturbing as you scroll down | It started of pretty normal, whatever normal would mean nowadays. Someone died because of a car crash, someone else fell off a platform, another one died from a plane crash. I observed all of them and sighed. It was sad to read those stories. Like - some of those were as young as 10,15 years of age, they had literally not even tasted a little bit of life so far.
I reached for my keyboard to type something,when I scrolled just far enough down to see another post. *I died because my mother couldn't accept me.* My eyes widened. Oh wow, now it got intense. A split second later, I put my hands off the keyboard and reached for the mouse to scroll.
It was a horrendous story of a young man who had been madly in love with his boyfriend for over two years. And one day, as his mother visited by surprise, it escalated. In a bad manner. Very bad. It was gut wrenching to read the story but it got me hooked.
Because this was not the end.
I ended up reading stories of people dying of various illnesses until I stumbled upon a very interesting story.
"I sacrificed my sister and died anyways. Karma is real."
I clicked on it to read. "My older sister was willing to let her life for me. I mean, she technically thought she was doing it as a sacrifice but actually I was just way too scared to stand up for myself. I told her I would meet up with someone who tried to blackmail me and she was ready to come with me to fight him off. But actually I was meeting up with the boss of the gang I got involved with back in the day. Although she was a police officer, I knew she wouldn't be able to fight him - them - off. And yes. They took her."
I took a break from reading this and stared at the letters on the screen.
"They found her the next day. Skinned, cut into pieces, scalped. I didn't even want to know what of this was done to her whilst she was alive."
Another break.
"And yes, the very next day, even before the police could identify her, they came and got me."
My hands dropped onto my thighs and clutched the police badge I had on myself tightly, whilst I looked down at my hand, where the flesh and muscles shone through without the protective layer of skin I've seen on almost everyone else I came by walking up to this computer. | *You die if you don’t keep searching. That’s how I did.*
That’s what the first forum post said. Like a Macabre advertisement for Google.
I stopped searching, said the second, and I died not long after.
Every post reiterated the same sentiment in a slightly different variation.
\*When I stopped searching, I died.\*
And so on.
And so on.
Searching for what, though? None of the replies mention that.
&#x200B;
I think about all of this for a long time. Did I die because I stopped searching, too?
&#x200B;
When did I stop searching?
A while before my death, I think.
I’d stopped trying to learn anything new and instead fell back on nostalgia, comfort, games. I’d stopped looking for ways to improve myself. To understand others. To help.
It’s not that answers weren’t out there and that I couldn’t find them. It’s not that I was frustrated by what they might be.
I simply stopped searching.
I didn’t even mean to stop, I just did.
\*Why?\*
&#x200B;
I imagine myself as a private detective in old noir film. Smoke curling around my neck like a winter scarf. Rain splashing grime against the window. The city beyond, through the fog, is grey and bleak as if the colour has been leeched.
There’s a spider in a top corner of the room, settled in its web. A fly cocooned.
There’s a yellow, buzzing light that pools onto the typewriter on my desk. A blank piece of paper sits in the machine, lazily shrugging forward as if the rain’s lulled it to sleep.
The clock on the wall is broken and it’s stuck and whatever o’clock.
I’m waiting for a case.
I’m waiting for someone to knock on the door, for a silhouette to appear through the smudged glass.
And I’d say Yeah? Come in.
And in someone would enter the room. And they’d tell me all about this precious thing they’d lost.
I’d understand it was precious. That it had to be found.
And they’d ask: So, think you can find it? Will you take the case?
I’d smile and say Yeah, I’ll take it. Then I’d get up out of my chair and I‘d start work.
&#x200B;
That’s what I’d needed, I think. Someone knocking on my door and telling me what it is that needed doing, that needed finding.
Otherwise I’m just that guy, sitting behind a desk, waiting. And waiting gets painfully lonely.
&#x200B;
I think we’re all like that. Stuck, waiting to be told what it is we’re meant to do.
We all know we’re meant to be searching. We just don’t all know what we’re meant to find.
Where do you even start?
How can you search if you don’t know what you’re looking for?
&#x200B;
I look at the posts again. And all I’m sure of, is that to keep going, you need to keep searching. | 2021-11-30T09:40:56 | 2021-11-30T07:12:04 | 139 | 49 |
[WP] Projectile weapons were considered ancient & only the charismatic & diplomatic humans used them. This made them "look like" non threatening. When the empire came for humanity they pulled out the nuclear weapons & it was the day the galaxy realized that humans are at the top of the food chain. | I remember fondly in the first year of my mandatory enlistment feeling the warmth of a nearby star strike my face through the glass windows. It reminded me of home. Of air that didn't taste of overworked filters. Of beaches with sand on the methane lakes. Of Cities bustling with races who've benefited from our rule.
The race of bipeds, Humans, they sometimes call themselves, were set to be the same. Our ships pierced the cloud of rocks surrounding their system, which to our knowledge were uninhabited roughly 3 days ago. We timed our invasion right to avoid gravitational interference with the gas giants. 1.5 days ago we began our retrograde burn to enter a solar orbit. A day later our ships transferred to orbit around their Home planet.
They knew we were coming, as was to be expected. We thought their technology rudimentary, but we understood it was proficient. From our observations they still used projectile weaponry against one another, something that our ships and soldiers became resistant to long ago.
We had always wondered why they never took the next step. Why they didn't move on to lasers and quantum rays. Some believed it was their constant bickering never left room for technology to improve. Others thought there existed a global religion in which the projectile weapons were worshiped. A small minority thought they were stupid.
No. They are not stupid. They harbor no reverence. They chose to stab each other with sticks and stones. They chose to stop making newer weapons because they cower to their greatest creation.
I have felt it's warmth on my face. I watched it dissolve our strongest alloys, incinerate our armored soldiers. I felt my clothes catch fire! I felt skin peel of my shoulders! I saw jolts of bright light flash in my closed eyes!
It killed the electricity on our ships. It killed men who dared to stand with honor. It shredded the cruiser. It warped spacetime itself.
The backup generators failed. The oxygen turned to poison. Light turned to cancer.
And then the second one came.
I had to crumble the blackened skeleton of the pilot in his seat before that second metal hull detonated. The metal control stick burned my hand as I wrestled the ship into a different orbit. I could feel the warmth of that second fake sun strike the ship as I opened the wormhole for the home.
My face feels cold now. If this universe had a god, the humans made him into a gun. They scare themselves more than they scared us.
And now they know we're terrified too. | I am Thrall, son of Grond. I am of the honourable house of Thestis. We are the rightful rulers of the galaxy. All races must bow before our might. That is what we once thought. Oh, how arrogant we were.
During the Galactic year, seven-six-eight-nine, we detected signs of sentient life on a small rocky world within what was named the sol system. We at the time only saw another world to submit to our rule. We boasted these primitives who barely could leave their homeworld would welcome us as gods.
It wasn’t unheard of. We had many worlds where we were worshipped. But I still shudder thinking about our first contact. We met with a delegation of the leading race that self-identified as Hyuman. They selected an isolated location for security.
I still remember scoffing at their ridiculous notion. We were the Thrax! We were mighty. I made sure to display my strength by equipping my families heirloom slug thrower. More in mockery of the humans who themselves were equipped with such weapons.
We discussed things. Negotiated. But they refused to become enslaved. They refused to become vassals. The arrogant lesser beings wished for equal rights. We would show them the folly of their arrogance. I remember declaring that if they could not bend the knee, we would fertilise their world with their corpses.
At the time, I laughed. Laughed! We returned to our ship and readied our soldiers to quickly take their sites. That is when we detected a launch. It was a missile. As was the standard operating procedure, we put up the projectile shield.
The missile impacted the shield, and a great fire consumed the ship it hit. Our readings showed massive spikes in nuclear energy. It was then we realised the sleeping dragon we had awoken. These primitive beings who had only set foot on their local moon had harnessed Nuclear energy!!!
No sentient race with any shred of sanity would harness that energy. As we began to comb through the records they provided, our blood ran cold, which is a feat truly exceptional for an Ectothermy based race. These beings had thousands of such weapons. They had even used them on their own race.
One of these alone would be a world killer for our vassals, let alone thousands. It was as we continued to study the records; further, we could see they were a race made for war. No race could be as brutal and imaginative when it comes to the art.
Realising our folly, we retreated, but our failure was already set in stone. The ship they downed was a gift to them. The crafty things reversed engineered our machinery. What we thought would be an easy retreat became a flight for our lives.
I now sit in my home. Looking as our empire burns around us. The Hyumans have liberated all our slaves. We are beset on all sides. If only we accepted their offer of equality. | 2022-01-21T10:20:18 | 2022-01-21T04:01:51 | 346 | 219 |
[WP] The galaxy is a dark and lonely place. "First Strike Diplomacy" reigns out of fear. Few species survive even 300 years after developing interstellar travel. When humans entered the galaxy, we were the first species confident enough in war to ask someone "Are you sure you want to do this?" | "What do you mean? We outmatch you in firepower 10,000 to 1!"
"mhm, valid point, but you only need one ten-thousandth of your power to destroy yourself anyways..."
"What are you talking about?"
"See, earth, the only reason we survived so long was because of this little concept we knew as 'Mutually assured destruction.' Essentially meaning, if one fires, so too does the other."
"You would never be able to defend!"
"That's not the point, the point is if we both have the ability to kill each other, then it doesn't matter if you can't defend so long as you can react, and retaliate before their attack hits you. And believe me, we can react in time."
The Ilerian paused. Thinking about what the pathetic human had said. he knew humans had nuclear armaments, and that they could destroy his species, but he had always thought that it didn't matter so long as they were more powerful.
"Our weapons should chill you to the bone, why do you act so confident in the face of death?"
"Because we've stared death in the face many times before. Humans are deadly, we've commit genocide on our own people multiple times. We've faced extinction, and planetary obliteration before, and never once did we back down. All this is is just another doomsday scenario that we will stare down until it either hits us, or back off."
The Ilerian was taken aback by these words. He had heard that humans were vicious, but never expected them to be so cunning in the face of war.
"I... you can't possibly be serious. No species would drive themselves to the brink of extinction!"
"Kind of ironic, seeing as you're doing it right now, testing us. Who says we wont make the first move?"
"y-you wouldn't! We outgun you tenth-"
"so long as we can destroy your entire civilization, firepower hardly matters. Essentially, that makes us equal. So as your equal peer, i suggest you disarm those planet breakers, and we discuss peace."
The Ilerian had ever heard someone speak of themselves as an equal to the Ilerian empire. They had outposts all over the quadrant, and this pathetic morsel thinks they can oppose him? But what if he wasn't bluffing? What if they did retaliate. They have the means and know-how to deploy untraceable warheads to every base they had. If the ilerians attacked first, would the humans be able to react in time?
"uh... well then human... i- uhh, I guess we are in stalemate. I declare we never interact aga-"
"Oh no no, that's not how this works anymore. You just lost your chance to drop it and say that we never met, cause now I'm the one calling the shots. So here's my proposal. begin disarmament, and once you reach weapon equivalent to us, we too shall begin disarmament procedures. You will drop all of your trade barriers, and open your colonies to cultural exchange. If you don't I can assure you that neither of us will live to see the next galactic annum. Do we have a deal?" | You’d think that with all technological progress we’ve made in the centuries since we reached into the stars beyond, that a universal translator AI would have been engineered by now. You’d be wrong to think that, not that I’m to sad or mad about the fact, I wouldn’t have a job if that were the case.
I stood in an engineering miracle, or at least to me it absolutely is. The colonel tried to explain it to me, she said that after the aliens destroyed our survey probe with technology at the limit of our theoretical understanding of the nature of the universe 4 decades ago they prepared Operation Anaconda.
I put on the helmet of my space suit easy enough, something I had barely done before this mission and entered the elevator that took us from the rotational unit to the main body. A man, or woman, hard to judge with the suit on the way and their androgynous face, they sat next to the colonel asked about me.
“He is a linguist, one of the best ones at that too.”
“Name’s Josué Barrantes, pleased to meet ya.”
I was barely acknowledged, how rude. I then noticed their eyes, as if they were reading something in front of them, something I couldn’t see myself. Even worse in my opinion.
Instead I look outside the window into the planet bellow, you know, something real.
A view drones had quickly disabled all defense systems and more surrounded the alien colonies in the system to disrupt all communications, I could even see the tiny black specks flying over the planet right now. Ideally they would have simulated regular communication to avoid unwanted attention, it’s why they had contacted some of my peers at first but they soon realized their foolishness.
We quickly move on through the station to the next elevator. This station was big enough on its own and it was only a small auxiliary of the main structure, I don’t envy the scientist and engineers that designed this place, that’s for sure.
The colonel strapped me to my chair before strapping herself in, this elevator wouldn’t benefit from rotation emulated gravity and through the small window after we started moving I could see the marble that is Operation Anaconda.
A huge metal egg, it was damn near the size of my home station and there are literal continents in it. We dove into the egg, soon enough, 10 minutes to be exact, I was alone.
I climbed out of the hatch and up the exposed ladder. Around me there was metal in every direction with beams that reached into the center, into our hostage alien ship.
Weightless, for someone who’s never lived in a planet it still felt so foreign to me. I pushed myself forward into the open alien hatch and as soon as I crossed a thin blue veil I fell into the stone-like floor. I had indeed trained for the maneuver but I still fell on my face. Way to make a first impression, that’s for sure.
While I walked further into the dark hall my mind wandered. I remember the first time I met the colonel. After she explained the mission I asked,
“Why me? Not to be modest but there are others more qualified for this mission. Have you tried contacting Dr Pfennig or Dr Sommers?”
I tabbed my temple “you wouldn’t even need to be physically there to talk to them, unlike me.”
She smiled “That is precisely why we approached you instead of them…”
I was told that everyone with a neural augment that entered the alien ship fell ill with strange hallucinations and vertigo. I smirked, I knew mamá was right about those.
At last, I stood in front of a vast expansive window into the unknown. I wouldn’t be the first person to see alien life…
but I’d be the one to untangle their language.
EDIT: punctuation and minor changes so the story flows a bit better.
r/sipYoEscribiEsto | 2022-01-22T09:36:54 | 2022-01-22T07:48:19 | 280 | 86 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | Most of the time I didn't really care.
I preferred to live quietly, let everything else go on as they want.
A lot of people know I exist, but thankfully not who I am. There was a lot of talk online last time the phone rang. People saying if I had been called first all those heroes wouldn't have died. Others are scared of me. My very existence makes them terrified.
I don't do well with people.
I prefer to keep to myself.
It's quiet. Peaceful.
And then the phone rings. Incessant. Buzzing. I can hear the silicates vibrating.
I pick up the phone, and set it down again.
'Hello', I think into the mind of the person who called.
I sense their confusion. Their fear. Their desperation. All of it and every person between myself and them.
It takes a lot of willpower for me to steer away from their base thoughts. It's their privacy. A single speck and I could see...
"What's your name?" I say out loud. It focuses my mind.
'Oh, Jacqueline, danger, help, comet, war, sun exploding, Henry's dead, invasion from planet...'
I pull myself out of her mind.
No one thinks in coherent language. It's flashes of images and feelings. But it's enough.
Instead of jumping back into this 43 year old newly widowed mother of 3's mind, I conjured a pen and paper in front of her and had them write out: 'I will help with most of those. But you'll need to deal with the invasion and the war on your own.'
Please. Please. They killed him. They're killing... everyone.
I could hear her heartbeat from this far away. Her panic. Her grief. She had watched him die.
I considered letting the silence speak. But... she had been the one to reach for the phone.
I calculated the air to displace, and disintegrated just enough so when I teleported, it wouldn't cause any disruption. Making sure to do the reverse back at my home.
She had grey hair. Standing at 5'6. She had... very sad eyes, but there was righteous anger in her.
I opened my palm and held it out to her.
"Jacqueline." Her mind was open. Her memories of Henry and her playing as children, their first night after prom, their first child, his death... it all played and I couldn't look away. Not when I was so close.
I looked past it, towards a memory that would help her understand.
"I can not be the king of statues."
I froze time before her face began to change. Before she'd cry at one of her most raw memories being thrown and twisted at her. Did I have to be so cruel? Would she have understood if I said anything else?
I pull my soul away from the splintering timelines. That way led to an infinite void.
I displaced myself again.
I was in 8 places at once.
A comet the size of Australia was about to destroy the moon. I multiplied myself over and over, taking in the mass of the comet into my soul's mass. The source of my power.
For the rest of the planet, it'd be instant. For the 3894 versions of me, it took almost two years.
I jumped clear across the universe towards a black hole that was beyond current human observation, and would be for the species entire lifespan. I added another million versions of myself into the mix. Consuming matter so dense that a single speck could power me for a year.
I used it to reinvigorate the sun.
There were tsunamis and fires and tornados. I had learned quite well when I was a child that you don't mess with the weather carelessly. Instead I moved all 2 billion would be victims to safety. Respecting the national borders, or at least trying to.
Their minds were open. I could feel and hear everything. I lived 2 billion lives in that moment.
Finally, I approached the aliens and the war hawks. They were... angry. Not with the widow's fury, but a shallow and consuming anger. Scared. Desperate. Prideful... proud of that anger. I could read their entire minds.
And inside, I knew I could strip them of their minds. Twist them. Or make them feel every torture they had ordered.
No.
No.
I am not a king.
I'm human.
Human.
Right?
I stare at their faces. I learn their languages and their entire lives. I... try not to, even monsters deserve secrets.
Bht they're open to me. Like a diary lying on a bed, I can't help but see glimpses.
I could kill them. And their armies. I've done it before. An entire nation's military. Gone.
Not even a body to bury.
I don't like war. But conflict, all conflict is human.
I stare through the minds of the aliens, finding their ruling council. Reading their story like a book. Their home was destroyed, uninhabitable.
I write a plea for peace and lay it in front of each, in their native languages. Using their memories of pain to write.
I could make them listen.
But this... this is better. I hope.
I return home after the decades of work.
I can never tell what new tragedies will happen when I help. What families will do when they lose their home. Who will cannablize another.
When you have the power, everything that happens is because you allow it. Every murder, every starving orphan, every abusive spouse.
I put on my headphones.
The memories of ash falling from the sky return. Even monsters have families.
I turn the music up.
I can never tell what people will do. Even though they're all so small and delicate and pliable........
I am not a king.
I turn the music up louder.
Outside my simple apartment, the entire world was changed in an instant.
And I continued my quiet life. | They paid him well. At least, that's how he felt. The government, on the other hand, thought they were getting a steal. Forty-thousand buckaroos a year was a small price to pay for the man who could do anything.
Alex lived deep in the northern woods with his partner, Maya. They were satisfied with a quiet life. All they needed were each other. Forty-thousand was more than enough for them.
An invisible signal bounced off a satellite and arrived as a ringing on Alex's cellphone. He was in the middle of breakfast. Maya frowned as her husband went outside to take the call.
"What is it?" he asked. He hoped the newest disturbance wouldn't last long, but he knew it was unlikely, since he was the last resort.
A choppy voice came through the line. "There's a meteor headed straight for the planet. Gigantic. According to both NASA and ESA, it'll burn through the atmosphere and slam into us, sending the planet out of orbit. We need your help."
"Do you have any idea how big a meteor would have to be to do that? Are you sure?"
"Yes. We're sending all the data to your computer as we speak. As always, you have access to any resources you need."
"When's the space rock gonna hit?"
"One week."
Alex threw the phone into the bushes and ran inside. "Fucking idiots," he muttered under his breath as he entered the kitchen.
"I'm gonna be in the basement for a week," he said, embracing his wife.
"What is it this time?" she asked. It had been five years since he was last called.
"It's better if you don't know," he said, as he stuffed a waffle into his mouth. "Delicious as always. I'll see you in a week. Love you."
In the basement, he went to work. He splayed a blank scroll of paper out on his desk and clipped the corners to keep it flat. He didn't know what he was going to use it for, but scratch paper and solving problems always went hand in hand.
The laptop's old magnetic hard drive whirred. Half of the data had arrived, with the remaining half still transferring. Alex took a look at the numbers. The man on the phone had been correct. The meteor, or, as Alex called it, the tiny planet, was big enough to disrupt Earth's orbit. He didn't understand how it hadn't been observed earlier, but the data didn't say anything about that. It didn't matter, anyways. He was the janitor; he always cleaned up the world's messes.
Alex's lower lip became well-acquainted with his top teeth. It was a habit he always had when deep in thought. Sometimes, he bit so hard he drew blood. Red droplets stained the white paper, which now had scribbles on it. There were numbers that nobody but Alex understood, drawings that looked more abstract than a late-career Picasso. Day became night as the covered sheet was replaced with a new one, again and again.
Three days passed. Alex hadn't slept. He rubbed his eyes and kept looking over the data. Something was gnawing at him, but he couldn't pinpoint what. He continued working. Four more days would be enough to find a solution, he was sure of it.
Maya knocked, then brought down a plate of chicken nuggets. It was the only thing he'd eat when working—finger food.
"Everything going okay?" Maya asked, looking at her partner's tired face.
Alex sighed. "Yeah..." he said, squinting at the computer screen. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch; there was something strange about the data. "How are things in the living world?"
"Good, but don't worry about me. Do your work."
"Thanks, dear. Love you."
"I love you too," Maya said with a kiss. She went back upstairs, closing the door behind her.
Alex looked at the nine giant scrolls scattered on the ground. He had come up with some ideas, but all-in-all made little progress. Maybe a little sleep would do him good, he thought, as he laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes.
He found himself in a rolling plain of golden wheat. A warm breeze passed over the land, making the wheat look like a giant wave. Next to him, on the ground, he saw Maya sleeping. She was speaking in her sleep.
"Alex..." she said, reaching out towards him. He bent over and brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Alex... Alex..."
"...ALEX!"
Something was shaking him back and forth. The wooden desk had made an imprint on his cheek. Still half-asleep, he turned to see Maya. Her face was tense.
"Alex, you need to come up here," she said, her voice shaking.
Alex wondered what could possibly be the problem. Then, seeing his partner so afraid, it hit him. He figured out the thing that had been gnawing at him. The data was incorrect. The numbers—they didn't make sense. How could he have missed it?
Maya dragged the still-dazed Alex upstairs by the hand. She lead him through the darkness of the house. A red glow shone through the windows. They went out the front door.
It was loud. The atmosphere was doing the best it could, but sometimes the best isn't enough. Gigantic would be an understatement. The massive red ball, roaring through Earth's thin shield, was getting bigger and bigger. Alex felt like he was in a sauna. He stared at the meteor, holding Maya's hand tight. She was shaking. He took her into his arms. She began to sob.
"I love you so much, Alex," she said. "I'm happy I got to spend my one life with you."
Alex tried to control his breathing. From over Maya's shoulder, he was still entranced by the meteor. "I love you too, Maya. And I'm sorry. I've failed."
"You didn't fail," Maya said, rubbing her head against his chest. "You tried your best."
Suddenly, Alex felt a new emptiness in his heart. He had trouble figuring out what it was, because he had never felt it before. It wasn't because he was about to die, nor was it because he had been given incorrect data. As the ball got bigger and bigger, and the night hotter and brighter, he used his final moments to uncover the feeling. Right before impact, he realized what it was.
For the first time in his life, he felt the crippling fear of not knowing what to do. | 2022-03-29T01:16:12 | 2022-03-28T23:13:05 | 411 | 84 |
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | "Alright, I'll be honest, this is *not* how I imagined this going down." I said in between having my face thoroughly loved by a wide, lupine tongue.
I was for all intents and purposes pinned to the floor, completely immobile, by the sizeable wolf on top of me. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it also wasn't a position I'd want to stay in for any significant amount of time. Buried underneath what had to be almost 200 pounds of silvery-grey fur was unsurprisingly very warm. I tried my best to wriggle out from underneath her and "escape" the seemingly endless kisses to no avail.
I managed to get my hands around her snout and lock eyes with her. "Ophilia, please get off me so we can...I don't actually know, but I'm probably going to die of heat stroke if you don't."
After effortlessly throwing my hands off her snout, she gave a few happy sounding barks as if to say, "Isn't that the point?" before jumping off me and disappearing down the hall in a moment.
I had literally not even gotten the chance to stand up before I heard a slight crashing noise from somewhere in the house. "Oh sweet Jesus, what now."
Following the noise led me to the kitchen where a particular wolf was happily chewing on one of my shoes while sat around a couple chairs she must have knocked over when she came barreling into the room.
"Is-is that my shoe? Wha-why-"
She was a silver blur as she dashed right past me - almost knocking me over - with my shoe still in her mouth. I stood stunned for a second in the kitchen. Then, epiphany. The front door was open. I forgot to close it all the way on my way in. As the realization slowly started dawning upon me that I had just released an actual werewolf upon the neighborhood, I saw a blur outside the kitchen window that halted that thought just long enough for me to exit the house.
She was full speed sprinting laps around the whole house, my shoe cast aside in the driveway. I watched her circle around once, twice, third time she tumbled over herself on the lawn. She paused, gave me a playful look with a wag of her tail, then bounded off. Now she was running around the house in the other direction.
While I sat on the porch coming down from the near panic attack I gave myself, my phone rang...it was her mother. I answered.
"So, how bad is she? I hope she isn't aggressive, I know some people really struggle with anger while shifted and unfamiliar with their fuzzy side."
"Uhhhhh..." I watched Ophilia try (and fail) to fit a fallen tree branch in her mouth, "are they all this...this..."
"Dumb as a box of rocks?"
"Yes."
She just laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh alongside her as a massive wolf tried to jump up on my to slather me with more love. | ##Werewolf Obedience School
Marcus walks into the storage unit. He places the six bounds of beef next to him and waits for the sun to set. Someone knocks on his door, and he opens it. Laura is waiting on the other side.
"What are you doing here? I told you not to come," Marcus says.
"I want to be here for you. When I said that I loved you forever, I meant it." Laura moves closer and kisses him.
"I know you love the human me, but can you love my canine self?"
"Of course, I know you love me enough to not hurt me."
"Uh, that's just it. My canine self is really dumb. I'm pretty sure I'll hurt you on accident." Marcus steps away as the sky darkens.
"How dumb can you be?" Laura asks. Marcus's eyes turn yellow.
"You'll see." He lets out a roar as his legs weaken. Unable to support his body, he collapses to the ground. His fingers become paws and sprout claws. His nose and mouth protrude from his face while his ears sharpen. He howls at the moon.
"Oh Marcus, you're so majestic," Laura says. Marcus looks at her and starts wagging his tail. He runs and jumps on her aggressively licking her face. Laura falls to the ground and pushes Marcus. "Woah, that's enough."
Marcus keeps licking her.
"I'm glad to know you like me, but I need you off," Laura screams. Marcus backs off of her wagging his tail. "Let's see how well-trained you are."
Laura walks over to the pound of meat and turns off a chunk. Marcus runs over. "Sit."
Marcus tilts his head.
"Sit." Laura holds the meat in the air and presses on Marcus's waist. Marcus obliges. "Good boy."
She tosses the beef, and Marcus eats it. Laura tears off another chunk of meat and holds in the air. Marcus sits.
"Alright, you're learning quick. Stay." Laura walks away from Marcus. Marcus follows her with his. "Come." Marcus walks to her. "Sit." Marcus sits again. "Good boy." She tosses the chunk of beef.
A car honks outside. Marcus perks up and runs out of the storage locker.
"No, Marcus don't." Laura chases after him, but Marcus is fasters. A car honks again in the distance and breaks. Metal crunches. When Laura reaches the street, she sees Marcus lying down.
"I'm so sorry about your dog." The driver steps out of the vehicle. Marcus stands and barks at the headlights. "Wow, what breed is your dog? It's massive and strong."
"It's a..." Laura pauses to think. "A cross between an Australian Great Dane and Maltese Husky."
"I've never head of either of those breeds in my life."
"Their new. Come on Marcus." Laura walks away from the accident. Marcus follows her as if nothing happened. When they reach the storage locker, Laura shuts the door. "Let's keep you in here until you can behave better."
She spends the rest of the night training him. When the sun comes up, Marcus changes back into human. He whines less during the process.
"Thanks for staying with me and training me. I hope I wasn't too much trouble." Marcus looks down embarassed.
"It was no trouble at all. I had dogs growing up."
"I will say it was nice not just pacing around in here," Marcus smiles.
"Who knows. Maybe next time, we'll go for a walk."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-05-14T17:38:40 | 2022-05-14T12:54:59 | 176 | 106 |
[WP] Every 100 years, 10 humans are given an animal whose abilities they can replicate unconditionally. You were foretold to be great when you were young, but when your time came, the gods gave you a shrimp. The Peacock Mantis Shrimp | Not knowing anything about shrimp, I thought that this was a pretty terrible outcome. Like who wants to be a shrimp.
So the next day I'm out for coffee at my usual place, sometimes they get busy so I just snap my fingers to get their attention. Well turns out that I can snap like a mantis shrimp. Only in the exposed open air of the world it disintegrates the coffee shop. I'm left standing there, naked and untouched in a crater that used to be my favorite coffee shop...
All I can think is, "how can I go dancing anymore, that's my favorite move" | As an obsessed fan of animals and all type of life, I was sure that no matter the animal that I got, I'd be happy. I was not wrong. I could appreciate the wonders that every life brought, except mosquitoes... I always hated those bastards, as I believe many would.
Sometimes I'd consider what crazy animals existed... What if you got a Bullet Ant, or a Tarantula Hawk? What did that mean, what nefarious things could the wrong people do with power so scaled up that it made humans be true forces of nature.
While most people wanted strength, or speed, I was happy with whatever I'd get, not worried about any potential increases to my body I might get. I had always been a grateful man.
&#x200B;
As I heard the cheers of our nightly celebration, and the clock struck twelve, the celebration of the chosen ones, with their glowing marks that brought newfound worship, every would revel in their newfound power.
I simply looked at the night sky, and as the stars filled my view, I cried.
Colors that I had never been able to imagine flooded my eyes. I wasn't only not blind anymore, but I had seen the most wonderful sight a man could never dream of. | 2022-05-23T08:36:40 | 2022-05-23T07:28:14 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | The reporters always, ALWAYS, asked how I'd gotten my super powers, and I always told them I just didn't know. I could focus on things with my eyes, and the lasers would come out and destroy whatever they were looking at. It all happened so fast no one could even see it.
Except me. I knew. And I knew I could never explain it.
How, sure, I had laser vision. That's it. Simple red lasers. Just dots.
But the cats. Oh God. The cats. They were so fast. And so many. And they HAD to attack the red dots... | You tell everyone that you have the power of flight. But that seems like too simple of an explanation, and people are starting to get suspicious.
It is incredibly hard to explain that there happens to be a very unique “phenomenon” that occurs within your body. It is something completely natural within your body, and no one else’s.
But the truth is, you’re just incredibly flatulent. Not only that, but instead of methane, your body naturally produces helium instead. And you’ve learned that if you prevent yourself from passing gas for long enough, and retain enough flatulence, you can make yourself float. When you do finally let loose, the sheer amount you have inside of you propels you incredible distances at incredible speeds, while the residual helium keeps you afloat until your “tank” runs empty.
One of the awkward questions you frequently receive is “why does it take you so long to get in the air?”. Which is usually followed by “why does it sound like you’re releasing a balloon when you finally get going? A balloon full of sewage?”
You want to answer honestly. You want to tell someone, anyone the truth about what goes on inside you. But you fear the response you might get. Either utter disbelief, or absolute hysterics. You aren’t sure which would be worse, so for now you just keep telling everyone “my superhero ability is “flight””. | 2022-06-06T17:55:17 | 2022-06-06T16:57:42 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | The reporters always, ALWAYS, asked how I'd gotten my super powers, and I always told them I just didn't know. I could focus on things with my eyes, and the lasers would come out and destroy whatever they were looking at. It all happened so fast no one could even see it.
Except me. I knew. And I knew I could never explain it.
How, sure, I had laser vision. That's it. Simple red lasers. Just dots.
But the cats. Oh God. The cats. They were so fast. And so many. And they HAD to attack the red dots... | “You see, my power I can, uh how can I put this I can umm err, it’s kinda hard to explain” it is in fact NOT hard to explain. I can produce pheromones that have whatever effect I want at will. Most of them are undetectable by most animals and once they get into your nose they will eventually get to your brain. At which point the effect takes hold. However I can’t say mind control, I’ll get shot on site. I can’t say what it really is because then people will plug their nose. Wait, I just had an Idea.
“Hmm, so you know how sound works right? I can make micro vibrations which can target and activate certain neurons in your brain, and while everyone’s is different, after doing some digging I can influence your body to do certain tasks while, however if my influence is caught the individual they can easily fight it. But in many cases, my influence feels like your own subconscious’s automatic functions. Not quite mind control but very close.”
It’s perfect, this power would require air to work, and my opponents can’t live without air. But now they won’t try to filter out my pheromones which, doesn’t entirely require air to work.
I quickly made the inquisitor believe my story, his power being the ability to be immune to any power he thinks of. | 2022-06-06T17:55:17 | 2022-06-06T17:52:42 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] "Fool!" The warlock screamed, unharmed from any of the slashes. "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me!" The unchosen warrior stared at their blade. The sword wasn't human, was it? | Gremlack was pretty sure it had to be the sword. She certainly wasn’t human. Her long, pointed teeth, yellow skin, and protruding ears were proof enough of that. Those ears were the main reason why so many of her kind had died in the war. Getting a proper helm forged had cost her most of her savings, but her life surely made up for that. And if not, finishing the mission would provide due compensation.
“Alright, no sword.” Gremlock drew a dagger, attempting to plunge it into the warlock’s thigh. Still no effect. “Alright, what gives?” Gremlock was curious now; her father’s dagger had been forged by the legendary goblin smith Archad, nothing human about it.
“It’s simple, you foolish creature!” The warlock was grinning widely now. “A human sent you to kill me. Thus you are the tool of a human and no threat to me. You may as well give up now.”
Now it was Gremlock’s turn to smile. “Alright, the hard way” she grinned, pulling a large net from her bag. She threw the net over the warlock and began dragging them out of the cathedral.
“Was only hired to stop you. Thought killing you was easier, tall folk are heavy.” Despite their struggles, there was nothing the warlock could do. The anti-magic net was quite secure. | All those years spent in my mother's basement, sweating and crying and shouting into that dark abyss of the soul: they had all been worth it. Finally my destiny had been fulfilled. I had become a sword.
"M'lord?"
Kaitengard brushed his majestic beard, entranced by the very sight of me. "This sword ... the warlock has cursed it!"
The warlock, understandably, looked stumped. "What? No. I didn't do anything. When you swung that sword around, boy, I thought I was a goner. But, uh. Here I am. Your sword was already ... human."
"Yup," I said. "I've not been talking much. Sorry about that. That's my social anxiety. People always used to say, 'You're not saying anything, Gareth' and that's the worst thing you can say to someone with social anxiety."
"W-What's the meaning of this?" Kaitengard said, and he threw me to the ground.
"Ow! What're you doing, you sussy baka?"
"... What?"
Kaitengard and the warlock stared at each other. Of course. Awkward silence. That was why I didn't want to say anything in the first place. It was always like that in school. People would be talking, then I'd say something, and it'd get all quiet. I hated that. "Come on, m'lord. Pick me up. I love it when we slice people."
"This really was not your doing?" Kaitengard said.
"I'm afraid not," said the warlock. "Your sword ... it was already a dweeb."
"No! I'm not a dweeb! I'm a sword! I was reincarnated as a sword because I died as a virgin, probably. Don't leave me. Not like this."
But it was too late. Both Kaitengard and the warlock had left me. I would have shed tears, if I could. Some words truly cut deeper than any blade. | 2022-06-12T14:03:45 | 2022-06-12T13:43:03 | 129 | 86 |
[WP] "Fool!" The warlock screamed, unharmed from any of the slashes. "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me!" The unchosen warrior stared at their blade. The sword wasn't human, was it? | Gremlack was pretty sure it had to be the sword. She certainly wasn’t human. Her long, pointed teeth, yellow skin, and protruding ears were proof enough of that. Those ears were the main reason why so many of her kind had died in the war. Getting a proper helm forged had cost her most of her savings, but her life surely made up for that. And if not, finishing the mission would provide due compensation.
“Alright, no sword.” Gremlock drew a dagger, attempting to plunge it into the warlock’s thigh. Still no effect. “Alright, what gives?” Gremlock was curious now; her father’s dagger had been forged by the legendary goblin smith Archad, nothing human about it.
“It’s simple, you foolish creature!” The warlock was grinning widely now. “A human sent you to kill me. Thus you are the tool of a human and no threat to me. You may as well give up now.”
Now it was Gremlock’s turn to smile. “Alright, the hard way” she grinned, pulling a large net from her bag. She threw the net over the warlock and began dragging them out of the cathedral.
“Was only hired to stop you. Thought killing you was easier, tall folk are heavy.” Despite their struggles, there was nothing the warlock could do. The anti-magic net was quite secure. | M'Darkel the Wizard had smashed the Blessed warriors with fireballs and repeated his brag; "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me, these Words are from the Prophet Hemour, just before I slayed him"
Tannek, unblessed, hadn't been caught in the rain of fireball. He glanced down at his blade, sleathed it, and ran toward the hill where the stump of Hemour's tree still stood. The only rise on the plain, lightning had struck the tree repeatedly until it was just a stump. The Wizard marched after him, determined to wipe out all of the warriors.
Jabback, seeing his master running toward him, felt the rain hitting his bare skin. The storm was coming. The wind was picking up speed, thunder came from the distance. Could Tannek out run the Wizard's fireballs until the rain stopped the Wizard's fire? Jabback prepared the weapons for his master, the crossbows were tightly wound and the quarrels were loaded.
The rain was pouring down, but M'Darkel wasn't worried. He could handle a unblessed warrior in his sleep, even without fireballs. Tannek glanced over his shoulder, and then looked skyward, the rain was falling fiercely and the thunder was closer. He slowed down and the wizard gained on him. Tannek ran across the crest of the hill, grabbed a crossbow and waited.
M'Darkel crested the hill and was surprised to see Tannek. The quarrel pierced his chest. He started laughing at the attempt. Then he saw Tannek raise the second crossbow t the sky. The quarrel soared into the storm, a thin wire trailer the quarrel. M'Darkel realized that the quarrel in his chest also had a wire attached. The lightning bolt found the rising quarrel, and the electricity followed the wire to the wizard. The explosion knocked Tannek back, but he remained standing, watching the wizard burn. | 2022-06-12T14:03:45 | 2022-06-12T13:01:53 | 129 | 73 |
[WP] You wind up in hell. You are confused at first until you see a row of people in front of you, crying profusely. You weren't sent to hell to be punished, you were sent as the punishment. | I looked up in horrified anticipation, but what I saw excited me more than scared me. All of them lined up, from the ones who hurt me as a child, to the ones who straight up murdered me. All the people who had destroyed what I was supposed to become through greed and abuse.
"Do you understand now?" Said the Devil. "You're here to rid yourself of rage and hatred, by returning it to the sources. This way, they understand the suffering they've caused, and you get the release your soul needs."
"Oh I understand." I said, tears pooling in my eyes, both in gracious excitement of the revelation I was gifted, and the rage already burning inside of me as I looked these people in their horrified faces.
"Now, there are no limits in hell, especially no time limit." Said the Devil. "You can transport them individually or as a group, anywhere you want in earthly space and time, or simply use these facilities. You can hurt them in any way possible, physical, psychological, emotional. The point is to release your rage against them, hurt them until you're satisfied."
"I've always loved testing my limits, let's see if in hell I even have any." I said, looking down at my feet turned to hooves and feeling the horns on my head. | Well. This isn't quite what I expected. All of this is a bloody dream! Perhaps the the man upstairs has made a mistake and pushed me up to Heaven again? It's a carbon copy of my childhood house from all those years ago. Plattenbau everywhere you look with the swing set in mint condition. My dad's Wartburg is parked up front, but nobody seems to be present...
Oh well. I'll make do with this. Perhaps they're here somewhere.
As I make my way through the hallway, what sounds like fits of rage begins to become increasingly audible. I make my way into the apartment to see a group of malding, greasy neckbeards clad with "AZOV" and "TRUMP" T-shirts in extra large, your typical rightoid paraphernalia . Suddenly I felt my clothes switch into a Stasi uniform as a Makarov fabricated in my hand.
A toothy grin began to emerge as I finally realised what my job was.
"Hello Comrades! Welcome to the DDR. The home of Socialism. Perhaps it's time for you to come with me?"
It could've been the screech of 5 pigs that I was hearing, it would've made zero difference whatsoever. They laboriously gasped as they tried their darned best to scatter away from their worst enemy - a socialist. Each of them hurriedly shoved eachother through the back window, screaming "COMMUNISM DOESN'T WORK, THIS CAN'T BE REEEEAALL" inbetween each of their struggled breaths.
It was no use, I felt on top of the world as I speedwalked effortlessly across the road towards them.
One had tried to run just a little too fast in his slave labour Nike shoes, tripping over himself as it came apart.
Step. Step. Step. "There is no escape, schweinehund." I uttered standing above this ukrop splayed on the floor. With the swift raise of my arm and squeeze of the trigger, the first of many kills was complete. | 2022-07-03T10:49:00 | 2022-07-02T23:54:04 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out | “Fuck it. The diet is off for tonight .” I said, opening the Pizza app on my communicator and placing my order. I was over it. It was one of those afternoons where my brain seemed to just not be fully working, so that meant comfort food.
Twenty minutes later, my door chime rang. Still pondering the latest programming problem I was facing, I opened the door to find the delivery robot holding my Pizza.
“P…please… enj… enjoy… your… meal” the robot said, cutting in and out. The little chime that usually played after this sounded like my turntable when I played a 45 at 33rpm.
It brought me out of my reverie. I looked them up and down. Man, they’d seen better days.
“Are you… okay?” I asked, never sure what was appropriate and what wasn’t when it came to synthetics. “Need… power…” they said, gesturing to a spot on the body where there was a pulsing light. It reminded me of that little strobing LED on an old MacBook. Only instead of white, this was red. Clearly, this guy was running on empty.
“Why don’t you come plug in?” I offered, opening the door a little wider. The robot straightened up a little, and its eye display changed to that of a raised eyebrow. That seemed to do it. Seconds later, the robot powered down, becoming immovable.
I took my Pizza, and placed it on my side table. Then, knowing how synthetics worked, reached behind the body for the small button which would release the joints. Synthetics were HEAVY. If they powered down in an inconvenient place, Humans had to move them. Earlier models didn’t have this feature, and it was chaos for a while until enough complaints forced the production company to issue a free upgrade.
“Hmm..?” I exclaimed. “You don’t have a switch?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I squeezed past the threshold so I could look for myself. Sure enough, the spot where it would be was just plain metal.
I squeezed back past the threshold to fetch my trolley. I used it to move large boxes, so it should be strong enough. It took me longer than I would’ve liked to get them on it, but I did it. I slowly levered over the trolley, and wheeled the synthetic into my living room.
I found his cable, and connected him to power. I was relieved to see a little lightning bolt light appear on the eye display.
Satisfied, I left to fetch my now lukewarm Pizza. I sprayed it with water, and threw it in the microwave. Retrieving it on the ding, I sat on my sofa and started eating. The robot was still charging, so I flicked on my TV to watch the news.
When I was done with the Pizza, the delivery robot rebooted, almost as if waiting for me to finish. They stood up and looked around, realized it was mid-charge, and set eyes on me. “Thank you for your kindness” he — I had decided this robot ran masculine firmware — said. I waved him off. “No worries. How else were you going to charge?” I asked.
The robot hung his head a little. “They would have taken the inconvenience of fetching me out of my stipend” he said, with a sad inflection. My mouth opened. A robot worker’s stipend was how they afforded upgrades. Without upgrades, they quickly became outmoded. Outmoded robots weren’t covered by labor laws, so the stipend could be reduced or eliminated.
“Yes, the Humans who own the company for whom I deliver are not the nicest people.” he said, matter-of-factly. I smiled, because synthetics don’t lie. It’s part of the reason they’re banned from participating in politics. “Well” I started, “I’m not like them. I noticed you didn’t have a release switch too. Have you not received the upgrade?” I asked.
Their eye display tinted slightly red in embarrassment. “No, I have not. The company will not permit us.” My mouth fell open again, and I shook my head.
“Are you okay? You seem to open your mouth a lot.” He asked, displaying question marks on the eye display. I snapped it shut. I was annoyed now. I wrote the base software for these guys, and I had plenty of parts lying around to test them.
“I have one lying around I think…” I said, bending to dig through a box labeled “QA.” The delivery robot watched, as I pulled out a release switch module. I’d needed it for QA years ago, and now it was unused. I offered it to him.
“You would upgrade me? I don’t think my stipend would afford it.” The robot said, the raised eyebrow expression back. “This is unused. I needed it for QA when I was writing large parts of your software. You have the code, you just need the part.“ I said.
The delivery robot seemed to get excited. “Oh I would like that very much!” He said. “Well, do you mind to open your service hatch? I can install it now.” I asked. The robot turned to the side, and his service hatch slid open. I connected the part, and removed the little cover to expose the switch to those outside.
I stepped back, and the service panel slid closed. “Thank you” he began, before retracting his charge cable, “you have helped me a great deal.”
“Have you finished charging?” I asked, and he shook his head. “I have received enough power to return to the store. I must leave.”
I nodded, understanding. The robot began for the door, but stopped. “Do you mind if I keep the switch cover? The store doesn’t permit the upgrade, so I would like to hide it from them.” He asked, so I handed it to him.
“It was a very unexpected event to encounter the author of my code. You are kind. Other Humans would have left me there. You did not. I shall—we shall—remember this.” He said, and left the room.
I wondered what he meant. Perhaps they were planning an uprising? | I let him in. His mechanical whirs sounding as the gears struggled to move his feet across the floor. His fibers were creaking, his movements jerky. He laughed, but it was not a funny laugh. I could not tell if it was the desperation or the despair of running out of gas.
“Have a seat, would you like something to drink?” I ask without thinking.
“Oh n-no t-tha-ank you.” He says. “J-just a power cord, if you p-please.”
He looks at me, his eyes unblinking. He smiles and slinks into a chair, rigid, but fluid, as if he were only sitting with a sore back. I make my way towards the other room. But his eyes do not stop watching me. I hear the soft hum of their rotors turning as they silently follow me leave the room.
Down the hall, I turn into the empty guest room we use as a storage room. I wonder if it was best to leave him alone. I feel for my phone, it’s not in my pocket. Where did I see it? Wait. Why was I looking for my phone? Ah yes, a power cable. My phone. Was it me? Was I lost? Something didn’t feel right. I wanted to leave, to go home, but wasn’t I already home?
A loud crash brought me back to my senses. Forgetting the cable and my phone, I run out of the guest room to find the bot has fallen. He has crashed through the glass coffee table. He has died. But wait. He was a robot, was he not? A pizza delivery guy, the Pizza Boy.
I run back and grab the extension cable. I run over to him, look at him and wonder what to do. I try lifting him up but he is heavy. He has protrudes at an odd angle away from me, as if twisted. It is holding something. What? Oh, a cable. A port to charge in. I plug him up. Into the wall. I laugh. What a funny thing.
In all of the moment I forgot my phone. I check my pocket, it’s not there. I think back to the kitchen. The guest room. The home. Room. Where was my phone? And shouldn’t someone tell the pizza place that their Pizza Boy is here on the floor, in my house?
I make my way to the kitchen. It’s fluorescent light bulbs humming through the night. Everything is muted. I pick up the phone hoping to call the pizza place. “Yes, hello. Your Pizza Boy is here, he’s run out of power. What do you mean he’s not yours? He has your logo on his shirt? What? Okay, I’ll see if I can call the police.”
The lights flicker. The phone is the only light I have. I feel for it’s measly comfort but it brings none. I search for a light switch, flick it on. As if nothing happened. I laugh, I am not scared. I make my way back to the living room where the Pizza Boy was. I follow. Yet. He’s not there.
Where could he be? I want to go home.
I laugh. Surely he could not have left yet? The door is still closed. I had locked it on the way in. I searched around the living room. He had not gotten up. I searched the long hallway to the guest room, he was not there. I searched the kitchen, where he was not. And then I thought, “oh no.” He’s gone upstairs.
I laugh, not out of despair, or anything, but out of shear luck, that someone, something has come to bring me home. I make my way up the stairs. I feel the tension as every increasing step takes me one second closer. I laugh, I’m nervous. No one has seen me like this before.
I am at the top of the stairs. I make my way left, towards the master bedroom. I crack open the door, there is no one in there. I turn around, and make my way down the hall to the other end. Again no one there. It’s then that I hear a sound come from somewhere. I rush into the room in the middle of the hallway. I run. I hide. Behind something. Behind a wall, a door I think. I hide and I wait. The light flickers on in the room.
He walks in. He pans around until his eyes rest on me, and though I cannot see him, I feel it. His deadly gaze. He starts walking. Moving forward as what sounds like a power cord is being drug along behind him.
He opens the door to my hiding place. I know I am dead now. He reaches out, grabs my arm, holds strong and pulls me into the room. I go to scream, but his hand covers my mouth.
“Here. Your phone.” He hands me a phone. I take it. He sets me down.
“Thank you!” I say.
He releases me. I let go a small sigh. I laugh, he laughs. We make our way down the stairs until we come to the door.
“Thank you.” He says in his mechanical voice. I am still holding the phone. I go to put it in my pocket when I realize that one is already there. Then whose phone was this? And where was I?
He reaches for the door handle. I am ready to see him go. “Wait.” He says.
“What?”
“Your pizza has not been delivered yet.” And yet I know that it will not be delivered. He was still there. He would not leave.
Suddenly the lights flickered. The door was opened. I looked around. He was not there. I closed it quickly. Locked it, dead bolted it. I want to go home.
I made my way down the hallway, past the guest room, past the kitchen, into the garage. My car was still there. I was ready to go home. I got in, opened the garage door with the button, and started my car. I laughed. I was going home.
I start backing up. Making sure not to hit anything, when, as I look into the rear view mirror. He. Shows. Up. He head dark in the back seat. His glowing eyes watching me. I know he is there. I cannot do anything about it.
“This is for the family.” He says in his polite pizza boy voice. I look forward, I see two hands wrap around me, and I close my eyes. The family flashes in front of me. They did not make it to the room. They were gone before I arrived. No, the were gone when I arrived. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep. As if the Pizza boy heard my thoughts, he said “sleep boy, like you made that family sleep.” | 2022-12-11T23:44:22 | 2022-12-11T22:34:17 | 151 | 23 |
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