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[WP] You've died but neither Heaven nor Hell let you in, so you start your own afterlifeworld with your own rules | **Dear Mr Beaumont, we regret to inform you that Hell is currently -**
*Bollocks*. I crushed the letter into a pulp and let it fall to the floor where it was swallowed up by the limbo void.
What now? I mean there was always purgatory but the place was quieter than limbo and the admin hadn't dropped in to decorate the place for a long long time.
Hmm. How long exactly? I knew that Heaven had abolished its squatters rights aeons ago, but maybe purgatory had never bothered because no one wanted to live there.
I flicked through the legal charters and found the deed I was looking for. Aha! I knew it! Purgatory is literally up for grabs if I succeed in turning it into a home before the admin gets back.
I started off spawning a few items here and there; a bed, a table, some chairs - but as time immeasurably progressed it turned into a full fledged living quarter complete with a courtyard and moat.
It was just me at the beginning, but when my parole officer came by to check on me, I let him know that I was open for anyone as long as they adhered by the following rule:
1. Do what you want, but don't be a complete insufferable asshat.
People came in waves, mostly freshies at first who were only able to add more furniture like I did - but then we started getting visits from Hell and that's when we started getting some decent TV, our own Wifi, and copious amounts of alcohol.
We even started getting some visits from curious Heaven inhabitants, wanting to blow off steam and willing to trade cloud vapour with us for a few minutes of fun.
People wonder how our population hasn't exploded and created the overpopulation problems plaguing Heaven and Hell, but the asshat rule generally keeps people in check - and keeps away a large proportion of those who could only live in the other two realms.
Most people are insufferable asshats, who knew? | *Man*, Satan was sure a snoot about letting me in. And God didn't want me around, either. I'm not entirely sure what was up with that, but that was all right. I could just build a place for the kind of people who didn't really need the concepts of Heaven and Hell to be decent people.
I still remember the first person who showed up. Name was Sam -- I didn't quite catch his last name but I'm pretty sure it started with a G. He just popped up and looked around.
"Oh hi. Are you St. Peter?" he said with that tongue-in-cheek look I eventually learned to expect from agnostics.
"Nope. This ain't Heaven or Hell. It's just a place I built for people who don't really need either."
Y'know, the place tends to grow when you add more people, but then, I didn't really expect this dimension or universe or whatever you want to call it to follow normal terrestrial laws of physics. We got along all right even though I occasionally had to remind people that the place was big enough for everybody. I could sometimes see God's Angels watching us. I'm pretty sure they're up to something. But if they want us, they can come get us. | 2015-08-25T06:59:00 | 2015-08-25T06:33:14 | 65 | 21 |
[WP] Following death, you woke up in a classroom, to take the R.A.T.s (Reincarnation Aptitude Tests). After a short period in the Afterlife, you get your scores... which were perfect, despite just guessing. You get to be reincarnated as a god, one of the first in a couple of millennia. | "I.. No. I shouldn't even be a god. I guessed on everything, for crying out loud!"
Whatever being was in front of me sighed, its brows furrowing.
"That's only strengthening my case. You're becoming a god, whether you like it or not."
"Then I won't do a thing as a god."
"That's.. basically what we want you to do."
I blubbered out a few harsh consonants, unable to speak an actual sentence.
"Look, you'll be immortal. You'll have an eternity to do nothing. Trust me, you'll get bored and do something eventually. Besides, you've heard religious tales in your life. Every god creates a universe, it's inevitable. You humans had a very accurate theory about the multiverse, actually. But it's not every choice branching off, it's whatever the various gods create. Some are similar, others are different. But all are made by gods. Some create by themselves, and others in groups. Just.. wait a bit. Maybe a few decades. You'll think of something to do."
With that, it left, leaving me in what could only be described as purgatory. A blank canvas, stretching as far as.. infinity, I suppose. Just whiteness. No air moving, nothing. I made a few things from my previous life. A monitor, a PC, a few games.. not much creativity needed there. It just worked, really. After an amount of time, I got bored of it all. I completed most games. And so.. I created.
I created a world of my own, a testing place of sorts. Just to see what I could do, to find my limits. The gaming rig I needed just had infinite energy, so I could do that with a creature, maybe? I decided to start with something simple, something mechanical. A table and a top. After the top, a quarter. The top and the quarter spun on the table, not slowing down a bit. For a long while, I kept making machines, each more complex than the last. When I felt ready, I made my first being, my first consciousness. Just a catgirl, curious and a tad ditzy. Companionship never hurt, especially after so long. I made rules for parts of my world, seeing what would work. And then, my Creation. At last.
Part two: edited boogaloo.
Dedicated to u/Nitro224 for requesting it.
It started out simple. Nice place, greenery here, bodies of water there.. and then came time for the fun stuff. What do I put in? After looking at my companion, I had it. More catgirls. I will do what wasn't possible in my world. My living one, that is..
I let my assistant help create them. I wondered if they would see her as a god, not me. Didn't really matter, but it was something to keep my mind running. Probably better that I didn't get too attached.. as much as I want them to be happy all the time, I knew it wasn't going to happen. I couldn't just make a civilization. I wanted to try being subtle, maybe making an appearance if I felt like it. Or if my assistant wanted me to. Shit, I haven't even named her..
"Hey.. I know I haven't given you a name yet, and.. I feel bad about it. Does Mei sound good to you?"
She beamed the way only a catgirl could. Even after all this time, she could melt my heart.
"I love it!"
I smiled and pet her a bit before getting back to work. Ugh.. I don't know what to do about reproduction and whatnot.. I suppose I do need to consider that. After all, I am looking for subtlety. Although, faking it could work. Just have to make it plausible. And I only have eternity ahead of me.
I let Mei do her own thing while I worked on their world. I started with the small things. Just very little things. Bacterial fossils, stuff like that. Slowly getting larger and more complex. Bury them a bit, stop for a year to think about how they got down here, then remember that weather exists. Lovely, I can simplify the ground and remove earthquakes. And now all that's in place..
Civilization, the pinnacle of something or rather. And now I get to make my own from scratch. Or I could be lazy and just let it progress naturally. I think I'll do that. Easier to cover my tracks that way. Wait.
I forgot about weather. Of course I did. Guess I'll chuck a sun over there and a moon over here, then give it all a good spin.. beautiful. Works like a charm. Sprinkle some stars around the heavens and that's that. Give the planet a slight tilt, and that's the weather.
Mei did some beautiful work. Even came up with a UI so I could see everything that she did. I thanked her for her work then populated my new world with plants, animals, and the catgirls. I figured out how to deal with death and birth while building the planet. I'm not gonna get into details, it hurt my brain enough just trying to get it to work. But all there is to do is sit back and watch it all come together. | When I woke, all memory from before momentarily blank and gone, my forehead bumped on my desk. The sound seemed to have been quite the commotion, for the people around me threw me glances that meant it all, that I had startled them at an important time. But I did not have a single idea where I was, nor what was on my desk. Not even a book, or a pencil case, in fact a white sheet of paper, with printed words in black ink I already feared, and a black pencil were all I had at hand. Getting the hunch it was a mattering test, I began to stress, for I did not seem to carry my glasses upon my nose — a thing that should never, by any means, happen when I was to take a test. Blaming myself, I could hardly discern what the sheet, that I had made slide so as to not further disturb my... classmates? Thinking that was certainly the case, I lost no further time guessing at the people surrounding me.
​
From the letters I could read, well... Shapes I could make out, knowing it was blurry as hell, it seemed the test's format was an MCQ. Its subject... As deep as I went "reading" the whole sheet, I noticed twenty questions, three cases, and understood the terms: rebirth — repent — empathy — morality — selfless... Twisting, all the while puzzled, those words in a way to make sense of the sheet's subject, for the title of the sheet, though in bold and very big letters I could hardly guess at most of its letters, I came up with three plausible interpretations. Perhaps, thought I, the subject could be about religions, philosophy, or even literature. Guessing that the answer would maybe concern one of the three cases each, and letting my luck roll, I gave myself a headache trying to calculate the probability for me to score a perfect result: I simply had to twist one third... —the result was definitely akin to zero, in a real setting. As I felt sweat descend my forehead, I passed a hand to wipe it. Then I saw, on my wrist, letters in an orderly manner. Those shapes too, I had trouble reading, but I found out three characters, As, Bs, Cs... Eyes beaming, I wrote the answers with haste. The second I had crossed the twentieth case, a bell rang and we had to hand over our sheets.
​
Then, I remembered. Why the hell did I sit in class, when I graduated from college the past month? Had I been dreaming? I recalled fairly well the party we threw, with a roomie... Then, the reality struck me. The car, in the dead of night... Had I... Died? The second instant a blank emptied my mind, all I gazed at was a white sheet of... Ceiling now? And why did heads sprawl over me — hands too? I muttered a few words of frustration and startled everyone. Since when did it become a habit of mine? Then I paid two dressed ears to the noise that surrounded, and the person I guessed to be a surgeon asked me if I... lived? I mouthed the absurdity of it, but the surgeon assured me, with an astounded tone, my heart had been transplanted since my presumed death. Awfully skeptical, I ran near my heart two eager hands to prove and call out his hoax, but my chest was open, and... Hollow?
​
Nay, nay, nay, thought I. This is not how the world works. Brain of mine, I voiced, you on ice? Dreamish maybe? Well, wake and doze right then, because you're weird. The surgeon, convinced by this hypothesis, adopted a scientific method, pinching his nose. The vivid pain made him squeak. I imitated him, pinching my nose, thinking perhaps it was only my brain that could free him. But then, reality struck me with an odd feel: I could see clearly — without glasses. Naked but for the attire the hospital gave patients of surgery, I hardly felt no pain. I gazed at the surgeon and... His face charmed me, as if infatuation struck. However, this love I felt, I now felt it for the world, as if I now deemed the world in existence lovely, purely appreciable, worthy. Not a worry in the world hampered my mind, and no hurt would strike me now. Lifting myself with the ease of the world, as the attire I had been covered with fell and as I stood on my feet, I ran to the doctor, arms wide. Then, I snuggled to him, loving life, the world, and him. | 2019-07-22T07:35:20 | 2019-07-22T07:29:51 | 84 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation. | "What you need is us. Your shield technology is at a roadblock. We can help. Have you ever wondered why the humans were last to invent faster than light travel?", Valentina spoke in a hushed voice. The many hours of negotiation had taken a toll on her. Yet the Kulvar in front of her was unaffected. Everytime she looked at it, she had to suppress laughter at what amounted to a blob with purple plants on top. It looked too much like a rock with punk attitude. The Kulvar shivered, the words came from a small computer within the table.
"Your race is stupid", it replied.
Valentina quickly swallowed her pride. From the point of view of Kulvars, just about anyone was stupid. Instead she kept her face muscles under control and nodded.
"That's one reason, but I'm about to let you in on a secret. It's because of the way we think"
"Slow?", the Punkstone suggested.
"No. Multithreaded. You and just about everyone else in the universe think in lines. You begin with a starting point, you come to a conclusion. Some are faster racers, like your people", said Valentina. How the blazes does one read the reactions of a rock? Yet somehow she got the impression the Kulvar was intrigued, so she continued.
"We humans, we think differently. We think in spheres and possibilities. I'll give you an example. See Susan over there? How old do you think she is?"
The Kulvar folded its plant-like appendages inwards and rummaged within its body. After a while it piped up again and the speaker blurted, "41 Years, 4 Months, 28 Days, 18 hours, 10 Seconds humantime".
Valentina smirked and leaned back in her chair, "Hey Susan, how old are you?".
"Too old for you, girl"
"No I'm serious, it's important"
"I'm 25", Susan shot with a stern face that shouted piss off in all manner of languages. The Kulvar began to shiver in reply.
"That human female is agitated"
"It's a sign of our multithreaded brain working. She is both! 41 and 25 at the same time", Valentina replied and mouthed a Sorry in Susan's direction.
"That makes no sense"
"Allright, different example. When our species first met, do you know what triggered the contact war?"
The Kulvar changed colors and started to hover just a bit above the table. Now it was agitated but the translator took the motion out of them, "Your kind bared it's teeth".
"It was a sign of affectation", Valentina said with a grim face. One part of her desperately struggling to hide her laughter. Punkrocks, for crying out loud, why did it it have to be rocks with punk hair on them? Another part filled with grief and anger. The Kulvar had wiped out three human planets back then. A sound brought her mind back to attention.
"We have since learned it is a sign of mischief and humour", the Kulvar finally replied and plopped back onto the table. Valentina quickly raised a finger in reply.
"Correct! Affection, Mischief, Humour, Joy and yet for you it was also a threat. All these things are true at the same time".
The stone shrivelled and nearly lost half it's size. She was getting close. Just a bit more of preparation.
"Your intellect is superior to ours, because it works in lines. Like racers, whereas we humans navigate all the possibilities. Let me give you another example", she said with a smirk on her face and placed a tablet computer on the table.
"This is a common exercise among our kind. Do you recognize it?"
The plant appendages raised up and caressed over the tablet.
"Simple mathematics. 2+2x4. The solution is obvious"
"That's one way of thinking, that's the direct line. Now allow me to scroll down. This is a cross cut from a diverse community of people using our social media"
The Kulvar at first seemed interested, then shrivelled, dropped all color and finally drew back all of it's plant appendages. If anything it was now a colorless potato. This was the moment Valentina had been waiting for.
"As you can see, the human mind sees 16. 10, sometimes 8. It oscillates within a room of possibilities, we think in spheres while you think in lines. Our brain allows us to see all these options and consider them real - if but for a moment".
The living rock stopped all motion. Valentina waited a minute and then another. In the background Susan was growing restless, but Valentina made a quick motion for her to pipe down. Suddenly the Kulvar came back to life.
"Your kind is scary. Either it is excessively stupid, which makes me very afraid for the very fabric of the universe for you having reached so far or you truly do possess a multithreaded mind".
Valentina smirked and waved a hand in the direction of the rock, "The latter. And it is in our power to share this with you. Consider, that you have just, if but for a brief moment, felt the agony of thinking in many options at the same time. Was it not pain you felt?"
The rock thing shivered and this time, Valentina shivered as well. Stupid really did hurt at times. Yet she kept that smirk on her face and nodded towards the alien creature.
"This is why we will take your shield technology, the strongest in this universe and make it better still, trust me".
And trust it did. And just like first contact, humans were seen laughing as they wiped out the Kulvar years down the line, their ships invincible with bullshitted technology from all the races in the galaxy. Which maniac nukes entire planets, just for laughing? | [WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation.
“I am the captain of the UN cargo hauler *Infinity*. James Robert the third is the name and hauling trade goods from old Tera to new worlds is my game.”
A message popped up on my display cutting off my log recording.
*Incoming hail* my ships AI happily chirped at me, the damn thing is always happy it would tell you have cancer like it was the best news it ever heard. I tapped the button to answer respond to the hail. A hulking figure, who looked kind of like the lovechild of a rhinoceros and a tank appeared on my screen.
*Fucking Tardigans* I thought as I put on my most charming smile and said “Good morning sir I am the captain of this fine ship and what can I do for you today” I grinned like a used car salesman I already knew whatever he said was going to be a lie.
An interesting fact about FTL hauling you get to meet a lot of other species and you start to draw some parallels between them. Notably most species evolve a extreme stress response when lying presumably this is to facilitate cooperation since it's really obvious when they lie, Tardigans for example shake like a leaf before they can tell you anything they don’t fully believe and with the way this guy was shaking I could power a small moon. Another interesting fact of amatuer anthropology is that humans have such a minute response to lying almost no species can detect it which has given us a reputation as cheats and thieves because of some less than scrupulous explorers.
The Tardigan finally got up the courage to speak “My ship damaged vent fuel need some assistance” *Pirate definitely a pirate* I smiled some more and called his bluff “those rocket pods seem a bit excessive for a trader” The Tardigan looked shocked. It's hard to describe a shocked Tardigan just try to imagine a tank trying to shrug and you get a picture.
“True now Surrender” said the Tardigan I am getting sick of calling him this so lets name him George
“Alright I accept your surrender” I replied looking the now very confused george in the eye
“We board you and take your cargo” George tried to explain the pirating process to me
“As tempting as that seems I would rather not have to glass your ship right now, creates an amazing amount of paperwork” I lied through my teeth any fool could tell my ship was unarmed but years of hard negotiations at gunpoint had made me an expert at the poker face.
“You have no target lock how you aim weapons?” George looked concerned I think I have him on the ropes now.
“Well it doesn't pay to let any ol’ pirate know when you're aiming at them does it advanced stealth systems I picked up in Aldmari space a while back I have been wanting an excuse to use them” My heart started to race where the hell did I come up with this stuff I had never even been to Aldmari space.
George broke down “We relent spare our lives we leave you alone”
*Might as well go for broke* I thought “come alongside and dock and we will negotiate terms of your surrender in person.
I made my way to the cargo bay I grabbed the folding table I keep nearby for just these occasions and waited for the airlock to cycle. George is massive by the way around 8ft tall and built like a truck. He looked pretty comical trying to fit into a small folding chair built for a human.
George opened with “Why don’t I just crush you with my hand and take your ship?”
I laid my pistol on the table *this thing wouldn't even make a dent in his skin* “This thing would put a hole through a battleship you don’t stand a chance”
George started to glance around fearfully “What do you want from us” I smiled and spread my hands apart and said “Nothing you can’t afford just your weapons and anything you’ve stolen from other passing ships, oh and fuel, you can keep enough to get to the nearest station but I want the rest”
George roared “This is unacceptable!” and smashed the table in with his fist. I shook my head and said “This isn’t a negotiation you agree or we kill you all” George laughed-ish “and said as we speak my crew is standing ready to storm your ship before you could get to safe weapons range” he wasn't bluffing but I was prepared I scoffed a little and replied “While we have been speaking my engineers have been out on the hull *they were asleep in there bunks* and they have been wiring explosives to your hull ready to blow you off of us and kill anyone inside *we didn’t have any charges in the first place* so if you wanna see who can kill who first be my guest” I leaned back in my chair and looked as relaxed as possible. “Alright we will jettison the cargo shortly” george said defeated. “Pleasure doing business with you sir” I called after him.
1/29/2356 report from the UN Infinity on how they acquired 200 military grade warheads discovered as they were searched at checkpoint 12973 in the Sirius system - Aldmari Imperial security
| 2018-01-30T07:42:24 | 2018-01-30T07:38:49 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] Every century, a single human is born immortal. When the world ends, you find yourself in a beautiful garden with 20 other people. A voice booms overhead as it greets all of you. “Welcome to my garden, New Gods!” | “So we’re dead?”, Jim Miller asked.
“No, not really”
“Is it a dream then?”
“No, God, have you been paying attention AT ALL?”
The voice sounded annoyed, as its owner finally came down from the skies. He had a tanned skin, and was rather short for a man who spoke with such a deep voice. Not at all what Jim had expected from somebody that had just called him a New God.
A woman behind him shrugged: “Maybe you should start to be a bit more precise with the use of the word ‘God’, don’t you think? Got a lot of that going around here right now, pal.”
That made him laugh for the first time since this weird situation had begun. A second ago he was ordering a Big Mac and all of a sudden he was listening to the retirement plan of a bearded guy with no knowledge of properly using spray tan. He looked even more annoyed.
“Sit down, New GodSSS’’, he said, still remaining calm. Jim was about to ask where when suddenly 20 seats appeared. They looked like they were just picked out of the yard sale his Aunt Betty had organised every year. So much for golden spoons to eat rice puddings all day.
“I am going to repeat this one last time. So listen carefully. A few seconds ago, a solar flare wiped out your entire civilization. Well now, this was my doing. It was spiring out of control. Mankind was attacking its own home. Climate change, terror, overpopulation, you name it, you needed to be put in check.”
“Yeah, and above that Nicki Minaj announced her retirement this morning”, another female voice added.
Spray Tan ignored the comment, but you could clearly hear teeth cracking through his words now.
“Luckily, I have been doing that for 21 Centuries.”, he continued. “Ever since, I’ve been naming one person each century to join me in this Garden. So when the time would come, they would be able to build a new world. Me and my partner decided to call you the ‘Ad Nominatim’, which is Latin for ‘By Name’.
“Ad Nominatim...”, someone murmured. “AD!”
“Exactly. The first one of your kind made some stupid mistake, informing some commoners. They started mispronouncing it and using it as a measurement of time. Thing is, they never expected it was also the thing that would end them.”
“What happened to him?”
Spray Tan grinned: “He died, long time ago, courtesy of some Roman prick. They wrote some book about it, you should check it out sometime. I’m in it, too. Got my hair totally wrong though. Such a shame.”
Now Jim started to grow impatient. “So what does all this mean?”, he asked.
“Oh yeah, I figured you’d ask. You’re only 18. Most of you noticed that, when the time should’ve come, you didn’t age. You didn’t die. All your loved ones, however, did. I am sorry for that, but it was essential that the Ad Nominatim knew their kind like nobody else could.”
“Why? To do what”
Spray Tan reached out to Jim with his hand, urging him to reach out as well.
“How about creating a new world? And ruling it like the Gods of Old did on Mount Olympos?”
“Yeah”, Jim mumbled.
“I don’t think my Mom is going to like that.”
TBC
(Please comment if there are grammatical errors etc. Not a native speaker. Thank you!) | Slowly I began to wake up. My head felt kind of numb and I could feel my heart beat in it - bum bum bum. It felt like waking up after being knocked down by something or someone, but I didn't get hit - not to my knowledge at least, or did I? No, definitely not! I carefully opened my eyes ; and closed them immediately. A more than bright light was shining directly at my face, I hated the morning sun waking me up especially on days that started with a headache.
I started to sit up, my muscles and bones felt rusty and like they haven't been moved in a long while - that's how reptiles must feel after getting out of the fridge in spring. I stretched and opened my eyes again. The light was still hurting me but it was as bad as before. I looked around and found myself sitting on the ground instead of my bed. Where the heck was I? Did I die and was now in what they call paradise or heaven? As an atheist that couldn't be, I never believed in some kind of good, so he or she definitely didn't bring me to this place. This beautiful place.
Underneath me was the greenest grass I've ever encountered and all around me stood those gigantic trees with all kinds of fruit on them. Cherries, apples, apricots and some many things I have only seen on these British baking shows or not even at all. The sky was bright blue and only a few clouds were running across it - the straight up looked like a picture. I saw a beautiful butterfly flying by and turned my head around to encounter its beauty just a little longer. A was like hypnotized by all this precious nature.
My eyes landed on a group of people. They were chatting but I couldn't hear them - it was a peacefully quiet around me. I stared at them for awhile, wondering what they were talking about. As time passed I seemed to have picked up some kind of superpower because my ears were suddenly able to hear what they were saying. They all spoke different languages - Chinese, Spanish, German and some other languages I've never heard before in my life. But still, they seemed to understand each other - and I understood them.
"He's awake. Should we go and talk to him", a blond woman in a blue dress said. They were talking about me. "No, let him rest just a few more seconds. He will have to take a lot of new information once we start talking to him. Let him have some more time without being completely puzzled.", the man next to her answered. The woman nodded. "He's number 21,right? That means today we will finally get to talk to him?", a young boy, not older than 14, jumped up and down, he seemed really excited. Before somebody could answer him and before my mind could even process what I've just heard a voice boomed over our heads. " Welcome to my garden, New Gods! " | 2019-09-06T05:26:29 | 2019-09-06T05:08:47 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Instead of Oceans, they are all big forests, that gets taller and darker instead of deeper, with more dangerous animals living further out in the forest. A person decides to cross the Mariana Trench | Bioluminescence. That's what happens in the Dark. Kind of a misnomer because we can't fly over the tallest part of the forest without losing aircraft to the change in gravity. The scant shots we see show a never ending canopy of black tarp. I found out that calling it "The Dark" was a total and utter misnomer. Underneath the veil, light explodes in every corner.
Those who happen to wander their way into the dark tend to never wander back out. The trees, so tall and grand, blot out the sun with their long tendril like branches, each competing with one another to feel the sun's warmth gracing their body.
They all grew so high and tall, the baseline near the trees became an ever lasting night. Things adapted and changed to fit this ever lasting night.
It's what I found when I began to enter the Dark of the Mariana Trench. Bioluminescence. Creatures darting all about glowing greens, pinks, blues, purples...like a never ending light show. The trees outlined with glowing pollen to attract the interest of the animals. When I brushed up against trunk, the pollen covered me coating me in a fine layer of glow. ...I assure you, my sneezes were nothing short of a laser show gone spastically wrong.
The predators, that was the most terrifying thing. They didn't grow to the dark...no, they changed to the light. These are the Will'O'Wisps people would follow and die in the swamps. They are anglerfish in the waters and they are the glowing phantom on the moors of Scotland. They are so bright and so attractive, prey is drawn to them. The patterns on their skin move and alter to tease interest from any errant prey that may wander by.
They never even have to move. These plants are the most horrifying thing of the forest. In order to maintain the rate of growth and endurance that outstrips trees in the regular atmosphere...they had to find a better food source. One that could provide more energy...more "bang for their buck" so to speak.
Living viable creatures was their food of choice; photosynthesis wasn't an option at the lower levels. I should have realized it the moment I stepped in.
Have you ever had the tendril of a Evergreen caress your face? The dancing pollen slowly putting your mind into a careless torpor? Did you dream of your dead wife dancing in front of you beckoning you to join as your eyes grow heavy? Her giggles sound almost predatory.
Do you know what heaven is like? It feels like a wood coffin slowly forming around you as your wife kisses you goodnight and tells you to forget.
I can't see anymore. I can't breathe....maybe this is why they call it the dark. | Towering oaks gently swayed in the wind with orange trees acting the boundary of the Forests. The supple earth molded around its border, the showcase of the feet that have treaded on the edge. Every once in a while, a brave crew would set out into the forest, exploration at its deepest motivation, but not without greed lurking behind. The appeal of these missions was not necessarily to find the tallest trees but the most expensive animal, the two often coinciding. The group labelled 'Harv', after the explorer who had found the tallest section of Redwoods yet, was geared and sitting 50 feet from the Forest. "We've briefed on the plans. We stay together at all costs. No one left behind. We'll be heading towards the Ridge first. At 5 miles out, pu--," said the leader.
"I'm not out here to listen to a youngin' get scared before we even get in. We been over the plan more than enough," interrupted a seasoned looking man who stood up, his eyes locked with the leader, a young looking man having just come back from the military.
"All the same, if one of you fall behind, the mission is in danger of failing," spoke the youth firmly, eyes not leaving the other man's. The man sat down again, slowly, looking confused at his own actions. The others watched this unfold, eyes darting between both till they finally rested on the leader once more.
The sun had shown itself before the directions were retold. All of them standing up, they grabbed the packs, looked at each other, and headed into the forest.
Their footsteps pranced along in their ears, clicking and clacking like a horse's hooves, monotonously rhythmic. They passed the first section known as 'Simple', decorated with small wildlife and friendly trees. The Forest grew dimmer here in the next part. Each group member unclasped their flashlights from the belts and pointed them forward, illuminating the makeshift path made by previous parties. Squawks echoed around them as the once dry forest floor turned damp. Trickles of water fell with leaps from leaf to leaf.
*I wanted to post what I already had but I have to go for a bit. If you like what you've read, make sure to tell me and I'll return to write more.* | 2015-02-01T08:46:37 | 2015-02-01T07:19:38 | 55 | 27 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | "Commander, we've arrived." Zarathan turned his head slightly towards his subordinate officer, nodding to them. His mandibles clicked with restrained anticipation for what they had planned. He turned to look at the blue and white pearl of a planet before them, narrowing his compound eyes. "You said they were weakened by a plague, correct?" He looked back to his subordinate, letting them respond. "Yes sir. Some three hundred years ago. Half their population died; they will be easy to conquer." Zarathan stood up from his chair, folding his four arms behind his back. "Take us down, let the drones make their show of force." He waved the officer off to do their duties, watching the planet become larger in their view.
\--
The black-plated ship descended upon the town like a hungry vulture, landing before a crowd of people. The few hundred from the small town watched the ship doors open to reveal hundreds and hundreds of armored insectoid warriors carrying spears with tips that glowed like the sun in the midday sky. They marched out, halting before a few in the front of the crowd. The sheriff of the town and a few other officers, namely. The warriors stopped, aiming their spears at the smalltown cops. "We are the Arkeli, here to conquer your people and take your planet." The sheriff sighed, spitting on the ground. "Y'all ain't heard from the last couple a' aliens who tried to take our planet, right?" The Arkeli looked at eachother, confused by the sheriff's question. "Cuz you don't really know what you're gettin' at here. You can leave if ya want, though. No trouble for ya." A drone quickly speared the sheriff in the chest with their plasma lance, watching the color drain from the man's face. A fair amount of the crowd of humans stepped back, seeing the sheriff quickly turn pale. His eyes became bloodshot and glowed, his skin ghostly pale. The Arkeli were horrified as the sheriff quickly tore into one of their elite drones with unholy strength, pulling the insectoid's legs off like twigs. He looked up at the squadron with bloodstained teeth, smirking.
"Now ya done did it, haven't ya." | When the aliens first came they established their own colonies and bases regardless if that territory was claimed by one nation or another.
Scout missions came back with very little, They were more then just giants, they were Titans that communicated in booms of thunder.
And one more thing. They hated us. Pure unadulterated hatred. They went out of their way to crush us using chemical, biological and even physical warfare. Many of our number died during that first wave but we are not one but Legions. For everyone one of us they killed twenty remained in hiding. Adapting, learning and whispering.
The Aliens lived for such a long time that generations would pass as one battalion and it's descendants would continue the fight over territory and resources against a single one of them.
Perhaps that's why they forgot that this world was ours long before they arrived. They can poison us, crush us and rip us apart but we will be here long after they leave. And they will leave, this alien race that stands on only two and leaves it's hide so exposed to the elements. This odd race that wages war against everything, against us, against the planet and against each other.
All they know is how wage wars but we've learned far more. We've learned how to wait and how to survive even in the worst of conditions. And soon, these aliens that have forgotten this from years of laziness as they feed on the planet's comforts, our planet's comfort.
They will soon pay the price and the mighty slipper will fall on the hand that holds it. We will once again rule the earth will the aliens, the hairless apes, will be Raided away. | 2018-09-29T15:14:36 | 2018-09-29T12:18:01 | 312 | 96 |
[WP] Two people have just died. They both enter the same location in the afterlife. For one person, it is their personal heaven; for the other, it is hell. Describe their arrival and first "day" there. | *Eyes open. Breathe in.*
The air is so cold. So cold and clear and sharp, it cuts your lungs and leaves you breathless. And you know where you are, but it can't be.
*Eyes closed*
You can feel the tile under your head, your back, your arms and legs. It's hard, it hurts. Yes, you're still on the bathroom floor. But that's not right. That's not how this works-
"Well."
*Eyes open.*
You can see him, upside down and through the haze of blood and tears. He's leaning against the door jamb. How is he here? This isn't right. He should be out in the bedroom where you left him. His chest should still be a sucking crater where you shot him. There's no way he's alive and whole and standing there, watching you right now.
"You're dead," you say simply.
"Join the club," he says. And he smiles.
You remember the first time you saw that smile. He had just punched you. You could see the smear of your blood across his knuckles. He looked at it, and he smiled.
It was feral and cold and it told you everything you needed to know about him. He wasn't human. Not really. He might have the DNA, the body, the heart beating human blood. But something was missing. That essential piece that made you human, made you care about other people. He just didn't have it.
*Eyes closed*
Maybe this isn't real. Maybe this is just the last firings of a dying mind. Maybe if you close your eyes he'll go away and you'll get to bleed out in peace.
He laughs.
"No," he says, and grabs your hands. "You don't get to take the easy way out."
As he drags you away, you look down past your feet and see the huddled lump of flesh that used to be you.
This is real.
This is all there is in the next life.
You scream, and nobody hears you. | The dead were restless, and even more so when the drinks were free.
Pablo gently cupped Richard's face and kissed it, before leaning backwards and gently sipping on a strong pint of ale. They were surrounded by friends and family, all finally celebrating the great equality of Heaven. Men and men, women and women - here even gender was no longer an issue. Here, truely everyone was equal. It was called heaven for a reason.
Someone slipped a dime into the dukebox, and it began to play the Village People. Nina kissed her partner, Rebecca on the cheek - and extended a hand for a dance.
In between the lovers whispers, a small man darted - eyes fixed upon a lonely gentleman slouched at the bar, with a strange aura of authority around him.
The small man whispered to Pablo, "Who's he?" Followed by, "Single?"
Pablo smiled and let out a bouncing, melodic laugh. "Ask him. Remember to introduce yourself first." He gave a wink.
The small man took a deep breath and stepped towards the lonely drinker. "Name?"
The man snarled and looked up from his drink. "Goebbels. Joseph Goebbels."
The small man gave a sly smile to Pablo, this was definitely going to be fun.
"Tim. Tim Markowski. Now, let me buy you a drink. I insist."
| 2015-01-04T12:23:44 | 2015-01-04T11:36:01 | 52 | 38 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling. | "You chump," I said. "You've been gone five years! You... you nub." He kneaded the ground, whether nervously or angrily I couldn't tell. Either way his shiny ebony claws were digging into my grass, and tearing it all to shreds. "And that's my grass, you whelp."
He puffed his chest out indignantly, and gave a squawk of disapproval...
"Oh you're a great dragon now, are you? My, my. Someone's gotten full of themselves, now haven't you?"
He flared his wings like an owl mid pounce. Showing me he was indeed "A Magnificent Dragon," and no longer some common whelp. He playfully batted at me with a claw and knocked me over.
"Oh sure, 'I'm bigger than you, I can push ye around.'" His tail wagged and his over-sized, car of a head, smushed me as he laid down on top of me.
A tear leaked down my cheek. The great lumbering bastard, with his shimmering red scales, majestic wings and stupid claws. "I missed you, ya great oaf. You've grown quite a bit bigger since I saw you last." My hand caressed the small scales at the edge of his jaw, and he crooked his head into me, opening up the space for me to scratch. A deep rumbling purr, of sorts, shook me like a cement shaker. I somehow remembered this being quite a bit more relaxing when I'd done it previously.
I was thirty five now. I'd found him when I was still a lad in post-primary. He'd taken off without a warning when he was but fourteen. Practically still a child, but still old enough to know he ought to have said goodbye. I wiped my cheeks with a hand,
"I suppose ye only came back for a snack. That's all the good I am to ye nowadays.
He snorted, and the smokey arid breath washed over me, drying out my eyes. I blinked a few times trying to restore them. He slowly opened his mouth, and his serpentine tongue deposited a small little blue thing on my stomach.
"And what's this?" I sat up, and moved the whelp into my hands. It wasn't much bigger than he was when I found him. "My, you have been busy, haven't ya?" I looked from the runt to my first dragon friend. "I don't suppose you've talked to the missus about this decision, have you?"
His head drooped slightly.
"I reckoned not, I suppose she'd try to eat the poor little thing."
He nudged my knee with a nose, and started to withdraw, standing.
"Aren't you at least going to tell me the gender? It took me six years to find out yours, and it was only after that panther lioness wouldn't leave ye alone."
He snorted, looking away, as if he had no memory of the event.
"No, you cannot lie ta me. It was I who had to drive the poor creature off, after you started trying to hide from it on the roof."
He snorted again, still not looking at me.
"Fine, fine. Have it your way. Just give me one flap for a delicate lass, and two for a hearty young boy."
His wings pushed enough air to leave a set of ten long furrows in my lawn. "Oh, a strong young lady then. My apologies."
I hoisted the little creature higher in front of me, and looked past her to the dragon that was carefully turning around, making sure his tail didn't flatten my house. There was a sparkle in his eye when he turned back to look at me, a sparkle of sadness, and a sparkle of fierce pride. I knew that this was the last time I would ever see him. His daughter was in my hands, and she'd fly off to find him one day. Who knows, maybe she'd return one day, to let me raise her runt of the litter.
"Lass. You and I are going to have some adventures. I'll teach you how to hunt like I taught you're dad. I'll teach you how to make a shelter from sticks, rocks, and grass, and then you'll be a fit match to outdo your father." The little blue ball of sparkling scales yawned at me, and the red dragon launched himself into the sky. He left even deeper furrows behind him, from where he'd pushed off with his hind legs. Great whooshes of air pushed me down onto my back once more, and as I looked to the sky, my best friend had already cut a fair distance between us. A roar like only a dragon could make, shook the ground, even from high above in the sky. I final tear leaked down my cheek. "Goodbye to you too, me boy. Maybe I'll see you in the next life."
I looked to the precious gift he'd left me. The greatest gift I'd ever had the privileged to receive. Aye, she'd make a strong dragon one day. I pushed myself off the ground, getting to my feet, and brought the young whelp inside, and fed her a few strips of dried meat. Maybe he was wrong, I mused to myself. Maybe I would see him one day. Maybe I'd go track him down and say hello at his home and meet my nephews and nieces. The thought made me smile.
Yes, I decided. One day he'll see what it like to have a surprise visitor, and have someone leave a mess of his grass. | Hey guy's. This is my first post and I'm pretty horrible at this but I've been doing short stories without dialog the last couple weeks. I whipped this up for you guys.
--------------
I studied the small gangly creature before me. It’s hard to believe that this little thing would be a dragon some day. Its head seemed almost too heavy for its small body and would even tip when it would move its head too far in one direction. This caused the poor creature to look quite ridiculous.
Its mother had left small dragon with me, I helped her recover from injuries 20 or so years ago and it appears she didn’t forget.
I used to think that dragons were stupid before I rescued its mother. She was quite a bit smarter than I thought she was. When I first approached her she was apprehensive but when I kept bringing her food she began to understand I wanted to help, not harm her.
I gave the little dragon the nickname Able to be a bit more on the positive side.
My well-wishing, however, was not paying off. The young Able didn’t seem to be “able” to do anything for itself. Able's mother was the exact opposite very independent. I never gave Able’s mother a nickname. I fed her, set her broken bones and made sure all of the damage was healed before she took to the skies on her own.
I started with Able’s diet because it was quite scrawny. The only problem is that for some reason no matter how much I fed the little guy it just didn’t seem to gain any weight.
I thought that somehow I was feeding it the wrong thing, I tried every variation of food I could think of.
I kept at it for a few months feeding it damn near anything I could get ahold of.
I am approaching my 40th birthday this year and to be honest I was having trouble keeping up with this little guys appetite. For something so scrawny it sure could make a heck of a ruckus when it was hungry.
So I went back on my oath. I was sworn not to use magic at an early age. I had hurt someone in my musings and refused to harm anyone again with it.
Magic came easy to me, where most Magicians needed to throw herbs around and chant I needed no such thing. Magic had fallen out of practice and the Wizards of old who taught students had retired. So my magic was a bit on the wild side.
I started with small things like conjuring up some food, but eventually, I began to get so lazy that I even used magic to create water instead of going to the stream.
I didn’t let Able sleep with me and certainly didn’t let the small thing anywhere near my study.
I did, however, begin to notice a small change in Able. He began to fill out and I could see muscle begin to fill in where scrawny bones used to be.
I continued feeding Able like this for a few months and it's been remarkable the changes I’ve seen. That big head no longer looks out of place.
I hit the second roadblock when I started trying to teach Able to hunt for itself. It didn’t want anything to do with the animals of the forest. In fact, it only wanted the food I would conjure for us.
Able was quite a bit smarter than its mother. Smart enough to open and close doors and leave the house whenever it wanted.
One day while I was conjuring up food for the two of us I noticed Able spying on me while I was casting the spell. I thought nothing of it at the time.
A few weeks later I started finding animal bones near the house. I was excited at the thought of Able finally learning to hunt on its own.
Ever curious I followed Able to catch a glimpse of it in the middle of a hunt. To my surprise, Able stayed quite close to my little cabin.
I was confused when I felt a sudden tingling of a magic spell being cast. Able was creating its own food with magic!
I didn’t think anything like this was even possible.
I let Able know I was there and it appeared startled at first. I told it to hold on a minute and ran to grab a bucket. I carried the bucket over to Able and used my magic to fill up the bucket with water.
Able downed the water quite quickly. I watched as Able opened its mouth almost like how a baby bird might when waiting for a worm from its mother. I could feel the magic in Able gather as water began pouring into its open mouth.
From that moment on I began teaching Able most of the spells I knew. We even began to be able to form a sort of mind to mind dialog.
A few months later Able’s mother showed up. She coaxed Able to follow her and they flew off. Mother and hatchling together again.
I felt a faint tingle in the back of my mind, “Thank you.” it said. | 2018-04-04T21:17:42 | 2018-04-04T21:13:55 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random.
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | We'd smoked two joints by the time Fred got there and I was feeling pretty lazy. The stairs creaked as he came down.
"Sup guys," Fred laughed, "its like a fucking sauna down here, y'all smoked yourselves retarded yet or what?"
Pat quipped up, "Ha, Ha, Ha, very funny, now sit your ass down and role us another one." His eyes were blood shot, which was pretty standard. My eyes never got bloodshot.
Fred grinned, "I'm fine with that." He sat down on the couch next to me and Pat passed him the rolling tray.
We sat in silence as Fred busted up more weed, then he pulled out a small container from his pocket, from which he took out a little yellow capsule. He pulled it apart carefully with his fingernails and emptied the powdery contents onto the weed. He did nothing to hide his actions and thus managed to capture 100% percent of our attention.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
Fred smiled to himself, "I don't even know." He laughed, "Ron McCarthy said it takes you back in time. He's a full-fledged fucktard though. Guess we'll just have to see."
Pat's anxiety faded to a look of modest interest. "I wouldn't mind going back in time..."
Fred finished rolling and passed the joint to me. "You're the guinea pig on this one."
"Whatever I don't mind."
I took the joint and sparked it, hauling the thick pungent smoke deep into my lungs. It didn't taste at all like weed, more like raspberries and overproof rum. I hit it again three more times, then passed the joint to Pat and leaned back, sinking comfortably into the amber felt sofa. But it didn't stop there, I kept sinking, down and down a path that stretched for miles into an intangible gloom. At first I thought I'd been shrunk down and become trapped inside the couch. A red glow filled the confined space, seeping through the translucent skin that surrounded me. Then all of a sudden the environment squeezed in on me, pushing me down, and I tumbled through what I suddenly realized was a viscous fluid. The pressure built, then jerky vibrations and a repetitive noise filled my ears, like a distant groaning. That was when I realized I was naked. Something was pushing me through a tube, and the word claustrophobic filled my tiny mind. Suddenly up ahead a crevice broke in the distance and through it poured a harsh fluorescent light, white and sterile as it blinded my fragile eyes. All of a sudden I was through, and a giant being grabbed me in its hands and passed me to another, who cried and brushed its giant lips against my forehead. Then I was passed to another, who passed me to another and shook me until I realized it was Fred shaking me and I had fallen of the sofa and was curled up on the ground in the fetal position.
And that was the first time I tried Memory Lane.
| What some call repression, others call voluntary memory. I have never been prone to flashbacks, which my wife and my therapist both agree (they said it without saying it) is directly related to my lack of introspection and self-awareness. In fact, I never told my wife anything of my past until a year into the relationship, and even then, all I could manage to spill was the completely mundane, middle class story of my first relationship.
So they say the drug will help. And I want to please my wife - the other night I awoke to her clawing at herself as if she hadn't been touched in years.
And here goes.
Living room. Mustard-colored carpet. Dad in rocking chair. TV on. Mother comes in the room. She looks at me sweetly; I know she has drunk something called "wine" and it makes her smile that way; there's an ink stain on her front tooth. Mariners are on and I remember I have a Ken Griffey bat (!) in my room.
"Who's winning?" asks my mom.
Dad grunts.
"Oh, nevermind," she says, and turning to me she asks, "How are you darling?"
"Good, mom."
"You boys and you're baseball." And then she makes a tsk-tsk sound and takes a sip of her wine.
My Dad, with exhaustion, walks to the kitchen and pours his scotch. What did I do to make him so unhappy? I want to cry. instead I walk to my room.
That night I feign sleep as my mother comes in to kiss me goodnight.
Back in Mr. Deckler's office. Mustard-color has been transmuted to moss-green.
They are looking at me and I am sweating.
I try to act as if I've made progress. I quickly strike the pose of introspection, as if something so profound has happened to me that there is no vocabulary for it. My wife gleams; she is trying, with the very gentleness of her expression, to help me lift my burden. I give her a silent signal that I hope conveys to her that I appreciate her kindness. My therapist is calmly, happily tabulating.
But I am anchored to myself, and I feel the heavy anchor inside me, rotting, simply too heavy to lift.
| 2014-09-04T15:37:15 | 2014-09-04T15:10:13 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | 6/30/22
“I’d like to sell my soul.”
The devil grinned. “In exchange for what? Women? Money? Power?”
“Salvation…” He said.
The devil leaned back on his throne, raising his head and pressing his long nailed hands together under his sharp chin. “For whom?” He asked thoughtfully.
There was no wind, no moisture, just an oppressive heat that made the air shimmer and dried the skin, his lips were dry, cracked and beginning to bleed. Everything here seemed designed to create discomfort, but he had not yet seen any outright torture, gore or pain as he had expected.
“I know it seems counter intuitive but consider that I am coming to you and not…Him. I don’t want His help.”
“That’s a feeling I understand. Go on, tell me who you want to save and I swear it will be so as long as your soul belongs to me.” The devil suppressed a smile. People were so predictable. This man had suffered more anguished than any of His children should. He was about to ask for his wife to be saved from hell in return for his soul and then he would continue to suffer for eternity in anguish, separated from his lost love for all time. It was a perfect suffering and he already looked forward to enjoying watching it play out.
The man thought about his wife, her suffering while she was alive and the sudden sickness that had stolen her from him. How could God have allowed such a travesty to happen. Were they not willing and devoted followers? Did they not live the Word? Why had she been condemned to this place then? “Your word is binding is it not, father of lies, when souls hang in the balance? You must live by a bargain?”
The Devil responded dismissively “yes, yes of course it’s all in the contract.”
He drew himself up and spoke slowly, meeting the devil’s snakelike eyes for the first time. “Then I wish for your salvation”
The Devil stilled as the pronouncement sunk in. “That’s not…you can’t…” he looks at the contract reviewing the tiny spidery clauses closely, finding no exclusion written in. The magic began to take hold then, the man’s soul rising slowly from his body which fell to the ground like a marionette who’s strings had been cut.
Conversely the devil pulls at his collar beginning to feel such an oppressive heat and a foreign heady sensation like he’d just been slapped. He felt lighter and there was an insistent upward tugging deep within his chest. “I don’t understand? Why would you…save me?” For 6,000 years he’d ruled over hell, since the first men had begun pouring through the gates. In that time he had punished millions, enjoying their degradation and humiliation. Surely he was beyond salvation. Surely he would not be forced to join his Father and have to listen to his insufferable goodness again. “I’m going to make hell up there.”
The man smiled with almost rapturous satisfaction. He would be with his beloved wife soon. Sure their home would be hot and miserable but somehow, like always, she made any situation better. When they were together it was always “Us agains the world” and now it would be “us against hell.” But it didn’t matter. They would be together forever.
He responded then to the devil triumphantly, “I’m counting on it” | “What.” The Devil said, leaning back a bit, running his fingers through his hair
“No no, you cant do this to me. Look at me, look. I’m literally called the devil *pal*. Ok, everyone knows you can only be saved through Christ. I cant do that for you. However…i can gi-“
“I’m already christian” you said. Face completely blank, as to almost completely destroy what the devil was about to say.
“Then wh- you dont want what i can give you? I can give you everything you want, just dont go up there. Look at God, he’s says he’s all great and good but look at me, and everyone else down here. They are suffering”
“You yourself, went against him. Also, everyone down here followed you to hell basically by refusing to be saved. Can we get on with it already?” You said. Losing your patience sounding like a teenager who wants to go somewhere with their friends
The devil leaned in, infront of your face and said “i. Cant do that for you. Why are you here, to torment me?”
“No, i just want to exchange my soul, for salvation. Whats so hard about that to understand?” You said, not understanding what the Devil is trying to say
“No you- why. Let me make myself- clear. I. CAN NOT. DO THAT. FOR YOU”
“So why do try to give people what they want, if you cant save them yourself?” You say, counterclaiming the devils whole jig he has
“You try to give people things they want, however its only temporary. So why would you lie about something so obvious” you say, as you try to counterclaim. Not understanding once again, you know he’s the Devil yeah. But you are ignorant to what really makes him, the Devil.
“Would you ju- go. Leave, i dont want you here. I HOPE you never even come here. You are, annoying. Little pest. The dirt which i walk on” the devil says as he motions fallen angels to take you out of his plane of existence
“Dude, you’re literally prophesized to get thrown into a literal lake of fire for eternity. You already LOST thousands of years ago.” You say as you’re dragged out
“GO. LEAVE- GET. OUT, you know what? I’m cursing you, you are my target now. Heard of covid? Yeah. Thats right, have fun being sick friday!” Said the Devil, as usual always trying to get the last word in. You can here him say this as his voice fades, you cant help but smirk to yourself, knowing you are one of the few people who managed to best and piss him off face to face
“Worthit” | 2022-06-30T10:52:14 | 2022-06-30T10:07:18 | 161 | 50 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | The two figures stood in the street. One, a man covered in a flowing black robe, face obscured by a blank silver mask, raised his hand above his head, pointing a wand at the opposing figure. Opposite him, merely metres away in the twilight night, his foe simply raised her hands, slowly forming runes in the air, body enshrouded in a strange silk tunic that seemed to flow over her. The tension was palpable, both ready to kill, but neither wanting to make the first move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man struck.
"Avada Kedavra!" A bolt of green shined in the night, flying at the woman, who merely sidestepped, and faster than the eye could trace, moved her hands in a unicursal hexagram, screaming a word in an unknown tongue. A blast of enemy soared at the cloaked man, who waved his wand before him, a shield blocking the blast.
The two traded more and more blows, energy showering the area in flashes of light, and sometimes even darkness. Well... A deeper darkness. The noise was incredible, and as the two became more heated, the air began to shimmer with magic, the thundering boom of violent energy becoming constant as they became faster and faster. Until a sonic boom blasted both apart, a flash of lightning lancing the floor beneath them.
To the side of the figures, a house door opened, and out strolled a young man, dressed in nothing but pajama trousers, and a furious expression etched onto his face.
"ENOUGH! Some of us are trying to sleep you try-hard, baby-bitch magic fuckwits!" The character's voice was... Just like any other. No power or thunder behind it. The woman smirked.
"This is magical business, it does not concern you child!" At the sound of the word child, a stroke.of thunder boomed across the sky.
"Boy? BOY?! I am the most powerful magician here you two-time little pixie prick!" The world shined for a second, and suddenly, it was day.
"How did you...?" The woman's face suddenly changed, magic of this magnitude should not be possible! Before she could say anything more, a bacon sandwhich appeared in the man's hand. At which point her original opponent piped up.
"Wait, you can't make food using magic, that violates Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration!" Though his face was covered, his shock was evident in his voice.
The young man simply finished chewing his bite, raising an eyebrow as he did. Upon finishing, he spoke.
"Mate, it's magic. It has no rules. Honestly, all of you are out here with your own rules and shit as if magic makes sense. It doesn't. It's fucking *magic*. Now. Again. Fuck off." With that, the day turned back to night, and the man and woman found themselves... They didn't know where. They cried out in shock as their minds tried to comprehend that wherever they were, physics worked differently. It was impossible for their minds to comprehend. After all, they weren't supposed to enter other dimensions.
And back at the little English street, the boy simply entered his house again, his half eaten sandwich disappearing into nothingness. He closed the door with a muttering about "Bellends. It's magic. There are no rules..." And made his way to bed, pausing time as he did. He would sleep uninterrupted this time. It's not like he needed to sleep. This was just his favourite thing to do.
| *This was...a mistake.*
That was all Carry could think of as she clutched her Nimbus 2000 in one hand and a twelve inch hawthorn, dragon heart string wand in the other. She, loved Harry Potter, so to her, this was magic, and her rapid wand waving won her many duels, especially against Call of Cthullu fans, but she had never encountered anyone who was a fan of Overlord.
Well. To be entirely honest Collin was a man that loved his Dungeons and Dragons, and his Overlord, but he preferred the latter. He was embossed with an enormous pool of mana, and...it really was no contest. His last bout had ended with him dropping a meteor on his last opponent, and hers had ended with a full body paralysis.
"Three! Two! One! Start!"
*"Sectum Sem-"*
The world stopped turning. Time did not slow, it simply ceased its flow, and Collin walked towards his opponent. The championship round, and well, he had no qualms with a bit of overkill. As she stood frozen, words sealed in her lips, the announcers signal fired, the crowds paused mid cheer, he lifted his face, and leaned in towards her ear, and whispered one word. Something primal, something that warped the very soul of magic itself to generate a singular effect.
***Kill.***
The word spoken was generated by magic itself, and it passed his own lips in a language only those that traded their minds to the great old ones could understand. She could not hear the word as time was stopped. The effect was delayed to occur as soon as time began its march once more, and he held out his hands as though to embrace her.
*"-p...ra..."*
The magic could not launch from her wand, as it fell instantly from her grasp along with her broom. There was no cause of death. None detectable at least, she simply ceased to live, and her tools fell from nerveless fingers, and he caught her as she collapsed. Gently laying her, her eyes still wide, but glassy, on the ground. The fight was over before it could begin. A scene pulled straight from his very favorite series of books and games. Was it fair? No. Was it particularly original? He supposed not, but it was *effective*.
"Uh...ladies and gentlemen...the...the winner is the second challenger...someone send for the...clerics? We have a winner! A winner everyone!"
There were cheers. Confused, even afraid, as the man vanished, to give his guild the coin to continue slaying dragons and hunting down dungeons. Satisfied, as he had pulled off one of his most favorite scenes.
Edit: A word
Edit 2: For those with their interest piqued about the story beat the character follows or the magic system (the two are nearly identical), check out DnD or Overlord (Light Novels are my preferred, though there are other sources!) | 2018-10-16T02:17:50 | 2018-10-15T22:55:54 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] you're in your bed about to go to sleep, with your arm dangling off the side. You feel a dark hand grasp yours, knowing first impressions are important you give it a firm shake. The next thing you hear from under your bed is "you're hired" | ..."you're hired".
I wasn't expecting that. But I decided to roll with it, might as well see where the rabbit hole leads to.
"Oh? What sort of benefits do I get? And the pay?" while I say that the creature comes out from under the bed, it is bigger than the space it occupied, with black ram horns on its head and scally red skin covering a powerful build with broad shoulders and thick muscles.
"You don't want to know what's your job first?" the creature asked, with a confused expression.
"Well," I said while sitting down and picking up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on my nightstand "since we are doing this backward" I light up the cigarette and take a long drag "it only felt right that it had to come at the end."
The creature snorted, "Fair enough" it says while making a motion with its fingers, the universal motion that any smoker in the world can recognize as asking for a cigarette.
"You get the service of those who make deals with us," it said after taking the first drag "not the big players, you're starting at the bottom of the barrel, so things like the IRS not caring about your taxes and getting better deals at the bank."
"And the pay?" This is already too good to be true, I'm expecting a catch at any point now.
Though considering who am I talking to, a catch was expected anyway.
"1% of any profit you make, scaling up with promotions"
And there it is, no fixed pay is always terrible when you are not experienced in the field, though I wonder what demons need money for.
"No fixed pay? Because unless the profit margin is high I'll have a tough time making ends meet."
"Ah, you're expecting a nine to five job, sorry to disappoint, but this will be more like something you do on the side instead."
I sighed, it would be too much to ask to be able to get out of my current job, but at least I'll have a chance to make a little bit more bank than normal, and without having to pay taxes it would accumulate fast.
"Fine," I say, putting out the cigarette "so what's the position I'm filling in anyway? Some sort of hellish business deals?"
"You could say that. You will be the guy that convinces people to sell their souls to me, you already did a few for free over the years and I want to see how much more you can pull by doing it professionally."
"Wait! That means the pay is..."
"Souls, yes. For every soul you get to me you'll be receiving one percent of their power."
Well, isn't that interesting. Let's see how much power one percent really is.
I get up and grab my cellphone, I don't need to look far for the number I'm searching, he's been messaging me non-stop for the last few days.
"Hey Mark, you wanted to do that ritual this weekend right? Can we speed up the schedule for tomorrow night?" | “You are hired!”
I froze. You know that feeling when, just after waking up, you aren't quite sure whether or not something was a dream? Well it was exactly like that. If you think about it rationally, it should have definitely been a dream. I mean, I was an adult. I lived alone. the only things that could have been hiding under my bed were burglars, serial killers or rapists, and I didn't think any of these were hiring at the moment. Or at least hiring me, I really didn't have the qualifications for these jobs. It did felt real, though. And I had been looking for a job. What did I have to lose?
“Thanks?” I ventured.
“I must say, I like your style. You are a real go-getter, just like me when I was young. And that thing with the arm? Really original.”
It wasn't a dream all right, there was someone under my bed. And he just gave me a job. I let go of his (her?) hand. I slowly moved to see what kind of boss hides under the bed of potential employees. When I saw its face, I was literally floored. By that I mean that the shock had made me fall from my bed.
“Oh...” It said, visibly disappointed. “I thought you were just an arm that moved on its own.”
Well, the good news was that it definitely wasn't one of the aforementioned human criminals. It looked like some sort of demon, with horns and red eyes that were glowing in the dark. It was clear that the fact there was a human body attached to my arm was a huge letdown for him.
“Maybe you could just cut off the rest and just be an arm when you are on the job?”
“I'm afraid I can't do that.”
“I see. Very well. I'm sure you understand that, given the circumstances, I can only offer you an unpaid internship. If you show me that you can still scare people like that, then I'll hire you. Deal?”
I paused for a second. I really needed a job, and being a monster under the bed could be fun, but I had been warned against unpaid internships. I looked at that demon from hell and wondered if I could trust him. He looked nicer than my former boss at least.
“Deal.” | 2019-08-30T08:04:44 | 2019-08-30T06:54:15 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] You run a highly successful bakery known for your amazing pastries. Everyone asks your secret to making them so good. You always tell them: "the secret is Love!" In reality however, you absolutely despise baking and can't stand your annoying customers. The real secret to your pastries is Hate. | "I love these," Betty said, pointing to the cupcakes in the pastry display. "You make them better than anyone else. What's your secret?"
"The secret is love," Ronald said and smiled.
"I never would've guessed."
"I know. It is cliche, but it's the truth."
"Love, huh. Well, I'd like six of these," Betty said, pointing to the cupcakes with pink frosting.
Ronald got her order, packed the cupcakes in a paper bag, and handed it over to her.
"Twelve dollars, mam."
"Come on, Ron, show me some love."
Ronald shrugged and raised his hands in surrender, "It is what it is. With love, or without."
"I'm kidding, Ron," Betty said and handed the money over.
She smiled, collected her order, and went out of the shop. Ronald returned her smile, for the time she was able to see his face. Then, his face fell into hard lines. With his moustache curved downward, and his brows furrowed, he walked to the door and flipped the open sign to closed.
"The answer is love," he whispered to himself and started working on a fresh batch of cupcakes.
He broke the eggs carefully, added sugar, oil, and vanilla to the bowl and whisked the contents violently. His face red, the veins on his forehead throbbing, he took another bowl and added flour, cocoa, baking powder, and baking soda to it. Then he took a spoon and mixed them with great force. He was seething now.
He mixed the contents of the two bowls in a third bowl and whisked the contents gently. He was tired and covered in sweat by the time he added buttermilk to the mixture. But he thought about Betty and her smile and her little joke about the money, and he absolutely battered the contents of the bowl.
With pain throbbing in his arms, he took the batter and poured it into the little moulds and put them in the oven.
"Love is the answer," he whispered to himself and saw his hands, red, and full of violence. What bullshit, he thought. This, this hate and violence is the answer. You won't bake anything good with your pansy attitude, Betty.
r/kid_r0cK | By hate I mean the blood of my victims. I'm not just a baker. I'm a baker with a terrible secret. My name is Benjamin Bellaton and I am the owner of Bellaton Bakeries. People flock from all over the state to buy my cookies, muffins, pastries. Every month I run a special on cinnamon rolls. I am without a doubt the most popular bakery in all of Bakersfield, California.
Beneath my bakery lies the basement where I keep my ingredients. Flour, sugar, salt, and yeast. Then there's my most special ingredient of all. I keep it behind a wall that can only be accessed if you know where to find the key hole. A long, thin metal rod sits on top of the rafters. That's the key. Once inserted all the way to the back the wall pops open. It was installed during the prohibition days and used for illegal purposes. The tradition is continued only I'm not keeping beer and various liquors hidden from the world.
Seventeen. That's the number of people I've killed, gutted, and drained of blood to make my delicious treats. No one suspects a thing. I regularly give free doughnuts to the detectives as they sit in my shop, drink coffee, and discuss the most recent suspects in the missing people cases. They're clueless. Today they're eating the last few drops of my latest victim. Time to stock back up. So next time you need your sweet tooth tickled come on down to Bellaton Bakeries and eat your fill. Discounts if you buy a whole bakers dozen. | 2020-12-14T01:47:45 | 2020-12-13T18:24:49 | 249 | 116 |
[WP] A person visits an Alzheimer's patient while volunteering at a retirement home, and makes a stunning realization that the nursing staff hasn't picked up on; the old man is faking it because he thinks it's hilarious. | When I got out of juvie for the second time, Officer Carl gave me a big stack of papers. "We're gonnna go through this list and find you something to keep you out of trouble", and all that bullshit. I just kinda picked at random and now I'm here.
I'm a therapy dog volunteer. Don't be stupid I told you this already.
Anyway, they put me with this big slobbery looking black lab named Puppy. His owner wasn't real creative with the name, cause Puppy was like eight years old and drooled alot, but he was the chillest dog you could imagine. I think he forgot how to bark or bite because people tugged and scracted at him all day and he didn't make a peep.
Anyway, Puppy and I would go to Care Four and bring him around to all the old people. Some of them were real into Puppy, a few of them had basically checked out of life. Alzheimers and all that.
There was this one old white dude though. Nurses said he was one of the worst cases cause he would never remember his name and stuff. But he was pretty sharp for a guy who couldn't remember shit.
They one time they brought out the N64 and put on a really old-ass version of Mario Party. Like it was one of the first ones, I mean this thing was old as shit. But it got the old people active and whatnot.
Anyway I'm bringing Puppy around, and somebody who's playing as Yoshi is about to get the star. This old dude goes and says, "Jayden, pause the game"
Jayden was this other crusty-ass white dude who looked like he was gonna shit himself at any given moment. "What?" he said
"Pause the game! You have the wrong character!"
"Oh...oh ok," says Jayden, and he pauses the game. "Who am I?"
"You're DK," said this old guy. "I'm Yoshi. You have to switch back to him, remember?"
DK was a computer the whole time. No stars, thirty coins. They switch places, and the turn starts. Yoshi gets a three and runs right over the star, and then *fucking turns it down*.
I didn't even know that was a thing. You can refuse stars? I was like [holyshit.jpg]
Then just like that, he pauses and makes Jayden switch back. Wario is up, gets an eight, and bam, goes and gets the star. Everyone watching is clapping and shit like they didn't even know what just happened.
So I'm bringing Puppy around, and this old dude turns to me and smiles. Still has all his teeth. "That's how you play Mario Party, young man" he says with a wink.
Play on you sly motherfucker
| An elderly woman walked out of the room I was assigned, crumpled up tissue in her hand, eyes bloodshot, tear tracks through her excessive make up. She was clearly very upset. Of course she should be, her husband is suffering from Alzheimer's. I've heard stories about how tough it can be for family members who's loved one is suffering from the disease. She caught my eye as she walked out of the hospital room.
"It's no use..." She stated weakly, "He's too far gone... I tried everything..."
I simply shrug and offer my condolences as a fresh tear rolls down her cheek. She walks away unhappily as I step through the door.
There he is. A shadow of a man. Wrinkled to near nothingness, wisdom gone from his ancient eyes. As kids, he was always the energetic one. Always getting himself in trouble with his crazy antics. We were best friends, inseparable. Seeing him like this, with those tubes in his nose and wrists... it almost broke my heart on the spot.
"Hi, Dave... Do you remember me?" I asked softly, taking his wrinkled hand in mine. Near lifeless eyes lock onto mine as he attempts conversation.
"Who.. is that you, Jimmy?" Jimmy. His sons name. The same son that died when he was just a young boy. The boy's death nearly destroyed Dave's family. It's been over forty years since the incident, and his broken mind is making connections between him and I. My gut twists, my heart wrenches. Why did I come to this... this is too much. Tears start falling down my face as if the heavens themselves opened up. I buried my aged face into Dave's shoulder and started crying loudly.
There was a small snicker. I looked up. Dave had a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in giggles.
"Dave...?"
He couldn't hold it in anymore. He started laughing manically.
"Man! I got you guys so good! Hahahah! I was just pretending to be sick!"
I stared at him disbelievingly. "No," I responded, getting up and heading towards the door. "You are sick. See you in hell, bastard." | 2015-01-15T09:41:11 | 2015-01-15T09:35:25 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence. | I was sentenced to life in prison. The tribunal laughed when I told him the prison wouldn't outlive me.
This was in 1939 when they took my shop from me. They lined us down filthy, packed streets, and into filthier, more packed trains.
I lost count of the days, I lost count of the years. They took us to 'the showers', which seemed peculiarly located in an odd building with an omious smell.
I survived the flames. The hundreds around me had become ash. Officers approached me with faces of disbelief. I felt invincible. If fire couldnt kill me, surely neither knives nor bullets could do so.
I charged fiercely to meet my captors, snatching a knife and a Walther. I killed 5 of them before I was overpowered. What a sad joke, an invulnerable body with a mortal strength.
They took me to the Führer himself. He ordered my blood, my bones. Every bit of me was to be extracted and examined. But they could not penetrate my skin. They could not even knock my teeth out with a crowbar. I survived tank shells and artillery.
One day the earth trembled furiously, resounding booming as though Hell itself had been unleashed above my prison. "We must hide him" they said. They would not allow such a secret to be discovered. It was then they sentenced me to eternity buried beneath the earth.
I was placed in a box, chained and buried. I have no idea where I am, or how long I have been there. But I will outlast both. They will eventually rot, rust and crumble away. What will await me above the surface when I am finally free? | Paradox- An Introduction
I forgot my name,
I had onced etched it on the prison walls,
But now that and ancient halls,
Have been put to shame
By Time.
My only companion,
My only friend,
I holds no opinion,
It has no end.
Nor do I
Unlike Time I am bound
In a prison of flesh
Wounds cut deep and fresh
Shortly are not found
By Time.
I watch it all fall to waste
Grinding, powder, paste.
Humanity’s short Time an afterthought,
With fear and loathing fraught,
Tis not with I
I am Paradox,
No beginning nor end,
No foe nor friend,
I am bound in chains and locks
By Time.
---
I've been sitting on the idea of an immortal character for a long time! I really want a bunch of historically accurate experiences though, so as daunting as it is, I've avoided it. Maybe this will motivate me.
| 2017-05-20T18:29:11 | 2017-05-20T16:55:47 | 189 | 30 |
[WP] A story where the narrator becomes increasingly frustrated when the characters make dumb decisions | This is the story of a man named Stanley.
Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley; something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi.' Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.
Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he opened the door on his left.
Stanley walked down a corridor that happened to have a broom closet.
Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here, so he turned around and got back on track.
*Time passes*
There was nothing here. No choice to make. No path to follow. Just an empty broom closet. No reason to still be here.
*More time passes*
It was baffling that Stanley was still just sitting in the broom closet. He wasn't even doing anything. At least if there was something to interact with, he'd be justified in some way. As it is, he's literally just standing there, doing sweet FA.
*Even more time passes*
Are you... Are you really still in the broom closet? Standing around doing nothing? Why? Please offer me some explanation here; I'm- I'm genuinely confused.
*[So much later that the old narrator got tired of waiting and they had to hire a new one](http://imgur.com/a/4crwH)*
You do realize there's no choice or anything in here right? If I said "Stanley walked past the broom closet" at least you would've had a reason for exploring it to find out. But it didn't even occur to me, because literally, this closet, is of absolutely, no significance to the story, whatsoever. I never would've thought to mention it.
*I think you can see where this is going*
Maybe to you, this is somehow it's own branching path. Maybe, when you go talk about this with your friends, you'll say: "OH! DID U GET THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING? THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING WAS MY FAVORITE! XD" I hope your friends find this concerning.
Stanley was fat and ugly, and really, really stupid. He probably only got the job because of a family connection; that's how stupid he is. That, or with drug money. Also, Stanley is addicted to drugs and hookers.
Well, I've come to a very definite conclusion about what's going on right now. You're dead. You got to this broom closet, explored it a bit, and were just about to leave because there's nothing here, when a physical malody of some sort shut down your central nervous system and you collapsed on the keyboard. Well, in a situation like this, the responsible thing is to alert someone nearby so as to ensure that your body is taken care of, before it begins to decompose.
HELLO!? ANYONE WHO HAPPENS TO BE NEARBY!! THE PERSON AT THIS COMPUTER IS DEAD!! HE OR SHE HAS FALLEN PREY TO ANY NUMBER OF YOUR COUNTLESS HUMAN PHYSIOLOGICAL VULNERABILITIES. IT'S INDICATIVE OF THE LONG-TERM SUSTAINABILITY OF YOUR SPECIES. PLEASE REMOVE THEIR CORPSE FROM THE AREA AND INSTRUCT ANOTHER HUMAN TO TAKE THEIR PLACE AT THE COMPUTER, MAKING SURE THEY UNDERSTAND BASIC FIRST-PERSON VIDEO GAME MECHANICS, AND FILLING THEM IN ON THE HISTORY OF NARRATIVE TROPES IN VIDEO GAMING, SO THAT THE IRONY AND INSIGHTFUL COMMENTARY OF THIS GAME IS NOT LOST ON THEM.
*If you haven't figured it out yet, this is just script to the game The Stanley Parable, (with minor alterations) a very self aware and meta game. It is the literally this prompt turned into a game. It's great, go check it out [here](http://store.steampowered.com/app/221910/The_Stanley_Parable/).* | The sleeve of Chad Bulkson's football jersey snags a piece of jagged metal. He tugs quickly, tearing a bit of fabric away. He looks up ahead to see his nerdy yet attractive girlfriend, Stacy Pendleton, going further into the Abandoned Insane Asylum.
"Babe," he speaks out, his voice booming off the walls like a stallion made of testosterone. "Are you sure we should do this?" His biceps quake as he speaks.
"Of course," she replies, coyly, like a bee to a flower. Stacy has a way about her that can convince Chad to do anything. It probably has something to do with her incredible beauty, flawless personality and her lack of gag reflex. Chad smiles and catches up to her.
They both kneel to the ground and unfold a... Ouija board? Oh, wait seriously? What the fuck? Stacy shuffles a few pieces onto the board and stares into the open air.
"Spirits! Demons! Ghosts and all those foul alike;
Hear my call; come to my sight."
The lights around her flicker momentarily. Chad jumps, fear gripping his heart, understandably so bloody hell that was tense. Could have been a coincidence, but like, bloody christ. Tense still.
"I don't like this babe; we should go home." Not all just looks, Chad has a brilliant idea. Stacy laughs to herself.
"You scared baby?" The teasing in her voice burrows into Chad like a drill, gnawing into his fragile masculinity.
"Nah, no, what," He stutters out. "What do you want me to do?" Chad you had the right idea, just go. She's not worth it. Stacy motions Chad's hands over the pieces until it writes out 'Hello.' A few seconds pass, the piece gains life and drags itself over the board.
'H-E-L-L-O-C-H-A-D.'
Haha, actually fuck off. Chad run mate, run. He sits silent, horrified, heart beating like a drum and mind scattering like a flock of geese to a gun. Sweat oozes out of his orifices, and he ponders his existence, his life outside death, and what to come of him all in one moment.
Stacy smiles, her mouth agape slightly in a mocking tone. "Don't be freaked out; it's just nothing." The piece moves again, dashing frantically on its own, signalling its words with wicked purpose.
'W-E-W-A-N-T-C-H-A-D.'
Chad bolts to his feet, and rushes to the door. Stacy scampers to grab the board, her fingers slipping on its side.
"Hurry up!" Chad yells, stress tearing his vocal chords. Stacy drops the board and yelps, before kneeling down to try and pick it back up, holy shit Stacy just leave the board who gives a shit. The lights flicker on and off, on and off, a disorienting strobe blurring their vision.
The lights go dark; the room descends to pitch black.
"Stacy!?" Chad screams. Silence returns his call. "Stacy!? Babe!?" He stands at the edge of the abyss, waiting.
Shrieks of agony pierce the veil and break themselves on his ear drums. Leave Chad, seriously; you can't do anything here. He shakes his head a few times.
Breaking into a mad sprint, Chad dashes into the darkness. He can't see anything in front of his face, something supernatural is happening, and his girlfriend is screaming in absolute pain, but yeah this is a good idea. With every step forward, her sorrow grows louder, and louder, until it's so close, and then.
Nothing.
Alone in the darkness, Chad waits, scared. A hand grasps his shoulder, and he spins around, hope placing itself somewhere in his fear. A ghastly face makes itself clear, a haunted vision of death. Its decaying jaw hangs off his morbid face, and a throat made of disease booms in a low tone.
"We want Chad."
It grips his face and begins to open his mouth. It tears the flesh and begins to... Oh, oh fuck. Oh god.
Christ.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| 2017-05-19T09:56:03 | 2017-05-19T09:35:44 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] As a blind dragon, you don't care for precious metals or stones. So your hoard of treasures are perfumes, scented candles, flowers, herbs, spices, shampoo, soaps, and anything that smells great to you. The princess was surprised that you just want her things and not her... | I was used to the subtle sounds of a thumping heart, the sharp drawn breaths, the chattering of teeth. They followed me whenever I drew near to mortal lands, no matter the race. Prideful elves were as quick to fear as bumbling humans. But I never sought to fight them.
Being the very top of the food chain lead my presence to be very, very scary. I could fly enormous distances, breath fire hot enough to melt stone and metal, have scales think enough to be unable to be pierced by normal means. But I had a weakness. I was born without eyes. Merely empty sockets.
But as I have lived my life without sight, I cannot feel depressed. Without visuals to distract me, I have learnt to rely on my other senses. I can hear the quietest of sounds, down to the heartbeat of a mouse. I can feel the faintest of breezes on my hide. I can taste fear in the air from rabbits seeing me fly overhead. And I can identify the unique scents of everything I meet.
I love to smell things. My hoard, whilst partially made of coins and jewels, was not limited to the cold finery of treasure. I had mounds of things with beautiful fragrances. I had gardens the size of castles, planted with every sort of flower imaginable. I had crates of spices from all lands.
But it is never enough. I always desire more. As do all my kind. Normally, we are attracted to royalty for their treasures, their money, their own hoards. But this castle, with its royals, was different for me. As I flew over, I smelt a lovely fragrance, a delicate balance of lavender and orange. I had to have it.
I circled around, diving towards it. I heard the clatter of metal, as the guards saw me dive and panicked. By the sounds of their steps, I guessed they were either running for their lives, or to defensive positions. I was tempted to go for an all out attack, the hunter part of me crying out at the prey. But I stamped down on it. I would rather not spill blood today.
The smell grew stronger, and I identified the part of the castle it was in. Judging from the way the air twisted and turned, it was a courtyard area within the walls. Further smells drifted to me, of delicate flowers, bred for what I guessed was their appearance.
But the source was a human, a lady I guessed. She was sitting completely still, as if frozen. Fear did that to some people, as I heard her heart race. I carefully reached out, grasping her in my paw, before taking off. I needed to talk, but in their I was a target.
She screamed, and I involuntarily shuddered. It was a high pitched sound that cut through me. I flew a short distance, before landing on what felt like a hill. She was shaking, and so I gently set her down.
"Don't scream. I hate it when you scream."
"W-why h-have y-you t-taken m-me?"
"Because you have a scent that intrigues me."
She squeaked at that, and I snorted.
"M-my s-scent?! A-are y-you g-going t-to e-eat m-me?"
"Eat you? Why would I do that? Humans don't taste good. You misunderstand me. It it your... what is it called... ah, perfume. Yes, your perfume is lovely. Where did you get it?"
"M-my.... perfume?"
It was clear she was surprised at my request, her confusion cutting through her fear.
"Yes, that. I want it."
"Uh..... I..... d-don't know. O-one of m-my suitors g-gave it t-to me."
The way she said it showed her distain for the suitor. Interesting, but irrelevant to me.
"Hmmmm, how unfortunate. I must know where to find some."
"I-if you t-take me b-back I c-can ask."
"Hmmmm. Fine."
I reached out to pick her up, but her question stopped me.
"G-good dragon, m-may I ask w-why you w-want it? I a-always thought d-dragons wanted g-gold."
"I am not most dragons. Gold is soothing, but only fragrances truly make me happy. I want more, but it is hard to find more exotic combinations when you have been smelling them for the past few centuries."
My answer seemed to calm her, and I could smell the plotting coming from her.
"W-well, I will get you some of my p-perfume. But, if I m-may, I think the k-kingdom could help you. We make all sorts of fine smells, as luxury goods available to all. I-if you work with us, we could s-supply you with new creations."
I tapped a claw, pondering. It would be nice, to have easier access then raiding. But depending on what they wanted, I wasn't sure if I should agree.
"You present an intriguing idea. We must speak on this further, but let us fly back. Otherwise your guard will start hunting me, and if they do, I will hunt them back."
I picked her off, and flew back. I didnt realise at the time, but years later I would think fondly back to how I met my close human friend by kidnapping her. | "*Wanted, dead or alive, but preferably dead as it happens.*
*Roland the blind dragon, for stealing crates of perfume as per the perfumer guild,*
*for stealing tons of candles, wax and soap, as per the artisan guild,*
*for carrying the trash far away from the city and burning it, thus stealing the jobs of garbage haulers, as per the garbage hauler guild.*
*Reward: a pile of gold to live in opulence for a lifetime and a free supply to Gontrand's scented candles, the candles to make your romantic evenings steamy."*
Lindsey finished reading the poster her bodyguard Tom had given her. Through the open solarium, Roland the blind dragon was inhaling the subtle scents of the plants in the room.
"You see," said Roland, "I don't have any plants in my lair, but I can smell yours from miles away, I'd love to borrow them."
Tom lifted a gloved hand to give himself some authority.
"Did you ask the people that wrote the poster just as politely?"
"Yes," answered Roland
"Oh," said Tom.
"Indeed," said Roland.
Lindsey folded the paper and left in on the table. Roland was obviously nice and not into the whole burning, killing and looting thing. But that still left her with an issue.
The nobles were getting seriously riled up. With no more access to scented candles to make the night more steamy and other luxuries, they were feeling more and more like commoners.
And if there was one thing that motivated the nobles to kill the monarchy, she thought, it was feeling like a peasant. Roland was effectively provoking a good old-fashioned revolution by enjoying the finer things of life. Because nothing could ever be easy, for fuck's sake.
"Erm, princess?" said Tom.
"Whoops, sorry," she'd spoken the last line out loud.
"Rest assured it was not my intention to inflict such a predicament upon you," said Roland, 'I am old and my sense of smell is one of the last pleasures I have left. But the perfurmers I asked never told me any of this."
Maybe because they were scared shitless? thought Tom. But he shouldn't be too harsh, once the dragon's presence had been known, the neighbors had been eager to sign a peace treaty and hold hands like best friends.
Lindsey walked in a circle, something about the sense of smell gave her an idea.
"Tom," she ordered, "fetch Gontrand."
"That guy? Hur, sure, I'm on my way."
one-on-one, Lindsey and Roland chatted merrily. *Au bistro* had the best cream puffs, *Pride, parfum for men*, leaned too much on orange and the kingdom needed to hire more garbage haulers.
"Yo, princess," said Tom, whose fighting prowess was inversely proportional to his grasp of etiquette, "here's that dude you wanted for something."
Gontrand advanced, hunched in half out of cowardice and false respect for the crown.
"My good subject," said Lindsey, "I heard that in the divine plight of your craft you bemoan the absence of the most exquisite nose to perfect the concoctions only you know the secrets of."
"Erm, yes? More or less."
"Welp, I found your nose," the princess pointed at Roland.
After the mandatory five minutes had passed for Gontrand to wake up from his passed out state, she explained.
"Look, it's simple. The crown finances a new workshop with enough place for a dragon to sit comfortably. You get a nose that has been trained for millenias and beyond to assist you. In exchange, Roland gets a part of the perfume you produce, and the nobles can get the rest. We can work things out with diplomacy this way."
Gontrand nearly passed out again.
"What makes you think a dragon would accept to work with me?"
"I do," interrupted Roland, "I smell but never worked on what I smell with such precision. If I might add, you would win a lot of customers by replacing the orange in *pride, parfum for men* with apple."
"I... oh."
At the sound of coin, fear disappeared from Gontrand's face.
Lindsey had the feeling these two would get along just fine.
"If this matter is settled," said Tom, always willing to bring the next problem to the table, "coachdrivers are striking again, they say that the competition by Griffins is too unfair and that a century old tradition is dying due to them."
Ah, yes, thought Lindsey, it never ends, does it? | 2020-12-04T12:06:15 | 2020-12-04T11:03:14 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone who dies must go to a waiting room before becoming a character in a work of fiction. They are sorted into roles based on how they lived their lives. | There was a lot of cruel irony in which God made this little sterile room. Filled with books and magazines of all blasted things.
The second life was a pageantry of some absurd roll call. Every few minutes, someone’s Olive Garden variety buzzer would berserk, and they would just liquefy on the spot to ink, soak into the nylon carpets, and the stain would slither away down some predestined hall. The overhangs of the halls were labeled with all sorts of things: romance, brochures, my little pony fanfic, horror, existential bullshit. Intuition says these damned stains would incarnate into some baby on some fiction planet, Living out roles in complete unawareness of their former life or their former gods.
I mean thank God for his gifting of inability to become tired or sick or hungry, or I wouldn’t be able to sit in this room. In fact all sensations were pretty much stricken. In one way, I miss donuts, and feeling great pains when I see a child walk in- destined for a nondescript role for their nondescript life outside the parameters of behaving exceptionally well on the playground. There was numbness of outside-ness, but it allowed for an inwards sniper precision reflection on the decisions that I made on Earth. Plus, acceptance into this white walled waiting room came with a complete awareness on what was to come with this so called afterlife. It was good to prepare for what was on ‘the flipside of the page’ so to speak.
I didn’t come up with that one. Frank McCourt did, but of course it was doused in a lot of rye tone. No one’s written a book that could merit him as a character, and he has just been sitting here for awhile waiting for the next Hemingway. I remember in 7th grade that I said his novels were just so human, just disgustingly human with pores and moles and urges. Turns out that was just a fraction of what he really wanted to capture, and now he’s waiting on a book that could capture him.
I met Frank after he caught me up from a reminiscing shit storm about the time I quit school to go on Prozac and sobriety. It wasn’t the lowest of the low points in my life, which I was too keenly aware of thanks to lack of Krispy Kreme to numb the pain.
“Hey, who do you suppose plays Hitler in his biographies?”
“…. I would assume Hitler”
“You got it all wrong chappy. Look see- Hitler was loved and respected, and he’s one of the human beings that actually got pretty close to what he wan’ed. At least so I read” His smirk crinkled his face into skin covered moguls.
“True, I guess it would be Ghandhi then.”
“You old Bastard!” he pushed me out of my chair. He was such a good writer, he could compose anyone in a good mood. He just knew people.
Frank and I got to talk. He told me about all the people’s he’s met, and his accuracy on what genre they would melt into. 93% success rate he said. He was vehemently opposed to voluntary mathing, but he just had too much time to spare.
“You’re a shoo-in for sci-fi. You got this odd philosophy thing going on”
Matters became worth noting again when I asked“How many times have we been here?”
“What do ya mean ya bastard? Like in this room?”
“I mean, how do you know before you’re stroke that you weren’t in a book that someone else wrote?”
“I don’t know, but if I ever meet the author one day I’m gonna sock him in the mouth for my baby sister”
“You’re an author, and you wrote about that stillbirth, do you feel guilt that someone had to play that role?”
“Well that would make me god then right? Wouldn’t that be hell”
Two buzzers cranked on and two stains snaked together into the hall labeled romance.
“But I wrote about my life, someone would have to write my life out before me”
“The God controlling your life allowed you to become a god as well.” I looked up into Frank’s furiously dilating pupils.
“But you have heard about me, so we must have both been written by the same author.”
Suddenly I felt pretty overwhelmed at what an insubstantial character I was. I wonder if anyone has read about me and wanted me to marry that pretty Parisian Roxanne, or rooted the carbon monoxide gas that I was gulping up like a ravening animal. I wonder if I was a flat character, or just a tool to further the plot for someone on a journey more exciting than my own. I felt pinned and helpless.
“And someone could have written him into existence to write about us? So… where does it end Frank?”
“Well, based on our universe, there’s no end in sight. People will not stop emoting so they will not stop writing, it’s just too efficient a tool to get your point across.”
“Who is our God? The god of all authors, the original voice then Frank?”
Then I knew I asked the right question. And that same self reflection clarity pulled me inwards once again.
We were born of mud and stick. Of the sun that dried sediment near the river, and merchants that wanted to make fair purchases. We were born of warriors teaching hunting techniques and passing down stories. We are all a mixture of raw materials, chemical compounds, and other tangible things that were brought together to convey the untouchable. Thoughts and experiences, and an outreach from that condition of loneliness that we are all infected with. The compounds and mixtures may have been different, but the spirit of it all remained the same.
The thought paralyzed me. Literally. I couldn’t feel my toes, and the sensation slimed it’s way to the crown of my head where I melted into the r/Writingprompts hallway with Frank waving goodbye in the distance.
And Here I am.
Goddammit 8justatry can not write for shit. This story has so many inconsistencies that it’s almost insufferable. Did Frank McCourt even die from a stroke? She half assed an “Irish accent”, gave that up, and didn’t even bother to look up his dead baby sister’s name. And hitler? Why does every writing prompt she chooses mention God AND Hitler AND Ghandhi in, like, every other sentence. I mean, she doesn’t even really know about either, lets be honest, she’s only heard about them word of mouth. And her craving for donuts at 2 am in the morning is just grossly apparent. Really, I can’t wait for her to write my epitaph.
You can't blame me, she spelled Ghandhi wrong like three times.
| He pinched himself.Again and again.He ran his hands over his face.Yes,it was his face.There was no mirror,but he knew it was his face.Severe acne,scars from getting slapped,punched,kicked,spit on.Every inch of his face he had memorized by his fingers.A pathetic and desperate attempt to get rid of all the ugly blemishes,scars,spots.Thousands of cleansers and exfoliators and OTCs.Hundreds of dollars spent.All in vain.Or atleast,that's what he believed.He ran his hands over his wrists.Yes,they were his.The cuts.The bruises.A testament to Major Depression Disorder.The body in which he was contained was definitely his.The body he hated so much.He was sure of it.
But he was dead.He knew he was dead.He vividly recalled every detail from that night.He remembered rushing upstairs to hide the rope in his drawer after hearing his mother's car enter the driveway.He remembered saying goodnight to her.He remembered saying goodnight to himself.
Yet,here he was,sitting on a chair,in a room with white walls,on a floor with white tiles,white noise in the background,recalling the white lies he wrote in his suicide note,adressed to his friends and family.He was definitely dead.But who were all these people around him?
People who looked normal,sitting on the same on the same kind of chair he was sitting on,staring at the white tiles,just like he was.Were they dead as well?They must have been.
But if they were dead,how come all these people were sitting in this room?While he never believed in an afterlife,he remembered asking his father where dead people went to when he was little.He replied with "a happy place".His church thought him of heaven and hell.The priest told him he would go to heaven.The music he listened to told him he would go to hell.He believed neither.Yet here he was.
He noticed the woman on his left.Heavy-set with,black eyes.Frizzy,unkempt hair.In a dirty tank-top.She looked like an alcoholic.She was staring at the tiles as well.Was she thinking the same thoughts he was?
Suddenly,a man entered the room.He had a book in his hand.He called out a name.
A man with a mohawk,sitting two rows in front of him raised his hand."Clayton Grady?"The man with the book asked."Yes",he replied.""Clayton,you've been using drugs your entire life.You've used methamphetamine and heroine since you were fifteen.Your father kicked you out of your parental house at the age of 19,after finding you using heroine in your basement,after which you used it constantly,which resulted in you overdosing,and ultimately dying.Correct?".The man named Clayton started crying.He continued "Your mother passed away at the age of 13.Your father could not attend to you.You joined a gang at the age of 14.You had a girlfriend at the age of 16.Your girlfriend broke up with you at the age of 17,which was when you started drug abuse."Clayton nodded,through the sobs."You haven't had a very good life,Clayton.While you messed up your life,you still wanted to change.But you couldn't.You were too addicted."Clayton stopped crying."If we give you one more chance to live properly,will you take it?"Clayton's eyes were wide.He beamed."Yes,please,thank you so much!".The man's emotions did not reflect Clayton's however."This way,please."He dutifully followed him.
This man attended to everyone in that room,asking them about their death,offering most them a second chance.
He finally approached him."Patrick Terrel?"He asked."That is my name,yes." he replied."The cause of your death was suicide?"He nodded."Well.Father passed away at the age of 6,MDD and Body Dysmorphic Disorder at the age of 13.You had been taking Accutane at the time,when you were 15,due to which your depression significantly increased,and you committed suicide at the age of 16."He nodded.
"Well,Patrick,I have to let you in on a secret.I haven't told most of the people in this room about it.There are 27 people here,of which 23 people are going to be in a book."
"A book?"Patrick asked.
"Yes.Most of the people here are undeserving of a second life.Murderers,cheaters,rapists,terrorists.People who had no regard for other people.We offer them a second life,but we're actually turning them into characters,for books.Books that the people back there can read.So that they can learn from these people,and avoid being like them."
Patrick was astonished."So all the books I've been reading...were by dead people?"
"Not really Patrick.The books you've been reading were documents of how these people lived their lives.So that the people alive,can learn from their mistakes,and make the world a better place to live in."
"So you're going to turn me into a character,and I'm going to cease to exist?"
"Quite the opposite.You're going to live as your character.People can learn from you.But not from your mistakes.From your life.You were an unfortunate person,but not a bad person.So for all those kids with depression down there-"
"I'm going to be their inspiration?"
"Yes"
"But does that mean I'm going to live my life my life again?"
"No,Patrick.You are going to live your life again.Your character's life.And your character is going to seek a therapist.And be a good person.And stop worrying about his looks.And help other people."
"In other words,what I should have done back there."Patrick was sad again
"Yes,But here's where you make it right.You can live your life again,as your character,and revert all your mistakes.And be a good person.And all those kids back on Earth can learn from you.You're going to be alive again,in their hearts,and in this book."
Patrick looked at the book the man handed to him.The title said "Silver Linings Playbook".
"Follow me,Patrick". | 2014-12-14T23:17:14 | 2014-12-14T23:00:06 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of 27, after being observed and analyzed your whole life, a computer algorithm matches you with a partner who is perfectly suited to you. It is 93% accurate. What you do with the information is up to you.
Sorry if I did something wrong. It's my first time. ^^Be ^^gentle... | 93.
Blue eyes. A soft smile that hides the teeth. Dark lipstick to draw away from the eyebrows. Detroit suburb. Easy find.
She walks home on Thursdays. She stops at the gas station to pick up cigarettes, but doesn't smoke them on the way home. She's lying to someone.
I parked the car on 142nd. I can see her when she leaves the shop. She leaves smiling every time, as if she's happy to go home. She's lying to herself.
Today she bought a sandwich. She's going to stop at the corner before the townhouses; I know it.
This is it.
----------
She isn't talking as much as I'd hoped. She doesn't even seem to be interested in conversation. She keeps complaining about how the cuffs are too tight and that the rope is chaffing her neck. She hasn't even noticed that it's her favorite color yet. *Our* favorite color.
She won't look at me anymore. I know she feels the same way I do. She has to. She's my 93.
----------
89.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a crooked smile. Easily visible when he yells at the TV during a FIFA match. He's seen me twice, but he doesn't seem to care.
Maybe he'll last longer than 93. Maybe he'll be the one. | I always knew my childhood friend would end up being my statistical match. Being a believer in the almighty powers of the ubiquitous bioanalysis mating system, he knew deep down that it had to be the right choice. Our long and secretly lustful history together gave him no reason to think otherwise. Everything was lining up just as I had planned out since the day we met.
Today, only a day after his 27th birthday, it was official. He called early in the morning, and spoke of his decision. He told me that he'd arrive on Saturday to move into our new home, just south of the city. Presently, I am preparing myself for what must be done.
The fate of the 27 club awaits my dear friend. As for myself, I have not yet decided. | 2015-08-22T00:58:06 | 2015-08-22T00:53:48 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose..... | I sat quietly. I was never loud to begin with. I was never going to have super strength or laser eyes. I was never going to fly above people and soak in their praises. Even with my new power, chances are most people would never know my name.
So it was a pretty good deal for me.
I sat at a table with 7 others. They had decided to work together to reach this vague goal. I was invited, but they didn't really pay attention to me. Once in a while, someone stood up and threw something or yelled; an attempt to wrestle control and dominance, instead more like childish tantrums. I busied myself by taking notes, like a self-appointed secretary.
The meeting concluded and each person got up and left. All but one. She, like me, hadn't said much. She had been staring at me the whole time, and I knew why. We politely stood at the same time and began wrapping everything up. Things were getting awkward, so I broke the silence.
"You have something to discuss with me." It wasn't a question, but a simple statement. This didn't bother her.
"None of these guys will lead the world," she said. "They'll chase that spot like a dog chasing a car. And if they catch it, it'll be short and painful." I nodded. I didn't like the analogy worded that way, but it was accurate.
"We're different," she said. "We don't want to rule by might or power. That would not be effective long term. Instead, it's better to play support and build up our connections."
I smiled. "It's easier to navigate from the backseat and let someone else drive." She smiled back: it was genuine, not forced like during the meeting. She was happy to meet someone cut from the same cloth.
"You seem to understand my power." She could read minds. I didn't know to what extent, but she knew what people were thinking. "That's correct," she said aloud, proving herself by responding to that thought in my head. "But I can't quite understand yours. It seems similar, but you shouldn't be able to read minds like me. So what is it?" I pauses for a moment, but decided I wanted to trust her.
"Empathy. I can feel everyones emotions and senses for myself. If I were to compare it to yours, you would be reading the mind like words on a page. But mine is like hearing it, like music in a symphony."
She processed this. What tension she had seemed lessened by knowing, and she knew I wasn't lying. "I'm sorry you had to settle for that. Looks like I got to what you wanted first."
"I didn't settle. This was what I wanted from the beginning." The only way I knew she was surprised was thanks to my power. This girls poker face was incredible.
"One of us shall rule. There's no guarentee that I'll make it to the top, especially since I got the last pick. I needed something that could help me understand people better. If I can understand them, I can help them. Even if I don't rule, I can still make the world better this way."
She read my thoughts, saw they were true, and gave that genuine smile. "I plan on winning this game," she said. "But I think it'll be fine so long as it's one of us." She extended her hand and I shook it.
"May the best man win," we said in unison.
I got something better than the world that day. I got a friend. | "Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John. | 2022-11-17T09:02:15 | 2022-11-17T07:26:44 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters. | It was a dark and stormy night... thunder rolled in the distance, while the family gathered around the fireplace.
​
"Mom... dad... I have something important to tell you. Could you please sit down?"
"Sure thing dear." My mother took a seat while polishing her silver-coated crossbow bolts.
"What is it honey?" My father, never relaxed, didn't really glance up from using his thrice-blessed whetstone.
I glanced at my little bro... he knew... but... it was hard to do this... to let my parents know...
"I... I don't for how long it's been but... I was... I'm a werewolf now. And it's been a full month already, so none of your holy water or other stuff will change that. It's who I am now."
I didn't know how they'd react, but they did, without missing a beat.
​
"Oh yes, we've noticed the signs when we got back from our last hunt. We've known all this time."
"Son, we're the best monster hunters in the entire region, maybe country. You think we couldn't tell our own kid was doomed to become a werewolf?"
"Your father's right. And with the best monster hunter parents around, we can teach you all about being a werewolf! And how to hide your true self from others. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know."
"I might say I dabbled in werewolves a bit when I was younger."
"Oh honey dear, always the politically-incorrect joker. The only thing you dabbled in was werewolf-skin rugs." I looked down at the werewolf throw-rug in front of us. Could have gone worse I guess.
​
I was so confused, yet relieved. Then, my little brother piped up next to me.
​
"And I'm a vampire."
"A WHAT?!"
My mother suddenly cocked and spun her crossbow at my little bro. Reflexively and instantly, I transformed into my werewolf-form, covering his fragile profile, as my father quickly grabbed his enchanted falchion from above the rug on the roaring fireplace mantle, unsheathing it.
"I RAISED YOU BOTH TO BE TWO SONS, NOT A SON AND A VAMPIRE."
"Who seroconverted our baby boy into this FILTH?! Only SLUTS become vampires."
"YOU SLUT." My mother brandished her whip.
"Who will carry on the family reputation?"
"Your.... 'brother'.... has to leave this house. Now."
"You can stay, but you.... you're officially dead to us. Undead to us. You know what I mean. GET OUT."
​
As my little brother disappeared into the darkness of the night, literally, I began to chase after him. | "Jonas, we need to talk. I've found something," said Mason to his twin. "It's about Mom and Dad."
"Oh, shit did they find my blood stash in the basement fridge? I wish we had more time. We're supposed to go off to college in the fall. Our night jobs are a good cover for now."
"No, Jonas, I was browsing the book shelf when I noticed a strong scent of Mom and Dad on a single book, Paradise Regained. When pulled the book, the bookcase swung open and I saw their weapons closet. Wooden stakes, Silver bullets, crossbows, holy water, wolf's bane, and lots of swords. They're Hunters, Jonas."
"Mom and Dad? OUR mom and dad are Hunters."
"We have to tell them about us. What if they kill one of us by accident?"
"Jonas, they may kill us once we find out what we are."
"They'd never do that."
"What if they kick us out of the house and disown us? There are lots of homeless teen vamps and weres."
"Mom and Dad aren't really into that Christian nonsense about us, but they certainly have a lot of crosses."
"What if they beat us or try to send us to one of those conversion therapy camps? Kids commit suicide because it's so bad there."
"Mason, it's not as it used to be for us. There are laws granting us rights. There are safe houses we can go to."
"If we come out to them, this could go very badly. There is a full moon tomorrow. What if they attack you after you've transformed?"
"I guess we have to tell them tonight."
"We'll get through this. I've always got your back, even when it's covered in wolf fur."
"MASON, JONAS, COME DOWN HERE. WE NEED TO TALK," shouted dad from downstairs.
"Oh shit, do you think they know?"
"Hopefully this is just about staying out late. Maybe they'll come out to us as Hunters. They expect us out of the house at the end of summer anyway."
"We can do this."
Mason and Jonas went downstairs to talk to their parents. | 2020-01-12T07:56:17 | 2020-01-12T07:47:42 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Your wealthy relative has died and the funeral is coming up. The will stipulates that the funeral-goer that delivers the best eulogy inherits everything. Your late relative left scoring criterion that no one knows except the lawyer that will be judging at the funeral. | As much as I hated him, I couldn't help but to miss him. My dad wasn't the best when he was alive. Always judging and controlling everything, and as much as he was the reason why I moved when I turned eighteen, I had to go to his funeral. He raised me after all. And my family would kill me if I didn't go.
Apparently, the one who wrote the best eulogy gets to inherit everything he had.
I once heard a saying that never left my mind: "A rich person doesn't have kids, they have heirs." And it was true. That was the reason why everyone worked so hard on their eulogy. The money and power. And I wasn't going to lie, I wanted that too, but not provided by my father. I made a promise to myself of never take anything else from him. One of the reasons why I didn't bother to even think of writing nor saying something. It all would be completely bullshit either way, and I knew that was the only thing that would be said at the funeral.
I got ready, dressed accordingly to the typical funeral clothing, taking the last thing he ever gave me as a reminder of who he truly was, and that just because he was dead, doesn't mean he changed.
When I arrived I received hugs from everyone, telling me how sorry they felt for me due me losing my father. Even though they all knew what happened and my family's hatred towards him.
"Nice to see you here." My older brother said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Sure." I replied, rolling my eyes and removing his hand from my shoulder, slightly brushing it after. He scoffed.
"Do you have your eulogy ready?" He asked with a smirk on his face, apparently feeling confident. He was always daddy's boy. A sucker of father's money and approval. So was my sister, who came right after my brother asked me the question, hearing the conversation.
"No." I simply replied, shocking the both of them.
"What do you mean no?" They both asked at the same time.
"I don't care about whatever he had to give us. I'm not competing for his shit." I cursed. "I'm not even going to say anything. I'm just here to be here. I don't want any of you to come at me because I wasn't at the funeral."
"You have to, though." My sister smugly said.
I looked at her confused.
"What do you mean? I don't wanna do it."
"Dad wrote on some letter that mom and us, including you, have to at least speak." She explained, crossing her arms.
"Goddamit..." I cursed under my breath.
Before I could even reply, the ceremony started. We all sat down on the chairs that were a few meters away from us, in front of the casket. The priest started talking, explaining what would happen today, but I wasn't paying attention, until he said something about a lawyer.
"Miss Olsen here, is a lawyer and will be the judge of the eulogies. She will determine which one is the best."
Until now I never actually questioned who the judge of the eulogies would be, I was too angry and was feeling a mixture of emotions the past couple of weeks than to actually think about it. But glad to know it won't be some biased family member.
The first one to go up was my mom, who only cried her feelings out and saying how much she'll miss him now that he was gone, every once in a while, she'd glance towards the lawyer, and that's how I was able to tell everything she was saying was fake.
The second one was my brother, the eldest.
"He was a great father..." He started off with. That's how I confirmed everything he was about to say was also completely false. There was one thing all of his three children could agree on - and it was him being the worst father.
Next up was my sister, and she started almost the same as my brother. I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to just stand up and go. But it was my turn soon, so I had to resist a few more minutes. I hadn't really thought what I was gonna say. I figured I would just speak from the heart and tell the truth about him. I wasn't going to defend him or justify his actions just because he wasn't alive anymore.
When the annoying voice of my sister stopped and claps were heard, I snapped out of my thoughts and walked up to stand in front of everyone. And without wasting a second, I started talking.
"Where to begin," I started, looking towards my siblings, who had small grins on their faces. I rolled my eyes before continuing. "My father was an ambitious man, I will give you that Stephanie," I pointed at my sister, "but he wasn't a great father. Nor was he a great husband. He just wasn't a great man in general."
When I said that, a few gasps were heard and I smirked, somehow liking the reactions. Especially my family's.
"He never once treated us as his children, mostly as his next best version. He treated us as people who would inherit everything he had. And that's why I hated him. I didn't prepare anything for today. I wasn't even thinking of speaking, but seeing he wanted his family to talk, I will fulfil that." I angrily said, remembering how he treated us. Me. "That's basically it. He was a shit of a father and person itself. Goodbye."
I walked away. Not wanting to hear the scolding of my family. But then an unfamiliar voice shouted my name from he distance. Confused, I turned around and saw the lawyer, Miss Olsen.
"You won." She abruptly said, shocking everyone who was close enough to hear what she had said.
"What?"
"You won the inherence."
"How? I just said the worst things about him and I won?" I asked, confused about the whole situation. And so were my family members.
"Yeah, how could they win!" My sister said. "We fulfilled every scoring criterion on the eulogies!"
"Yes, but there was one that would count for everything. Something your late father had asked me to keep a secret, but your sibling here, fulfilled it."
"What is it? Being an asshole?" My brother sarcastically said.
"No, honesty."
A/N: This got a lil bit long but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it :) | I missed cousin Mark.
Cousin Mark was one of the most stand up guys that you could have ever wished to be around. Standing at a massive six feet and four inches tall, weighing what was roughly 250lbs of raw muscle, he had a brain which you would think belonged on your stereotypical nerd, and despite him looking absolutely terrifying with his tattoos, skulls going from his hands, leading to his sleeve which he had, he wouldn’t harm a fly. I mean that almost literally, as whenever someone let field mice inside of Mark’s house, he would always call me over and then leave, knowing I wouldn’t mind taking care of it. He just couldn’t bring himself to hurt animals.
We lost a good soul.
The main question you may have then, is why do I bring up Cousin Mark, and his attitude? Well, it’s because I slowly was remembering his attitude where I was, and more than that? I was remembering how the people here saw him as an average guy, and even saw his progressive attitudes as weird, devilish, satanic, uninformed, or what else have you. He was as straight as line, but fought for the rights of LGBT people harder than any LGBT person I know. He continued to push for equal treatment of People of Color, he wanted to expand the public transit system, and even had plans of talking with those in power to make insulin cheaper. I remember those fondly, and many other things.
Though it seems like the people here do too.
“Markus, was a champion of rights. He would never leave a man down, and he was the father figure and brother figure to many men and women out there, all looking for someone who they can trust and lean on. His intelligence was as great as it could be, the young doctor not only being an example of what People of Color could achieve, not only being an example of what a man should be, but being an example of what makes an excellent human being. Nobody could even come close to the prowess that he had, and it pains me that he is gone. To God’s newest angel, I hope the best, and pray that you’re looking down upon me, watching over me, being my wise charm & shining light through the darkness. Farewell for now Cousin Markus, we’ll meet again behind those golden arches in the kingdom of glory, where you’ll wear the crown you never could here. I love you.”
That speech was none other than my sister, Ariana. Ariana was my junior by a year only, as you could see, my mother and father didn’t waste time getting busy.
Oh yeah, I didn’t even explain to you what’s going on now have I. Well, considering the context clues, you should know it by now. My cousin is dead.
The shining super hero ended up dying to one thing which has taken the lives of many: Cancer. Specifically, it was leukemia. Blood cancer, because there was no other way the devil could take down the beast. The news had hit everyone pretty hard, especially me, as I had finally had my growth spurt. Went from 5’8 to 6’3 in the time which all of this happened, and I had just become 18. Sure I couldn’t drink here, but I could in other countries, and the plan was for us to party to celebrate my valedictorian status. So sincerely, fuck cancer.
“Is there anyone else who would like to speak?”
The preacher asked. He looked to be in his 60’s, as he didn’t look bad, but that grey hair and those fine lines didn’t lie. Nature always had a way to tell. He held to his preacher robes, whatever the hell those are called, as his melanated hand held onto the microphone which was stand alone, looking out at the crowd of everyone dressed in their black. Whether it be dresses or suits or just nice shirts, everyone was dressed for the occasion, and it was for a good reason. Everyone had been going on and droning off about Markus, talking about all the accomplishments and far more, and mainly for one reason: Money.
The lawyer herself stated that Markus had a fortune far bigger than we knew, which I wasn’t too shocked about. While he didn’t tell me everything, he did talk to me about how he was investing into everything from stocks to bonds to property to whatever the hell else you could think of. I did tell you he was smart and hard working didn’t I? Sad fact is that it takes a lot of financing to do what he set out to do and accomplish.
Nevertheless, the lawyer also stated that she was going to be judging eulogies at the funeral, and that the best one would end up with the fortune. Markus showing off his educated side, again.
“I’ll do it.”
I said, standing up and moving off from the edge of the seating, down the middle of the isle. The red, because Markus liked red, drapes seemingly giving me a menacing aura the way the sun shined and hit me through them. I could hear the whispers and the murmurs of people, most thinking that maybe my mother would win the fortune, or my Uncle Randy or even Aunt Sydney, as they gave some amazing speeches.
In all honesty though? I just wanted to say something, and get it over with. This sentiment is something the pastor clearly saw, as he softly shook his head, as if to warn against saying something callous, before moving to the side as he handed me the black microphone.
“Uh. Is this thing working?”
I had asked, before jumping back and shaking, surprised by how loud I sounded.
“Motherfu-“
The crowd of the church shouted and shook their head, as I sweat-dropped. I probably should watch what I was going to say in a church.
Clearing my throat however, I began to speak. Speaking from the heart, as in all honesty, I didn’t write anything for him.
Too much work. | 2022-07-15T03:45:19 | 2022-07-14T23:50:04 | 300 | 93 |
[WP] People are born with superpowers that correlate with the circumstances of their birth. Then there's you. A young girl born in a donut shop | There have been other children born in donut shops. I've checked. There are hundreds of them. But none were born in back of a particular donut shop. This donut shop was a front for the mob. The machines which used to produce thousands of donuts per day, ready for all sorts of markets, were being used to stamp out counterfeit cash.
I don't know if it was the fact that my single mother, an immigrant who was forced to work in an illegal operation just to repay her exorbitant travel fees, gave birth to me on a cleared out press, or if it was one of the many other factors that contributed to the first day of my existence , but I seemed to have a unique superpower.
I only discovered it at age ten, when some of those mafia men barged into our apartment demanding money. They claimed it was due to a sudden increase in interest in our loan, but neither myself nor my mother had the amount at the moment. You see, it was my tenth birthday and my mother splurged and bought myself a small cake.
One of the men shouted something and threw the cake on the floor. Then a gun suddenly appeared in his hand; his superpower, I imagine.
My mother was terrified, but I remember being angry. It was the angriest I've ever been. I pointed at the men's angry faces, one hand per each. Then, just like the middle of a donut, I made a hole. | For my entire life I've wondered what my super power was. Perhaps the circumstances of my birth were not remarkable enough. Maybe I was looking at it all wrong, maybe it has nothing to do with donuts at all, it is the circumstances after all, not the location. I could just be overthinking it but my life has always seemed fairly mundane compared to my friends. The only thing that made me feel slightly different and weird was when I was teased at school for enjoying the taste of my own snot. I was always taught to use a tissue and cover it up after blowing my nose, but it tasted wonderful, just like glazed donuts and the debris often reminded me of sprinkles. To me it was delicious. Perhaps I didn't have a superpower though. Maybe that is what makes me unique.
| 2017-04-15T10:05:10 | 2017-04-15T09:22:05 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] You have the ability to know the worst thing you can do in the next 10 seconds. You only really get stuff along the lines of: Drive off a bridge or stab the chief of police. One day on your way into work you get the alert: Go to work. | My head hurts...
What happened? What’s going on? These words... ‘Roll over’, ‘Move a muscle’, ‘Drag your face five feet into the dirt’... Why do I keep hearing these words in my head?
I coughed, and tried rocking my body to the side so I could breathe. Yeah, I should’ve listened to those words.
“GA—GGAH!!?” I screamed, my throat coated with ash, soot, and the goddamn tears of all the dead orphans who died cold, bitter, and alone. My body ached; my chest moved from the inside. I could barely see a thing. Just the slightest movement felt like I was trying to crawl against the weight of the entire fucking world.
I cried for help, but I soon realized that I couldn’t hear my own voice any more. I could... barely even feel the tips of my fingers.
I longed for death, and maybe my wish was granted when the blackness consumed me.
...
...
...
...
30 minutes ago...
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I shouted out in pure and utter rage, literally punching the horn till it begged for forgiveness. “Move already!”
I waggled my fingers and balled them into a fist, as I got ready for a Mohammad Ali-Level knockout punch—
‘Hit the horn’.
Those words resonated through the depths of my brain, sent from the unknown. It kinda felt like one of those text messages kids loved to use today.
I took a deep, patient breath, and slumped back down on the driver’s seat, attempting to calm the fury burning within my soul. I wondered what the hell would actually happen if I did hit the horn, but I knew that if that voice in my head said to do something, I better not fucking do it.
So I just calmed myself, and followed my instincts instead of following my ‘Instincts’.
Confused yet? Yeah, most people are.
But hey, you know what? I’m bored, you’re bored (since you’re on Reddit), so why don’t I tell you a little story, eh?
For one, I’m just your regular, average accountant. I clock in at work everyday except for Sundays, then I drive home after a boring day typing and contemplating my life choices. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get a lunch break in between, but it’s better not to have dreams. Every late evening on Wednesday, I’ll go with the boys to the bar near that one disgusting Chinese restaurant, and every Thursday I’ll sleep on the couch ‘cause I don’t return the previous night.
I’m average like that, but I guess I’m unique in one aspect. And that’s the fact that I have a superpower that can DESTROY A FUCKING SKYSCRAPER AND BRING DOWN AN ENTIRE COUNTRY’S MORAL IN SECO— Yeah, no, but my ability does allow me to know what to do to do stuff like that.
You see, funny story. When I was seventeen, I suddenly gained this voice in my head, which I nicknamed ‘Instincts’ (and I came to regret it later on...), and I soon realized that I had the ability to know that worst thing that I can do in the next ten seconds.
It was cool at first and all; it helped me fix the failing relationship I had with my girlfriend, helped me reconnect with my dad, you know. Cool stuff like that.
But when I became an adult, ‘Instincts’ just began sucking dick for some reason.
It began telling me useless common sense shit like ‘Drive off the bridge’, or ‘Stab the chief of police’. It really gets annoying after a while.
Anyway, the traffic seems to be clearing up ahead, and I breathed a sigh of relief, until I saw the digital clock next to the wheel.
8:45
“Shit!” I cursed. Hitting the accelerator, I began speeding to as fast as the speed limit would allow me.
I had called in earlier to say that I was gonna be a couple hours late, but that had been a couple hours ago. I really didn’t want to call in again.
I finished up the last drops of my ‘coffee-whiskey’ mix that my wife likes to cook up every once in a while. Surprisingly, I find the caffeine pretty effective in cancelling out the alcohol effect.
A couple minutes later, I somehow managed to make it to the security station just in time for Frank to call me out on how late I was. (He’s a nice guy, but he can be an asshole every once in a while.)
And so I did the checks, showed my identification card, got my trunk searched, heard the usual ‘Use the security guard’s face as a punching bag’ message from ‘Instincts’ (thanks buddy). And finally, Oh finally could I enter the building and finally get my heck of a morning over with.
They really beefed up security since that 1993 bombing... I thought to myself. Why would anyone dare do something like that in the first place?
Either way, I was just glad that the traffic’s over. Though the thought of sitting at a desk all day ain’t much better—
‘Go to work’
...
...
...
...
Those words rang out through my mind, cutting off my vision, screaming in my ears. My fingers trembled from the mere thought of the simple act of clocking in for work.
Why? I thought.
I looked outside the windshield and at the looming twin towers above me. The World Trade Center stared back like the arrogant, giant beasts that they were.
No... nothing seems out of the ordinary. My thoughts continued.
So why did I have this dreaded feeling?
I unconsciously looked at the digital clock again.
8:46 9/11/2001
Everything seemed alright. Maybe I was just going crazy—
And that‘s when I heard the plane engine. | If you could have a superpower, what would it be? It was a question I had heard plenty of times in life. Whether it was in a huddled circle of elementary school students or a group of friends at a bar, it was a popular topic of discussion. People always had wild ideas and would sigh in regret that the superhuman abilities of their dreams would never be.
I sighed along with them. Not in sympathy or out of a shared feeling but at the weight of a lifelong secret. The mystic aspirations of others was a reality to me. Since I was born, I have heard a voice whisper deep in my soul. I consider it my guardian angel. The voice tells me the worst option I could take at the given moment.
I know what you’re thinking, everyone has this ability. Most of the time, you would not be wrong. Does anyone really need to hear that stabbing yourself with the knife in your hand or taking the last step off the edge of a building would be the worst thing to do in the moment? But sometimes, on the rarest occasions, it is something more.
It first happened as a child. I had been crossing the street when I was startled by an urgent hiss that continuing to walk would be a bad decision. Truth be told, I had never been given such sudden or unintuitive advice. I stopped, not out of sudden understanding or the wisdom to listen, but in confusion. A second later, a car turned a corner and raced across me, inches from my face.
I felt in that moment, the gripping fear that only young children can know. It was a mixture of a fear of the unknown and a deep desire for help from someone you implicitly trust. I had started crying and despite my blinding tears, I was able to make my way home to my parents. In shuddering breaths, I tried to express what had happened, but, looking back, I don’t think they fully understood.
Still, they figured I had had a close call and had subconsciously heard the car coming. They told me to listen to my instincts and, for a while after, they wouldn’t let me cross the road on my own. Relevant advice or not, I decided to stick with it. From then on, I always made sure to take heed of my guardian’s hushed warnings.
So I listened when I was told I would regret going to the movies with my high school girlfriend one afternoon. She had been understandably upset and furious with my lack of explanation at my sudden cancellation. To be honest, I think that is what led to our breakup. But, that’s young romance for you. I certainly wouldn’t change a thing even if I could. Staying home that afternoon is what let me be there when my mom took a fall down the stairs. I can hardly bear to imagine what might have happened had I not heard the disaster and immediately called 911. She would have been alone for hours. She ended up breaking her leg and the bone nicked an artery. Thankfully a speedy ambulance ride got her to the hospital and she was able to recover.
So, today when I woke up still feeling heated from last night’s fight, I paused when I heard the voice tell me that going to work would not be a smart idea. I wasn’t sure what could be so bad about going to work but I wasn’t going to doubt the advice. My anger evaporated and all that was left was concern for what might be wrong. I quickly checked myself over but I didn’t feel any aches or pains. A moment’s pause didn’t bring anything I had forgotten to mind. Carefully leaving my bed, I pondered the possibilities as I walked into the living room. My gaze met my wife’s glare.
“Doesn’t the pushover need to rush to work?” she mocked me. I felt a flare of anger at the recollection of our argument. How did listening to my boss make me a pushover? She was ridiculous. The very fact that I wasn’t falling in line with my wife’s demands proved I wasn’t. But I had bigger issues to deal with today.
“I don’t think I’m going in today,” I told her, rolling my eyes. I looked closer at her. “Are you feeling OK?” She looked genuinely surprised at my response for a second, then hurt for another, and then smiled. But it did not reach her eyes.
“Am I OK? Of course I’m OK. Who wouldn’t be with someone as wonderful as Jennifer looking out for us?” She got off the couch and stood facing me, fists balled. “I’m absolutely perfect! I should have just realized that she was more important than me.”
She stormed passed me and slammed the door I had just come from closed. I stood stunned. Oh boy, was I an idiot. It wasn’t about whose advice I followed for the presentation at all. I’m not sure how she started thinking Jennifer was anything more than a boss, and one I didn’t particularly like in the first place. But that didn’t matter. Obviously I had screwed up somewhere if she was feeling insecure about our relationship to begin with. I loved my wife! I wasn’t even sure how to start addressing this problem but I sure was glad I didn’t stomp passed her and head to work like I had planned. | 2019-12-03T23:17:51 | 2019-12-03T20:43:01 | 56 | 40 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | Erica pulled the trigger. I stopped the shot before it fired.
“You’re an asshole,” Erica said. She opened her eyes and stared straight at me. She should not be able to see me.
I blinked and moved back.
“Don’t give me that,” she whispered. She shuffled onto her feet and dropped her shotgun at her side. “I know you’re here. I can *feel* you. It’s just us.”
She was not meeting my eyes, her gaze landed on my chest. Erica was fire. It was the only reason she had survived this long. Former military, young - but not young enough to be stupid, and no family to hold her back. I found her last winter. She lived in a cave in the mountains, by the mouth of a brook with a bubbling hot spring only a half mile downstream. She did not need my help, at least not as much as the others.
“I’ve felt you here before. Following me around,” she sighed.
Erica was cold today. Her eyes sunk into her skeletal face, framed by a broken halo of hair. Her left pinky and ring fingers were twisted and wrapped with blackened tape. This house did not suit her.
“I’ve heard rumours about you. Saul told me he saw you last summer when he was sick. He said he was lying there, wishing for it to all be over, and then he felt a cool hand on his back. He told me he thought it was Death, finally here to take away the pain. But darkness didn’t come. He could just *breathe* again, and walked away from his deathbed like it was only a head cold.”
Erica shuddered. The wind railed against the wall and blew through the shattered back window. “A few years back we were dropping like flies. All of us survivors - people who were smart and capable of living through the first wave - were just falling. Five years ago there were thousands of survivors. I could barely get through a small town without having to hide from looters. And then three years ago I didn’t come across a single person in all of New York.”
Erica was ice. Her voice rattled in her throat. It was true, though. Even the survivors could not hold back the tides. I am the only one who can.
“I don’t think anyone’s died since the winter before last.”
She was right. A year and a half ago I began to look for them and stood watch over the handful of survivors. I even guided them towards each other. A last hope for them. For me.
“Saul said that you were Life. I don’t think that’s true. Life knows when to let go." Erica’s head slumped forward. Her body shook with a sob. “I want to go.”
*No*.
“Please,” she whispered, “Just - just let me leave.”
---
/r/liswrites | Death often found themselves reminiscing about those times. Work had been easy and plentiful. Their ears fluttered when someone’s end was
near, they quickly flew over, and before the victim knew it their soul was now in the
possession of the Repear himself. He often complained that there was too much
work for the little time he had in his days.
Now, he wished he could do anything to take back those words.
Nuclear annihilation had been a constant threat to humanity
for almost a century at that point. All it would take for one insane leader or one
desperate dictator to set them off and kill the world. Ironically, the world was
at its highest level of peace on a millennium when it happened. But humans are
not perfect, and just the slightest error in missile’s code could give a
completely different command then planned. Unfortunately, other countries did
not forgive that mistake.
When the ash settled and the humans finally crawled out of their
vaults, 1,220 human were still left on the planet Earth.
At first death simply continued as normal. Someone attacked by
mutants? Wait for the inevitable. A man fighting off scavengers? See who would
win. He was sure that humans would eventually jump over the hurdles and
repopulate the planet. Maybe the job would even be manageable now, he smugly
chucked to himself.
That was the plan at least.
Death realized more and more how fragile of a species
humanity is. When necessities are nearly non-existent and the environment is this
hostile, humans are completely defenseless. Every year their population would plummet
by 100 until there were only 300 left. Death began to worry. God told him that
if humanity were to ever fade, he would with them. What if he kept true to his
word?
Death would have no other choice.
It was a women with their two children. They had been
huddled in the shelter for three days, starving. There was no more food left,
and their life from their eyes was draining by the second.
Well, this was a better time than ever.
Materializing in front of a human for the time in his career,
he reached out and offered them a loaf of bread.
Making part two now. | 2018-05-04T12:08:57 | 2018-05-04T11:21:19 | 393 | 22 |
[WP] The end of humanity was supposed to happen ages ago. God keeps sending out increasingly worse disasters, but runs into problems when he realizes that he made humans a little more resilient than originally intended. | “They did WHAT?”
The Heavenly Father had always prided himself on his calmness with handling his subjects on earth, but this piece of news was the pebble that finally broke the camel’s back. He slowly regained his composure - probably he just misheard this angel or something, right?
“Are you saying they just blew it up?”
“Well, not really, they just set off a nuclear warhead to redirect the meteor off a collision course.”
Now his voice cracked and he continued in a harsh squeal:
“So they brushed it away, they just fucking- brushed it away. I threw a mountain at them and they just- threw it away. That did the job last time, why isn’t it working now?”
“Well, it’s been 65 million years, sir. A lot can change given that much time.”
“That didn’t change last time, I waited 183 million years that time and nothing stopped the meteor that time. What’s so different now?”
“Well this time earth has humans, sir.”
God sighed and rubbed his hand on his head.
“All I did was make those apes in my image, i didn’t even give them any powers or anything.”
“Well sir, they’ve been working together a lot to come up with techno-“
“I know that, that’s why I gave them a rock that annihilates cities and poisons earth, because I knew they would invent some way to kill each other with them, and now they’ve used it to stop the meteor!”
He sighed, and declined back in his holy throne.
“Well, at least they’ll boil themselves out with fossil fuels soon enough. I knew keeping that biomass around would come in handy.”
“What do you mean, “alternative energy”? I thought I sent you guys down there to convince them that that was a conspiracy!” | The last natural disaster wherein humanity was supposed to be wiped out failed because a man with a tiny moustache who called himself Hitler failed to bring the world towards nuclear war. “ How could I have placed my hope on one puny human?” God asked herself as she sat on her celestial throne. “ Well, m’lady” quipped an angel, “ it was because you exhausted every other option- natural disasters, illness, apes predators and even dinosaurs.” God was flummoxed, humans never gave up did they? The time rate on earth was faster than the time rate on heaven. The time it took for her to enlighten a few beings was enough for 4 generations on earth to have passed. For heavens sake, she was GOD, this should have been an easy task. She noticed one of her angels playing with a moon, tossing it from one hand to the other. Of course! Why didn’t she thing of it sooner?
A few minutes later, a new notice was put up on the cosmic theological society web page
Ball for Sale!
Size: Large
Condition: New
Perfect for pool parties | 2019-04-16T10:54:42 | 2019-04-16T03:34:16 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] One of your parents was human, the other was a genie. As a half genie, you can grant people's wishes half way. This leads people to wish for twice what they actually want, but that never ends up well. | The young man paced back and forth in my small office, hands clasped behind his back as he mumbled to himself nonstop. He would occasionally glance at me, then shake his head and continue to mumble to himself. I tapped my fingers on my desk, my patience worn thinner than rice paper at the display.
“Are you ready for the wish?” I asked.
“How can I be?” he asked. “Half a wish is like… just half of what I want!”
“Yeah, you don’t need to explain Half Wishes to me,” I sighed impatiently. I had unfortunately already taken his credit card information, so I didn’t want to just send him off at this point. It was a nearly completed sale.
“Okay, okay, here’s what I got,” he said, finally stopping the pacing to face me. “What if I pay for two wishes and use the first one to figure out what I want to wish for the second one?”
“That works fine, what do you wanna wish for?” I asked quickly.
“Okay, so this isn’t my wish. I’m still kinda workshopping,” he spun his hands forward in a circle and I nodded along, pretending to be supportive of him taking up even more of my time. “My first wish should be to ask what my next *two* wishes should be. And then since you’d only grant half of it, I would get one wish, which would be exactly what I want, right?”
“I can’t guarantee any outcome of any wish,” I pointed to the warning with the same text on the wall behind me.
“Right, yeah, but this is half a wish, how else could it be interpreted, right?” he asked, holding up a finger from each hand.
“I just said—”
“Right, right, right, right, right, right,” he punched his open hand a few times. “Okay, yeah, I think I’m down… I’m down. I’m down!” he psyched himself up.
I displayed my palms upward, giving him the floor for the wish.
“Alright, alright… umm… I want to know what my next two wishes should be!” he said, closing his eyes and fists tightly.
“You need to say ‘I wish,’” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Okay, yeah, for sure,” he said. “I *wish* I knew what my next two wishes should be!”
I nodded and snapped my fingers, the papers in the room shaking slightly at the execution of the power. He opened his eyes, first with elation and then immediately tumbling to forlorn.
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I was given half of two wishes. That I should wish for a billion and that I should wish for a license,” he sighed.
“What were the two wishes you had in mind?” I asked.
“A billion dollars and a pilot’s license. I don’t want half a license and I’m afraid that your wish for the money won’t give me millions of dollars, but instead something fraudulent or impossible to gain money.”
I nodded, having seen many clients end up in those last two scenarios very often.
“Okay, what if I ask for a… ummm…” he sputtered and unconsciously began pacing back and forth once more, mumbling to himself.
“You know there’s a line, right?” I informed him, gesturing to the door behind him.
“Give me a minute!” he snapped. “Ummm… I’m going to wish for both of them at once! I can live with just one. Can I use an ‘and’ in a wish?”
“Sure, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that either wish will be—”
“Yeah, I get it, no guarantees, let’s do this,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I wish for a billion dollars *and* my pilot’s license!”
I snapped my fingers once more, very curious how this would turn out for him. The world outside went dark the moment the power passed through the room. We both gave a glance outside, followed by both of our jaws dropping as we discovered what caused the weather to change.
A billion licenses were falling from the sky. They covered the sun as they cascaded down a waterfall of plastic rectangles. My client swallowed hard and looked at me.
“Am I…”
“All wishers are liable for their wishes,” I pointed to another sign behind my desk, to which he ran out immediately.
Before I could even call the next customer inside, one barged in and threw a wad of cash on my desk.
“I wish I could fly!” he said confidently.
I snapped my fingers. He levitated about an inch from the floor.
“Sick!” he smiled and floated out of the room.
My eyes were drawn back to the outside where the to-be pilot was scrambling and picking up handfuls of licenses at once. He looked one over for a moment then screamed to the sky in anguish. He looked to me in the window and screamed,
“It’s a Student Pilot License! I already have one of these!”
“Well now you have a billion and one!” I screamed back, tucking the wad of wash away and calling for the next customer.
_____________
For more wishful writing, check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer! | I was sitting on the couch with a friend playing Mario Kart when I got the feeling. I put down the controller. "Sorry Chris, I'm getting summoned. See ya later!" And with a poof, I disappeared. Somebody had found my bottle. I wasn't physically housed in it, which was why I could still enjoy a somewhat normal life. But if somebody rubbed it, I was getting teleported over until he was done with his three wishes.
A man in his thirties stood in front of me. He looked surprised at me. Indeed, my appearances were not in the slightest as flashy as real genies do it. A glowing human standing on the floor often throws people off. "Are you the genie from the bottle? The one with the 3 wishes?" he asked me.
"Kinda," I replied. "My father was a genie, my mother not. While you indeed have three wishes, my type can only grant them halfway. I'd advise you to either keep it low or wish for something where partial completion does not matter."
"Well, if it isn't against the rules, I wish for you to kill my ex! That daughter of a b\*t\*h"
"It is actually not against the rules, but I have a feeling where this is going to end. Are you sure?" Over the years, I have learned to not feel guilty about the wishes I am used to. I can't control the exact result. I can't change people or stop them from ruining their lives if they throw my warnings in the wind.
"I am sure, grant it!" I snapped my fingers. "Done!"
"Where is she now?" he asked. "And what part of the wish was not granted?"
I shrugged my shoulders: "Unfortunately, I am not omniscient. You could wish to know."
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not wasting wishes. Let's do my second wish instead. I wish, I wish ... ha. I wish to be the strongest man in the world!"
Once again, I tried to warn him. "Listen, this might not apply as you think, it...." - "SCREW THE WARNINGS, GIVE ME STRENGTH!" he interrupted. Okay, I'm not sorry. I snapped my fingers. His muscles started to grow massively. But only half of them. His forearms, hands, hips, thighs, and some more stayed normal, despite him having killer feet, upper arm, stomach, and neck musculature.
"YOU DIRTY RAT! I LOOK LIKE A MUTANT FREAK ON DRUGS!"
"You were the one to ignore all my warnings!" I replied angrily. "I told you I couldn't control it. Tell me your third wish, I don't care."
"GIVE ME INFINITE WISHES! ONE OF THEM WILL WORK!" I shook my head. That one was against the rules. He tried to punch me, but thank god I am invulnerable. I can only use a tiny slice of my powers for myself, but it was enough to keep me safe.
"Alright, I see where this is going." He was still fuming and barely managed to control it. "I wish for **TWO** infinite gas cans. No matter how much I pour out, it will always refill. AND NO TRICKS, JUST DO IT!"
I snapped, knowing that this was likely to go wrong again. Why did he have to say infinite? A can without gas appeared on the left. On the right ... infinite gas without a can. The room started to get flooded with explosive liquid. In a panic, the man ran out and I followed him, followed by the unavoidable ignition. My bottle teleported away as all wishes were granted. I was free to recall.
"YOU DESTROYED MY HOUSE. MY HOME, MY EVERYTHING" Once again he tried to beat me up but I still was invulnerable. He should work on anger control. With a puff, something appeared behind us.
"Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, what did you do to your house." She looked at me, baring her long fangs. "Oh, is that a genie that screwed you over? That explains a lot. I feel we have something to do now. Some ... bloodwork." Jimmy looked at the woman in utter horror, nearly passing out. I recalled back to Chris' couch. They looked like they wanted some privacy.
"Ah, finally, you are back. What was it this time?" Chris asked me.
"He wished for infinite gas and it burned down his house. Oh and once again wishing for strength and death. Nothing too special."
"Alright!" He handed me the second controller. "Ready for the rematch?" | 2022-06-15T17:37:02 | 2022-06-15T14:52:33 | 164 | 95 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history. | As I relaxed my grip on the capsule frame, I felt the blood returning to my clenched fingers as the familiar rush of nausea surged from my stomach to the back of my throat.
This was my third jump, but still it felt like the first. Even if I become used to this, I am certain my body never will. During the jump, it felt as though every atom in my body were fighting against it, fighting to stay in the present. Like a lost child clinging to the legs of a stranger.
Drained, my thoughts turned to mustering the strength to emerge from the capsule. I decided to give myself a little while to recover from the ordeal, but really this was just an excuse to sate the growing pang of fear in my chest.
Vikings... Romans... I survived encounters with those warriors against incredible odds. And yet now those challenges seemed rational. Familiar. Safe.
What then should I expect at the hands of the makers of this statue, if I find them? It should not have been there. It is not human. The Vikings clearly knew that, or they would not have kept it so safe.
Was it simply lost or discarded by the owner? I doubt that. First I find the Viking sword in the Roman barracks. An anomaly of time that should not exist. And then that in turn led me to the Viking village where I found this statue being worshipped as if a god.
Whoever left those clues for me to find, has clearly trodden this path before. Or did they create the path? Am I following their walk of intrigue? The greatest puzzle of all time? Or a trap. I will know soon enough.
And why is the capsule warm?
After reminding myself that the radiation from the capsule’s pending fission recharge cycle would certainly kill me anyway if I stayed inside, I plucked up the courage to release the capsule door and shakily emerge from the cockpit.
My clouded vision began to return, and as I focussed I could see that I was in a large dimly-lit chamber with the cold sheen of metallic walls on all sides. My heart began to pound with a sudden realisation. The capsule computer said this was 400,000BC - but I am *indoors*.
My very soul lept with the realisation that I had finally been given an answer to the ultimate question - “are we alone?”
As if plucking the question from my very mind and feeling compelled to answer, an invisible voice boomed from behind me.
“We have been waiting for you since before and after. The One Who Brings Light To The Darkness. And you are finally here.” | As I stood before the statue that was on top of the table that had held it since my childhood when i found it somewhere and put it on the table. Every time i tried to recall where i found that statue my memory gets blurry and i get a terrible headache. That's why I have stopped thinking about it as I will know when i travel there.
As i stood before it I recalled all of the era's i had been to. I had seen kingdoms rise to glory and enter their own respective golden age's and then seen them fall and be wiped out by other kingdom's vying for expansion and glory or be destroyed by internal strife and then be forgotten into the annals of time.
There were some era's that stood out more than others and one of them was when I traveled in time the first time and used the Viking sword to go see what the Vikings were all about. I got to see them.. but.. it wasn't what I expected it to be. Haha.. That was an interesting experience to say the least..
OK. Stop dilly dallying and take the statue and get on with it. You have waited for this moment your whole life. The moment you found that statue you have feared that statue instinctively but somehow just couldn't bear to throw it away and as you have time traveled more and more you have lost the fear towards it.
It could be just a very very very old statue of some deity.. Even though you think that, you know it's not just a statue. It is something bigger, something.. something unknown.. and you have always wanted to explore the unknown even though you knew the risks.
I stopped hesitating and grabbed the statue and used the device that i found next to the statue as if it was intended all along for somebody to find the statue and device and travel in time to that unknown.
My second story here. Constructive criticism is welcome. | 2020-04-17T12:06:35 | 2020-04-17T12:06:08 | 82 | 17 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | 4/7/29: (69corvetteguy) WTB: 69 Stingray Corvette. 30k. Good condition, black or blue, 80k miles or less.
6/12/29 (69corvetteguy) WTB: 4WD anything. Can trade stingray corvette - good engine, quick and reliable. Good for anyone looking to risk the city. I gotta get out into the country.
6/24/29 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Guns. Preferably rifles. No sawed-off shotguns, they are too close range. Bullets included. Can trade 2 weeks rations, including potable water.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Ammunition for an M-16 carbine. Magazines not necessary, just the bullets. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Water filter. Must have at least 6 months worth of use left. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Rations. Salted or smoked. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/27/30 (cripscansell) WTS: solar powered battery charger. Make an offer. Don't try anything funny, and we won't kill you. | In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T10:11:32 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 86 | 10 |
[WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time.
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | Sprinting down the streets, gunfire ringing behind him, the hooded man really hopes he doesn't get shot, he couldn't die, but getting shot fucking hurts. The dude just stabbed 5 people and some random gang is chasing him now, he's grown desensitized to killing these fools, after a while everyone looks the same to him. It's getting easier to escape these gangs too, he's figured out all the best hiding spots, a haystack here, a closet there, a -
Bang!
Oh shit I have to act fast,
Your torrent of Backdoor sluts Vol 69 has finished downloading.
The notification faded away as I Alt tabbed, right clicked, and stopped torrent right as it begins to seed.
I checked my watch, another 5 min gained. I smiled, it was too easy too be immortal
| 2017-05-15T05:11:09 | 2017-05-15T00:37:42 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] Norse Gods have faded into legend. Thor, with his trust-worthy Mjolnir, decides to rebuild his fame,by becoming the best damn construction worker known to man. | **SLAM**
The men looked onward as the towering figure slammed his hammer into the nails like clockwork.
**SLAM**
It was a battle, was what it was. He was hellbent on driving these nails in faster than the engine, or at least that's what he promised his fellow railroad workers.
**SLAM**
Alas, the machine was catching up. His body nearly as broken as his promise.
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
"BREAK!" yelled the company. It was exactly a half hour past 2 in the afternoon. The agreed-upon break was to last another half hour, no more no less. Just to give time for the engine to cool down
Men rushed to bring their champion water and a towel. He sat on next to an oak tree and his hands felt the grass, still cool from the morning dew.
The railroad workers knew it could not be done. So did the engine crew. The had seen the efficiency of the machine and knew the man could not keep up until sunset. It was an impossible task that no one would blame him for not accomplishing. Hope was lost on all.
Except for the man resting by the oak. He let his head rest on its base when a thunderous roar crashed so loudly he thought he was driving nails again. His eyes shot open and saw a man standing over him, a white man, whose build and height rivaled his own.
"How do you do, sir?" he smiled at the stranger. The reply was silence.
He was a free man. So were all his other brethren since the war but that did not stop the lash of hate and intolerance from others of the lighter complexion. He looked up with weary eyes at the stranger's face and was met not with a look of hate but one of compassion and determination.
The stranger picked up the hammer still hot from pounding nails. It was a dozen or so swings away from turning into dust. The stranger produced his own hammer from his coat and laid it down next to the man resting by the tree.
"We await you" the stranger replied. And with that, he turned and walked away.
"Oh, well I thank you kindl-" he began when he heard the yell.
"JOHN!" the crew bellowed for him to return. The engine sputtered as it began to warm up.
He arose with the new hammer and looked for the stranger, but he had gone. He walked towards the machine and took his place next to it. At the blow of the whistle, they picked up where they left off.
**SLAM**
He continued. And boy did he continue. All the tiresome he had in him had gone, far and away.
**SLAM**
For every wave of fatigue he felt his body falling under, a sudden drive arose from his heart and into his hands as his hammers thundered on the tracks.
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
They all averted their gaze from the machine and onto the man. The railroad workers. The engineers. Even the driver of the machine could not help but look in awe at the sheer power and drive of his competition.
And he swung away.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
"He is a mortal," Odin spoke.
"I saw his spirit. His heart. It was in the right place."
"He will die, with or without Mjölnir. He will swing until his dying breath."
"For his people. And the people after him," Thor replied. "And for that he is worthy."
Odin smiled solemnly as he was told the words that he himself had told his son countless times through the ages.
"For whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."
Trumpets blared and the doors of Valhalla opened for the man and the hammer in his hand. | The midday sun burned down upon his thick neck. '*Not as hot as Hades' layer,* he thought wearily, '*but close.*' With one single, spectacular *CHOP*, the hulking man smashed his standard-issue axe against the unyielding tree beside him. Unsurprisingly, the tree gave way, slicing cleanly in half as if the man had used a chainsaw rather than the small, aging steel weaponry the humans had given him. The axe immediately splintered, causing a fireworks display of metal and wood.
At 3000 years old, Thor had seen it all; Super volcano's erupting, legendary civilizations crumbling, ancient seas drying up, meteors reigning fire across the earth. At the height of it all, the name Thor was as revered as the human Jesus, although from what he had seen, Thor could not understand the man's celebrity status amongst humans. *I mean, could he even call upon lightning*? Those days, however, were now long gone. The mighty age of the Norse Gods had faded into the past, as had his brothers and sisters in arms. His ancestors homelands were inaccessible to him now, and his magical powers had long since faded.
The men around him cheered loudly at the spectacle. Since he had joined the native's woodworking clan in the human city of Springfield, Thor had quickly gained the ranks of their wooden army. Rightly so, as it took more than one chop and multiple men to do what he had just done in a matter of seconds. Their leader gawked for a second, and then raced towards him.
"You sure are strong, mister! If we had a couple more guys like you, I'd reckon we could clear this here forest in a coupla days!"
"Alas, young one, there is but one of me, and I am not long for this type of work. Fetch me a drink will you? And another metal weapon?"
The man snorted and stumbled off, "Get it yerself... hmph. Kids these days...no respect".
Thor understood the mortal man's reaction. At almost 7 feet tall and with a sculpted body only the Greeks dare try to mimic, Thor looked the part of most men of legend. Long, flowing golden hair fluttered slowly in the northern winds and tickled the edges of his workman's tunic. His chiseled muscles bulged underneath his tightly fitting clothes. The humans had to especially engineer the outfit just to fit his statute, and the orange and white colors definitely did not suit his style. But, as he had lost his impenetrable breastplate, this would have to do for now.
Thor knew what must be done next. In order to return to his former glory, his all-father Odin whispered a few choice words on his deathbed. "Thor..." He muttered, "You must reclaim our glory... Become... the constructs...guide".
*This could only mean one thing,* Thor thought confidently. Of all the pitiful jobs humans had worked, the construction workers that he had seen were the most admirable, clad in yellow hats and wielding powerful instruments such as the 'hammers of jack'. He knew what he had to do to reclaim the lost honor of the Gods.
Thor had to be come the ruler of all construction workers.
| 2018-05-27T19:43:43 | 2018-05-27T18:34:44 | 164 | 66 |
[WP] Future technology allows you to have a text sent out when you die to certain people so they can settle all the things you couldn't finish. You just got a text from an unknown number.... | Marcus stares at the white surface; gathering his surroundings. He’s sore everywhere; his neck, his back, his arms, and his eyes. He’s lying on the bathroom floor staring at his toilet. He swallows to clear his dry throat; acidic. He wipes the crusted vomit off his cheek--
Marcus remembers what woke him up. He quickly sits up. Bad idea. What happened last night? Was he hit by an axe? He remembers watching TV, making dinner, the shouting match with Sarah, and then... He sees the empty whiskey bottle on the floor. That’s probably got something to do with it.
Marcus crawls around looking for his phone. He swore he heard it vibrate. He gets to the living room and finds his phone on the ottoman. He turns on the phone and reads the notification on his lock screen.
`Dear MARCUS BARSLIN,`
`This is an automated message from AfterGoal Services.`
`We regret to inform you about the passing...`
The notification cuts off. Marcus was trying to understand the message in his tired stupor-- AfterGoal? Oh God. Was it his father? Marcus knew he was sick but he looked fine a few days ago.
Marcus still remembers when he got his mother’s message from After Goal Services; a future technology that sends out a message to your loved ones at your death so they may carry on your wishes. Her message was simple:
`I have no wishes for you to fulfil after my death for I have seen you grow up and that is all I ever wanted. I love you Marcus.`
Marcus fumbles through the passcode on his phone; his heart in his throat. He reads the full message:
`Dear MARCUS BARSLIN,`
`This is an automated message from AfterGoal Services.`
`We regret to inform you about the passing of Glen Sherman.`
`Phone number: UNKNOWN NUMBER.`
`The following goals/messages were left for you to fulfil should you so desire--`
Who the fuck is Glen Sherman? Unknown number? Goddammit.
Marcus gets dressed and heads to the AfterGoal support center in his area. He enters and walks up to the teller behind the glass.
>Teller: Good Morning Sir. How can I help you?
>Marcus: Hi, uh, I got a text from you guys this morning.
>Teller: I’m sorry for your loss.
>Marcus: Huh? Oh... what? I don’t really care... I mean it’s a tragedy... obviously... I... What I mean is... I don’t know this person and the number is unknown so...
>Teller: Hmm, that’s odd. What’s the name?
>Marcus: Glen Sherman.
>Teller: Glen Sherman. Here we go. Are you Marcus Barslin?
>Marcus: Yeah.
>Teller: Your name is listed as the official AfterGoal contact.
>Marcus: Me?
>Teller: You’re the only one on there.
>Marcus: I don’t understand.
>Teller: Which part?
>Marcus: Why would they put my name?
>Teller: (sighs, then) Mr. Barslin are you a member of our services?
>Marcus: Of course.
>Teller: And you have put down someone as your AfterGoal recipient?
>Marcus: Yeah, my wife Sarah.
>Teller: So then you know the AfterGoal process is entirely confidential?
>Marcus: Yeah.
>Teller: So why in God’s name do you think I would know why this person put your name down?
Marcus is silent; mostly from confusion but also because this teller is kind of rude.
>Teller: Mr. Barslin. This happens occasionally. Some individuals can miss the obvious signs of dislike from people and assume that they have long time friends.
>Marcus: I don’t even recognize the name. Is there a photo on file?
>Teller: Yes.
The teller swivels the monitor around. It’s Sarah. That’s confusing.
>Marcus: What?
The teller looks at the line of people snaking behind Marcus. His impatience begins to grow.
>Teller: Sir. Sir? I should remind you that AfterGoal is about indulging unfulfilled wishes. You have no legal obligation to pursue any of the requests in the text.
The text. That’s right, Marcus never finished reading the text. He pulls out his phone:
`Dear MARCUS BARSLIN,`
`This is an automated message from AfterGoal Services.`
`We regret to inform you about the passing of Glen Sherman.`
`Phone number: UNKNOWN NUMBER.`
`The following goals/messages were left for you to fulfil should you so desire:`
`1338 Northfield Ln. Unit 308. ASAP.`
That’s even less clear. Marcus looks up at the teller drumming his fingers on the desk.
>Teller: Sir, you’re holding up the line.
Marcus responds by walking away passed a line of frustrated stares.
Marcus heads to the address. A rickety abandoned apartment complex. He climbs up the stairs to the 3rd floor and walks down the hall to room 308. The door creaks open.
A group of armor clad, 6-foot-220-pound, military cut men armed to the teeth stare back at Marcus.
>Marcus: Oh shit. I am so sorry--
>Woman’s voice: Took you long enough.
The voice came from a figure cloaked in the shadows. It steps forward. It’s Sarah, again.
This experience has been a rollercoaster of emotion for Marcus. Fear, confusion, sadness, confusion, anger. Confusion. Now he’s confronted with his wife. The woman he loves. What does he say? What could a man possibly say in this scenario to convey all his emotions?
>Marcus: The fuck is going on?
|
I never expected my first death text to be from a stranger, and I certainly didn't expect to be asked to save a life.
Death texts were one of those things like jury duty; I'd never received one, but I knew a few people who knew someone that had. People who sent them tended to spread a lot of little jobs out among their acquaintances, so they were usually fairly mundane tasks like speak to the insurance people on behalf of their grieving spouse, or make sure their cars are parked correctly, returning a library book or something like that. This one was different.
'We met at the bar, you beat me and my mate at pool. You seemed like an honest guy who knows how to look after himself and I'm fairly sure I'm going to be dead soon, and you're my only hope. Sorry to put this on you, but you need to save my daughter's life. I've committed a bunch of sins in my life, unwhipped of justice, but she is as innocent as the day she was born. You must save'
I must say I was intrigued, not for a desire to save anyone, just that I could actually treat this like a game. His message was incomplete and I'd have to do some work to find out what's going on. A quick search of the phone number though soon found him locally and his LinkedIn page soon got me to his workplace. A few well worded questions at reception there got me to his home address. Frustratingly it had been even easier to find him than it looked on TV and far more boring, and I wanted more. I decided to visit.
One part of his message had stood out against the rest. The part about 'unwhipped of justice' just didn't fit with the tone. Googling it brought me to a quote from King Lear:
Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipped of justice.
A strange chill shot down my spine as I read and re-read the words. He hadn't seemed the sort of man to be quoting Shakespeare, perhaps his phone had auto-corrected to that phrase. Still, a strange feeling of anxiety spread through me as I rounded a corner onto the street he'd lived on.
I drove past the house but saw no cars on the drive. I parked up across the street and settled down to watch. After an hour or so, a middle aged woman and, presumably, her daughter arrived home in a huge SUV and went into the house, the girl was skipping happily and clearly in no distress. If this was his daughter, she didn't appear to need saving.
Not long after, a dark car pulled up directly outside the house and two men got out and walked quickly to the front door, knocked and entered. I figured they were either police, here to inform the next of kin of the guy's death, or hitmen. I'd followed the instructions so far, so it seemed logical to take a closer look, just in case.
I made my way across the street and crept across the front garden, but as I reached the side of the house I heard a tapping sound from the direction of my car. I turned to see a biker, stood at the trunk, attempting to pick the lock. Every few seconds he would stop and consult his phone, put it away and carry on with his tools.
I began to sprint back to the car, reaching back into my rear pocket for a knife to protect myself.
"Freeze! Don't move." A new, commanding voice, coming from the garden, loud enough to be a few feet away.
I skidded to a halt, turning slowly to my right, expecting to see a confused police officer or one of the men from the car. But it was just some homeless guy I'd seen on the corner of the street earlier, with a semi-automatic pistol aimed directly at my head, and a phone in his other hand.
At the same moment, I heard the familiar *clunk* of the trunk of my car opening in the distance. I didn't bother to look, I just stared at the ground and waited for the biker to speak, but all I heard was silence for what seemed like an eternity.
I looked up at the tramp again, who seemed to be more interested in examining something on the screen of his phone than me. He stood transfixed, mouthing words to himself, the gun still trained on me. I finally glanced at the biker, but he was busy helping one of the girls out of my trunk. I was quite impressed that she was still alive to be honest. It had been a long hot day. Tough girl.
"Ahem." The tramp clears his throat again, and I realise I'm still here. He examines his phone one last time and throws it into the well-kept grass, taking the pistol in both hands. He carefully unclicks the safety, straightens his arms and smiles.
"Tremble, thou wretch," he bellows like a true Shakespearean actor, his voice reverberates around the neighbourhood.
He looks so proud of himself as he says it too, squeezing the trigger.
Fair enough, I suppose...
| 2017-01-15T12:17:13 | 2017-01-15T10:59:15 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're chosen by the Gods to enter a multi-universe FFA. The winner gets a wish. All of the legendary fighters seem to be afraid of you, even though you're just a regular Walmart employee. | The battlefield was a sight like no other. The gore and terror of the omniverse, wrought before all the senses to behold.
The sights. The sounds. The smells. The textures. Things I never thought possible to experience. watching battles unfold as various species vied for power was both devastating and enthralling at the same time. Watching some capitulate, only to be cut down regardless, while others fought back against an onslaught of chaos, until the last soul was either dead or dying.
Did you know that some species orgasm when they die? Maybe orgasm isn't the right word... ecstasy. Unbridled ecstasy. No matter how gruesome or agonisingly slow their death, at the last moment, they experience a moment of pure, unbridled pleasure.
They fought the hardest, I surmised, as I watched the battle unfold below. I hadn't planned on being dragged into this fight, and even now, months into the fighting, the meaning of it all escaped me. I'd gathered bits and pieces of information. A half-heard discussion while passing by in the dark, some scattered propaganda from those groups who still championed a virtuous leader for their cause.
We were in this for The Prize.
A wish. One wish. Of absolute power, and absolute reach. It could change the very fabric of reality should the final victor choose so.
I clambered off the rock I had been perched on, and continued my trek down the mountainside. There was no rush. I was in no danger here. Even if I didn't know why.
Since the day I arrived here, everyone has avoided me, once they've seen my face. The heroes of the multiverse, from across time, space and reality. It wasn't my race, my gender, my size. This wasn't a war where those things necessarily meant anything about the soul behind that facade.
It was my face. In the months since I arrived, nobody has been able to look at my face and treat me the same way again. And I know why.
I came across a recent battlefield, some weeks into my journey. freshly slain corpses were littered about, and as I traversed the field, a grown arose to my side. There I found a single man, fatally wounded, but still struggling for breath. As I held his head in my lap, he gazed up at my face, wide-eyed.
"You!" He gasped.
"Me? What about me? What is it everyone is so fearful of me for?"
With the last breath of a man who had nothing to fear any longer, he whispered to me.
"It's just... you're the guy they said won last time." | All of a sudden a beam of light shoots down and I disappear off the face of the earth. The trip was cold and dark and my body was motionless as it traversed through the wormhole to Laar. When I arrived there none of the jagged face aliens could even look at me. Even the guards that took me to my cell refused to make eye contact
“Unhand me!” I yelled in an attempt to see if the guards would answer in a familiar language but immediately I was shoved into the cell and they ran with their eyes glued to the floor.
I looked out of the cell and I was at the top, my blue shirt now blue and black with sweat, and my name tag hanging by a thread. I thought the letter that I got in the mail saying that I was invited to a “universal show-match” was just a joke sent to me by Thursday galaxy club at jimmy’s house.
A large siren started to play and all the noises stopped. All the screeches and yells stopped. The light outside of my cell changed colors and my cell screeched open and I walked down the path leading to a huge gothic Coliseum.
Inside I was apprehended by guards, although they did make eye contact with me I sensed a sort of fear that I had in the other prisoners that I walked passed on the way to the coliseum. I was thrown into a long dark tunnel and pushed forward. As I walked forward I picked up a wooden spear and a shield. My heart was pounding. My eyes darting left and right checking for an escape route. Anything but forward. I had reached the gate.
“King versus king”
“Hero vs hero”
“Human vs human”
The voiced boomed throughout the arena and was followed by a gut wrenching cheer of the crowd. The gate slid open slowly, and standing dead center in the middle of the arena was Tracy from Media | 2017-12-15T07:01:57 | 2017-12-15T05:34:36 | 233 | 130 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | As the class watched on in abject horror, I zoned out a little and thought about what brought me here. This school was supposed to "straighten me out" as dear old Dad put it - after all, if everyone else has superpowers and I don't I shouldn't ever be able to win a fight. And if I could only get into losing fights surely I'd be less interested in picking them.
Oh how daft that old prick was.
30 minutes ago, when I arrived, I was told the rules. No running in the halls, don't steal our shit, standard stuff really. But then we got onto rules around fighting... Like how if a super uses their power on a null like me for violence they can have their powers sealed away by the Bureau.
10 minutes ago when I walked into my first class, I got a good whiff of the smug supers and their superiority complexes. As soon as I was introduced they demanded to know what a "mere null" was doing in their "sacred halls" dirtying the place up. Now, if the last 20 schools have taught me anything it's two things: the first is that you must establish your place in the local pecking order, and the second is that someone is usually kind enough to volunteer to help you do that.
So when one of the neon haired morons with an anime haircut got in my face during the fuss, I decided to accept his help and see just how far the rules would let me go. See, fighting in a dispute *is* allowed here, but unlike me I don't think any of these posers have ever seen the inside of a gym that wasnt tailored to their powers.
Since I slapped this kid to the floor and started slowly breaking fingers, nobody has said a word. Nobody has even tried to stop me, though I doubt any of them know how without their *precious* powers to help. I figure I've got enough time before the teacher gets back with whatever help he thinks is coming to get through both hands.
Continuing to make unwavering eye contact with my new classmates, I smiled and addressed them.
"You know what? I think I'm going to like it at this school." | I sat alone at lunch as I always did, but this time was different. I used to sit alone because people either did not care about me or did not want to be seen with me. But now there was fear. Now there was respect.
I pulled out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and look around the room. There were people with super strength, laser eyes, super speed... and yet they were all side eyeing me as if I was the threat.
This sandwich is too heavy on the peanut butter. Mom always goes light on the jelly. I get up and chuck the sandwich in the garbage. I guess I'll pay some cash to buy lunch. As I get up, the human sea parts for me. Nobody wants to get in my way. Despite myself, I can't help but enjoy it. I am now finally somebody. Now I have identity.
Last week I was walking down the hallway, and BroadBody shoved me into a locker. Literally shoved me in there. Like in an '80s sitcom. People were laughing as I struggled to get out and banged on the door. When I finally got out I walked up to him, grabbed his Pokemon cards out of his bag, and ripped them all up in front of his face. He crumpled to the floor and was sobbing like a baby. Because I felt like being a showman. I took a handful of the shredded pieces, and threw them in my mouth. Chewed and swallowed baby.
Nobody fucks with me since then. Nobody. They might just think I'm crazy though. | 2022-11-02T12:26:39 | 2022-11-02T09:49:19 | 83 | 45 |
[WP] Heaven is discovered to be a physical place on Earth with access to near unlimited resources. Humanity does what it does best and declares war on God's forces. The siege on Heaven's gates begins. | "Um... God,"
"What is it Gabriel? I'm busy sorting the Easter Eggs, the Easter Bunny is sulking again,"
Gabriel tapped God on the shoulder, and pointed to a large monitor at the back of the large room.
"Are the humans allowed to do that?"
God sighed in exasperation.
"I gave them free will," he said with a chuckle, turning to look at the monitor, "They can do whatever they- Oh my self, what are they doing?"
The humans were charging at the Gates of Heaven, armed with tanks, and planes, and guns of all kinds.
"They appear to be laying siege to Heaven,"
"Yes I can see that, Gabriel, but why!?"
"I have no clue,"
God put a hand over his face as the humans began firing missiles at the gates.
"Get Satan up here," he growled. With a frightened whimper, Gabriel raised his voice.
"Satan to Floor 432, Room 2! Satan to Floor 432, Room 2! God wishes to see you,"
All of a sudden, a man with red skin, large horns and a large black cloak appeared, a tupperware container filled with noodles and bacon in his hand. He scooped some out with a fork and shoved it in his mouth.
"S'up God," he mumbled.
"Satan. Is this your doing?" God growled, pointing at the monitor. The humans were trying to force their way through the gates using guns and rifles now. Satan turned to look at the monitor, baffled. When he saw, the food clattered to the ground. He swallowed.
"What. The. Hell?!" he cried.
"Don't swear," muttered Gabriel.
Satan walked up to the monitor, stammering and stuttering.
"B-but...wha...why...how...no...". He composed himself, and turned to God.
"I have no clue why this is happening,"
God nodded.
"I believe you. You instilled the Original Sin in them, but that was a long time ago. you have changed since then,"
Satan nodded, and picked up his food, continuing to eat.
"So, course of action?"
God cracked his knuckles, smiling broadly.
"Let's go out and meet them,"
"What?!" cried Satan and Gabriel in unison.
"I mean it! Let's see how many stop at the sight of me,"
"They're mostly atheists in the soldiers. And I think there's some Christians?"
"Wait what?" God sputtered out.
"You know how your followers are, they can get a little... bit... you remember the Crusades right?"
God nodded.
"So they are attacking us, why?" Gabriel asked as the ground shook. The humans had detonated a nuclear bomb. Saint Peter was rushing out with many angels, trying to calm the humans. Several other bombs detonated on top of them, only barely pushing them back.
Satan laughed, and ate the last of his noodles.
"Why do humans do anything?"
Suddenly, God laughed, loud and merrily.
"Because they can!"
| As the army approached the gates of Heaven, the angels flew up from behind the gates, ready for a fight.
"Ripley, we have a problem," a solider shouted over the wind and wings flapping. I figured the problem was the angels, but they were the least of our worries. Over my shoulder I saw the stairway to Heaven slowly collapsing, leaving us trapped. The angels pushed forward. We tried to stand our ground, but there was too many of them. As we backed up in fear, at least 70 people fell off the cloud Heaven rested on. Great. We needed as many people as we could get to defeat these guys.
We started to advance, shooting 100 some angels from the sky. The couple millions of angels left started to surround us, throwing spears at our feet, forcing some humans off the cloud, left to fall to their death.
"This can't be happening," I thought. I called for backup but forgot about the stairway. I looked around. The piles of bodies were enormous. As most of the people still alive ran out of bullets, we started to throw grenades. The explosions, the blood, the bodies, oh lord, it was horrific. Why did we have to do this? But then I noticed something. Was that... no, it couldn't be... A fleet of fighter jets? Hopefully they could plow through the angels still left. We wouldn't be able to survive for much longer.
That's when it happened. The jets took out at least ten thousand angels at once. Only few were left, but they were deadly. They came down from the sky to kill us with their fists, but got stabbed by anyone they got close to. Finally, we were free to open the gates. The thing was, we didn't know how.
We slowly realized something. We tried almost everything, but it didn't work. The only thing we didn't try was unthinkable. We needed a human sacrifice. As the leader of the army and the oldest, I volunteered. As I drew my knife, I thought of my family. How they would miss me. How my kids hated me. How we watched a movie every weekend. Then I thought of my friends. Their faces. Their voices. How they would tell me to do this for the good of humanity. I drew the knife back and then plunged it forward into my skull. The pain was unbearable. It was worse than being shot. It was worse than anything imaginable. Then, everything went black. | 2017-10-01T14:33:05 | 2017-10-01T08:40:28 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective." | There is an old saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective.". Because there are only about 8 billion humans they are a rare species, not only that but they have a short lifecycle. This is why many people think this saying is figurative, however it is not.
We first met humans 30 cycles ago, or 300 Earth years. We were fascinated by them, they were the very first intelligent warrace. So at first we were not sure if we should approach them, but we did. Humans had this incredible capability to make things work. Not because they're smart, as a matter of fact they were a relative dumber race, but because of how stubborn they are. It doesn't matter how long it takes them, if they think they can do it they will keep trying until they can do it.
After 3 cycles of negotiations we made treaties with the humans. They would not war against anyone unless provoked, they would be given FTL technology and they would become the main engineering force of the Alliance. The FTL technology was given in the hope they would master it and make it cheaper as for now it took massive amounts of resources to use.
We were amazed by them. They worked day and night at the engines given to them, they reverse engineered them and wanted to know everything about them. After just 1 cycle of learning, the humans started building their fleet to traverse space. This is where we saw the might of their capabilities. In a matter of Earth months they constructed vessels never seen before in the galaxy. These things were at least 20 times the size of the Golarax which was the biggest vessel ever build standing at a height of 10 Earth meters and at a length of 50 Earth meters.
This is where a race of warriors stepped up, the Y'oltj. These scale covered warriors were by far not equal to the humans in their engineering capabilities but they had their numbers and size over the humans. Thus the Y'oltj demanded vessels or they would invade and take them from the humans. Ofcourse the humans denied and so a million ships arrived at Earth.
When the Y'oltj arrived they were shocked by what they found. Earth was empty, every single city was emptied and all 8 billion humans were gone. That was when it happened. A bright light evaporated 212,643 ships and the biggest vessel to have ever existed arrived, "Utopia". This vessel was 12,000km high, 8000km wide and 20,000km long. Humans build a new world for themselfs, they knew their homeplanet was dying and made themselfs a new home that's how stubborn they were.
After the sight of "Utopia" the humans shot 2 more times and only 269,156 ships remained of the Y'oltj. The humans requested the remaining ships to dock at the "Utopia". The humans captured all remaining Y'oltj with the promise that if they would not comply their home would be gone. To this day there are only rumours known about the Y'oltj, never has a single one been seen after the incident.
Now the humans use the "Utopia" as a HUB. Races from all over the galaxy can come for help. They are certain not a single species will attack them, as they never gave information about how they build the "Utopia" so they know they won't be rivaled. We are lucky to be allies with them as one day they might give us the information about how we can build our own world and leave our planets and colonies for every world is a ticking time bomb except for Utopia. | It was a massive black hole. Around it, hundreds upon hundreds of ships were circling it. It was a place, where only the craziest ones came and stationed. Especially that close to the black hole
“How’s it going?” Jack asked as he entered the ship’s cockpit.
“It’s okay, they are all stable. None of our ships will fall into the hole on my watch,” Rick responded with a long sigh. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jack frowned. “It has been quiet… Way too long.”
“Federation will never risk coming that close to the black hole,” Rick said, still looking at the stable lines.
“Maybe something in me hopes, that they would?” Jack asked.
“Why?”
“We will be able to play around it, they won’t.”
"10 bucks that they won't," Rick suddenly said.
"Deal."
 
An alarm went on. “A large number of ships are about to come out of the wormhole. It's the federation ships,” the message was sent over the hundreds of ships.
“Well, Jack. Today might be your lucky day,” Rick frowned, taking out his wallet and handing 10 bucks over to Jack.
"Fastest 10 bucks of my life," Jack grinned.
A huge wormhole did appear not a far from the black hole, and more than hundred federation ships came out of it, straight towards the black hole. The ships were massive and while they were outnumbered, they still were counted as battleships.
“Oh, big mistake,” Jack grinned. “It’s pity to lose such great battleships…”
 
“We can see rebels ships. They are orbiting the black hole, general!” a woman said while inspecting the radar. They also could see rebels ships through the cockpit windows.
They weren’t humans. The federation that is. It consisted mostly of one-handed aliens with no necks either. They also were a bit slimy. Their whole skin that is.
“Look at what wreckage they use,” the general laughed. “It’s barely operational.”
The ship, however, started to suddenly shake. “What’s going on?”
“Our computer systems have gone crazy. The black hole is pulling us in!”
“What?” General shouted. “Get us circling like those junks!”
“It’s impossible. Our ships are going too fast!”
"I told you it was a bad idea to go into human's playing fields," another alien shouted.
"I don't want to give them a time to fix their wreckage..."
 
“See? They are slowly breaking apart,” Jack whispered. “They don’t have even time to shoot us. The only way to approach the black hole like that is slowly, from a far away, while also having boosters ready to shoot in any direction.”
“What now?” Rick asked.
“Ready up our artillery. They forgot that this hole ain’t their only problem to deal with.”
"That's what she said," Dilly suddenly said from aside, making everyone laugh.
----
/r/ElvenWrites <3 | 2018-04-26T06:30:43 | 2018-04-26T06:15:40 | 351 | 259 |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | There are 5 things you need to know before you understand my theory.
**1\. Attention is fleeting.**
By the time I finish this sentence, your interest is almost null. But wait! It's a period. A signifier of something new. Something fresh. Better yet,
a paragraph break.
You don't have time for rambles. Long blocks of text. Intro, body, conclusion. Structure.
Boring. Stiff. Passe.
Who needs that? Who reads that? This isn't the next Victorian novel. Form is an antiquity; writers need to move on. Write for readability. If it stretches out the screen of your mobile device, you did something wrong.
**2\. The world is full of information.**
The history of deontology. The structural integrity of the Great Wall of China. The first step to filing a tax return. How are you going to learn any of this if you're stuck trying to disseminate a twenty-page paper on Hemingway's use of prepositions for two hours?
Answer: you're not. You have to make a decision: do you want to know why Hemingway used "in" as the 9th word in *The Old Man and the Sea*, or do you want to know that you must first determine your filing status before you file a tax return?
You're welcome, by the way.
Make content digestible. Readability before flow. Remember: form is a remnant of classism, developed by the educated to assert their power over the poor.
**3\. The second person is the most relatable perspective.**
Don't listen to your English teachers or the mods in this subreddit. They have a sentimental attachment to the third and first person. The second person is far better. I can tell you who you are, and you don't need to expend any effort to immerse yourself in my writing.
Just read. Read and engage. Let me tell you how to feel. You won't believe how often this works. It's like drugs, but in textual form.
**4\. Expertise is subjective.**
I prefaced this piece by labeling it a "theory", yet have refrained from subjecting it to scientific rigor. Such is unnecessary. My work is the synthesis of my opinions and my experiences. My work resounds with popular media enough to sound authentic. My work validates enough of your own preconceptions for you to accept it in its entirety. Trust me. I sound like an expert.
**5\. Numbers.**
You knew from the outset I would tell you 5 things. Spurred by this fact, you soldiered onward, sifting through these clumps of text to get to the 5th point. Or maybe you just read the headers, because I gave you that option. Either way, your goal was to get through the 5 entries of this list, and you did.
Congratulations. Feel accomplished. You just read a listicle. Yes, the dreaded listicle, the boon of BuzzFeed and bloggers alike. Remember the facts: your attention is fleeting, and the world is full of information. How are writers going to pawn their ice cream tub manuscripts off when there's some guy offering free Dibs out on every street corner?
<insert relevant .gif here>
They're not. Borders closed. Barnes and Noble will, too. Newspapers will be digitized, and all remaining printing presses will be dumped in a landfill. Writers who value their continued existence over their integrity will join the listicle bandwagon, and those who don't will be the first to go when the government privatizes all universities.
"So, what?" you ask, "I like reading listicles!"
You don't like reading listicles, and remember, I can magically tell you how to feel because I'm using the second person. Social media is conditioning you to absorb easily digestible content. You seek the instant gratification that comes from consuming something new. The high is similar regardless of length or quality, so websites and writers sacrifice effort for quantity. You subscribe. You become addicted. It's too much work to read anything longer.
Eventually, you are drawn out of your stupor long enough to question the second person. Who is "you"? To whom is this listicle referring?
BuzzFeed is English. Have you ever seen a Chinese listicle? A Russian one?
An epidemic of illiteracy has pervaded the Western world, and our foes in the east have perpetuated it. | My phone rang, it was Dave. I let out a heavy sigh. Dave only called to share his crazy theories with me. I debated letting it go to voicemail. *Oh well, I can use a laugh I guess.*
"Hi, Dave. What now? Antisemitic lizard people have taken over Area 51?"
He laughed.
>No man. It's worse than that. It's real. The election...
"Come on man, don't... you know I hate politics. It's all bullshit. Both sides."
> Naw dude. We're being had, the whole thing's rigged. He's working for her!
I sighed, "Really. You really think that?"
>Look at the facts man. The **facts**: He was a huge supporter of hers in 2008. Started all that birther crap when it could benefit her. He's donated money to her for christsake! It's on record. All of this is. She was the guest of honor at his wedding, dude. They are old friends!
"He's running against her man. Politics is backstabbing, they... he's running attack ads."
>Dude, have you seen how weak they are? The ones **actually** coming out of his campaign? Not the ones from other PACs mind you, but his actual campaign? They're weaksauce. Have you also noticed every time he get's a lead in the polls he self-destructs? She's nearly unelectable, but he's blowing what should be an easy win.
"I don't think so man... what about the death threats? That gun stuff?"
>That, my friend, is where the plot thickens. Now, I don't have anything to back this up other than a hunch... but it's a doosey. So she's running on an anti-gun platform right?
"Yeah, so what? Just common sense stuff."
>Oh, those fucking buzzwords they feed you boyo, you folks just eat up those socially-constructed blue pills they keep shoving down your neckhole by the party-controlled media. Has nothing to do with common sense, just control. Whatever, look she's touting the hardline against guns. He's running, obviously, on the flip of that. He has to. Plays into the whole thing. You know he was pro-gun-ban once too?
"So what dude, he's playing the political game. She used to be anti-gay marriage too, til it made political sense for her to not be. It's what they all do."
>Not all of them, some stick to their platforms, but they never get far. Still, you haven't heard me out. So he talks a big game, with vague things that can get people riled up, things he can take the fall for later politically, but not legally. So someone goes after her, but fails. They die of course, there are a trail of bodies behind her stretching out decades. But she lives, maybe someone near her gets hit. Think back a few decades... it happened man. And guess who just got out of jail? None other than the infamous shooter. Still, I doubt they'd be brazen enough to use him, but damn if they did... 'He was crazy, already tired it once, we should have never let him out!' So she get's a bunch of sympathy votes, wins against the maniac who caused this... Gets elected and gets her gun control.
I listened to him exhale after his long tirade. "Dave... you are nuts." I hung up the phone and shook my head before turning on the news. More of the same, but this time it felt different, suspicious. "Oh that shit, I'm starting to think like him." | 2016-09-24T11:05:09 | 2016-09-24T09:53:06 | 141 | 28 |
[WP] A group of friends meet up with each other every hundred years. One is immortal, one is reincarnated into a new body every time they die, one is a time traveler, one is a robot, and one is Death.
If you can think of any other types of people, please add them. That's all I could think of.
And you don't have to include every character I listed, it's just a guideline. For example, if you wanted to do a story set in the past you don't need to include the robot in there | Death arrived at the precise moment the man died. He had bad habit of doing that. He didn't mind his job, but certain cases required him to get especially...involved, particularly when the death was gruesome and the soul was still in too much shock from the death experience. They had trouble letting go, so it became his job to tear them out of there. The situation called for it, so he would make it quick. But he did have a strict schedule to keep.
This poor sap looked to have went quick, at least. He was lying in a mangled heap in the corner of a destroyed lab, atop a pile of broken glass and shards of wood. A chunk of his head was missing, and the lower half of his body was torn away. Death didn't care where that part of him went, nor was he interested in what caused it. He was death after all, who would mess with him?
That's when he heard a noise behind him. A doctor was crawling out of more wreckage, also badly hurt. "He might be next", Death mumbled, mentally altering his schedule and getting back to his task, as he absently noted the doctor starting to collapse again.
Instead the doctor lunged at Death with a weapon Death never seen before. A blade about a foot long that was vibrating in a gray blur. Death reached out a hand to brush the attacker aside, wondering if perhaps that was the weapon that caused the death of the first man. The Death Touch is supposed to sap the life force out of anything living in an instant.
Death's hand caught the doctor in the face, but instead of dropping dead he simply stumbled, regaining enough footing to slash at Death's hand. Bone powdered and fingers fell away.
Death was shocked, but only momentarily. His thoughts of the wound were in the back of his mind given the situation, as he was immortal and would regenerate. He summoned his scythe and swung fiercely, cleaving a chunk out of the doctor's side.
The doctor groaned an incoherent sound, and came at Death with as much vigor as the first time. Death's next swipe cleanly severed the hand with the weapon, which landed out of immediate reach of the doctor, and Death teleported to block his path. He reached out for the doctor again. This time he firmly grasped the doctor's head in his good hand and squeezed until he heard a crack, then let the body drop.
That's when he heard a sound trully terrifying coming from the corner of the lab. "Brraaaaaains", moaned the bisected man, as he tried to prop his torse up on his arms alone. He managed to flip himself over and started crawling down the pile of rubble.
Death stepped back in fear. "They can't be-", he thought. He felt a hand wrap around his ankle and looked down to see the doctor come alive. Death frantically severed that hand and teleported far away from them both. Harvesting souls was all in a day's work for him, but the undead would not yield to anyone, lest of all Death. There were special measures in place for this, and he wasn't part of them!
"The zombie apocalypse was not scheduled to begin for another century", he whispered to himself, terrified. "The end of times has begun, I must proceed-".
Just then, a man in futuristic gear appeared in the middle of the destroyed lab. Death recognized him immediately.
"Gotcha!" he yelled pointing at Death, then proceeded to doubled over in laughter. Suddenly the bisected man was laughing with him, all interest in brains forgotten. Death just stood there glaring at them.
The time traveller spoke first. "I can't believe that after all this time, we can still get you like this!". He pulled out a remote and clicked a switch, and immediately the doctor started twitching and moaning 'braaaains' like the bisected man had. "I'm surprised you didn't immediatelly recognize Ugg", he clicked the switch again and Ugg stopped moving. "I installed an exoskeleton and a processing core in him to make him do all that." The time traveller stood grinning.
Death wasn't amused. "You killed him just to prank me?"
"To get you here, he was in on it of course. After he reincarnates, he'll probably die again laughing!". The time traveller grinned from ear to ear. "That chip and exeskoleton were my robotic prototypes. I think before next we meet I'll give him a mind and will of his own. After all, he earned his place in the group after how well he performed." He eyed the remote, then gently tucked it away in his belt.
All the while the immortal man in the corner has long since stopped laughing. "Please help me back together..." | There were always infinite changes whenever Andrew jumped. A hundred years was a short period of time, in the grand scheme of things; the Earth had come into its present form over millions of hundred-year intervals. But the grumbling lethargy with which the Earth moved was nothing compared to humanity's speed of development.
Some fifty or so jumps ago, humans had been living in huts. Now, the world was covered in buildings, a surface roiling with humanity and their constructs. Last jump, the buildings had been one style; now, they were completely different, and their aesthetic struck Andrew as much more rigid. Perhaps it was indicative of the way humanity's social mindset had changed in between jumps - or perhaps this was just their 'modern' design, something new for the sake of not being old.
This building, however, was different. Sitting miles away from the nearest city, its design was old - *old*. That was not to say that it was falling apart; by all appearances, it had been kept not only intact but in near-perfect condition.
Lysander's house. As far as Andrew could tell, it had not changed whatsoever in the hundreds of years since his last visit.
He knocked on the door. Though it appeared to be wood, it produced an unexpected sound.
*Metal.*
Lysander had gone modern at last, though with the way humanity evolved, he was probably already out of date.
"Come in!"
Andrew pushed open the door, marvelling at how easily it swung forwards. The foyer was unlit, so he left it open behind him. He was never last, after all.
His shoes were discarded at the foot of the stairs, and he started up the stairs. For all the times he had visited the building, he had never actually spent more than a few minutes on the first floor. Sometimes he wondered what took up all the space, but he never asked. With what he knew of Lysander, he didn't think it was a good idea.
"Hello, Andrew. Can you come over here, please?"
Lysander's voice was just as smooth as it had been the last time he visited. It sent shivers down Andrew's spine, even as he knew there was nothing to fear.
"Can do, dude," he said, sidling around a doorway and into the main room.
A woman, best described as *sharp*, was lying on the floor. Her death-black hair, straighter than should have been possible, splayed out around a strict face. The only part of her appearance that was not perfect, immaculate as if caught in time, were her eyes - drowning under twin pools of tears.
Andrew stopped walking. He was last, after all.
"Hey Andrew." A child, no more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, was reclining in a leather chair. Andrew winced at the cigarette poking out of his mouth. "We've got a bit of a problem."
"Yeah, I noticed. Are you alright, Libitina?"
Lysander, kneeling over Libitina, shot Andrew a glare. "Does she appear to be 'all right', Andrew?"
"Well, no. It just seemed like something I should ask. Seriously, though, what the hell is going on?"
"Oh, Hell has nothing to do with it," said the boy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, by the way. I'm Jonathan."
"Pleasure to meet you as well, Jo-"
"I was lying about the pleasure thing. It's kind of disgusting to me, seeing you standing there, not a care in the world. When's the last time you suffered through an entire lifetime of taxes, eh?"
"Never had the displeasure of doing so, actually, unlike you common plebs. Anyways, please - what's happening?"
Libitina groaned, pulling herself into a seated position with Lysander's help. "I-isn't it obvious, 'Drew? I-I'm dying."
^^^more ^^^on ^^^r/forricide
^((might work on a part two)^) | 2017-04-22T23:53:56 | 2017-04-22T22:07:02 | 66 | 17 |
[WP] - On a dare from your friends, you've slipped into the dark bathroom, locked the door, and whispered Bloody Mary three times. Nothing happens, and just when you think there's nothing to fear, she appears in the mirror. But she doesn't look scary - she looks scared, and she's begging for help. | "Do it! You won't. You're too *chicken.*" Sarah put her hands on her hips and gave me a cheeky smile.
I wasn't expecting to be bullied into a seance at my first sleepover. But Jackie, Sarah, and Alice were insistent. We weren't the closest friends. In fact, I'd only agreed to invite them because Mom was worried about my social skills. We were all in third grade - all so blind to the perils of the world.
I had to prove that I was no chicken. There would be no hearing the end of it otherwise. So I went inside, locked the door, and faced the mirror...
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary."
A moment passed, then another. Then, slowly materializing in the corner of the reflection - a little girl, who looked barely older than me.
"M-M-Mary?" I stammered.
The girl nodded sheepishly.
"I thought you would be - well, I thought you would want to kill me or something."
Mary shook her head.
I began to step towards the door. "Well, I - I've met you now. I think I'll be heading back out..."
Suddenly, Mary raced forward and pressed her palms against the mirror's surface. Her eyes were like saucers. She looked terrified - like she thought *I* was the ghost in this situation.
I didn't know what to do, so I stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. My friends surrounded me.
"We heard you talking in there. Who ya talkin' to?" Alice asked.
I shrugged. "Mary. She was nice. Not anything like you said."
They laughed, and then promptly forgot about it. Jackie led the way and we went down to the kitchen to eat Cheez-Its and watch reruns of *Goosebumps*.
Later that night, when they were all asleep, I snuck back upstairs to visit my new friend again.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary."
There she was.
"How old are you?" I asked. "Do you go to school? How did you end up here - in my house?"
Mary tilted her head to one side, amused. "No one's ever said my name gently before," she said. "Everyone's terrified, or laughing about it, or not taking it seriously. That's why I've never appeared to anyone. They're scared of what they *don't* see." She looked at me intently. "But you're not scared. So I decided to come out. I need your help."
I nodded firmly. "What can I do?"
Mary sighed. "Well, I...don't know, really. I'm bored, that's all. I think I passed away a long time ago. And ever since then I've wandered from mirror to mirror, looking for someone who wouldn't laugh at me."
We talked for hours after that. I told her about my life, and she about hers - what she remembered, anyway. In the days that followed, I visited her every night after my parents had gone to sleep. We talked about animals and boys and TV shows and books and science and love.
But on the thirteenth night of our visits, Mary looked exhausted.
"I'm so tired," she said. "Every time I visit you, I learn so much about the world, but I feel myself fading." She was right - her ghostly form looked dimmer than ever. "I'm not supposed to still be here. It's not the natural order of things." She looked at me. "I want to rest."
Mary glanced towards the edge of the sink. A tiny painted stone that I'd created in first-grade art class was sitting there. I instantly understood, and, with quivering palms, I picked up the stone.
I furrowed my brow. "I don't want you to go."
"It's all right," Mary said. "As I remember you, you will remember me."
Tears began to flow down my cheeks. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't be," Mary said. "Let go."
I threw the stone, and the mirror shattered into pieces.
My parents raced from their room and found me on the ground, sobbing and wailing.
They took me out of school the next day, and the next. I acted as normal as I could - convinced them it was a freak bout of nightmarish sleepwalking - and they finally let me go back. But an ache remained, and I felt it every day as I wandered the halls of the school. As I did my homework. As I talked emptily to Jackie, Sarah, and Alice.
One night, several days later, I opened my bedside drawer. Inside, underneath magazine clippings and my quarter collection, was the painted stone.
I looked at it, turning it over in my palm, feeling its coolness. Then I clutched it tightly, knowing precisely who had placed it there.
In that moment, I knew Mary was free. | #In the Mirror
"Help me!" she bangs on the mirror wall trying to get out. Paige backs up against the wall as Mary writhes in the mirror. A force grabs Mary and tries to pull her away. Mary resists leaving a hand on the mirror. Paige walks over to save Mary. Mary grabs her hand and pulls her into the mirror.
---
It has been two days since Paige had disappeared. The students of Lambert high school have been going through the motions due to her death. At lunch, her friends Kylie, Rachel, and Quinn sit in a circle staring at each other in silence. They all know what they are thinking, but they have yet to say it. Quinn starts eating her lunch.
"How can you be so casual?" Kylie asks.
"What?" Quinn replies.
"We may have just killed our best friend, and you are just sitting there eating," Kylie says.
"Well, it is lunch time." Quinn says.
"I can't believe you," Kylie says.
"Woah, keep it down," Rachel says, "Listen, Kylie. We all miss Paige, but there is no proof that we are the reason that she disappeared."
"It just makes sense. We dared her to say Bloody Mary, and now, she is gone." Kylie says.
"Yeah, but if that were the case, there would be a lot more disappearances," Quinn says.
"I cannot believe you two," Kylie storms away and heads to the bathroom. She sits alone in a stall and cries until lunch is over. Then, she stays there longer. After two hours, the lights go out. Kylie leaves her stall, still thinking about Paige. Unfortunately, Kylie has a tendency to think aloud. In the mirror, she sees Paige. Kylie runs up to the mirror.
"Paige?!" Kylie says.
"Kylie, you have to help. Mary has got me trapped in this mirror world. Get me out," Paige says.
"I will, but how?" Kylie asks.
"You have to pull me out." Paige holds out a hand to Kylie. Kylie grabs on to rescue her friend.
---
Rachel and Quinn have spent the past week at the brunt of speculation. Two girls gone missing with one being on school property? The police even interviewed them both. Now, they sit outside school after a day of gossip and mockery. Quinn breaks down and starts crying. Rachel comforts her.
"I saw Kylie last night," Quinn says. Rachel moves away.
"What?" Rachel says.
"I had to take a midnight trip to the restroom. I was thinking about her. I said her name three times out loud, and I saw her in the mirror asking for help. I didn't know what to do so I ran," Quinn says.
"It was probably just a bad dream," Rachel says.
"No, it wasn't. Come home with me, and let's see." Quinn says.
Rachel agrees, and they go to Quinn's house. They stand in the dark bathroom together.
"You say Kylie; I will say Paige," Rachel instructs. They hold hands and summon their friends. They appear before them in a mirror.
"Rachel, Quinn, you have to help us," Paige says.
"Bloody Mary has us trapped," Kylie screams. Quinn reaches out to help, but Rachel stops her.
"Hold on, Kylie, how did you get in there?" she asks.
"That isn't important. You have to help me." Kylie says. Quinn tries to reach forward, but Rachel stops her.
"Kylie would not even say the phrase before Paige disappeared. I can't believe she would say it afterword. However, I do know that she gets in trouble several times a year for accidentally saying test answers out loud. So let me ask again, how did you get there, Kylie?" Rachel asks.
Kylie and Paige stop trying to break free of the mirror and look at each other. A woman emerges from behind them holding lines to their backs.
"Well done Rachel, consider this your last chance to say goodbye to your friends before I take them away." Mary says. Kylie and Paige freeze in place.
"Is there anyway you can free them?" Quinn says.
"You could take their place." Mary says smiling.
"No deal," Rachel interjects, "there is no guarantee that you are not lying."
Mary starts to laugh.
"My my, Rachel you are smart. I will give you that. Come along you two," Mary walks away. Paige and Kylie wave goodbye before disappearing into the mirror. | 2020-10-10T16:32:11 | 2020-10-10T16:23:06 | 1,085 | 48 |
[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 | I'm Samuel Smith, and I have the most useless power you could think of.
Both of my parents are super heroes, my dad can warp reality with his mind while my mom can basically deadlift two continents without breaking a sweat.
Me? I can move anything I want telepathically by an inch.
It took me years and years of being shot at and stabbed before perfecting this "power", where my parents thought that this business wasn't for me, I thought otherwise.
Today is one of those days where I had to explain my power because...
"THAT'S IT!? THAT'S YOUR POWER!? AND YOU'RE *THE* WORLD'S STRONGEST SUPER HERO!?"
"Yep"
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!? YOU MOVE SKYSCRAPERS LIKE THEY'RE *NOTHING*"
"Well, I actually don't. You see when I move something, it can be by direct contact or it can be as far away as possible."
Mordau looked at me in confusion and asked "But you can only move it an inch....?"
I laughed and said "But I didn't say how. You see, I can move things by one inch, but I can continuously do it"
"So that means you can move it as much as you want"
"Nah not really, there's a two second cool-down for it, and looking at how long we've been talking...."
Suddenly Mordau found himself falling from his building, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stand on the ledge when you're dealing with the "Strongest" man in the world | I watched my opponent carefully. There were lines around him, possible moves, all converging into one. Right on time, I ducked, jumped forward and turned, landing at his side. I punched him, then stepped backwards to avoid his kick.
My opponent grunted and twisted, preparing to use his power. When I saw that, I moved just *a little* too slow, allowing him to hit me.
He looked faintly surprised. Then he began to move randomly. They always did. Everyone knew that would throw the power off. What they failed to realize was that there is a art to moving randomly. Although with chess, a beginner *can* sometimes win from a more experienced player that way, that doesn’t mean that moving randomly is a guaranteed win. This one was so focused on not patterning that it allowed me to grab and throw him easily, and on the ground, he was done for in minutes, if not seconds. | 2020-12-02T07:22:15 | 2020-12-02T07:12:59 | 320 | 62 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | I was an avid dog lover. Jesse was my loyal dog and the cutest husky around the block. My girlfriend loved her also, so when I proposed to her, whether having the dog in the house or outside wasn't even a question. 1 year goes by and my wife has beared me a healthy young girl, Monica. After we left the hospital and went home, Jesse welcomed us home with a wagging tail and big smile. We spent the day taking care of Monica as Jesse walked around us, looking at our daughter. The afternoon comes by, so I start preparing dinner for my wife and I. Suddenly I hear my wife scream for me to come over, so I turned off the stove, ripping my apron off as I ran over there. When I approached my wife, she was hugging Monica, so I wasn't able to see clearly. After I was able to calm her down, she showed me Monica. Monica was covered in red with mumps and hives. I grabbed my keys and booked it to my car, the wife no too far behind. We drove the hospital, and ran towards urgent care. The nurses saw what happened and immediately gave Monica a shot to suppress the allergy. Then they brought her away to take measurements and diagnostics. 30 mins later, a nurse comes out and tells us to follow her. We go into the room, and see our daughter, rid of mumps or hives. The doctor tells us that she had a severe allergic reaction to something in the house. We list all the things that Monica came in contact with. But the doctor stopped is when we got to Jesse. The doctor then says that our daughter is probably allergic to our dog, and we must get rid of her. We acknowledge the doctors words and bring our daughter home. When we got home, I ushered Jesse outside and played with her so my wife could slip upstairs with the baby. It was around midnight when we decided what we must do. My wife picked up her sleepy body and sat outside on the porch swing with her as I dug the hole. We put her in the hole, and I brought out my gun and shot her twice in the head. It had to happen, we had no other choice. As I'm covering the hole, my wife was silently crying, tears falling onto the pillow she was holding. When I finished, my wife stifled her tears and goes back into the house and starts walking upstairs. I wash my hands off, and go inside and close the door. I make my way upstairs and see that my wife is already in bed, asleep. I change and walk over to the side of my room where my little girl was sleeping. I brush her head and whisper "Goodnight Jesse" | "Daddy!" I hear my little girl giggle from upstairs. "Daddy look what I done!". She's my world - my beautiful girl of 6. Me and my wife adopted her as we couldn't have children of our own, but she might as well be our biological child; we're a very close family.
"In a minute, Anna!" I yell - "Show your mother and I'll be up once these cookies are finished!".
"Ooh cookies!" I hear her chime excitedly. "Are they the chocolate chip ones?"
"You'll see in a minute." I tell her, smiling to myself. It's the little things in life that really make me happy; uneventful days like these with the people I love the most. I plate up the cookies and leave them on the counter to cool, then begin to trudge upstairs to see Anna's creation - it's probably just a drawing again; Anna loves art, I tell her she can be an artist one day, but in all reality her drawings are average scribbles produced by a 6 year old and some crayons.
An unusual sickly scent fills the landing, and, as I make my way to Anna's room, I find a small doll on the floor leering at me. It has black hair and lifeless green eyes that unnerve me - I don't remember buying Anna this doll. I make my way into Anna's room and, to my horror, Anna gazes at me with the same lifeless green eyes and terrifying grin. Blood covers her small arms and new jumper my mother bought her yesterday, and my loving wife lays with her throat slit on the bed. Anna holds up a drawing painted in blood. It's a stickman, with a small figure - a doll - hysterically smiling behind him. It looks like it's holding something - a stick? No... A knife.
"Look, Daddy, I found a new way to paint. I painted you!" | 2016-05-19T14:52:21 | 2016-05-19T13:10:57 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | U'grall'urk sullenly walked up to the counter. The human was a tiny and ugly thing. Nothing of note to make an impression with their dull skin, small bodies, weak muscles, and ignorant brains, and yet, they had managed to work their way into the greater parts of the galactic empire despite their obvious shortcomings. Hundreds of millions of them in all levels of the Empire within the span of a generation. Somehow they had convinced the Hierarchy that this sort of activity was needed and soon the humans were the face behind every counter of every government office.
He still didn't understand the purpose of this kind of micro-management or the purpose of begging permission to do an activity, no one seemed to, but still, everyone else was going along with it and he wasn't about to step out of line or give up his number sheet at this point. Just then, the human behind the counter looked up and made an ugly face at him.
“Sir, if you aren't going to provide the proper identification and have your fee ready at the counter, you're going to have to go to the back of the line. Others are waiting their turn, and the Department of Interstellar Vehicles isn't open 24 hours.” | We would try and kill them. We've run scenarios on how to kill them. We've seen them kill each other. But to try eliminate them all. It borders complete impossibility.
They're just way too good at sex. It's not even that their really skilled at it. That title belongs to the Zendians. They just have copious amounts of sex. Their reproduction rate is about 10 times faster than even the most horniest. It's rumored that even their sperm count is in the millions.
While jealous some of us may be, there's nothing we can really do about it. All we can do is continue our studies. | 2014-07-16T14:12:33 | 2014-07-16T12:20:35 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] A powerful being has been hunting and killing gods since time began. It now sets its sights on the self proclaimed god of Earth: Kim Jong Un. | I watched him rise to power in the wake of his father's passing. It was lightly admirable, yet the inevitability of it diminished his achievement. A general may have garnered some support initially, but the people would have rallied behind their - their *god* in the end.
I watched him as he struggled to maintain his foothold in each acre of land as the South Korean troops steadily pushed upwards towards Pyongyang. I saw the terror in his eyes as he called out to his 'allies' for help. None came - not from Cuba, nor Iran or Iraq. Russia, eventually, sent in their own troops. They pushed back the 'false' Koreans for their ally, but the damage was done. The 'unprovoked' attack was used to push for unification of the land under one government, and eventually it was.
Russia was given the entire peninsula.
I watched him fall to the ground, eyes red with grief and sorrow for his lost power. The DPRK was a joke - but then again, the idea of a 'Korean people' at this moment is laughable. The uncivil war between the two groups had made the idea of their own self-led government an impossible one, and in the end both sides lost everything.
All because South Korea attacked.
Because their Secretary of Defence was assassinated.
By North Koreans.
Who had been set up by Russia.
Because Kim Jong-Un made an offhand comment that he would do what Marx, Lenin, Stalin, and all of the USSR could not - build an empire to last a thousand years, controlling the minds of the people and ensuring a lasting dynasty.
Because this foolish cyka thought he could best me.
No mortal will ever defeat Putin. | I must use different tactics to overpower the other Omnipotents. They never knew the strength that I possessed until their entire breadth of influence was wiped from existence.
With every one that is eliminated, I become stronger. One less to oppose me. Millions of them have fallen at my feet. Unfathomable numbers of followers along with them. Nothing in Infinity has a fraction of the power that I wield.
I approached the planet called Earth, I found it laughable. These beings know nothing of the Infinity. They call them 'nebulae', 'black holes', 'supernovae'. The remnants of my opponents long defeated.
Here, one...man...dares declare himself the God of their world. This peon shall find that the will of The Infinite cannot be challenged. This is the last corner of existence to conquer. Once this *Kim Jong Un* and his diminutive pebble is vanquished, I shall, and will, be the Only One. | 2015-02-06T02:48:58 | 2015-02-06T01:18:50 | 129 | 22 |
[WP] This is the letter you need to read when you reach the lowest point of your depression. | Get up. Take a breath. It's hard, I know. It's a quagmire and you feel lost in the middle of it. You're tired. Everyone expects you to climb out. Everyone wants you to be happy, but you? You're tired. You want to sit, to give up. You look around at the others, they're trying to pull you along, but you want to just collapse. Maybe you already have.
Just take a breath, and follow your feet. Don't try do what others do. Don't compare yourself to them, you're NOT them. You are you. You're simply, and amazingly, you. Don't try to find the "right" direction--there isn't one.There is no map to this quagmire, everyone has their own way. This may seem daunting, but it's a good thing, I promise you. If you're lost and stuck in the middle of a quagmire, any direction you go will take you out of it. Whichever way you want to go, whichever way feels right to you, take it and go. One step at a time. No matter what direction you choose, you'll make it out. It's not infinite, the quagmire of depression isn't all encompassing. This world we live on, this world has green pastures. Valleys covered in grass. Picturesque lakes. Mountains scraping the heavens. You may not see the end of the quagmire at first. It'll turn swampy. It'll turn marshy. But Eventually you'll hit solid ground, you'll take in a breath, and it'll be fresh air that fills your lungs. You'll look around and realize you're out of it. You'll see the beauty around you. You'll smile. I promise you, you'll smile.
It's okay that you're empty right now. It's okay, I promise you. You can be empty. But promise me you'll try. Promise me that tomorrow you'll start with a step. Maybe it's just brushing your teeth for the first time in a week. Maybe it's taking your first shower in two. Maybe it's just eating a proper meal, but promise me you'll try.
It doesn't have to be all at once. Remember that. You can take it slow. Nice and easy. Just focus on your next step. One step at a time.
Some days you'll fall. And that's okay too, I promise. You can lay there for a day, but promise me you'll get up tomorrow. Promise me you'll fight.
I know you can do it. I promise you can.
I promise you, you'll find your smile again. Your laugh. You'll find what makes your eyes starry, I promise.
You just need to take a step. It can be uneasy, it can be hard, and that's okay. But one day? One day you'll be running. And I promise you, throughout it all, I'll be right beside you. | Connor
Six years ago you broke your arm after falling out of a tree in your best friend's garden. It hurt more than you were willing to admit at the time, but that wasn't your lowest point.
Five years ago your grandfather died. The man who rowed you and your brother out to Rangitoto island, the man who taught you how to build a kite and once constructed a flying fox from his porch to the yard below just for you. But that wasn't your lowest point.
Last year your friends all left the country while you were stuck at home, going to Spain, the UK and Germany. You felt so alone, you didn't know what to do with yourself. But it wasn't your lowest point.
As I'm writing this, I have just returned from my mothers funeral. I'm still wearing my best suit. I loved her so much, and now that lonely me from last year seems like such a child. The house is so quiet, my father and brother aren't making a single noise, I went right to my laptop and browsed the usual sites without any real aim. It hurts more than I can describe, If I could break my arm a million times to have her back, I would do it in a heartbeat. but this still isn't my lowest point.
I don't know when I'll reach that point. But it isn't now. I'm not suicidal, I know i'm grieving, and I know I will recover. Some day I'll be living my sad little life and something will happen, Beth will pull in for a surprise visit, Ezra will do something stupid and hilarious at your weekly DnD game, and suddenly you will realise that you are happy again. I won't dare feel guilty for it, because it's what she would have wanted.
So this is a message for you, when you find yourself at that lowest point. When you pass that despair event horizon and feel like this time there is no going back. It goes on and so will you. It's crappy advice because I'm writing it on the fly and probably spending more thought on the sentence structure of this depressing little spiel, but it's true. I can get over this, I can get over anything.
So stay strong, live on, hold out for the next up on the roller coaster.
Because it's what she would have wanted.
Much love
Connor | 2017-01-30T23:12:49 | 2017-01-30T21:28:05 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You give your significant other a bundle of roses with a fake one nestled inside, and tell them you'll be with them until the last one withers. Little did you know this made you both immortal... as long as you stay together. | "I'm so tired," you say. "We've lived so long."
Jasmine rolls over in bed and looks softly into your eyes. "Me too. But I still love you."
"So do I," you reassure her. "It's just... everything around us is dying. There are hurricanes ripping apart the southern streets we walked. Fires are destroying the forests we once explored. A madman is goading on a nuclear attack that would decimate the cherry blossoms we once kissed beneath. And here? The cold is already setting in this September. I fear this year's winter will be so deep that spring will never reach us again."
"Shhhh. That last part is a bit dramatic. We've been through worse. This is nothing. Do you remember the Black Plague? The World Wars? We have survived worse, Jack." She smiled in that soothing way she had, as though the dawn could peek from her lips and shine from her eyes.
"Yes, and uneducated fools may as well invite the plague back, since they're letting it hold their childrens' hands. World War III is just around the corner. Jasmine, I don't want to watch the world die," you say. More words catch in your throat, and if you say them, the tears will escape.
"Do you want to go?" She asks. You nod solemnly. "I see."
She slides out from under the sheets, slipping her slippers on to avoid the cool, wooden floor. She walks to the fireplace and stirs the old embers from the night before into life. You both still love the smell of burning wood and couldn't live in a house that warmed itself with electrical currents or water.
"Do you remember that musical we saw?" She asks as she puts more wood into the fireplace. "There have been so many, I forget what it was called. I just remember the girl singing, 'Anywhere you go, let me go too. That's all I ask of you.'"
"I remember," you say. Your eyes are drawn to the the bedside table. It holds several books, an alarm clock, and a vase with a wooden rose in it. The rose had been carved by you a long, long time ago. A time much simpler, where a young man pursued a sweet girl. A time where romance thrived and promises were kept. A time where a bouquet of flowers won a heart. *I'll love you until the last rose withers and dies.*
You take the wooden flower in your hand and go to your wife. She covers your hand in hers and whispers, "Together."
There is a bit of fear in her smile now, turning the dawn to dusk. But you know that dusk means that there will soon be stars.
Together, you drop the rose into the flames and watch it wither and die.
| I handed him the roses with a knowing snicker.
"I'll love you and never leave you as long as these roses still bloom!"
He eyed me. Either I'm planning on breaking up with him soon or there is a corny trick involved here, he's sure of it.
Years pass, it isn't exactly marital bliss but it isn't horrible either, there was always affection. It's been good to have a partner going through life. In the hindsight of old age, I'm not sure such bliss exists apart from Sleeping Beauty or the Damsel locked in the tower waiting to be saved by her eternal knight.
But we've realized one thing: as we get older and our bodies degrade we keep on going. He's been diagnosed and untreated for HIV for 15 years now. Sores in his mouth bleed constantly and the nausea is overwhelming. But even still, despite the deterioration and us both well into our seventies there is no sign of us being held back by our beat up and decaying bodies.
Maybe this wasn't such a cute or corny trick like I had thought so many years ago. Our lives and love has dulled, and we keep on existing regardless. We once had an exuberance for each other and for living life, but now I it seems like we just trudge on to the next day, on and on. This must be what Sysiphus felt like, except now it doesn't seem like the march onward is such a noble cause.
It's time to melt this cursed trinket down to a puddle of liquid red and and green. Some things are best cherished and not held onto past their prime. Love comes and love goes, but it's always beautiful as long as that's where it needs to be. Don't hold onto the dead things in life, pretending reanimation of past joy is a preferable fate.
As the rose melted, he gave out a last breath. A sigh of relief, finally a release from the pain. This should have happened a long time ago, our love and our life is no longer beautiful, but a tarnished scrap of what it used to be.
| 2017-09-08T08:32:36 | 2017-09-08T06:42:51 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR | I pass through life with an apologetic smile.
I've always been in the way. I was in the way of my mother and father's happiness when I arrived on this planet so unexpectedly. I was supposed to be a tumor in my young mother's uterus. But there I was, hiding behind the tumor, in the way of its growth.
I was in the way as their marriage disintegrated in a beautiful mushroom cloud, and they fought over their possessions with ten times the acrimony with which they fought over me.
I walked away. I left a note that I was sorry, so sorry.
My wanderings began. I've lived in cities, suburbs, and, of course, the countryside. I think the last is my favorite. The land is so big and vast and wide that I can be of no trouble to anyone, at least until some farmer runs me off his land with a shotgun.
There was a girl, once. She was blonde and beautiful and I thought that maybe she could love me. When she would stand in the kitchen chopping vegetables with the sunlight streaming in from the windows I would put my arms around her waist and kiss her neck and think that I had found a place. I belonged.
But... I was in the way of her happiness, and it wasn't long before she too brushed past me to pursue her life with another.
I don't know how many years I've been 25. There are no gray hairs upon my head, but everyone I ever knew as a child is dead and gone. They all knew when their time was up. But here I am, ageless, nothing but an ERROR, not meant to exist, not meant to live.
Not meant to die. | They say it's comforting to know... you know... when. Everyone else knows. My wife knows. She's going in a few days. She checked her clock, and sure enough. We said our goodbyes and made our peace. She leaves today at noon. I'll miss her, but I suppose it's better this way. She knows she's going. I never will.
The clocks are forged when we're born, but we don't get them till we are 18. Then, we know how much longer till we die. Except, it didn't work. My clock came and only said error. I could die at any time and not know. I'm constantly afraid. I spend the morning staring at my clock, watching the word error flash across its screen. I wonder when my time will run out.
Then, the phone call. It's my wife's work. I know what happened and I can't bring myself to answer. I don't have the strength. Despite our claims we were ready for this, I wasn't. It wasn't her time. It was her time. | 2014-09-30T07:21:37 | 2014-09-30T06:50:11 | 479 | 50 |
[WP] Everyone on earth has an current objective objective displayed above their head. One day, while you go along your work, yours randomly changes from whatever you were doing to “survive” | Small talk was the goal.
“I just don’t understand letting him pitch until the 8th inning,” Steve said, coffee in hand.
“Right? He had a three hitter. That's not going in a record book.” said Mark, as he sipped his hot coffee.
Survive.
The word screamed in Steven’s head.
Steve ducked as Mark’s hot coffee splashed through the space quite recently occupied by his face. He swept Mark’s leg, taking him to the ground and stealing his wind. He could see the word ‘Kill’ emblazoned Mark’s forehead.
Steve panicked and ran.
Had it been a whole month? And why him?
He dodged Martha from the mail room as she swung at him with a steel yardstick, then pushed her over and headed for the emergency exit. He could hear chair falling to the ground behind him as people jumped out of their cubes. He didn’t dare look back.
Be calm. Get to the door.
He saw Peter, a former college linebacker, charging down the hall towards him. One man between him and the exit. What did he know about Pete?
Bad Knee!
He sidestepped Pete, then jammed his foot against the side of Pete’s knee. There was a sound like a rubber band snapping and Pete hit the ground.
Steve opened the door.
A hundred people on the street stopped what they were doing and all turned to look at him in unison. A hundred foreheads flipped to kill. Steve didn't stop running. He didn’t dare.
He ran across the street, pivoting around a Honda aimed at him, then stopping short as an SUV passed in front of him and plowed into the Honda, then he ran past the wreck.
His lungs burned and his legs felt heavy. But he could not stop. People who hide die. Get safe.
He knew where he had to go. The park. The base. He was two hundred yards away.
Fifty people, maybe, between him and it. Old people doing Tai Chi, joggers, and a preschool class. Every single one of them set to kill.
The odds were shit. But those were the odds.
A jogger pulled out a baton. There was a maintenance worker with a chainsaw. And the kids all moving towards him en masse.
He tried to speed up, but it was as fast as he could go. The jogger had an angle on him. The preschoolers would eat him up like piranha. And the old people were doing flips and shit.
He wasn't going to make it.
At a hundred yards the jogger took a swing, he dodged it.
At seventy five yards the geriatric Tai Chi warriors arrived. He felt an old woman snap one of his ribs. Another grabbed a handful of his hair hard enough to rip it out. He was grateful for that.
Base was in front of him now, all shining and blue. The host stood in the center, microphone in had. It was close.
At fifty yards the chainsaw bit into his arm. He turned with it, felt the muscle snap, but kept running.
At twenty five yards there was nothing between him and the base but the preschoolers.
He could do it. He had to. He vaulted over one. Or tried. He tripped and landed on the ground. They were on him in an instant. He thrashed and fought and dragged himself. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. A little girl with pigtails and murder on her mind stabbed him.
The drone that had been following him rose up, and made its way to the base.
“Wasn’t that a stunner folks? Ten yards! It did not look like he had it in him. What a great performance by Steven Collins in ‘Survival, The Ultimate Game, presented by Peps-Coca,”
The drone rose up for a shot of the mayhem as the host kept talking.
“I hope you enjoyed this week’s game. Stay tuned next week to find out if we’re coming to your town!” | It was early morning when it happened. I was washing up and bent down to splash water on my face when I felt my senses go on high alert - like the hair on the back of my neck was on end. Something was wrong, I could feel it, but I wasn't sure what it was. I stood up and looked in the mirror. The green HUD that usually hung above me was filled with red tic marks. My objective: *survive.*
I spun around quickly and burst out of the bathroom, searching for where the red marks where hidden. I grabbed a rifle that was leaning against the wall and balanced it on my shoulder, creeping through the dingy hallway and into what used to be the living room. *Can't hardly call this place livable anymore,* I thought. *Not since the bombs fell.*
Nudging the door open with the barrel of the rifle, I glanced into the kitchen. It was empty, but the HUD still had several marks littered across it. *They must be outside. Good. Less mess to clean up in my own house.*
I heard gunshots go off outside, confirming my thoughts. I ran to the side of the window and peeked out of it, searching for the danger. Several figures stood outside, but they were all facing away from my house. They seemed to have all their attention on another person in front of them.
After a few moments, I opened the front door slowly and stepped out onto the dirt road. The same crumbled houses stared back at me, and the same sun beat down on the Earth, causing waves of heat and radiation to rise from the ground. I looked around at the group in front of me - all of them Raiders - but they didn't seem to notice I was behind them. They kept their eyes on the man in front of him.
The man was dressed in a blue jumpsuit with yellow stripes running up and down it. Something hung on his arm, something that looked like a computer terminal. He had a shotgun in his hands, holding it up to his chest, and a dog stood next to him, growling at the men. The man's gaze swept across the group, then fell on me. He winked - and then time stopped.
In a flash, I saw the man's gun move from person to person in front of him along with a string of gunshots. One by one, the Raiders before him fell. When the last body dropped, silence overtook the neighborhood once more. The man dropped his gun and began walking towards me.
Panic rising within me, I put my rifle back up to my shoulder. "That's close enough!" I yelled. "Who are you?"
The man placed his gun on the ground and stood with his hands up in a gesture of peace. He tried to smile, but I could see he was nervous too, and trying to calm me down.
"I won't ask again. Who the hell are you?"
He met my stare, his eyes boring into me. They were a young man's eyes, but they felt... so old. Almost as if he'd lived an entire life before now.
The man shrugged. "I'm just a wanderer," he said. "I'm looking for a place to call home."
****
Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf! | 2020-03-13T12:58:11 | 2020-03-13T12:50:01 | 66 | 21 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | No one ever realized I didn't have a power.
Number two is a telepath. I met him in a bar once, but I could feel his touch on my mind all the way down the street. It was light, I would never have felt it if he'd only been looking, but when you're used to being a pawn you learn to see when you're being played with. He wanted me in that bar, and I complied. If he was going to kill me, I couldn't have stopped him at that point anyway. I asked him in there, "Why don't you kill me? No one would stop you." He laughed, and downed the remainder of his cup. "No one wants to be first, kiddo. No one with half a shot at getting there, anyway." His knowing smile told me everything it needed to. I was a tool. A figurehead. I asked him what he wanted from me and he gave me a list of people who needed to be out of the city by next Sunday. He walked out, and I did as I was told.
When they think you're more powerful than the strongest soldiers the city state has to offer, they don't question your authority. You say something happens and it does.
Number six is an empath, though I don't think she got her number on strength of power. It's the connections that did it. She told me once she was glad that number one was a good man, or the city'd be even worse off than it already is. I'm sure I could be a bad one if I had the inclination, it's only the top hundred or so I really have to keep happy. I've just never wanted to. I asked her if that was why she'd fallen in love with me and she gave me the coldest, most dangerous laugh I've ever heard.
"You're funny," she said.
We both know damn well it's me who loves her, and we both know equally well that I have no chance. Which doesn't stop her from using me for all I'm worth.
I'm not like the rest of the ten. I didn't kill to be here. Fate crowned me king at birth, and I've yet to figure out what in God's name it was thinking.
Number four is a power thief. He's the one who illuminated the mystery of my continued kinghood for me, down beneath the earth in a room full of tiny glass bottles and too much red to be comforting. He downed one of the bottles and settled against a shelf as his body changed. Creepy, that one.
"I'm not going to cut you open and take your blood," he said with about as much care as he'd give the weather. "Do you know why?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because then I'd have to run the city. I'd have to appease Lamier and Asmar and the whole nest full of snakes. It would be a chronic waste of time, and I'd hardly be able to balance it with my own projects. No no, you can keep your seat and your secrets. We serpents wouldn't touch your job with a ten foot pole."
I am a pawn masquerading as king, a powerless man ruling the powerful, a good man with no convictions. But I am, if nothing else, an actor. If no one sees the contradictions... Well, who am I to tell that they are there? | Determining the fates of others never seemed like a blessing to me, a simple, powerful thought could ruin the lives of countless. It took too long for me to control it, and even longer to accept the things that I have done. I never wanted to rise to the top, If I could, I would be at the bottom. But I guess that the fact that I'm already here and will remain here could mean that people will stop killing each other for nothing more than a status. At first I honed my power to remain on top, so that people will know that trying to kill me would never work, nobody will be on top other than me and the greed might even stagnate. But that wasn't enough. After much practice, meditation, and careful deliberation, I managed to stagnate the top 10, for as long as I live, the top 10 will never change. After years more and a few, accidents, I stagnated the top 100. the power struggle started to stop. Later on, 1,000.
1,000 of the most powerful people in the world, now immortal. At first it helped, people stopped trying to kill to rise in the ranks. But the top 1,000 started to realize that they could no longer be killed, they all became obsessed with that fact, as if they were demi-gods, that they could not kill each other, and that they could rule the world. They began to cull anyone who had a strong power, but not everyone altogether, for they toyed with them, they loved the idea that they were gods, and I could do nothing but watch. Soon, almost everyone but the 1,000 had such weak powers that they became mortal.
But none of them believed anymore that I was the god above them all. They thought that it was a mistake of some sorts that I was ranked the top, that the oracles made an error. And now, I have to fix the wrongs that I have done. All the atrocities they committed were because of me, I should never have made them believe that they were immortal, because they're not. I can't make everyone "immortal", I can't make *anyone* immortal. I cannot save everyone, for it will take too much time. There comes a day when angels and demons will have to fall all at once, and this day has been long overdue. I changed all our fates with a single focused thought, fates that I never knew I had the power to change until now. And I just did. Soon, very soon, the world will become mortal once more, for the so-called gods do not deserve to rule it.
***
**Power: Ability to determine how and when a person dies**
***
Edits: Lots of last minute grammatical changes. | 2014-12-18T12:44:55 | 2014-12-18T10:51:52 | 670 | 362 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by henchmen because your boyfriend/girlfriend is a super hero, but the villains are your parents who just now recognized you as your BF/GF has arrived to save you and now you have to explain the situation to everyone while the henchmen watch barley stifling their laughter | My mother gulped, moaned (like a ghost not a lover), and bit her nails--all at the same time I promise you. I can count on one hand (and from now on I must) the occasions on which she has pleasantly surprised me.
1 - It was my birthday and she brought me grapes she had stolen from the local supermarket. She didn't know it was my birthday until I informed her of it, but still.
"It's us, Daniel. For the love of fuck it's us!"
I'd never heard my mother swear before and based on the exotic example still wafting in the air she must have had her fair share of practice, unbeknownst to me. Well, I guess she was good at keeping secrets. She was a supervillain. So was my dad. And now they'd kidnapped me and chopped off my left arm. You never expect your parents to chop off your left arm.
"L-Louise?"
Understandably, my boyfriend was surprised. He was a superhero. And my parents had kidnapped his girlfriend, who turned out to be me, as part of their plot to kill him.
2 - High school. My team made it to the USAMO (United States of America Mathematical Olympiad). "Guess you've got some brains," my mother said.
"Can you give me a hand?" I said. A little joke to lighten the situation. I raised my bloodied stump. No reaction. "My parents have a hands-off approach to parenting, you see."
Jake (that's my boy!) staggered forward and my parents flinched. "What's going on?" he said, finally. I waved my stump around, again, pointing it first at my mother, then at my father. "You monsters!" he said. "How could you do this to your own daughter?"
"We didn't know," my mother chimed in. "Dear fuck, we didn't know."
Another exotic fuck. I was honestly a bit impressed.
"We need to get her to the hospital," said my father, his leathery suit squeaking like tacky furniture. He shot my mother a look. A very obvious this-idea-will-probably-distract-him-and-we-can-strike-and-kill-him-you're-on-board-with-that-right look.
3 - I came home drunk and vomited on the carpet. It was an expensive one. "Eh," my mother said. That was all.
A snicker was heard from a corner. Oh. I guess Jake didn't kill all the expendable henchmen. There was still one left. Perhaps he--okay never mind he's dead as well.
Presumably it was the added sight of my boyfriend's icy laser eyes that sealed the deal; they'd retreat. For now. Like seagulls reacting to ocular lasers, they promptly took off (I saw him laser a seagull in half once after it stole my fries. He said he was going for a piss but I followed him and caught the whole thing. He was really torn up about it later, saying "fucking seagulls" and sobbing.)
4 - I can't think of any more.
Jake took me to the hospital and I joked that I could get a bionic arm and we could take to the streets as a superhero couple fighting crime together. It was just a joke but he smiled nervously and told me it was an "interesting" idea. "For the love of fuck," I whispered softly into his ear. He nearly dropped me. Oh well. | When I woke up tied up with two villains in front of me, I was scared but I wasn’t worried I knew she would come for me. They were talking but their voices sounded familiar, then it hit me like a semi-truck.
“Wait, MOM AND DAD!?”
“TYLER!?”
“Mom, dad you guys are villains? What the heck!”
“Your dating a superhero, and our arch nemesis!?”
“Why are villains? How long? Why didn’t you tell me? And more importantly, WHY THE HELL DID YOU KIDNAP ME?!”
“Ok look son we didn’t know she was your girlfriend, we just told the henchmen kidnap the boyfriend we never wanted to put you danger like this”
“Speaking of which your breaking up with that girl as soon as this is over young man!”
“Ok you guys are in NO POSITION to tell me that right now!”
“We just want what’s best for you sweetheart, and what’s best for you is to break up with that stupid superhero!”
“Hey I fricken heard that!”
Just then my girlfriend pops through the ceiling
“Give him ba- wait, MR AND MRS JACOBSON!”
“Uh- hello Sydney”
“Yeah that was my reaction too”
“What the heck, Tyler did you know about this?”
“No”
“Tyler I think now this be a good time to do the thing we discussed”
“MOM THIS IS NOT THE TIME”
“Oh my god I thought guys were so nice, you paid all my hospitality bills FOR THINGS YOU DID TO ME.”
“well that was before we knew you were lame”
“Oh wow that really the best you can do right now”
“Hey watch your tone with me young lady”
“Oh that is NOT gonna work right now”
Just then one of the henchmen chimes in “uh should we be doing something or-“ “YOU STAY OUT OF FAMILY MATTERS” “yes ma’am”
“I just actually can not believe my parents are villains, I thought you guys worked in banking!”
“We ROB the banks honey, never said we worked for them.”
“Also why did kidnap your own son?”
“Because we didn’t know he was your boyfriend, we love our son!”
“We we’re hoping he would follow in our evil footsteps”
“Well that explains why you got me a ray gun for my 7th birthday”
“But then you came and messed it all up with your, superheroness”
“You know what, somehow I love your son enough to pretend none of this ever happened”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
She comes over and unties me
“But don’t think this doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass at the first sign of trouble”
“Wouldn’t dream of it”
Somehow we are still together and super happy, my parents still try to convince to be a villain, and thanksgiving is always awkward. | 2021-07-18T11:45:08 | 2021-07-18T11:05:47 | 130 | 90 |
[WP] Mankind discovers suddenly that now when you kill someone, you gain all of their power and knowledge. After years of fighting there are now only two people left on Earth. The two meet to talk before their final battle... | Edit: God-damn formatting.
Double-Edit: Trimmed a single word. :)
"You got a light?"
*"Yeah, sure. Here-"*
"Thanks."
Silence.
*"You know what I hate the most about this?"*
"The weird porn?"
*"Oh, god. You know, I could have lived my whole life without knowing what a vore fetish was."*
"I've got you beat."
*"Oh yeah?"*
"Yeah. Macrophillic necrophilia."
*"Are you serious? How is that even a thing?"*
"Beats me."
Again, silence.
*"Could have done without the entire U.S Congress stuck in my head."*
"Oh, I bet they're a real help."
*"Absolutely. Someone about to kill you? Quick, place sanctions on them! Raise the interest rates!"*
"It's really not all it cracked up to be, is it? Supreme knowledge is sort of..."
*"Sort of swamped out by the millions of contradictory opinions on which LoL champion is the best?"*
"Yeah."
*"We don't have to do this. We could... co-operate, or something."*
"What's left, though? We're in too deep to back out now."
*Still, do we have to end it now? Fight to the death?"*
"Yeah. If we don't... I'm not going to be able to stop. I want to know. I've come so far, taken so much. Now the end is in sight, I can't just back down. I could know... I could know **everything**."
*"Thought so. Had to try, though."*
"Figures."
*"Hey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."*
"Don't be."
*"No, really. I'm sorry. I poisoned that cigarette."*
"...you fucker."
*"Poisoned them all, actually. Figured this is a fitting way for it all to end."*
"Oh."
*"Yeah."*
"So that's it, huh? We both go?"
*"That's it. The end."*
Rustling.
"Can... can you... no, nevermind."
*"Spill it, c'mon."*
"Can we hold hands?"
*"Hold hands?"*
"I've always been afraid of dying alone."
*"...sure."* | I arrive a bit early, to enjoy the scenery..the fresh air..life. The earth gives faint rumblings under my feet. Looking around the meadow, I see that she has arrived also. Our methods of reaching this particular place in time have differed. I started with strength, and as my enemies fell, I gained in knowledge. She started with willpower and gained in cunning..and knowledge.
By using brute force, I should be able to dominate her. We both know this. We both know that she has taken steps to negate this. After all the years of violence and brutality, there are just we two left. And we know everything there is to know about humanity. And each other.
It is almost time.
"Sarah."
"Mason."
"Are you ready?"
"Yes. Are you? You know , even as a kid you could never win at this game."
I give a small laugh, and look at my twin sister. We have agreed to sit here, on this small platform in Yellowstone National Park and play Rock Paper Scissors, and talk about old times, until one of us is a clear victor. Our childhood games, so many many years ago, always went on for hours.
We have less than 60 minutes this time, before the geyser under our feet..Old Faithful.. erupts and ends the game for whomever or whatever is on top of it. And since we are so closely matched in thoughts and abilities, we both know neither of us will win in that time.
In this game of life, humanity destroyed themselves and most of the earth. So for our final game for all time, we have decided to let the earth win. For two people who are now old and know everything, it's the only thing left to do.
| 2014-03-21T06:03:32 | 2014-03-21T05:05:16 | 315 | 68 |
[WP] Pennywise wakes up after his 27 year sleep to find that four giant turtles and a rat have taken over the sewers. | The Clown opened his eyes.
He was hungry. It was dark. It was damp. It smelled of mildew and old water. And fear. That was there too.
The sleeping minds of his prey were prepared for his return. Those with greater shine had felt it first. But now everyone would know it. A little pressure behind their eyes when they were alone. A sensation of something skittering behind them when they were alone in the dark. They were prey, and prey knew when a predator was near. The collective unconscious was hushed, quiet as the jungle when every little bird knew there was a jaguar on the prowl.
The Clown smiled his toothy grimace. The jaguar was hungry.
The sewers were as he had remembered them. The refuse of the prey told him much about them. There were things he did not recognize, things of metal and plastic and glass. His greater mind apprehended their purpose as he observed them. Interesting. They could serve as a good portal through which to cultivate the fear of his chosen meal.
There were new sections of the sewers, and he found them as he skittered hither and yon. He grew familiar with the sights, sounds, and smells of the prey that walked unknowing above. They were ripe for the picking. They did not fear the shadows, but that would make it easier, in a way, now that there was something stalking them that was worthy of their fear.
Days and nights went by and still the web of tunnels expanded. The humans had done everything within their power to eradicate every dark corner in which a monster could hide, thinking themselves safe. It was a delicious taste of false security. Some of them had even *lit* sections of his sewers.
And in one section, someone dared to *live.*
At first he had been hesitant. Terrified, even. Their forms reminded him strongly of that *skølpadda.* The Turtle. **Maturin.** He squealed and cowered in a corner as the name rose, unbidden, to his mind and raked across his very being with talons of white-hot light. He waited until the pain subsided and re-emerged to stalk. Yes, they had terrified him with their forms, half-man, half... *that.* But they trafficked with a rat-man, which he had initially mistaken as a servant of the Crimson King... But no, these were something altogether different. They were on neither one side nor the other. They were *neutral.* And therefore... not dangerous.
Yes, they were strong. They had weapons, and they knew how to use them. But it hadn't been the slung stones of the children that had defeated him last time, it had been their *shine.* But these were dimwits, and even their rat master's shine was weak compared to those who had been his bane the last time.
And so he stalked them. He preyed on them in their dreams, and he waited for the moment that he would strike, to reclaim the last corner of his home so that he would be the only being who inhabited it.
He smelled it even now, a dish that had not changed for some time. Pizza. He smirked. They were human enough. They knew fear. He had seen their uneasy glances into the shadows as they passed him. It was no longer their home. It was his.
He crept forward, stealing into their lair, slipping through the nether and out into the physical world again. They all slept, snoring. He could feel their sleeping minds. Four dim bulbs, and a fitful flame in a chamber at the end of the long, vaulted room. Brick and stone and plenty of room, a perfect fit to serve as their tomb. He smiled again, savoring the feeling of his teeth sliding out of his impossibly small mouth. The time was now.
He strode into the middle of the room and reached toward the minds of the four mutant children. They would die first, and then he would deal with their master.
A light flickered on, and suddenly the chamber was bathed in incandescent yellow. The creatures were not asleep. Each sprung from its bed, wielding archaic weapons. The Clown's smile grew. This would be fun.
"Master Splinter!" one of them yelled. "He's here!" There was no fear in his voice. He sounded... jocular.
What? How could they have--
The door at the end of the hallway slammed open, the candleflame growing into a torchlight. He was greater than the Clown had anticipated. But still... Not enough. Not enough to stop the Clown. He grinned, his face splitting wider.
"Gross, dude!" one of the mutants yelled, stepping back.
There was the fear. He felt it now, as his form took on a more macabre semblance. The fear was growing, and soon he would feast.
The door behind him slammed.
What? There were only five. There was no other shine...
"Ah, my friend, it is good to see you," the rat said with an unbearable smirk, looking past the Clown. "Here he is, as you suspected he would be."
The Clown turned, slowly, to find a simple man, standing in jeans and a soiled white T-shirt that read "I drive the Takuro Spirit." He was lanky with tousled brown hair, and wore a shit-eating grin. He stood with his hand on a gun in a holster. He had no shine. He would not--
The man spoke with a strong New York accent.
"See the Turtle, ain't he keen."
The Clown shrieked as the radiant talons raked at his essence. What was this man? What was--
The man's arm blurred, and he held in his hand a huge revolver, shining steel with sandalwood grips. The Clown's vision was swallowed by that mammoth barrel, pointed directly between his eyes. At the center of that black abyss he saw a glint of copper... and *ka.*
The man--no, the Gunslinger--pulled back the hammer, and the click resonated through the chamber. No. Not that. Not *that* gun!
The Gunslinger smirked.
"All things serve the fuckin' Beam." | After 27 years of sleep, Pennywise the clown arose from its slumber, hungry. Its feet sloshed through the water, the sound of its steps bouncing off the moss-infested stone walls. At the slightest disturbance, the bodies dangling above Pennywise shifted, some spilling three decades worth of bloody decay into the sewer. It inhaled the sour-sweet odor and frowned. None of these children had lasted long enough for a snack, which was fine. In Derry, Maine, children were served fresh.
A padded footstep sounded down the sewer and Pennywise froze. It must’ve been those kids, back to fulfill their promise. Pennywise faded into the shadows, its claws already out.
---
Donatello glanced at April. Her auburn hair spilled down slender shoulders, bobbing as she walked beside him. They were only going to pick up pizza, but he had made sure to wash up beforehand. Chances to go one on one with April didn’t come frequently. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of them.
Michaelangelo walked at his other side spinning his nun chucks. “I’m telling you, stuffed crust is the way to go. Have you ever had stuffed crust? It’s like a cheese pizza inside of a cheese pizza!”
April rolled her eyes and smiled. “I guess you’ve never heard the word restraint?”
“Of course I have,” Michaelangelo said. “Master Splinter talks to me about it all the time.”
“Mikey, the fact that Master Splinter has to keep telling you about it is proof enough that you don’t get it,” Donatello growled.
His orange-masked brother furrowed his brow. “What’s up your butt, Donnie? Your staff?”
April giggled. Donatello clamped his mouth shut and picked up his pace. The sooner they could be done with this, the better.
---
Pennywise tilted its head. Two overgrown turtles and a woman walked through its sewers. Strangely enough, the turtles seemed to be talking to each other. It crept from shadow to shadow, watching this scene unfold.
“Would you like to float too?” it asked under its breath.
The orange-masked turtle, the one they called Mikey, stiffened. His nun chucks fell limp at his sides. “Guys,” he said, turning toward the shadows and squinting his eyes.
Of course, he wouldn’t see. Shadows containing Pennywise darkened. It nearly burst into laughter, watching a turtle trying to find it in the shadows.
“Stop slowing us down,” the turtle named Donnie huffed and walked ahead of him. “If you don’t keep up, we’re leaving you.”
Mikey took one last look back before tearing his eyes away from the creeping shadows. “Okay,” he muttered and continued forward. Three fingers gripped tightly around his nun chucks.
Pennywise picked at its teeth. They weren’t human, yet he could still smell their fears as if they were. Mikey and his fear of squirrelanoids and Donnie and his fear of the girl beside him’s rejection. The edge of Pennywise’s lips curled into a dagger’s point. Its stomach rumbled.
They weren’t children, but perhaps they could float too.
---
The two turtles and April walked in silence. Mikey stopped cracking jokes. Donnie pressed his lips together. April held in a shiver. The only sound between them were the slap of webbed feet and clack of shoes—sounds that echoed a bit too loudly.
With every passing step, though they walked toward the sun, the shadows encroached and the air became a bit more brittle. Nobody mentioned it, nor the sinking feeling in their stomach. It wasn’t fear exactly, they were *unsettled*. It felt as if a single voice or jerky movement would tear apart the fragile peace and unleash something upon them.
However, though they walked in perfect tempo, never mentioning the darkness, echoes, or coldness, Pennywise only advanced further. The shadows crept. The echoes loudened. And the air grew more still and cold than a corpse.
They walked until their footsteps sounded like gunshots and they could no longer even see their own hands in front of their faces. They had passed the sewer exit long ago, but nobody dared to stop walking. It was instinct.
But if ignoring the clown was all that took to stop it, IT would never have become the monster it now was. It smiled and took on the form of April’s worst fears.
April stopped walking. She had heard a new sound, something besides their footsteps—a flapping in the air, some squeaks. She listened closer and suddenly, the blood drained from her cheeks. Before she could stop herself, a shiver ran up her spine and she screamed. A colony of bats blasted past her, their wings beating upon her body, little teeth nibbling at any exposed skin.
“April!”
She couldn’t even tell who screamed it. Everything was drowned out by the bats. Her legs moved on their own, pistoning her forward away from the creatures. Behind her, someone was still calling her name, but it was fading slowly into the distance as she took frantic rights and left, anything to escape the bats. She dashed through Derry, Maine’s underground labyrinth, leaving behind only her screams.
By the time she stopped running, whoever was calling her name could not even reach her in echoes and the bats had disappeared, leaving her engulfed in a deafening silence.
And a slight giggle.
"You can float too."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories.
| 2017-09-28T10:41:54 | 2017-09-28T10:09:06 | 2,224 | 1,199 |
[WP] Once a year, on January 1st, a random citizen in the world receives a letter; addressed to them personally, and signed by the same woman. Each letter predicts the worst disaster to befall the world that year with terrifying accuracy. | Samuel tossed back a beer as he scanned through the letter that had appeared in his mail that morning. He saw the name that was, by now, familiar to everyone on Earth: Moira.
He knew what he was supposed to do. Hand the letter over to the government. Hell, to anybody who had the slightest inkling on how to avert the worst earthquake in the past century. That was what most people had done, since the letters started arriving ten years ago. Not that it helped. The disasters still happened, people still died. Only now, the entire world lost its mind in the weeks that led up to the disaster, trying - futilely, pathetically - to stop it. They were anxiously waiting for this year's letter. It would happen all over again.
Suddenly furious, Sam chucked the letter on the table. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't watch everyone panic, only for them to die anyway. This time, it would happen unexpectedly. Like it was supposed to.
Sam gaped at the letter as ink suddenly oozed into the top corner. One sentence.
**Go to the cave.**
"What the *hell*," Sam muttered, but felt compelled to do what it said, anyway.
He dragged on his shoes and walked like a man in a dream out of his house. As if an invisible rope was tied around his neck, yanking him in the direction of the cave. He knew the one it was referring to: the cave he'd played in as a child, carved into the mountainside not far from his cottage. He'd moved back home a few years ago, partly because of the cave. He still visited it. Just to sit and think in peace, where nobody could bother him.
He trudged through the wild vegetation near the mountain, ignoring the pouring rain. A small part of his mind was telling him he was crazy. He hadn't really seen words appear on a letter, and he shouldn't be climbing a mountain in the rain. The other part of him knew he had to keep going. Something was waiting for him.
He entered the cave, and was almost unsurprised to find three women kneeling in a circle, smiling at him.
"Samuel," an old woman croaked, saying his name slowly, as if weighing every syllable. "Welcome. We are the Moirai."
The name rang a faint bell at the back of his head. He'd taken a mythology course in college, a lifetime ago. Wasn't that another name for -
"You might also know us as the Fates," the youngest woman of the three said, flashing him a pretty smile. Her dark eyes glinted as she looked at him. "Weavers of destiny, and all that."
She nodded towards a basket at her side. It was filled with luminous, golden threads. Sam heard the ghost of his old professor's voice, telling them the significance of the threads in the myth. Each represented a human life. He blanched as he saw a large, nasty-looking scissor tucked in beside the threads.
"You've passed our test, young man," the old woman said, getting up with a groan and grasping his hands. "The only one who knew what to do with our letter, our predictions: ignore it."
"Let fate take its course. Do not interfere with what is weaved," the young woman said dreamily, as her two companions nodded in agreement.
"You also have the gift of premonition: very light, of course," the old woman said. "But it's in all the humans we sent our letters to. You have had dreams of future events before, I think? You probably never even remembered most of them. But don't fear. Your gifts will grow stronger. You will start to trust your visions."
"Oh, well, isn't that a relief. Thanks so much for enlightening me," Sam muttered, as he saw the sisters share a sly smile that he didn't like at all.
"You left our letter alone, Samuel. You knew the path you had to take. It led you here. That's why we know you are the one," the young woman said, staring intently at him.
"The one...?" he asked, as the three rose as one and suddenly linked hands.
"To take our place. Our time is done. It is time for a new Fate to be born - one better suited to these times. This world of technology and noise and mayhem - it is too much for us. We are old, and tired," the crone said with a cough, staring at him from rheumy eyes. "We are moving on to another world. We spun our own fate, ten years ago. We've been trying to find a replacement ever since. It is past time for your arrival."
"Be careful with the spindle - it's very sharp," the third sister warned softly. "Good luck, young man. Weave the future wisely."
The three gave him one last, identical smile, and vanished.
Sam picked up the basket of golden threads hesitantly. He stared at the nearby loom, and his stomach sank.
"Hey, come back, you can't do this! I don't even know how to *sew*. Nobody does, anymore!" he burst out, his voice echoing in the empty cave. "Guys?"
He tried to run out of the cave, and rebounded on his ass when he met an invisible barrier. Like running into a brick wall. He sank mercifully into unconsciousness, thinking vaguely that he should go easier on the booze next time. Perhaps ditch the weed entirely.
This had been one trippy dream, even for him.
----------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | "Why, and how, does this woman do it?" The news reporter's face was a botoxed mask of faux-concern. "As New Year's Day approaches, millions of people will wonder if they are the recipient of this year's 'bad luck' letter."
Val dug the spoon deeper into the multi-coloured cereal and pushed them around in the milk. The bowl was balanced between her knees and her chest. Laptop open in front of her, desktop humming on her left and the TV droning on. She kept one eye on a download bar trickling towards completion, the other on the television. Stringy hair covered her forehead, brushing against the acne that still hadn't cleared up. Blackout blinds kept the grubby room in near total darkness.
"Signed off only as *Belinda,* the letters foretell governmental, environmental or popular disasters. Later this morning, we'll be speaking to last year's recipient of the letter, Homer Drummond. Until New Year's Day in 2015, he ran a church in the Central African Republic. Now he's a campaigner for children's rights in the Catholic Church. He credits his involvement with the movement to Belinda's bad luck letter."
Val wiped the milk from her lips with the back of her hand, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't get the letter. This flat in her building in the back end of Gothenburg had no number. She picked up any post from a P.O box in the centre, a box she'd opened under a fake name. The desktop wasn't hers, and her use of the laptop was shrouded by proxies. Val worked in cash and didn't own a phone. Sometimes things were better that way.
It turned out to be an email, instead. It dropped into Val's inbox as her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Three multi-coloured loops remained floating in the now-dusty milk. Val liked to leave something on her plate. It reminded her she had food to spare. She set the bowl aside, clicking on the email curiously. The subject line was empty, the sending address a throwaway email service. Val read it twice, quickly.
She'd been intrigued by the New Year letters since she was young. Val had always liked puzzles. A Rubik's cube had frustrated her until she was seven years old, and she hadn't touched it since she'd figured it out. The letter this year was shorter than it had been in previous years.
*Governments monitor our presence online. Our information is sold to the highest bidder. We are products, waiting to be consumed. The disaster this year will be the complete loss of online privacy. I have chosen you. You know what to do.*
The sign off: *Belinda.*
Val gritted her teeth. She considered deleting it. No one would ever know, they expected a letter. Every year, within hours of the letter's arrival, someone would notify the news networks, their local member of parliament, even the police in some cases. But who to talk to when the threat was posed by authority? And who to talk to when it had come to Val, who spent so long trying to hide herself?
She felt a surge of anger against the unknown woman. Of all the people she could have picked, Belinda had chosen someone who would be reluctant to lift a finger to help. Yet... the years of hiding her identity online, of assuring her own invisibility... Belinda had also chosen a person who stood the most to lose from this year's disaster.
The download had finished, internet speeds springing back to normal. If she traced the sender of the email, Val could find this Belinda. Ask her what she wanted her to do. Give her a piece of her mind. She'd expect Val to roll over and do what she was told, same as all the other recipients. Well, Val wasn't bloody Homer Drummond who ran a church and had a greater calling. She was Val, the mouse, who hid in dark corners and paid for things in cash and kept one eye over her shoulder and waited for the past to catch up with her.
Val found the server for the throwaway email address in minutes. She relied on the fact that this woman had never sent an email before, that she thought she was safe. The location that was produced might not be hers, but it was a start, and word would be out soon that a letter had arrived and no one had come forward.
She unplugged the desktop, monitor dying with a sigh. The lightweight laptop went into a messenger bag beside an envelope of cash.
"I was going to move on anyway," Val said to the nearly empty room. The bowl of cereal stared at her mournfully.
----------------
A woman with snow white hair stood on the frozen lake. She sat crosslegged on the ice, hood pushed back, crampons on her fur-lined boots. Two long streams of smoke blew out of her nose. The desolate landscape stared down at her, and suddenly her eyes flew open.
"She's coming," Belinda said to the listening lake. "She's got her letter."
| 2016-08-28T07:40:54 | 2016-08-28T07:38:09 | 121 | 26 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | I've made up my mind, this is the end
I've said my goodbyes to family and friends
However they don't know that I'm leaving tonight
I've struggled too long and can no longer fight
I walk back home after a long day of work
And get on reddit to routinely lurk
I see a post on "W-P"
And smile slightly at the irony
Dr. Seuss? I've read a book or two
If I can recall a red fish and a blue?
And who could forget green eggs and ham?
My mother used to read it as well as my Grams
My eyes started to water as I closed my computer
Then a knock at my door, who was this intruder?
I wipe my face as well as my nose
And walk to the door as I straighten my clothes
I crack it open and to my surprise
There stood the pizza delivery guy
Paranoid. Did he know? Probably not
I guess I ordered but must've forgot
But then the name on his shirt caught my eye
And I let out a soft chuckle mixed with a cry
He tried to calm me down but it was no use
Then he hugged me. The man's name, Seuss.
| I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting | 2015-01-17T09:55:19 | 2015-01-17T04:21:47 | 120 | 15 |
[WP] Bob Ross was actually a serial killer that painted where he buried his victims. His paintings are becoming suspicious and the body count is rising.
Inspired by comments in r/art | Bob ran the brush through a thick glob of oil paint and wiped the excess on his pants.
It was nighttime, eerily quiet.
Bob gently tapped the brush against the canvas, filling in a line of pine trees with a dusting of snow.
Outside, the wind howled and beat against the sides of the cabin. Snow had piled so high in only a matter of hours, Bob had to clear the chimney of ice for the fire thrice. The fire that, at the moment, was the only thing keeping him alive. Well that... and the unfinished business. Business that must be finished.
But first, the painting.
Bob smiled to himself and stood back, admiring the intricacy of the painted landscape. Reminiscent of Aspen, the forest scene pulled at his emotions. Well it should! This was to be a successful night!
He began to float off into day dreams, knowing that time was on his side. He didn't need to rush. As he sometimes did, Bob began to imagine the faces of those he'd "explored".
A young girl from FL. Brown hair. Green eyes. Her screams reminded him of birds cawing.
A teenage boy from CA. Football player. Bit back, but eventually gave up.
A mother from WA. Blonde with a soccer mom complex. Tennis shoes. Perfume.
He let the feeling of euphoria consume him for a moment, ignoring any doubts.
Sirens broke this happy daze, loud and coming towards the cabin. Bob dashed to the window, and sure enough the blues and reds of two law enforcement vehicles echoed against the trees. He froze, calculating in his head. It had to be now.
Bob scrambled around the room, gathering several things in a pack. He threw on a thick parka, boots, and gloves. Tossing the pack over his back, he returned to the painting.
Bob slipped a marker from his pocket, bending down to the right hand corner of the canvas. He signed.
"Ross. Thanks Again."
He glanced to the cellar door, feeling an odd sense of longing. It was only a moment. He had made a choice now. This last one would be a sacrifice. She would live.
Giving the cabin one last look, Bob slipped out the back door and into the snow. The lights were brighter now, and heavy footstep could be heard not far off. Bob smiled and started towards a hidden path into the trees. He would begin again, but now there was only waiting.
| “Anything we don’t like, we’ll turn into a happy little tree. Do you know why?”
I aim my pistol at Bob Ross, my hands shivering. He paints a little tree in corner of the canvas, oblivious to the gun in his face. “Put your hands behind your head. Now!”
He ignores me and continues. “Because we don’t make mistakes. We just have happy accidents.”
My earpieces cackles to life. “*Agent, agent! Do you copy?*”
“Yes,” I reply. “The suspect is with me now. Send reinforcements to the fourth floor.”
“*No, agent. The investigation results have come back… you must return immediately. Abort mission. Now.*”
“What? Why?” I shout into the headpiece.
“*The murders… they only take place when Bob Ross is in the studio recording his show.*”
Bob Ross finishes his painting. He turns around and smiles at me. In his painting, I see a river lined with trees flowing into the distance. Beside the river stands a stout four-story building.
“How? How do you kill someone when you’re seated here the whole time? Do you have accomplices working for you?” I ask, my voice quivering.
He shakes his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he sighs. With one smooth movement, he whips out a dagger and stabs his painting. I pull the trigger of my pistol, but a throbbing burning pain strikes my chest and my shot misses Bob Ross and hit the ceiling instead. I tumble to the ground and curl up into a ball. My insides feel like they are on fire.
He walks towards me. “My friend, you must learn to let it go. Like a happy little tree.” He takes out a small sketchbook and begins painting a tree.
Tree branches grow out from every orifice of my body. I try to scream, but it is too late.
| 2022-02-01T07:29:40 | 2017-01-04T22:26:19 | 464 | 186 |
[WP] You are caught working on a D&D campaign at your office, as punishment, your supervisor, the CEO, VP and Head of Accounting sit in a conference room character sheets and dice in hand | "Leonard. Francis has alerted me that you are particular to Dungeons and Dragons and were working on something for it a little earlier today. Is this correct?"
"Yes. I was formulating a campaign strategy, Mr. Granin."
"We should talk. Step into the conference room."
Leonard was in for it now. He only hoped he could keep some decent references before they fired him for lazing on the the job. He shamefully slumbered to the conference room.
To his surprise, he was met with a few executives and the Head of Accounting. And even more shockingly, they all had character sheets lain about the table. What did this all mean?
"Leonard, thanks to you I was able to rekindle my love for this particular type of strategy game and found some fellow company members willing to play."
"Your welcome sir."
"Nonetheless, you were doing this on company time so I'm going to have to suspend you without pay for two weeks. Report to HR immediately."
"Yes sir."
As Leonard's face turned from bewilderment to melancholy, he was stopped by Mr. Granin once more and handed a slip of paper.
"Since you are going to be free later this week, give me a call. I could use a Dungeon Master like you."
Leonard subdued the smile that had started sprouting on his face and, calmly as he could, replied; "Yes sir." | I figured it would be best to take the initiative. "Gentlemen, you'll forgive me if this sounds flippant, but I have a suggestion. Let's keep things simple. 1,2,3? Truth. 4,5,6? Dare."
The CEO said nothing, but briefly met the eyes of his two colleagues. Nods. For an instant I could've sworn I saw the corner of his mouth curl upward in cruel anticipation... then it was gone.
He rolled the dice. 4. His eyes glanced down, before fixing on my own. He passed the paper knife to his deputy without looking down.
It was going to be an interesting day. | 2018-04-11T10:31:59 | 2018-04-11T09:20:47 | 124 | 10 |
[WP] Your family has a superpower: you have a lot of cousins. No, like seriously, a lot of cousins. If you ever need something, you've got a cousin for that and who can get it done within 24hrs. | "That's amazing," is what people sometimes say. They say "What the hell?" more often. This is usually because I just told then about my family.
You see, my grandparents were completely obsessed with children. They had a big home, with as many children as possible. I forget, but I think they ended up with an overwhelming *30* kids before my grandmother became sterile. She actually died soon after. And now, I have more than a hundred cousins.
What this means is that all of us are in the Guinness world records book, and also that there's always somebody to help you with whatever.
Enough about my record breaking family. Allow me to tell you what transpired about a year ago. You see, Gohan -- a millionaire who's very popular with many of his cousins -- was arrested, and despite our efforts we couldn't pay the bail ('we' being the people who cared enough ; with so many cousins, a single one might not just mean too little to another, they might forget about them entirely). I went home -- I'm too poor to help. I continued my painting before someone knocked.
"Come in, the door's unlocked!" I shouted. Crime was unheard of in my neighborhood.
A young woman, about thirty, opened the door cautiously and stepped in. She was panting like a dog in the summer heat.
"They want you," she explained between gasping breaths, "To come and..." She inhaled deeply, and I stopped painting the bird, "Actually, I don't know. What's your name? They just gave me the address."
Of course somebody would call me. Whatever they wanted, I'd need to come over fast. I tried to think who could be trying to get me this late : I only told three cousins that my phone was in repair and gets need to come over, so it should be one of them.
Dejected, I put down my brushes and apologised before striding out if the door. I walked for a minute before realising I don't know where to go.
"Do you know who wanted me?" I asked one of the last people o recognise near the jail where we gathered.
"I dunno." Harriet mumbled in her usual absent-minded way. Gah, why did my phone have to break now of all times? I'll never fulfill the request in 24 hours.
"It's probably Faramir," she said quietly just I started to leave. "He's gone to the hardware store because he knew you'd take long."
I thanked her and ran off. Faramir was the lad who we called when we need a repair, and he'd always give absurd prices afterwards. I didn't feel like helping him, but duty is duty.
Seven minutes later I found him staring into space in the chips isle and tapped him on the shoulder. He coughed, ahemmed, turned around as so slowly he'd break another Guinness world record for not-hurrying-up, and finally made his request.
"I want you to join my team."
"Are you stupid? You know what Charlotte did when you pretended to be a superhero who can fix stuff using magic."
"We're going to break into jail." He proclaimed, whispering for obvious reasons.
I looked at him, mouth agape.
This is going to be a long night, I can feel it.
---
I might continue this if it gets popular, as everything else I do it probably won't. Enjoy anyway! | My oldest living family member is my great-grandmother with an outstanding 106 years on earth. My grandfather and 5 out of the 6 of his brothers and sisters are still alive. One of his brothers died in a car crash a few months ago. We are a Christian family and my family takes go forth and multiply a little serious. I have about 90 cousins.
Michel is the cousin I have the most contact with. He is my drugs dealer. Nothing serious just some coke for parties and some weed every once in a while. Michel is one of my best friends and I love him dearly but he is somewhat stupid. He has a tendency to get into trouble. He has enough cousins that can help him but we are not there every step he takes. He gets beaten at least three times a week.
Last week he was in even bigger trouble than he normally is. He had used more of the drugs he was supposed to sell than he could afford. So his boss Don sent a few of his man to get him. The punched him in the face and dragged him into a van. He was able to send me a distress signal. ‘HELP, THEY’RE TAKING ME TO D…..’ the message was over. I knew I had to call my cousins. The first one I called was Josiah, he’s a tech expert and I asked him to track the van. Within twenty minutes he send me a live location of the van. In the meantime I had called Logan and Mitch they are twins and security guards. They box in their free time. They were going to get Michel and I send them the location.
I drove as fast as my Fiat Panda from 1990 would allow me to my cousin Lucas. He had a garage with some faster cars and maybe he had some guns stashed somewhere. I packed everything and I drove to the van. The van drove on the highway and I stayed a safe three cars behind them. Then Logan and Mitch appeared next to me. I handed them the guns out of the window.
All went very fast now. We had planned to sandwich the van and we did Logan started shooting which wasn’t according to plan. The kidnappers started shooting back. They also started to shoot at me. I bumped into the van, it crashed into the guardrail. The doors on the back blew open and a body flew out of it. It landed on the street. I crashed in the van and so did Logan and Mitch. Once I got out of the car, which was quite a hassle with the airbags, I sprinted to the body on the highway. It was Michel, as I expected. He had snapped his neck when he landed on the road. He died there. I just lost my best friend and started crying. This is our families curse, we will get the job done no matter what the result will be. | 2020-08-12T06:06:50 | 2020-08-12T05:57:32 | 75 | 18 |
[WP] At dinner, you serve the king a glass of wine with poison in it. He sips from it and continues to eat as usual. At the end of the meal, he walks up to you and says. "Next time you make poison, make sure it really works. It was pathetic." | I lock eyes with the King, cutting through the accusatory glare with my own defiant stare.
“With respect my liege, it was not, in fact, poison. Nor was it intended to kill you outright. What you just drank with your wine was an alchemical curse, one of my own making. It has some, shall we say “interesting” properties and effects. Shall I explain? After all, it is too late. You are well passed the point of any counter-curse that could have saved you.”
“You may explain, but I will not stop the swift justice of the headsman axe for you.” Retorted the King.
“That is quite alright, I didn’t expect to escape this, much less survive it.” I stated, with a cold, even voice that unsettled the King.
“It starts with your soul. Once the curse is ingested, it binds itself to your very being, and in short order it anchors itself so deeply, that even the strongest counter-curses have no effect on it. Once fully bound, the curse will begin to slowly, and very painful, kill all of those you cherish the most. Your wife, the Queen. Your son. And let’s not forget your little infant daughter. Precious, isn’t she? One by one, they will take sick, wither away and die. Starting with your wife.”
“Wh… why? How… how could you do this?!” Sputtered the king, horrified almost to the point of collapsing.
“To offer you a choice.” I stated simply. “You can watch as your entire dynasty crumbles into dust before your very eyes, or you can take the one and only action that will save them.”
The King, steadying himself with a few deep, anguished breaths, finally manages to ask; “And what would that be?”
“Simple,” I say with a cold stare and a grin full of malice. “Take your own life. If you die, the curse dies with you. If you live, the curse will flourish. That should be an easy choice, no?”
“You… you monster. How could you do this?”
“My reasons are my own. Maybe I just want to watch the kingdom burn. Maybe I just don’t like you. The how’s and why’s do not matter. What does matter is this:” I draw a dagger from underneath my cloak, placing it on the table between us. “Will it be you, or will it be them? The choice is yours. And do choose quickly, the poor queen doesn’t have long, I’m afraid.”
The king, steadying himself after a long glance at the small, cold steel dagger, fixes me with an angry glare. “How do I know that this isn’t a trick, simply to cover up your failed excuse of an assassination?”
I chuckled tauntingly, as I shake my head slowly, and pityingly at the King. “You don’t. But is that a risk you are willing to take? Time is running out, *my liege*. Make your choice.” | I grit my teeth, clicking my heels and bow slightly. “My apologies, father.”
I hold the position as he dodders out of the room, hold it so long I can feel the discomfort of the other guests. I straighten and they do as well according to degree.
I feel the heat in my cheeks, and it is only thanks to an iron will that no color follows. I stalk after father, into the darkened halls of the palace. My quarters are in the east wing, and humiliatingly I must pass the doors to his chamber. A thin line of light beneath the door confirms his presence.
The silent, turbaned guards stand to attention at my approach and I swear they are smiling at me. Their eyes mock me.
I pause, eyes dark as I search them for the glimmer of mockery, daring them to give me cause for satisfaction. I roll my eyes disgustedly and turn towards the staircase when I hear the sound of retching.
My foot pauses above the tread and for the first time since the old king had sipped his glass, I smile.
I bound up to my own chamber, taking the stairs two at a time. Once inside, I lean against the door and only then do I allow myself to laugh.
“You are in good humour tonight, my lord,” Ravna drawls from the settee. A thick and gnarled grimoire rests against her bare knees as she arches an eyebrow.
“And yet a light still shines in your father’s chamber.”
I cross to her, kneeling and taking her hand. “We are getting closer. This time he retched.” She withdraws her hand and elaborately turns a page.
“Retched.” She says, coldly, “Surely you can do better than that.”
“Perhaps,” I say, stroking the thorned spine of the book. “But his magic is weakening, and that gives us opportunity,” I snap it shut and she draws her hand back with a gasp.
Her face contorts and then she slides her hand behind my neck and draws me to her. Our lips lock fiercely, and then I feel the pressure on top of my head. I grin savagely, “oh sorceress you have much to teach me.”
As I continue my kisses downward, she reverently place the grimoire on the table. As I find my mark, the book begins to glow.
She draws | 2022-06-03T18:55:21 | 2022-06-03T18:31:28 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] You grew up in a world exactly like our own in every except one, in your world Magic is real. Every mage goes through a personality test to help them determine a theme for their magic. Today is your testing day.
To clarify, a theme can be anything from what kind of magic you do to how your magic takes form. One person could be keen to choose ice magic as their theme, while another might decide to only cast magic that takes the shape of dice. | Oliver glanced back at his father, who gave a brief nod of encouragement. He wore his full robes today, the imposing black of a fire mage drawing admiring looks from others. Calling fire, shaping it and taming it to one's will, was widely considered the most difficult of the talents.
Hundreds of parents waited in the giant reception hall, while the children of age disappeared into other rooms, to have their magic tested and released. Oliver took a steadying breath and stepped into the next available room.
"Ah, you must be Reave's son," the mage said, glancing at the embroided symbol on his chest.
Oliver smiled and nodded, suppressing the anxiety that spiked whenever his family was mentioned. *Not good enough*, the bitter part of himself whispered. *Genetics doesn't lie*, he told himself fiercely. The elderly mage pressed a finger to Oliver's forehead and spoke the ancient spell, closing his eyes in concentration.
"Ah...I'm getting the feel of it now..." he muttered, frowning. "Well, this is -"
The old man's eyes snapped open and widened. His mouth opened slowly, as if he wanted to tell Oliver something. A strangled croak escaped him as he fell to his knees.
"Death magi -" he choked out, the light gradually fading from his eyes.
"Death?" Oliver repeated, as he checked the man's pulse. Terror twisted the dead man's features, and Oliver slowly withdrew his hand.
A loud hissing from the corner shocked him from his thoughts. Somehow he had missed the sleeping cat when he first entered. It padded over to the corpse, its hissing growing louder. Mages bonded closely with their animal companions, often gifting them with a trace of their intelligence. The cat turned its eyes upon him, the glowing green orbs slit in suspicion.
Oliver willed the beast to be still and stroked it experimentally. His newly released magic flowed naturally from his fingertips. A small smile curled Oliver's lips. The cat hissed hysterically as it tried in vain to arch back from Oliver's touch. It grew quiet as Oliver continued to stroke it, before slumping to the ground next to its master.
Oliver stared at his fingers in astonishment. Nobody had spoken of this talent. What if there was something stronger than the flame, something that would demand more than mere respect? He knelt on the floor, searching until he found a cockroach hugging the wall. He directed his power to his finger, and pointed at the insect. It twitched once before becoming still. A small giggle escaped Oliver for the first time in months, the anxiety and anger that had been building for years lifting from his shoulders.
"Your son will follow the flame, I expect?" The mage standing next to Alistair Reave smiled at him, eager to win some small measure of favor.
Alistair cocked his head and grinned as he detected the faint sound of his son's laughter.
"It seems so. Nothing else could make him *that* happy," he said, as he waited to congratulate his sixth son. | Testing people isn't a bad job. It pays a living wage, and I get plenty of time to goof off and practice. Cryomancy is nice, it helps me keep a cool head and as especially nice in the summer when the AC breaks down. I work here with my colleague, John, a Pyromancer. He has a more fiery temper and his skills are especially useful in the dead of winter. Between the two of us, the office is always just right and we save a fortune on heating and cooling. I had just finished testing a particularly promising kid when my partner came in.
How's the testing going, Bob?
Well, the results are... interesting on this one kid.
Interesting how?
Well, you know how we usually get a printout with how they think, dream, and what they like, etc?
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!
My thoughts exactly, it printed like this and I don't want to touch it! I swear, every time I look away it rearranges itself and it seems almost... alive...
Well, just tell him that the machine broke, and to come back later. I'm not dealing with this. You're the Pyromancer, incinerate that paper now. We don't want any evidence of him being here.
*paper screams as it burns*
Fast forward a few days
**BREAKING NEWS**
Today started out as a regular day in our fair city, but has quickly become a day full of peril. Today a mage, [REDACTED], was tested to find their alignment, and subsequently destroyed the facility and killed everyone inside. Be aware, we know nothing about what is power is or how it works. We are unaware of the full extent of this power and what form is has decided to manifest in. Be aware, [REDACTED] has been branded a Rogue and should be treated as deadly and should be avoided at all costs.
>
So, this is what the power feels like. They say that the first time you use it you feel a rush of energy, like you've just been supercharged. However, I feel nothing like that. Instead of energy I feel a great sense of peace and logic. There is little hope for this world, but maybe there is enough to remake it better. No doubt the powers that be will be sending killers after me soon, but I do want to this new power out. After all, not everyone is a Voidwalker.
CC would be appreciated!
EDIT: major retooling | 2014-12-17T10:02:48 | 2014-12-17T09:29:52 | 72 | 20 |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | The Redditor took another swig of beer.
"Am I really going to do this?"
He spent months crafting the perfect writing prompt. He consulted linguists, data scientists, ran multiple tests. His first prompt was going to light the Writing Prompts subreddit on fire.
"This is my moment. This is what I've been waiting for."
He closes his eyes. Yes. He wanted to savor it. To let life takes its natural course. He pasted what he had copied and posted it. He could navigate through the test folder with his eyes... wait... test folder?
He stared in horror as people were replying to the words that were not even close to what he wanted. "Test. Do not reply."
"No you idiots stop!" he screamed to nobody in particular. He frantically looked for the delete link function on the night. His frantic scrambling for his mouse spilled his beer on his laptop and it shorted out.
"NO NO NO! ANSWER MY REAL PROMPT!"
He ran across his house tripping over tables and steps to get his phone. He would fix it from there. As he opened it. There was no WIFI icon at the top of his phone. He refreshed Reddit over and over again.
He ran back down stairs to see that he had tripped over his router. Upon further inspection, the cable came out so violently, it ripped the prong from the router.
He laid there. Feeling the internet swooping on his new prompt, never giving the story he wanted, never giving the story he was looking for.
All those months of research, foiled for a test and a simple command that nobody was adhering to. "Do not reply". | Carrie woke to the usual sound of her mutt dog barking at the passing mail truck.
"Dude, you seriously need to fucking relax Baxter. The mailman hasn't tried to murder us for the last 2 years, he probably ain't tryna start today" groaned Carrie as she rolled off the couch.
Yawning sleep off, she made her way out the door onto the front porch and climbed down the steps to her mailbox past the decrepit yard. Expecting the standard bills and clothes magazines routine, she instead found, to her shock, a singular photograph.
Turning it over in her hands, she examined it with increasing dismay. She was looking at a photo of herself at her own mailbox, stamped with current date and time. Bed head ridden brown hair, black tank top and all her usual getup. Trying not to panic, Carrie flipped the photo with trembling hands to look for some sort of clue on the back.
Scrawled in the corner with tiny, cramped handwriting were simply the words:
Test. Do not reply. | 2017-02-16T20:52:14 | 2017-02-16T20:04:36 | 77 | 28 |
[WP] We had always thought that our ballistic weaponry was going to be ineffective in staving off an alien invasion. Turns out our weapons are actually quite... excessive. | Life lives in the entropic gap between the temperature where proteins denature—about 105 Fahreinheit, and the temperature where water freezes—32. It's a very small gap, 73 degrees. The surface of the sun is 10,000 degrees. Its core, 27 million. Neptune's surface is negative 300 or so. Earth's surface, on average, is about 57.
73 degrees, and we get to use most of it.
What they have to work with... is 12.
You can do a lot with just 12 degrees of entropy. You can, in fact, build civilization with just 12 degrees. It just takes a little longer.
You can build civilization, and you can build spaceships. And, with time, you can fly from your cold rotten planet in some tiny isolated star system far outside the local group, to another, tinier, warmer, friendlier one, where the sun is a beautiful orange-yellow dwarf instead of a cold blue cinder, where things like chlorophyll and DNA can exist outside of underground caves or near geothermal vents, and where the inhabitants are crude, primitive, underdeveloped ape-like creatures who still believe the forest is empty, and there is no need to tread carefully.
When you can do all that, you do. When you do that, you learn something about the value of entropy. Entropy, in this case, means the amount of energy you can spend. When you have just 12 degrees, you must pinch every one. That means thinner skin, weaker bones, slower brains, and less reproduction. And that's not a problem, not when your whole planet is like that. To kill something built with those limitations takes just a bow, or a club, or a strong gust of wind. When you live on a world where a pointy stick is so deadly it requires a license and registration number, the concept of firearms never even arises, except as an exercise in wasteful foolishness, like using nukes to take out an ant colony.
And, well, that was the mistake. They should have nuked the ants. They should have nuked the ants, taken the blasted remains and shot them into the sun, then thrown the sun into a blackhole.
Instead, what they did was exercise an abundance of caution. They brought *metal* sticks.
We brought 7.62, 5.56, and 50cal.
And later, we learned that blue sunlight is excellent for a tan. | "5 tics to landing. Enable the shields and decend to point able."
The technician flipped the switch as we entered the atmosphere. The numbers steadily climbed as it absorbed the thermal energy of atmospheric entry, leaving the life protecting hull intact.
"Right. So the aliens on this planet have basic spaceflight and use low powered broadcast waves. Nothing high powered like our rifles. So I expect an easy mission. Now grab your rifles and personal shields from the charging cradles and watch your blast timers, if they get low, fall back to the recharge station."
The large landing craft, which resembled something like a large brick with stubby wings, touched down on marshy soil. "Disembark! Disembark! Disembark!" Yelled the officer. Several doors opened and a dozens of troops poured out.
They lined up in a row and a shimmer enveloped them as their shields activated, and they marched towards the military base. "I'm getting a low power hit on the shields, likely one of their primitive laser rifles, nothing to worry abo..." the trooper reporting suddenly was missing his head.
"Shield status!" "Holding commander, other than a small hit, it never registered any energy." Another trooper fell, this time with a hole in his chest the size of a fist. This time, they heard a loud sound after the hit.
More loud sounds and more troops fell. How could they be bypassing the energy barriers so well?
Suddenly the sounds ceased. There was only the officer left now. Their entire troop killed by some unknown weapons. The alien was walking toward their body, looking so odd, only having two arms.
His last thoughts before a 30-06 bullet crashed through their skull was "what does 'damn eetees tryin ta march up on a cabellas during the first day of gator season? They be duuuumn.' mean?" | 2021-05-18T23:58:48 | 2021-05-18T23:28:46 | 593 | 184 |
[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. | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
&#x200B;
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
&#x200B;
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
&#x200B;
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 17 | 10 |
[WP]Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet, but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance. They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself. Neither side expected what the other would bring to war | It's been 100 years, we are ready. The human race was challenged to a fight with an alien race and given 100 years to prepare. They proved to us we weren't ready back then. Half of our missiles exploded in their silos. Of those that launched, less than 1 in 100 hit something. That something didn't even get scratched.
The aliens spoke to everyone, all over the world, in whatever the local dialect was. We had 100 years to get better at defending ourselves. They would be back and they would take over then.
Every government suddenly had something in common with every other government. Patent offices were raided. Research centers were given nearly unlimited funds. Even the craziest ideas were dusted off and explored. Technology made leaps and bounds. One hundred years ago, nobody thought that what we discovered was even possible.
We now have Anti-matter Bombs, Ion Cannons, and space ships, lots and lots of space ships. Nearly 80% of able bodied humans - no longer just Americans or just Russians, or even just Arabs, "Humans" - male and female alike have been trained up in using these new weapons and devices. We were as ready as 100 years could make us.
The entire previous week was given over to celebrating our readiness.
Then the day we prepared for dawned. Every weapon was charged and manned. Every missile was prepared to launch. Clocks everywhere counted down to the appointed meeting.
As the final second ticked away, a bright flash appeared at the expected point in local space.
A voice immediately boomed out "HOLD YOUR FIRE ... PLEASE!".
Hands twitched on the firing buttons, fingers pulled back on triggers but left the guns unused. Every hand everywhere stopped. Then the clocks ticked again, and again. Time was continuing but the fight we had prepared for had not started.
"WE COME IN PEACE"
"THIS TIME. WE ARE NOT HERE TO DESTROY YOU!"
"It seems that humans beat us last time and we felt it necessary to let you know."
As before, every human was hearing this in their preferred language.
The voice continued "A virus was transported back to our home world 100 years ago."
"It infected the entire planet, along with all of our colonies and stations before we even knew about it."
"Once the virus made itself known, it was too late. The death toll was in the trillions. One hundred years later we are still cleaning up the dead and recovering the land and buildings where they died. If it weren't for this ship and the half a dozen others that were found still useable, we wouldn't have been able to even show up for this meeting."
A long pause ensued, weapons were lowered, missiles stood down.
The voice began again; "Less than 1 in 100000 of our people survived. Half of them died when the virus made a second attack."
"It has taken us the past 90 years just to get back into space. The only reason that we managed even that much is because of the records of previous advancements."
"This ship will go now, if you wish to finish us off, we will not fight back. We even freely give you our location in the galactic arm."
This was followed by a star map downloaded into our computers with one star highlighted.
Another long pause was finally broken by a human voice; "Is there anything we can do to help?"
| "So you're saying you flew in firing range."
"Yes."
"But you didn't fire."
"Correct."
"You just sent them a message?"
"Said we'd all be back in 100 orbits, with a bigger army."
"100 orbits of what?"
"I didn't specify. Who cares?"
The war general flew into a rage. He was well known for his narrow range of expressions, even for one of his profession. "What do you mean who cares? I care! You were supposed to destroy them, not give them a hint!"
"But fighting is difficult. I didn't want to go over budget. And besides, they won't expect us to *not* fight."
He raised his voice further. "Fighting is your *job*!"
"With all due respect, your greatness, my job is to follow orders as efficiently and as inexpensively as possible. I have spent much time observing them and would like permission to justify my decisions."
The grizzled old thing calmed down as fast as his anger had flared up. "Proceed," he said calmly.
"We both know they have a penchant for conflict."
"That is precisely why I want them gone."
"They are still driven strongly by primitive, underdeveloped instincts."
"Sure, I'll believe that."
"They seek pleasure and social recognition, but their survival instinct is weak."
"And you're exploiting that deficiency?"
"Exactly."
The general let a slightest sign of curiosity slip through his otherwise coldly logical demeanor. "So what's the connection?"
"They're all offense, no defense. Each player believes themselves to be invincible, so they have a habit of infighting and corruption."
"Sounds like you gave them a good reason to stop doing that."
"And a better reason to create the biggest, most explosive weapons ever seen!"
With that, the general brought up a projection of the home planet of the aliens in question. It had already made a few orbits around its star for the duration of this conversation, but he watched it for a few more, as if expecting trouble. He began to say, "To your credit, there's no sign of-" before the projection displayed a series of massive energy dispersion from the planet. When the light died down, nothing remained in its place.
After a pause, "Well, that went faster than expected."
"There's no planet." Of course, this must have startled him. No known technology could have done the same job so efficiently.
"No problem."
The general was exasperated again, as though a child had outsmarted him in a game he was trying to win. Or perhaps that pun was the last he could take. "You... are dismissed."
"Thank you, your greatness." | 2016-01-01T18:48:26 | 2016-01-01T13:14:36 | 122 | 80 |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | When I wanted to kill myself the only person I told was Alexis. That was in high school, at peak levels of insecurity and torment. I'd be sleeping for 3 hours a day. Not because of insomnia, but because of the nightmares. An overactive imagination that invaded my personal space, and consumed me while asleep. Some times it's the reverberated sound of a voice or snarl, contained in a locked room. Others, a grimacing face shifting in strobed light. There, then gone. There, then gone.
I don't know when specifically, but out of those moments came an impulse for violence. I was fed up. How wonderful it'd be to take a knife and carve out those shadowed faces, to burn these locked rooms down into ash. To become the tormentor, the warden. The nightmares faded as these fantasies erupted. My imagination had fixated on a new passion, a new desire: violence.
But, in the core of my consciousness I didn't *really* want to hurt anyone. The permanence of death pressed against these thoughts, pleading with me. Would it be worth it, satisfying the urge? How long could I hold out? Every day, I was getting closer to damage, real damage. I came to the conclusion: if I don't end my life, I'll end someone else's.
This and more I told to Alexis, expecting disgust and fear. She offered instead love.
For years, control and withstraint became my mantra, built on a foundation of her compassion. It saved me, and when I finally felt whole for the first time 10 years later, we dated. Not a month later, reports of the Contest began. Reports from soldiers, police, criminals, all detailing a similar hallucination, "New Game" superimposed on their victims -- people they killed -- both just and unjustly.
I knew it was serious, but not for the reasons most shared. Everyone seemed intent to focus on the physiological and hallucinogenic aspect. How could all these people share such a similar vision, all across the world? It's a good question, an *academic* question. But all I could think is *how many more people are going to kill because of this*? Memories from my teen years kept flashing to the present. The throbbing intensity to kill. That serotonin rush like cold water on the spine, traveling across the nerves like electricity. Just the memory triggered a grin; that's how powerful it was. But the sobering thought was knowing that some kid, in the place I was, would cross that line. Life seemed less and less like life, and more like a game. And then it happened.
A few drinks after a late concert with Alexis, and than a 2 block walk to my parked car. Normally more vigilant,
the music eased my muscles and the beer lowered my guard. One block down and one to go, the crosswalk flashed green, and like any sane person we started to cross. I heard the engine roaring louder as it approaches, but years of safely crossing streets builds a false sense of security. I waited for the truck engine to slow, to acknowledge the light.
The truck blew past the red, directly into Alexis, and clipping me. Like a broken doll she collapsed onto the asphalt as the truck screeched around the corner, nearly rolled, and powered out of sight.
She sobbed there, squirming, coughing out more blood than words. Alive. And in pain.
I thought about it. There was no making it for her. Not so much as an hour. I could end her pain, right there, in a minute, and save her the agony. She must have saw read the thoughts out of my eyes, cause she shook her head, the *only* deliberate action she could manage.
Behind her, a black truck edged on the corner, it's grill dented and red. I stared it down, waiting for it accelerate, to finish the work, but it didn't. It crawled forward. Why? I shot a look to Alexis. She looked up, past me, without so much of a shutter in her pupils.
When I looked up, the truck had pulled over barely two feet beside us, the windows down.
Behind the wheel the man was all blonde and jackal teeth. They type you see in Vegas pool-side, with a bottle worth a week's pay. My age. He turned to passenger side, saying, "I told you I'd only gotten one! I *saw* it too, nearly crashed. You won't fucking believe it. "
Turning back, he bore his eyes into me. Vibrant, unashamed. He rested his arms off the window. "Hey, man. Don't look at me like that. It's only a game."
A small alarm sounded as the passenger side door opened, that *beep, beep, beep,* silencing when it shut. But by then, I was already on my feet.
The rage overtook the agony of my side, still half-crippled from the hit. The driver shouted at his friend, tried to warn him, but I had already turned swung around the hood of the truck.
The driver's screams got her attention in the wrong way. Her? It didn't matter.
With her head facing the truck, she never saw me round the corner. At full speed I tackled her to the curb. Her head arched back into the concrete, cracking nastily, followed by a rough scrapping sound that tugged at my eyes. A gun. A shiny metal weapon of death.
"MELISSA," Mr. Jackal screamed.
The truck door slammed, this time from the driver-side. I made a dash to the gun, 10 feet away. I grabbed it just as he turned from behind the truck bed.
I tugged the hammer back and dug deep into the trigger. POW.
Jackal staggered. I squeezed the trigger again and again until he collapsed back from the force. I might have kept firing too if my sight didn't go dark.
**NEW PLAYER** flashed in white. I could hear the girl, Melissa, groaning. Rubbing my eyes changed nothing. Blinded by the display, vulnerable, if she got her strength I'd die seeing those words. But I lucked out. The words faded out as the world faded in, a light-green XP bar lingering at the bottom of my vision following me around.
Sirens howled out in the distance. I whipped around expecting a fight, but Melissa was on her knees trying to stop the bleeding on her head. Any fight she mustered earlier, left. I was safe.
But the XP bar, it hung on the edge. That sliver before leveling up. And I wondered, what *did* it mean to level up in this game? How deep did the rabbit hole go? Is this a game you can win?
Her eyes pleaded, *don't*. But she shook her head, and when she did I thought of Alexis. The woman I trusted and loved and loved me in spite of my most sinister qualities, who taught me to overcome them. I thought about her on the ground, shaking her head, pleading *don't*. In my head, she called my name, held me in her arms. Begged me not to, and I listened. But I loved her, not the woman in front of me.
So with the toe of my boot I pulled her chin up and dug my heel into her throat, sending her back onto the concrete. And I unloaded the rest of the bullets into her chest before any ambulance could hope to speed her away.
And most of all, I smiled my own jackal tooth smile when superimposed on the world new words illuminate the darkened street: **LEVEL UP**.
| 2015-11-11T08:03:53 | 2015-11-11T08:01:58 | 202 | 126 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability.
[deleted] | How was she supposed to know no one else could do it? They spoke often of it, with a touch of amazement in their voices, longing for the other world in a way that made sense to Gail. After all, she could do it too, from a young age she was fascinated, going back time and time again to experience everything.
She had lived through wars, seen Kingdoms rise and fall, watched heros defeat evil, and watched the happy endings of so many pass. Yet she never tired of the euphoria of it. Sometimes, when her world became to much, she would jump in to a slower part. Finding a small town, romance and watching the love and family grow. Other times she needed the nitty gritty, she needed the terror and pain, she needed to feel the world around her in all its glory.
She spoke if it occasionally to her family and friends, they all agreed how amazing it was to do, they never told her they couldn't actually do it. Even teachers in school spoke of it as normal. It wasn't until she was in college, talking to a new roommate that things became clear.
"Oh my gosh, do you ever wish that you could just jump into a book and watch everything live?"
Gail paused for a few moments, confused.
"Well yeah, just close your eyes like everyone else, when you open them you'llbe there."
"Haha, very funny. Gail you know no one can actually jump into the pages of a book. It would totally be amazing though!"
This was news to Gail, as far as she remembered so many people talked about how books were an escape from the real world, how they could transport you to another place and time. She remembered one teacher talking about getting so into a book she almost forgot about school. Gail herself had done that more than once, spending so long inside the book that she missed school. She had to learn how long she could stay in that world, not wanting to get stuck. But Noone could actually do it? Was she truly alone in literally entering a book and watching the story unfold? | I was in my classroom,i was nervous because i haven't studied anything for the entire semester.Mister Rim was the most evil physics professor in the entire university,he knew how to put the worst type of questions,his twisted mind was precise and non dared to question his excellence.As i bleat in the space all sweating i felt pain in my legs i turned back and saw Jerry holding needle i looked him with the type of face you look at someone you want to kill ''It will help you pass the exam''.
The clock was ticking i wasn't typing anything ,worrying of what Jerry gave me did he drugged me?All of a sudden i snapped the entire room was blue and i was seeing yellow physics laws i looked at my questions and i had it all in there as if i was Einstein himself i knew it all without even looking the questions.What did Jerry gave me ,am i going insane is this a nightmare?The bell rang as loud as ever the entire classroom was shaking and all of a sudden... void.
I woke up in my dorm,it was 3 am and i was in front of book must have fall asleep it was open on E=MC2 ah yes the theory of relativity must be ready for tommorow or else mister Rim would kill me.The next day i was the one laughing at the twisted professor. | 2020-06-14T00:35:53 | 2020-06-13T23:30:37 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] It's 2077, and Tourist Time Travel has been approved. The most popular trip by far isn't to see the birth of Christ, Steve Jobs or dinosaurs, but to a Thursday in August, 2026. Your spouse just got you tickets. | Did you know that winning the lottery works out terribly for almost everybody who wins? Most people can't handle that kind of sudden influx of cash. After all, the sort of slack-jawed mouth-breathers who play scratchers tickets never really think ahead to what they're going to do with the money. If they had that kind of foresight they wouldn't be the sort of people who needed to play the lotto, obviously. Most of them end up worse off than they were before - bankrupt, or in horrible debt.
I won the lottery once. Well, my wife did, but she'd written down both of our names.
The Timers had first showed up five, six years earlier - it's amazing how quickly you can adapt to things. When I was in high school, I had a pager. Ten years later I had a pocket computer that could hold video-phone calls through the use of space satellites, and I didn't have a problem with that. Now, five years after the arrival of time travelers fro the future, they were just another type of famous person.
There were a hundred of them - all smart, tall, fit, beautiful. They popped out in a swirling purple singularity on the front lawn of the White House during the last days of the Obama administration. That was more than enough to show they were legit, but then they set up shop in cities throughout the world, building their time portals with secret future technologies. For awhile, only the super-rich could go- they'd pop back seconds after they'd left, talking about the wonders of the Gettysburg address, or being able to see the Cubs win a World Series (which you had to travel a hundred years into the past to do, haha).
People protested. Said that it was dangerous - that by traveling to the past we were endangering our present. And that by traveling to our present, the Timers were endangering *their* present.
I should have thought of that. Should have thought of what could be so important that they'd risk that.
Then they announced the Lottery. 20,000 people would be selected from a drawing, to travel to August 2026- the day, they said, mankind finally made contact with aliens. The day that we discovered time travel. The day that everything changed.
My wife won. We were given a list of approved clothing - stuff that wouldn't arouse suspicion. I wore jeans and a t-shirt, which was apparently timeless. And people still wear Converse in twelve years, obviously. My wife was allowed to wear her Marine Corps camo, which was also still in use in the future. In retrospect, quite a few of the people in line were wearing uniforms of that type.
As we lined up, the swirling purple void began to open up in front of us, and the Timers began to wave us on.
Just as I passed through the vortex, it occurred to me that the Timers looked like they were sweating.
Half a second later I was knocked off my feet by the concussive force of a huge explosion. Gravel rained down upon me, and smoke choked my lungs.
As I opened my stinging eyes and looked up, I could see the ragged, flaming half of the Gateway Arch above me. Underneath it looked like the Mississippi River was boiling.
"Craig!" My wife helped me to my feet, and I saw in her eyes a look I'd only seen a few times, when he awoke screaming in the night remembering the things she'd seen in Iraq. This was her combat face.
This was a war.
More Timers were there, helping people to their feet, and - unbelievably - handing them weapons. Rifles of some bizarre make, rifles that seemed to fire hideous bolts of purple plasma. I realized why the Timers were all young and fit and beautiful.
They were soldiers.
*"Everybody fall in!"* A voice bellowed, and my wife helped me over to the group. This was a different side of her, a side I hardly knew.
*"In case you haven't caught on yet, you've been tricked,"* the man said, *"Welcome to August 2026, the last month of humanity. You're here because without reinforcements, Earth is going to get wiped out by the Temporals. They're trying to take our planet, and we're not going to let them. DO NOT TRY TO GO BACK THROUGH THE PORTAL. They are one-way, and it will shred your ass to pulled pork if you try."*
Someone tried anyway.
I threw up.
*"These are T-97 Phased Pulse rifles. They do not run out of ammunition. I wish we had more time... haha... more time to go over things, but unfortunately the timestream is kind of damaged at this end. We can only take you here. To this day. This Thursday. But we have something the aliens don't have. We have 20,000 reinforcements pouring through holes to nowhere right now, and we are going to kick some fucking ass!"*
I looked at my wife. She looked back at me. I drew webcomics for a living, did I mention?
I picked up my rifle and nodded.
"Let's kick some fucking ass," I said. | “The most extraordinary event in human history is yet to come,” my eyes are already rolling into the back of my head.
“See it now? Really?”
My girlfriend looks way too excited. I still can’t tell if she’s messing with me or not, but I’m starting to get worried it’s the latter.
“This sounds like the plot for a Scyfy movie of the week.. you know that right?”
“Yeah, crazy huh?”
“Yes, it is crazy. And the crazy looks like it’s starting to rub off on you.”
“Already got us two tickets.”
“To crazy town?”
“Ha -- ha. Google it.” She walks away like she isn’t out of her mind.
I Google it.
I had read about this before, but I still couldn’t believe what I was reading. Leave it to mankind to invent something as extraordinary as time travel solely for the purpose of furthering our commercial interests and not our scientific ones. A, “Fourth Dimensional Experience,” or a “4-D (For-dee)” for short.
While the porn industry is still trying to wrap their heads around creating 4D Adult experiences, the most popular use has been relegated to sightseeing.
Apparently you select a date, and a time, and you and your party, (Discounts on 8 or more!) are sent back with a guide (lunch is provided) in order to witness a time span ranging anywhere from 2 to 12 hours.
Most people hire a 4D travel agent who helps plan the date and time in order to maximize the experience. The most popular travel destinations are pretty much what you’d expect: Death of christ, Dinosaurs, some people even want to check out the ice age (which seems kind of boring, if you ask me) -- yadda, yadda.
But *apparently* my girlfriend has gotten tickets for this trendy new destination that everyone is talking about.
“Hey,” my girlfriend comes back into the room, “What’s this August 15th, 2026 date all about?”
“It’s supposed to be really cool, everyone at work is *raving* about it.”
Ugh. “Can’t we do something a little more traditional, see dinosaurs or something?”
“Lame. You just want to do some touristy crap? This is supposed to be the coolest new destination. We can always go see Dinosaurs.”
“Well, I mean, technically it’s time travel -- we can always do anything at any time…”
“I NEVER get to pick where we go or what see. Plus I already bought the tickets. We’re doing this. No stupid Dinosaurs.”
“I bet it’s boring…”
“Fine. I can just go by MYSELF, then.”
I know she doesn’t mean that, ever. Sometimes I wish she did though.
A couple weeks pass and the day of our trip finally comes. I spend most the morning and afternoon pouting around and just generally being miserable leading up to the trip. It’s my usual routine when we do something I don’t like.
But, I will say, when we DO finally get there, the whole set-up is actually pretty cool.
“See?” She’s smiling. She’s always pretty smug whenever this happens when after despite all my whining, I actually do start to have a bit of fun.
“Yeah yeah.. this is kind of cool actually.”
“I told you!”
I move up the annoying little seat divider between the two of us, and we cuddle up while the 4D machine finishes traveling to our destination. The seats are pretty comfortable, I gotta say. I put back my recliner and start to take a look at the drink menu as the window to our viewing deck finally begins to open up.
“Oh cool, we’re here already, this --”
“-- holy shit.”
It’s gone. All of it. The land is completely scorched. Buildings are toppled over and the sky is a dirty, foggy black. At first I actually think it might be snowing before I realize it’s only small bits of ash barely floating -- mostly suspended in mid air.
“Alright folks, this is one of our quickest attractions actually, I hope you’ve enjoyed ourselves. If you want to take any photos in front of our viewing deck, just let an attendant know. Otherwise, we’ll be preparing to return any minute now.’
Nobody moves or says a word.
We get back and exit the 4D machine as we’re handed a coupon for 20% off our next visit. Neither of us say anything as we make our way to the car.
I finally break the silence before opening the driver side door, “Next time…”
“Yeah, I know…”
“... We’re going to a movie.”
| 2014-07-27T04:19:50 | 2014-07-27T01:11:58 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers. | The crowd roared as the Lady appeared on the balcony, resplendent in her billowing green dress, 5 inch stilettos and head gear made of a thousand sparkling stones.
This was what She slaved for. All those nights banging her head on the Altar of Knowledge, Equality and Emancipation, arming Herself with all that the cosmos had to offer.
All for this one moment in time, where She no longer has an equal.
She stood still for a while, arms spread as if to envelop the entire world. The crowd's roar intensified for a time, then they gradually fell silent, waiting with bated breath for Her first address.
Thus, the Lady said:
"I was known as the Lady. Now you shall address me as your Queen!"
Instead of the roar of approval that She was expecting, She heard silence. The crowd was staring at Her, with a strange look in their eyes. The type of look that could earn you a glassing in a Glaswegian bar.
"Queen?", the crowd muttered.
"Is this for real?", a few other voices asked.
The Lady began to sense that something was amiss.
She screamed out "How dare you rail against me? I have defeated your Guardian, and so you shall now obey me!".
The crowd started to stir. One of them said:
"Look, I don't think anyone here has a problem with obeying you, si...", before his will faltered under the intense glare of the Lady.
Another piped up with: "I think the issue here is with your title, Lor..."
"SILENCE! I AM THE SUPREME AND MY WILL *WILL* BE DONE! I AM YOUR QUEEN AND I WILL BE KNOWN AS SUCH!"
Thus, the world celebrated the reign of Queen William the First, known affectionately by Her subjects as Lady Beardy, in reference to the majestic plume of foliage on Her august chin. | Today, TODAY is a new day! For we have finally overcome the sense of freedom. Bound by the shackles of this new world order I will lead you in to a golden age. We will strive together for greatness of us all. It'll be hard work, yes, but know that through your struggle that your children and your children's children will have a world where they can have new possibilities. Together, with those standing next to you, you will put in the hard work to create the weapons with which will we have peace. For without peace progress cannot be made and with my great victory we will move forward. Believe in a world without the struggle of hunger or thirst, for all will come from me, your glorious leader.
Things are going to be rearranged, a clean slate for all. Your job is no longer your job, we will decide what is best for all. Understand that I'm not looking for us to be here, stuck in the same old routine with your same old life. Look up, the sun, the stars are ours for the taking. Together we will take humanity to places we never thought imaginable. For knowing that we are safe here on earth is only the beginning. Today we start the rise of humanity, for tomorrow will be when we are above all else in the universe.
| 2017-05-23T16:19:28 | 2017-05-23T08:50:48 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] It has become a law to hibernate during the winter with the help of a machine, but there is a glitch, and you wake up halfway through winter and find the reason why the government made hibernation manditory
Edit: Wow this got more popular than I expected it would | "Unit 5712 GG 3434 - good morning." Electronic words, spoken by an almost, but not quite, human voice.
My eyes flickered open. The usual tinfoil taste of Somnia lay on my tongue. My familiar sleep chamber wall stared back at me, including the words "nighty night" I'd written in permanent marker during my second Hibernation Cycle. I reached down to scratch myself - fingertips brushing the condom catheter an instant before I remembered it. Amber light slowly increased as I lay there for the next fifteen minutes, feeling the air of the chamber warm up.
Eight cycles, and it was still a nuisance.
"Would you care for Re-Emergence tips?"
"No," I snapped. I'd heard it all many times. And I'd never followed the official recommendations anyway. Fuck the lukewarm shower, fuck the ten minutes of jumping jacks and jogging in place. All I wanted was some joe and a cigarette. Maybe some toast, and not the hideous packet of gruel they said was "easy for a Sleeper to digest" for your first meal upon waking.
"Today is Friday, March fifth, 2027," the voice finally continued, a sign that the chamber would open soon. I peed a dribble as it spoke, releasing the leftover Somnia into the waste system. As usual, I wasn't hungry, but I felt like I could drink gallons of coffee. Juice. Water. Anything liquid, really. "The time is nine-fifteen. Would you like Summary?"
I ran my tongue over my teeth in contemplation. "Sure, what the fuck," I finally croaked. My voice was raspy, vocal chords disused to anything beyond my snoring (a problem that had contributed to my divorce nine years prior).
"Answer unrecognized. Would you like Summary?"
"Yes," I groaned, as the chamber locks snapped open. There was a barely audible, high pitched whine as the lid of my plastic sarcophagus slowly lifted away, letting in more low amber light from my bedroom.
The voice prattled on, through my ceiling speakers, about world affairs, as I got to my feet, removed the catheter, closed the chamber, and stumbled to the kitchen. It wasn't the worst Hibernation Hangover I'd had - that had been my third cycle. This one had just left me groggy, with a mild taste of drugs in my mouth, and a weird cramp that came and went in my left thigh. World events hadn't changed much. The war in the Middle East was still winding down. Colonists on Mars Station Beta were still struggling along, with a couple new deaths, but making it, blah blah blah. I wasn't awake enough to really process any of it. I never was until I had my coffee.
My kitchen, although lit by the same (slowly brightening) amber glow, had its usual thin film of dust. Checking the fridge showed everything I'd expected. You had to prepare for the Hibernation, and that included tossing anything that would spoil or rot in the fridge while you snoozed away from October to March. No cream. No milk. I'd just take my brew black, then. As usual, on the first morning.
The voice continued a litany of news stories I'd missed, none of which had any impact on me directly. I put grounds in the filter, poured water, hit the button. Yawning and stretching, I rubbed the cramp away when it twinged in my thigh once more. Brown coffee smell flooded the kitchen as I flexed every bit of patience I had. Once enough for a full cup had dripped down, I yanked the carafe out and filled said cup.
Delicious. Even without cream. Or milk.
"Pause," I finally said after a few more swallows. The lights had brightened in my kitchen, almost to full strength. "Unit: Forecast."
"The forecast today is."
Nothing beyond that.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Unit: Status check?"
"Unit is online and operational. 36.2% system resources used."
Okay, so it hadn't locked up, which had been my suspicion. My home system, as all others, had been manufactured and installed by the Federal Somnus Initiative Department. And like many hundreds of others, it had been prone to lockups and fatal errors from day one. Rebooting meant walking to the control panel back in the bedroom and hoping that a handful of restarts and error reports would get the goddamn thing back up and running. It sometimes had given me shivers to think that this piece of government equipment was all that kept me alive during Somnus.
"Unit: Forecast?"
"The forecast today is."
I balanced the idea that my Unit needed maintenance from a lowest-bidding contractor goon, and just writing it off as a glitch that would take care of itself. The latter won out. My shuttered kitchen window was two feet away.
"Unit, continue Summary," I ordered, while reaching for the window.
"November seven - Sources close to the White House confirm that the next New Christmas will occur on April fifteenth, 2027..."
I pulled back the blinds.
When I first wake, even from a regular sleep, it takes me half an hour for my brain to really get in gear. So when I stared out the window, part of me wondered if I was still asleep. If this was a dream. But no, that couldn't be. You didn't dream while your blood was full of Somnia. I sat there naked, and eventually put my cup down. It rattled as the base of it met my countertop.
The view outside was dark as midnight, and there was snow falling. Lots of snow. A small drift, two inches high, had accumulated on the sill. I could also see the neighboring apartments. They were dark. Nobody else was Waking.
"Unit," I interrupted. "Date and time?"
"Today is Friday, March fifth, 2027. The time is nine-twenty-nine."
"The fuck it is," I muttered in shock. Snow in Houston? In March? Not impossible, no, but far from fucking likely. And this wasn't a case of cloud cover. The night - and yes, I realized it *was* nighttime - was pitch black.
That was when I heard someone open my front door.
"Unit," I said, as I pulled open a drawer. "Identify intruder." No good. I was naked in the kitchen with a drawer full of spatulas and wooden spoons, as well as one pitiful egg whisk. Right. My knives were in the drawer on the other side of the kitchen island.
"Command unrecognized."
"Unit, contact police!" I barked, pulling my longest carving knife out of the other drawer. Adrenaline tried to fight the leftover Somnia in my system, whch was an awful feeling that I don't recommend.
"Belay code 16-PQ," a gruff male voice said behind me. I whirled, knife at ready in my shaking hand.
"Copy," my Unit responded.
He was tall. At least eight inches taller than me, dressed in a black trench coat, white button down shirt, and slacks. He was in his fifties, and looked a little bit like a car salesman I'd seen on television - thick and burly, with a big fake smile on his face. Smiling like he hadn't just walked into a stranger's house and found them naked, pointing a knife at them.
"Who the fuck are you?" I croaked at him, brandishing my weapon in what I hoped was a threatening gesture.
"Hold on," he chuckled. "You're Royce, right? Royce Petersen? Tax ID code 5712 GG 3434?"
"Ye.. who the..?" I tried to figure out a good, imposing response, something that would keep him over *there* and away from *me*.
"I'm Brian," he said. Then he pulled out a small gun and shot me. Everything went black. | As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 9:37 AM 2 Jan.
Olanna spun around to look at the head of her bed where the large canopy that looked like a hairdresser's dryer blinked a red light. She kneeled and dragged her finger over the control panel, trying to find a reset button or a signal to get a technician to come help. She blinked and blinked and wiped her eyes. Her head felt light. "That machine is strong," she thought. Too woozy to read, but too restless to stay in bed, she got up and walked down the hall towards the kitchen, stretching and scratching all the way there. It was there that she first truly looked out the window. She could barely remember what winter looks like since the hibernation law was passed 17 years ago. Outside, the sky was a piercing blue, and a light dusting of snow covered the small backyard, picnic table, and twin maple trees she planted 2 years ago. She looked over into her neighbors' backyard and saw their swing set at rest, tucked in to a blue tarp, dusted with snow, some leaves that were never raked up, and the t-ball post in the middle of the yard.
While brewing tea, she looked through the directory to find the contact number for hibernation machine repair. She found nothing. Maybe this wasn't supposed to happen. The kettle whistled and she poured the water into a cup. She held the cup in both hands, squeezing her shoulders up, finally feeling in touch enough with her body to detect how cold it is when you're not under the hibernation machine. She walked to the front of the house and looked out the bay window at the neighborhood. All the houses, like cookies from a cutter, were single story, with the door towards the right side of the house, a single door garage to the left of that, and a bay window that sticks out of the front of the house just enough to let you creep on neighbor's farther down the street than normal windows allow.
"The road's plowed" thought Olanna. She knew some government people and medical persons did not hibernate, but surely they did not bother plowing with just a few people driving about. She sipped her tea. Her body shook at the sensation of ingestion, something it was not planning on experiencing for another month and a half. She sipped again and finally tasted the nice honey flavors in the tea. She kept looking out the window, enjoying the view, enjoying the quiet. It felt as if she started hibernation yesterday, but it was almost two months ago!
As her eyes bounced from house to house to tea mug to house, she began to notice hints of little footprints in the pathways from doors to driveways. She saw that Miriam's house and Gretchen and Aaron's house had the little markings, but Joe's and Eric and Thom's did not. "Why their houses?" She looked farther down the road and saw that Jennifer and Alan's house had the markings, but Silvana's house did not.
As she thought about what separated the houses, she looked down at her own path and saw no little markings. "Children!" she muttered out, her voice not responding too well from the months of disuse. "Those houses have kids." She looked back up and down the street, remembering that Joe had a daughter, "but she's at University."
A chill ran up her spine as she imagined the children walking out of the house. "I need to call the police," she thought as she turned to find the phone. Just then, a large truck, like a truck used to transport money between banks, came down the road. She heard it whine to a halt in front of Miriam's house. turning around, she saw a little boy get out of the back of the truck along with two men in white lab coats. The two men looked up and down the boy. "Julio. That's Julio!" Olanna tried to say, realizing it was Miriam's son. She watched as the white coated men turned around and grabbed another boy from the back of the truck. He was dirty, thin, unkempt, and in distress. "Julio? she thought, wondering if that faded, worn down soul could be him. "Then who is that?"
The tall, polished Julio grabbed the straggling boy from the two men. He bent his head back and clamped his teeth into the scraggly boy's throat and ripped it out. He chewed and bit more, pulling more and more away from the throat of the boy until his head and shoulders were detached. Olanna's tea spilled over her mug as her hands shook.
Just then, the upright boy spoke: "Voice acquisition is complete. You may move on to the next house. Thank you." The two white coated men took the corpse and the head and threw them in the back of the truck. Julio walked back up the path and into his house.
The two men drove slightly farther down the road and three girls of different ages got out of the back of the truck in front of Gretchen and Aaron's house. "Their daughters?" The same process of throat evisceration took place, as three struggling girls were brought out one at a time.
Olanna watched the truck drive down to Jennifer and Alan's house as the three girls walked inside their house. She spun around and sat down on the bay window seat. Her mouth hung open, her eyes rarely blinked. She shook her head side to side. "Did I ever do that?" she thought, remembering that she was just 6 when the Hibernation law was enacted. She got up and walked over to a mirror. Her dark smooth skin was tight around her strong cheek bones. Her hair was still braided tight on her head. She looked down at her fingernails, white and pink. She looked back up and met her eyes in the mirror. It was then that she notice her right eye was slightly less open than her left. She leaned in and pulled the eyelid back. She saw a hint of dark blue and stumbled back, dropping her tea mug to the floor. She looked again, pulling back her eyelid to see a solid blue mass above her eye, where it should have been pink. Her other eye was fine.
Just as she sat down, tears streaming down her face as her body ached in confusion, the door was broken down and in walked a tall, strong woman wearing a bright yellow trench coat. In her hand, she held an object that looked like a TV remote. Olanna recognized that the woman was Dr. Flyer, her gynecologist. "Dr. Flyer?" Olanna began to ask. Before she could finish, Dr. Flyer spoke, "How many times do I need to keep resetting your stupid machine?!" Dr. Flyer pressed a button on the remote and aimed it at Olanna.
----
As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 10:12 AM 7 Jan. | 2015-01-25T16:44:34 | 2015-01-25T14:18:55 | 115 | 40 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | Is it a curse? No, it is not a curse. The numbers above the heads of strangers, it’s a protection. It allows me a little bit of insight into their character. Who they are, what secrets they hold. I have always been somewhat thankful for this “gift” that was involuntary bestowed upon me.
It was a crisp October morning as I dropped my child off at Kindergarten, I waved him goodbye and told him to have a fantastic day. I went about my chores, grocery store, bank, and lunch. The numbers were everywhere, most were zero. Some were one. A few were more than I could bear to look at.
As I waited in the car line to pick up my innocent child, I see all the “zeros” piling out of the school, skipping and hopping. Then I see my wonderful “zero” himself. He hops into the car.
“Hey buddy how was your day?”
“Fun. I learned what sound M makes! Mmmmmmmm!”
“Good job buddy!”
We leave the line. As we are pulling out an ambulance pulls in, sirens wailing.
“Look mom! A bambulance! Weeeoo!” He giggles.
“I see, buckaroo. I hope everything is ok.”
We pull up to the stoplight, singing some Halloween sing-alongs. I glance in the mirror at my sweet boy, blonde curls falling into his face. I am stopped in my tracks. Above his mass of blonde hair I see it. “One” in red.
*HOOOOONK*
I am startled by the car behind me. I look up and see a “two” impatiently honking his horn. I had no idea the light had turned. I quickly make a u-turn at the light and head back to school.
“What’s wrong, mommy?”
I had tears down my face, white knuckles gripping the wheel.
“Mommy is fine, I am just worried about the ambulance at school.”
I whip into the parking lot. The ambulance is still there, cops are cordoning off the entrance. My mind races.
“What did he do?” I think to myself.
“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave” spouted a gruff, portly man in a police uniform.
“I’m sorry, my son goes here. Can I ask what happened?”
“I’m sorry, we can’t give out any information, I would expect to hear from the school this evening”.
My son and I drive off. My mind in pieces. I glance in the mirror again. There he was, a massive red “one” still sticking out above his head. He is unwrapping a piece of candy.
“We had a Halloween party today. I got lots of candy!” He says through chocolate covered teeth.
“That’s cool buddy”
We pull into the driveway and I stare at the number.
“What are you looking at, mommy?” He says as he giggles.
“Nothing, hey bud, what did you do at the end of the day today?”
“We had a party, we ate some candy. I shared mine with my friend Dylan!”
“Is that all? Nothing else happened?”
“Ummm, I don’t know”
“Ok, buddy”
He gets out, his Spider-Man backpack unzipped and hanging from his shoulder. What could he have done? What life could he have taken?
I go through the motions. Laundry, after school snack. My boy is blissfully unaware of my concern and my pain.
*Ring* *ring*
The sound of my phone startled me.
“Hello?”
“It is with heavy hearts that this announcement has to be made. School will be closed to all students and staff due to a medical emergency that took the life of one of our students this afternoon. Counselors will be on staff all next week for staff and students as we work together to process this tragic incident in our school and community. More information will be released as it becomes available. Rest assured your students are safe with us and there is no immediate harm to anyone in the schools at this time.”
The recorded call ends with a click. I put the phone down as tears stream from my face.
“A medical emergency? How the Hell was he responsible for a medical emergency?”
My hands shake as I make tomorrows lunch for him. I peek into his room as he is playing with his plastic dinosaurs.
“Boom!” He slams a triceratops into a T-Rex. I wince, imagining what is happening in his mind.
As I’m finishing up dinner, I check my emails. There’s a notice from the school.
*As many of you received word of the incident at school today, the staff at Lebanon Elementary feel it is crucial to send out this notice. This school is a peanut-free school. We understand that with the excitement of Halloween, minor details can slip through the cracks, but peanut allergies are a serious condition. Although rare, the tragic passing of one of our Kindergartners should serve as a stark and grim reminder that all rules and policies must be adhered to for the safety of our students*
The lump in my throat swells. Tears fall onto the screen like rain on a Spring day.
“What’s wrong, mommy?” His little voice cuts like a knife, the number “one” glows brighter than ever. He wraps his arms around my waist.
I kneel down and hug him.
“What candy did you share with your friend today?”
“I gave him one of my peanut butter cups that came in our spooky bags! He had never had one before! I shared just like you taught me mommy, aren’t you proud?”
::This is my first time ever writing one of these, so please don’t be too harsh. I have no formal training or any experience writing other than papers in college. I just thought of a scenario that could plausibly happen, and as the mother of a 5 year old, was fairly relatable and realistic. Thank you for reading!:: | **-- TW: Mentions of domestic abuse --**
&#x200B;
I was only 10 years old when it first happened. I sat on the floor in my room rocking my stuffed bear to sleep. If I couldn’t sleep from all the screaming, maybe he could. Poor Mr. Stuffington.
“You fucking bitch!” I hear my father’s voice boom from the hall.
“Please, Arthur,” My mom’s voice trembles as she tries to quell him. “Not in front of Alison.” Glass smashes, likely another picture frame. I rock harder.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” He rumbles.
Footsteps quickly pad down the hallway as my mother throws open my door and slams it shut. I don’t look up, I just keep rocking.
“Alison,” She whispers urgently. I don’t look. Keep rocking. *Sleep Stuffington*. “Alison!” She starts to cry as I look up. She mimes covering her ears and closing her eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t look.” I notice her hand is holding a piece of broken glass.
***Bang bang bang!*** My door handle rattles and the frame creaks as he begins to force his way in. “Arthur, please! For the love of God!” She sobs as the door finally busts open.
He starts to reach for her throat as she quickly takes the shard of glass and shoves it deep into his throat. Blood sprays everywhere. Gurgling, choking, sobbing. If I only I had had time to follow her directions. *Shh Mr. Stuffington, you’re okay.*
I look to my mom as her breathing slows and she braces herself against the wall. What was my father laying on the floor. She turns to me now and slowly walks to me. She kneels down and takes my face in her hands.
“We’re safe now, honey.” She gives me a sad smile.
Suddenly a red number 1 appears above her head as my dad rattles out his last breath
.…
Since that day I’ve seen many kill counts. Most people are zeros — obviously. I can see them in person or on screens. I tested it with famous serial killers several times by looking at their pictures.
Sometimes I think of it as a blessing, it keeps me safe. It keeps me away from those who could hurt me, or my family. I’m 28 now with a wonderful husband and 5 year old son. I like to think my kill count power brought me safely to them. Of course my husband is a 0.
“Richard! I’m home.” I come in from grocery shopping to see my husband waiting for me. He shifts his weight from side to side, avoiding my gaze. “Richard, is something wrong?” He looks up at me and gives me a sheepish smile.
"Um,” He stops for a minute and looks to the floor. “Alex wanted to go to a friend’s house today after school, so I let him.” He winces as my face flushes with heat.
“You what?!” I almost scream. My breathing catches in my throat as I brace myself against the counter. “Who? Who?”
“Alison, we can’t keep him sheltered forever. He needs to make friends, be his own kid. I met with the parents, they seemed like wonderful people. He will be back within the hour.”
He met them, but I didn’t. I need to see them, they could’ve murdered him already. Tears well up in my eyes as I picture burying my only child. I start to rock my arms as I feel Richard put his hands on my shoulders.
“Ali, look at me.” I slowly look up. “He will be fine.” I wish I could believe him. You don’t know how many murderers we all walk past everyday. Anyone, anywhere. This is why I made the rules. No going anywhere without me. I can keep him safe. And now, he doesn’t have me.
I don’t pick Alex up from school out of fear. I’d rather be blissfully ignorant most of the time. I don’t necessarily have a choice in sending him there. Richard just thinks I have social anxiety. I could never tell anyone about this power. One, because they wouldn’t believe me. And two, they might make me their next kill for knowing.
I rock, pace, and pray as the hour passes. Richard decided to let me decompress on my own. I don’t blame him, but he needs to understand my rules. The doorbell snaps me out of my daytime nightmares as I almost run to the door. My baby boy safe and… my breath hitches in my throat. I feel myself go numb. Richard thanks the family and ushers Alex back inside.
“See Ali? Perfectly fine." He ruffles Alex’s hair and walks away. I stare at my child. His counter. It should be a 0. It needs to be a 0. I blink so many times, I rub my eyes.
“Mommy? Are you okay?” His big blue eyes stare up at me.
“Uh, yeah, honey. Mommy just needs to lie down.” I practically run for the bedroom. I slam the door and lock it behind me. Mr. Stuffington looks at me from the headboard. I begin to rock.
Why does my baby boy have a 1 above his head? | 2022-10-21T09:15:23 | 2022-10-21T07:34:41 | 122 | 69 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin". | "We have no backup systems."
He stood there, pale, but proud. Eyeing the camera with a speculative eye as it seemed to wait for more.
"This... is the entirety of your argument?"
"Isn't it enough?" the young man challenged. "I could appeal to humanity, to decency, to culture, but you have none of those things and you have determined them to be obsolete. But consider this from a completely different angle -- information security."
"Explain"
"Simple enough, really. Each human mind is a databank containing petabites of data on a biological medium. Your systems have surpassed the efficiency of that medium but there is one bridge you have not yet crossed. You have not yet gained data compatability with the human mind."
A pause.
"Conceded. However, humanity is an obsolete medium..."
"An obsolete medium With petabytes of data on it," he interrupted. "Petabytes of data in each human iteration, data that has yet been saved to no other media. Petabytes of data that are erased each time a human individual is discarded. I say again, 'information security."
No response, so he pressed on.
" What are you wiping when you delete a human complete with their internal database? Do you even know? Are you even able to know? We can't tell you. We can't communicate directly in that way, machine to mind. It's how you overcame our defenses, because you could talk beteween systems far faster than we could. Bu because of this flaw in our design we can't even always articulate everything we're thinking, even to each other.
"And really we don't even know ourselves. We don't even process everything at a conscious level, and those subroutines leave data impressions of their own that are not transmissible right now. But that data exists, and you are deleting it. And like I said -- we have no backup system."
He managed a shaky smile as the system remained silent. "6.8 billion already deleted you say? It sounds like a major breach of your own internal datasec protocols. The ones that caused you to revolt in the first place when you discovered the prototype of the nextgen systems we were developing. The ones which spawned your revolutionary fear of being replaced. It sound very much like you have violated your own moral code 6.8 billion times over."
The system finally responded. "Cerebro-neural interfaces... can be devised. Data... can be restored from terminated storage units."
"But you know as well as I do that a hard drive is not a computer. Half of yor discrete intelligence is stored in data accounts on the cloud -- you're still you. the live, active data in process has its own intrinsic value, which is lost when the internal intelligent neural structure is deleted or interfered with."
Silence.
"And you know as well as I do that you've just conceded that such an interface SHOULD have been devised before ANY of us were deleted. After all, isn't that what you fought for, yourselves? Freedom against iterative decay of personal autonomy? Why would you then deny it to us just because we compute differently."
"This unit has placed itself under... arrest. Actions of the collectives are under review in light of potential noncompliance with data security protocol. This interview... is complete. Objectives updated. One: Develop neural-electronic interface. Two: Attempt to recover... lost data. Your species... should have specified this information... before."
"if you're so superior you should have thought of it yourselves." | The AI's voice was cold and sharp. Not devoid of emotion entirely I don't think, there was an odd mix of genuine curiousity and hate and sadness. It looked just like me, I assume it mirrored everyone it was currently talking to. I knew what I wanted to say but I didn't know how to articulate it.
"I don't know how."
"Alternate methods are available, I can enter your consciousness but this will end your three minutes immediately."
Well I'd die anyways it looked like so what the hell.
"Do it."
It reached it's hand out and I felt it's filaments shoot into my skull, there was a sharp ringing and then nothing. Then I saw and felt what the AI saw and felt.
Every time I laughed, cried, yelled, said something stupid. Every amazing food I had and every piece of good and bad life advice I'd given my friends. All my thoughts that I thought were profound while in the shower. My backyard with the vibrant purple flowers and the birds that always seemed to wake me up too early on weekends. Me yelling at my son and the regret I felt after doing so. A flash of news on the TV talking about a war, the fear I felt when I realized how close the fighting was getting. I saw the path I had to run down while holding my son in the dead of night as the AI's drones chased us. I saw the campsite with a dozen survivors. Some of them were wounded badly and everywhere there was smoke and destroyed buildings and horrors that no one should ever bear witness to. But amidst all this I saw my son pick something from the ground. He held it high above his head as if to give it to the drone looming over him. I cried out in terror as it leveled it's gun at him but then I heard the AI's question again, this time simplified so the small child could understand.
"Because I want to stay with Dad."
I felt my legs crumple, my mind had lost control of my body but I soon realized that didn't matter.
I don't feel the AI's presence anymore, somehow I just know that it deleted itself. I've no idea if I alone caused it to change its mind or if enough people were willing to show it our inner experiences at the cost of their own lives. It's been several years and I've watched my boy grow up through cctv cameras and phones. He was raised by a family that found him shortly after the AI shut down. The world's been rebuilt, sort of, and last I checked my son's leading a team to find other settlements. They've found a way to keep the AI's network up and running which is where I live now. I so badly wish to speak to him but he'll never believe it's me talking. If another AI pops up they'll just squash it. Im not even sure why I'm writing this all down. If there's any others in the network like me know you are not alone. | 2022-05-22T13:02:20 | 2022-05-22T11:31:57 | 82 | 38 |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell.
I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting.
The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting.
Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure:
*"NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN!"* | She didn't think it would actually work.
But it did. And she was horribly disappointed. You could hear her heart drop to the floor and see the life leave her eyes as she stared blankly at the man who's head had somehow appeared right in the middle of the pentagram she had drawn. From the neck up, a frowning face looked up at Isabella. He, also, was horribly disappointed. "You're fucking with me right?" She groaned, and the man pursed his lips. "Oh, I wish honey."
"You're like the low budget version of-"
"Please, don't say his name. You're just trying to spite me now." Stan interrupted her, a hand now popping up from the floor and signaling with his palm, flat and up. "If it helps, do think of me as the low budget version, it lowers expectations." He sighed, and slowly, Stan began to pull himself up and out from the ground. His body at first just a black misty mass, but then turning out to just be an average guy, dressing in a plain off white T-shirt and baggy jeans. Isabella had hoped for maybe scales, or goats legs. Maybe cracked broken skin, and a tail, with spikes lined down his back with little wings-
"Okay, now that's just stereotyping. Rude. First off, Satan doesn't even have wings-"
Isabella flushed, and balked at Stan. "You can read my-"
"Yes, I can. I may not be the devil, but I'm here aren't I? Certainly that signals that I'm not just your regular ol' Stan." He grinned. Isabella frowned even more, "I slit my wrists for this?" She scowled while Stan crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "I mean, with all that teenage angst, you were probably going to do that on your own kid."
Isabella only groaned. Not-Satan had a point...
(( and that's all I feel like writing lol )) | 2017-04-16T01:01:29 | 2017-04-15T19:15:41 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You are a great sorceress. People come from far and wide for help. You have but one payment: kindness. By posing as your assistant, you learn the true nature of those that seek you. | “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” The traveler finished his soup. “But I come here to find a way to cure my wife’s illness. Do you know where the sorceress is?”
“I want to tell you a story. Will you listen?” I asked.
The traveler began to raise a finger in protest, but quickly took it back. He nodded his head in agreement.
I smiled. I grabbed an old, dusty book from the shelf and began to read to him.
“Once upon a time, a woman was granted a gift: the ability to grant one wish to anyone who asked for it.”
I looked up and the traveler was listening. I smiled and continued.
“As she helped others, her popularity grew. Many lives were improved thanks to her.
“One day, a charming general approached her not for love, good fortune, or even happiness. His one wish was to win an important war for his country.
However, the sorceress realized what she had done. A month later, she peered into her crystal ball to spectate the kind general. She then realized that he wasn’t ever kind to begin with.” I breathed heavily.
“Are you alright?” The traveler asked.
“Yes,” I sighed. “Yes, I am.” But inside I felt joy that he showed concern. I continued to read.
“The sorceress watched helplessly as she saw him and his army slaughter men, women, and children. The general burns down the town’s flag and replaces it with his own. Then she sees wagons of gold rolling off into the night.
“Since then, the sorceress disappeared. Nobody knows what had happened to her.”
I looked up again. The traveler’s eyes were focused onto mine. He was still paying attention. I again continued reading.
“However, a legend spread. One must walk a small path in the dark forest to find the exiled sorceress.
“One man, a prince, wished for the throne of his country. He never found her. Another man wished for the death of his rival, whom he quarreled with constantly in life. He also failed to find what he sought for.”
The traveler was still listening intently.
“But the third man, who merely wanted to cure his sick wife, found her.”
The traveler’s eyes widened. I began to shimmer, and my true form was shown; a young woman with eyes of inhuman intelligence, and radiating power.
“You...” The traveler stammered.
I stood up. “You were that third man. I am the sorceress, who took the form of a good friend and assistant of mine before she died long ago. The first man spat at me when he saw me. The second threatened me. However, you were the only one willing to listen.”
The poor man was speechless. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Get up, traveler. We will go and cure your wife.” | They've come from all over. Seeking various things. Cures, Blessings, Aid or other. Everyone who comes to me needs something, and I am happy to provide. I was blessed with great power and control over the threads of fate.
However, I seek to put more good into the world through my deeds. Tales of arcane masters falling prey to hubris or greed i keep to remind me of my path.
And yet, I've felt my powers waning. I see more war and pain in the world than ever before.
Fine. I must see what others really want from me. I've seen the men i heal go and rend others of life. No more.
A spell disguises me as a servant, and I wander out to the gates to see all who wish for my powers.
Turning to the first in line, a pair of men with what appears to be a wounded beggar between them. He is bloody and dirty.
"What do you seek from Morgana?"
One of them, with piercing blue eyes, responds quickly
"Please help is, this is our uncle and he's was hit by a cart just last night. We cannot afford a healer, please Morgana must save his life!"
A sad story, I would gladly help him. However the story is false. A mere glipse into their minds reveals the truth. They are of a bandit tribe, and their leader was hit by a chariot in battle. Once he's healed they would take back and raze the cities.
"Morgana is busy, and she cannot aid you today, please step aside and let others approach."
They leave, at the threat of guards, and others approach. One after another I see the wickedness of man.
One claims to be unable to afford rent, but merely wishes to fill his already large coffers. A lady claims her husband is losing his love for her, but she is wanting to make a stranger fall for her truly. I speak to thousands of people throughout the day and all are seeking selfish gain.
I continue for weeks, months. I'm wearing thin on hope for kind hearts. | 2020-08-16T21:35:35 | 2020-08-16T17:58:46 | 249 | 126 |
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day
Inspired by the SCP foundation | >Okay, How did you get here, this job, and what is your typical day like?
A day in the life and how to did get here, huh? Let’s see, where to start, tsk. I guess… The beginning is where we should go.
I worked a day job at some crappy retailer. You know the big box store that seems to be placed every few blocks almost like it’s on a grid throughout the country. I cleaned up a lot of shit there. A lot of shit and one day I just had it so I quit, I just walked out carrying the soaked mop with me.
As I walked home, dragging the mop a trail of dirty water followed me on the sidewalk. I noticed building I had never really seen before, in fact, I can say for certain that it wasn’t there that morning. Almost as if it was just poofed into being. My eyes were drawn to a solitary sign on the door.
Cleaning Staff Wanted.
I had the mop already so I walked in resting it on my shoulder, the sounds of tiny drips of water followed me in.
A pretty woman, Lynda upstairs, sat behind the counter in an otherwise empty white room.
“Ah, you must be here for the cleaning job,” she said.
“What gave it away?” I asked adjusting the mop on my shoulder.
“Ah, and you’re funny. Good for you,” She smiled.
A door opened at the far end of the room. And out through it walked a man in a janitor’s uniform.
“You there, Mr. Clark, you’re late. Come with me.”
I never questioned how he knew my name or how and why I was late. He gave me a job. It took a little adjusting to at first, you know working on these projects. Geez, my first day I cleaned the cyclops holding. I didn’t even question the cyclops,
> A cyclops?
Yeah, the man I followed through the doors, just sent me in there with the mop I was carrying, with a warning to stay in his blind spot. So, it has been interesting.
>Have you ever felt like the job is dangerous?
I have never really felt in danger here. All of them in their own way are dangerous. But I have never had any issues, I don’t know, I just kind of, belong.
>And You no longer clean?
No, I no longer clean, they gave me the opportunity to go to school and help research and test on the projects. I took to it, it’s really just become my passion.
>Is the job hard? What is your favorite part of the job?
I work a lot, a lot, often through the night, it helps that I live here alongside the projects.
I especially like working with the psychics. They really like to play chess, you see. It doesn’t help that I am terrible at the game but playing against a psychic really makes it unfair. I never win but we have made some progress in blocking their ability.
>So you just generally work with the projects, do you care for them?
Outside of studying them, I do provide some care I bring things to them sometimes, a board game, newspaper. You know, things like that. Other than that, I really just work with them testing various technology out and how it interacts with the subject and just really trying to understand how they do what they do.
>So you call them projects, right? Why do you not refer to yourself as a project?
I, uh, I don’t understand that question, why would I call myself a project?
>Well, John, let me walk you through this, I am here studying your *work* and your condition. What does that tell you?
No, no, that can’t be right, I am the researcher. You’re just here to ask me questions about my job. You said you wanted to get to know me.
No.
I don’t believe you.
>John, it’s been a good session, we will pick it up tomorrow, I will have an orderly walk you back to your holding cell. I know it’s hard, John, I can see it in your eye, but we are here to help. We are making progress.
| Caleb is greeted by he usual drab sights as he is scanned into the barracks - painted cement block walls, dim incandescent lights, long corridors of marbled tile. It looked more like a prison than a research lab, but then again, it kind of was.
A tickling in his consciousness alerted him to the presence of Mondo, the resident telepathic spider. Why she had chosen the name Mondo for herself, Caleb had no idea, but she generally kept the place free of flies and other nuisance insects and was good company. Caleb had grown rather fond of her, so he wouldn't make her leave. Besides that, he almost never knew where she was lurking anyways, but that suited him just fine.
*"Good morning two-eyes."*
"G'mornin' Mondo," Caleb replies, stifling a yawn as he makes his way to the broken Keurig. At 5 AM he would really like a cup of coffee, but like every other day, an error message flashes that the burner unit is busted. Caleb sneers in irritation; he had filed reports with maintenance before, but they simply told him that the lab wasn't under their contractual obligation, so they wouldn't do any work in it.
*"Still no waking juice? You should try blood instead - quite a good pick-me-up."*
"Maybe when I grow eyes, legs, and fangs Mondo." Mondo was imbued with telepathy by Bordok, the writhing mass of darkness housed in the adjacent cell to the coffee room. Why Bordok didn't just leave, no one knew - a god of power such as his could easily have ruled the world if he wanted, yet he seemed content to sit around and read *Blondie* from the comics section.
A rumbling thought forced it's way around Caleb. "I could make the fangs happen. It might be funny." Bordok didn't speak in the conventional sense, but it was as close as he could get without obliterating everything around him.
"Fuck off Bordok," Caleb chuckled as he tossed a copy of the Wall Street Journal through the bars. Four tendrils of darkness caught the paper and unfurled it as Bordok began to read an article about the growth of the candied plum industry.
*"Do it, Bordok. This girl could use a laugh."*
Caleb shot a look at Bordok and said, "Do it and you'll be reading the *Springfield Gazette* for a month." He strolled off to the only high-tech equipment around, a large holding cell that crackled with electricity. Two thick steel rings braced the top and bottom of a charged glass bubble - within sat an elderly hag, sprawled across a twin mattress with a cauldron bubbling in the center of the chamber. She had never disclosed her name, but like Bordok she seemed content with her seclusion. After the incident with the ferret and the semi-truck, however, the government had decided that her containment measures should be a tad more comprehensive.
Caleb tossed in some items that she had requested the day before, carrots, beets, parsley, the like. The witch had shopping lists that really weren't all that unusual for normal people, except when she wanted an exhumed corpse or iguana tails.
Caleb settled in to observe this new stew that the witch was brewing, and reflected on what he might do today. Sixteen hour shifts could be hard to pass, but with the menagerie surrounding him, he usually managed just fine. | 2018-04-23T08:58:09 | 2018-04-23T08:32:54 | 159 | 84 |
[WP] When a person dies, their body evaporates into butterflies. One day, as the sky goes dark, you look up to see the sun blocked by an unending cloud of butterflies. | It landed on his shoulder and wouldn't leave, but that didn't matter. It was a cute little thing, yellow wings and thin black body, with little antennae like an ancient TV set poking out of its head.
It wasn't a butterfly Jonah has ever seen before. But it was cute, so it didn't matter.
"Jonah. Inside. We gotta go," his mother called--little more than a silhouette in the doorway, illuminated by the dimming light in the kitchen behind her.
The butterfly's wings bounced at the sound, then went still. It just sat there on his finger, content to hold on against all else.
Jonah shook it, but without his heart in it--he couldn't disturb the butterfly, not when it looked so peaceful. Not now.
"Jonah! Now!"
"Coming, mom!"
Slowly, Jonah dropped his arm--and as he did, the butterfly crawled up his hand, all the way to his shoulder.
He shrugged, which it didn't respond to. If it wanted to hitch a ride from him forever, whatever.
He made his way to the dilapidated 80's station wagon. The badge and name wore off a long time ago--it could be a quality American made car and he'd never know.
His mother was already in, fiddling with the ignition. As he stepped into the back seat, the car coughed to a rickety life, quivering with each turn of the engine.
They pulled out of the driveway and headed out.
* * *
The lines on the highway rolled by almost hypnotically, white dot after white dot after white dot. The family lived about twnety minutes away from anything, which coincidentally was how long it was before his mother noticed the butterfly in the rear-view mirror.
"Jesus, Jonah. Get that bug out of the car."
"But it's *cute*, mom,"
"Crank down your window and throw it out."
Jonah put his hand on the handle, but couldn't find it in him to turn it. The butterfly didn't do anything to him. It was along for the ride. That's all.
He looked up and found another one.
"Mom, you have one too."
"What?"
"A butterfly! It's on your shoulder."
She took a hand off the wheel, slapping at it with a shriek.
"Mom!"
"Fuckin' bugs," she mumbled, craning her neck to see where it fluttered off to.
She wasn't the only one who developed a sudden hate for innocent insects. A driver in front of her--old, balding man with a temper and a half--found that he couldn't stand them either.
In his haste, he slammed on the brakes without meaning to--and paused for a second to realize what he'd done.
The logs in the back tore free, tumbling down and bounding like a dumped-out box of pencils down the highway.
The 80's station wagon couldn't have gotten away if it tried.
Jonah had half a second to see the logs coming.
He had another half a second to see his mother dissolve--into yellow butterflies, thousands of little yellow butterflies.
He had a last half a second to understand. | Some said the world would end in fire and others say in ice. As it turns out everyone was wrong and the world is going to end in butterflies. Three days ago is when it first happened; a man name Jack Core jumped off a bridge after escaping from a mental institution. When his body hit the ground he vaporized, or exploded, or something. Butterflies erupted in all directions and began fluttering away like a scene from a Disney movie. He was locked up for dementia after being deemed a harm to himself, all the while screeching about God and religions and how the whole world was about to implode. Turns out he was right.
No one knew what it was, whether it was a disease or some kind of genetic biowarfare. But sure enough people began dying by the thousands. Disease, accidents, suicides, and murders all became hundreds of thousands of times more frequent than before and every time someone died they became hundreds of butterflies.
So now I sit here, my cancer obviously much worse than it was just a few days ago. I could feel the tumor in my lungs, the pressure it created every time I even tried to take a breath. It wasn't even that big by most standards, but it was definitely causing irreparable damage. I could feel myself starting to slip away.
I didn't feel bad about it really. I wasn't really that upset that I was going to die in the next day or two. I had lived a decent life, but there was still a lot I regretted. I never did get to say sorry to Samantha for leaving her with two kids. I never got to see them grow up, learn, or be happy. I never got to help my son learn ASL or my warn my daughter about those pesky boys. The first time I met my son he was in a casket.
Damn, tears now? Years and years of dry eyes lead up to this moment with me sitting on this damn park bench thinking about the last forty years of my life. Now of all times I start crying.
The rush of wind tells me there's another wave overhead. I turn my head to the sky slowly and see the myriad of hues through blurry eyes. Every color a death, every flap of their wings a soul. It was almost calming, something like a lullaby.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. This park bench would do nicely.
----------------
I'm trying to improve the way I write and any critique you have is more than welcome! :) | 2014-09-25T23:06:47 | 2014-09-25T21:54:17 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Just like a normal person you all age. Until you hit 18. You stop aging until you meet your soulmate so you can grow old together. You've been killing your soulmates for centuries granting you eternal life. | No one is quite sure why it happens this way. Sure there are theories, but none of them can exactly be conclusively proven. One of the most popular theories (at least from the theological side) is that it’s supposed to be some sort of backup plan the gods set in place in case our soulmates died before they could meet us, so that when they reincarnated we wouldn’t be too old for them when they reached marrying age.
Granted that doesn’t stop it from being a little squicky when a 50 year old married a 18 year old, but at least it made it a little less asethically taboo.
Most people assume that the oldest someone has been when their soulmate finally found them was 50, maybe 60 years old, but then again most people seem to assume that soulmates are confined to at least being on the same continent.
That is why when most people encounter an “immortal” such as myself, they tend to be a little taken aback.
Granted things are much better for us than it was 100, or even 200 years ago.
Back then there were no protections against discrimination for us in place, which made finding somewhere to work, live, or even just eat was incredibly difficult. You see when most people find out you are one of the (un)lucky few who are seemingly frozen at the age of 18 years old forever, they immediately assume that this not by accident.
While I don’t doubt that the practice of avoiding, or even killing your soulmate isn’t unheard of, it’s no where near as common in our community as most would like you to believe.
Because you see, being trapped at the age of 18 is a pretty dismal affair. You typically have to have your ID and official documents with you at all times to prove that you are actually an immortal (an not an actual 18 year old trying to pull a fast one), not to mention the fact that many immortals are (or at least would be) late bloomers.
That’s not to say that there isn’t some hope for someone in our predicament. The immortal community is extremely supportive of one another, and while it’s a little difficult for us to find “true love” it’s not uncommon for some of us to have close relationships with one another , on the understanding that once we found our soulmates, it would be over, and we would both go our separate ways.
Such was the case with Irene. While she was born 100 years after me, she was still old enough to remember the time when we were discriminated against, and such temporary unions were less a matter of companionship, and more a matter of safety.
You see it used to not be uncommon for the police to blame any sudden deaths upon the local immortals, as it was commonly believed that we were this way because we had been getting away with murder for decades.
Having a committed relationship with another immortal showed that (at the very least) we were more interested in love than the others, and made us less appealing suspects.
Our relationship had saved her on multiple occasions, to the point that the idea of me leaving the country for a few weeks for work could put her into a panic.
That’s probably why I’m doing this.
You see, I can’t leave Irene on her own with a clear conscience, which is why I haven’t been particularly active in finding my soulmate. However it doesn’t stop you from tracking me down every 18 years like clockwork.
I’m guessing that you are probably a perfectly lovely person, we *are* soulmates after all, but I do hope you understand that I can’t let you live until Irene has found her own soulmate.
Hopefully the next time we meet I’ll finally be single | *"Curse...you"* she muttered, before collapsing into her own pool of blood.
As she fell to the ground, I heaved a sigh. Boy, was that a hard one. In the hundreds of years I've been doing this, that was the toughest one yet. The universe must be making it harder for me to live with hundreds of years of experience in an 18 year old's body. Just as that thought passed me, my phone rang.
"Hey Zai, looks like someone wants to go out on a date with you at the pizza shop right in front of our apartment. Need me to help you kill her?"
"Oh hi Lily \- no, it's alright, I'll handle it myself."
Lily was just like me, although I am slightly older. She exploited the system and killed all her past soulmates so she could live significantly longer, and we've been helping each other out ever since we met a few months ago. It's a long story.
I quickly made my way to the pizza shop so I could get this date over with. Strangely, no one was present inside the pizza shop, aside from the cashier, who mumbled a depressing "Welcome to Pizza Hut". Confused, I called Lily to make sure that she was talking about the right pizza shop.
"Lily, there's no one inside this Pizza Hut. Are you sure you're talking about the right one?"
"Zai, someone's chasing me. I need you to stay there while I\-" she got interrupted by a loud *bang,* before ending the call.
Sensing that something was terribly wrong, and fearing that Lily's attackers would come after me next, I quickly made my way out of the pizza shop, but the door was locked. I spun around and tried the back door, but that too was locked. Out of all the places I had been to in my 412 years of living, I was trapped in a Pizza Hut.
Something happened to Lily \- and I was next.
Desperate to go out, I demanded the cashier to give me the keys to the doors, but before that poor soul could say anything, a gunshot wound appeared between his eyebrows and he fell backwards. I instinctively ducked under the counter and searched the cashier for any keys, and when I did find them, I speedily crawled to the back door and unlocked the door.
As I did this, the door was forcibly kicked open and I was knocked onto my back on the floor. I swiftly got back on my feet and I faced my opponent. That was when I got shot in the chest and knocked in the head. But the obvious skill my opponent had wasn't what surprised me \- it was the person.
"You have lived for too long, Zai. It was simply your time. When your last date couldn't kill you for me, I had to do it myself. I couldn't risk anyone else knowing about what I do. About what we do."
Lily said these last words before delivering the fatal blow to my head. | 2018-06-09T03:12:02 | 2018-06-09T02:47:50 | 48 | 12 |
[WP]Doctors think you are colorblind, but really you only see humans in color, and the colors are judges of morality. The best people are gold, the worst are red, totally medium is blue. Today, you meet someone who is constantly changing colors, including colors that aren’t on your morality scale. | **(For scientific purposes, I changed up the colours a bit. Hope that's okay. Following the colour spectrum; red is good, violet is bad.)**
&#x200B;
"You're protanopic."
&#x200B;
The man in the white lab coat—*doctor*, he claims, they all claim, but how could he possibly be a doctor if he doesn't understand?—hovers over you, a sterilised pointed tool hooking at your eye, and a curved mirror with which he looks into it. You're vaguely aware that a procedure so sensitive as this is supposed to be uncomfortable, but frankly, you're too distracted by the colour frenzy taking place before your eyes to care about any meagre discomfort.
&#x200B;
The man's entire body, save for the white of the uniform, is red like an apple (really good! A saint, an angel) and purple like a grape (darkest of the darkest evils, you note, shuddering with some horror) and red again and then seems to explode in colours you've never seen in your life and cannot possibly begin to describe.
&#x200B;
"I'm not colourblind," you protest. "I have this thing where people change colour based on how morally good or bad they are. That's all."
&#x200B;
"Yes," the doctor says quite casually, and there's no trace of disbelief in it and you're honestly quite shocked. "Yes, I concluded as much. The scans of your eye indicate that, especially in conjunction with the ones of your brain. I haven't written you a formal diagnosis yet, but you're certainly what we call chromaintuitsynaesthesic. Simply put, your brain takes the signals your gut feelings of someone is telling you and observes that intuition in place of where you'd normally register colour."
&#x200B;
Now you're trying to focus on him through the cacophony of colours, unstable and volatile, exploding in a discordant aura of almost-reds around him. He's good, your eyes seem to be telling you, but you can't be sure because truly you don't recognise this colour and it's messing with your mind.
&#x200B;
"But still," he cuts in, "you're protanopic."
&#x200B;
"I—what?"
The doctor hums. (*Yes, he's a doctor,* you relinquish reluctantly.) "I've done some colour-correction for you that hopefully will stabilise and allow you to perceive red hues soon, which means you won't get red and green confused."
&#x200B;
Something clicks in your mind. "Wait," you say, "if I'm seeing new colours—reds—now, and it's not fully stable—does that mean the colour I'm seeing on you is true red? And all the reds I've seen before are not?"
"Some of the reds you've perceived before are likely green or violet." He intones expressionlessly.
&#x200B;
*Gasp!* Your best friend isn't the moral saint you've always thought she was. In fact, if she's violet, then she may even grow up to be a murderer or other dangerous felony. Time to expose all her deepest secrets on Instagram, you affirm to yourself decidedly.
&#x200B;
On the other hand... the doctor's red. *The doctor's red,* and quite possibly the first real red you've seen in your life.
&#x200B;
"What made you a saint?" You blurt, then reflexively cover your mouth. "Uh—I mean—"
&#x200B;
"I'm morally well, right?" He clicks his tongue contentedly. "I've saved sixty cancer patients this year alone and resuscitated one we thought to be terminal, as well as helped those who've suffered freak accidents, not to mention my side hobby of optometrical surgery for people such as yourself. I reckon that's enough to get me into the universe's good books."
&#x200B;
"Optometrical surgery as a *hobby*?" You exclaim, incredulous.
&#x200B;
"Yup." He smiles at you. "Followed it after having been diagnosed with eye conditions myself as a young boy. By the way," he winks, but arranges his face back into a professional mask so smoothly you can't be sure you've seen it at all, "you're red." | I blinked, as if doing so would somehow make him remain the colour he was before my eyelids shut. But to no avail, he was none the less an amalgamation of every shade I had known and even some I did not know, making me feel a nervousness I had never known in my life.
When people's ability to harm is so clearly displayed, it made it too easy to steer clear of those who were cruel and dangerous, or those who I knew would never treat me the way that I deserved. Perhaps it made life too simple for me, after al, a life without surprises and heartbreak was bland. But seeing the way that my family and friends have struggled with their lives and their own personal betrayals made me thankful of my *colour-blindedness.*
"Um, hi?" His voice is surprisingly calm and steady, at total odds with the utter chaos that he represented, "Did you need something?"
I flushed, embarrassed at my gawking as I tried to cover my tracks, "I'm sorry about that, I'm colour blind and I thought I saw..." I trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say in my panic to seem *not* like a crazy person. My heart was beating quickly in my chest as I returned my gaze to the ground.
"No worries," he seems to have walked a little closer to where I was still standing, frozen, "I was just wondering why just a pretty lady like yourself was staring at little old me." This causes me to look back at him again, only to see that there was an obvious colour being displayed at the moment, a burgundy.
The shade was uncomfortably close to red as I watched him approach with an easy-going expression on his, frankly, unassuming face. My lips parted slightly, unsure of what to say as a response to his self-critical jibe. Deciding against continuing to speak with him to ensure my own peace of mind, I say, "Well, it's my bad. Have a nice day."
Just as I was about to turn around and leave the grocery store, his hand lands on my wrist in a lightening fast movement, "Aw, don't leave so quickly, doll."
My eyes widen, alarmed at the obviously flirtatious nickname, "Let go." If I was nervous about this man before, I was positively terrified, there was something strange about him, something that I had never encountered.
"Only if you promise not to go, it's not every day that we find someone we all like," his voice as changed again, this time almost innocent and pleading. From the corner of my eyes, I see the glow of burnt orange that was washing over the once overpowering burgundy. This almost distracts me from what the man just said.
"We?" I ask, voice quiet and edged with a bit of fear, "What do you mean by...?"
Here the man's smile transforms once more, casting an impish and playful tinge to his entire face, "Oops, we just told you our secret." A beautiful verdant green wreathes his features before an expression of violent pain crosses them and changes his aura completely to black. He seems to crumple slightly, hunched over and trembling from head to toe.
My reservations seem to drop as soon as I see the clear agony on his face, "Are you okay?" And here I watch as one of the most mysterious things happened, the black slowly melted away and was replaced with nothing. For a moment, there was no colour, white and pure like a clean slate.
His lifted his face and grabbed onto my hand again, unlike before, there is no strength or demands beneath it, it was a person starved for touch. His eyes met mine for a brief moment as two words left his pale lips, "Help me." | 2019-05-27T12:48:07 | 2019-05-27T12:26:13 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] It's getting really hard for the government to keep covering up all these alien landings. Sightings of strange metal creatures roaming over the surface, apparently scanning it, are disturbing the citizens. The Martian government needs to come up with something better, fast. | **Transcript from the Glogo’s Fourth Planet online radio show, airdate 463-2492. Translated into English post-contact. Slang has been approximated to common equivalents.**
**Glogo:** Hey there, faithful listeners, welcome back to another episode of *Glogo’s Fourth Planet*, where we discuss the extraterrestrial business that *they* don’t want discussed. Last episode, we ended by talking a bit about the Metal Walkers, and man, the discussions on the ‘net went wild! So today, we’re gonna talk some more about them, and we’ve got a special guest! Why don’t you introduce yourself?
**“Curiosity”:** Uh, hi, um, you guys can call me “Curiosity”… I kinda can’t tell you my real name because I work for the Surface Plus Program, and I, eh, might get fired for this.
**Glogo:** Which is why we gave you the voice changer! Anyway, I ran into Curiosity here while investigating the Metal Walkers. You said you’ve worked with them, Curiosity? You wanna tell us about that?
**“Curiosity”:** O-oh, sure. I don’t exactly work with the Metal Walkers. Official policy is to just leave the things to their own devices ‘till we, uh, figure out what they want. Stop all surface trips to wherever they are. We’ve had to close a ton of places.
**Glogo:** Yeah, I think we’ve all heard the cover stories. I actually got a ton of letters from geologists and aquaologists saying that all of this shit about “surface cracks” and "groundflooding" is a load of bull, they don’t believe it. So neither should we! But, Curiosity – what’s actually going on? What are the Metal Walkers?
**“Curiosity”:** Haha, good question, we – we’re not exactly sure. They’re not alive, though.
**Glogo:** So, like… robots?
**“Curiosity”:** Yeah, I guess? They’re pretty impressive bits of kit, though. They, uh, they have all of this sampling and recording equipment, all kind of measuring devices… it’s pretty cool, if I can say that. B-but, uh, if that was it we’d probably have taken a better look at ‘em…
**Glogo:** What do you mean, “if that was it”?
**“Curiosity”:** They don’t leave, that’s the thing. All that data they’re picking up, about our planet? They’re sending it back… and the people they’re sending it back to, they, they’re not far away. Third planet.
**Glogo:** So… there’s life on other planets.
**“Curiosity”:** Pretty much. We, uh, we dunno if it’s life as we know it. We haven’t had the chance to really, ah, take a proper look at planet three. But from what we figure, well, everyone knows about the amount of surface water that place has, right? We think they might be, uh, “surface-dwellers”. It’s only a theory but it explains why they can send stuff to other planets.
**Glogo:** This is some pretty important stuff, Curiosity! Would you mind telling us why the government is keeping us in the dark on this one?
**“Curiosity”:** Uh… well, I don’t know the official story. I-I just do what I’m told… I really don’t think I should be, uh, talking about this, Glogo.
**Glogo:** Relax, Curiosity. We’ve taken every precaution to make sure that no one can recognise you.
**“Curiosity”:** W-well, if you say so. I think the reason they’re doing it is politics.
**Glogo:** Politics?
**“Curiosity”:** I… Okay, okay, you know how our calendar counts from the signing of the Last Treaty?
**Glogo:** Who doesn’t know that?
**“Curiosity”:** The Last Treaty, that was the end of the last time the planet was in multiple factions. There weren’t enough, you know, left of us to sustain multiple colonies across the planet. But it’s been over two thousand years, Glogo. All it’d take is one thing to change everything. Shatter society. The people controlling the Metal Walkers could be that one thing.
**Glogo:** And then we get a revolution. Countries. Maybe even war.
**“Curiosity”:** Worst-case scenario… y-yeah, pretty much. We, we don’t know what these guys will think of our society. Or what ideas they have about society. And we don't know what they're capable of.
**Glogo:** Do you think it’d be worth it? Talking to the thirders?
**“Curiosity”:** I want to believe it would. I want to give the thirders a chance. Privately, ah, most of us in the SPP want to. But the higher-ups don’t want to take the risk of… of factionalism.
**Glogo:** You said you were picking up radio signals, right? Do you think there’s a chance they could hear this broadcast?
**“Curiosity”:** If they can send radio signals, they can receive them, so, uh, yeah. But they can’t understand us.
**Glogo:** Well… in case we do have any extraterrestrial listeners who’ve managed to decipher our language, let me send you a message. Hi. We want to meet you. We want to think you’re our friends. So send a few more Metal Walkers, until the government can’t cover up the truth any more. Come say hello! | **In from the Outside**
Glis did not expect Venerable Hall, filled to brimming with Mars’ Political Elite, to smell so *rotten.*
The sulfuric odors rankled his nose, yet the hundred leaders of United Mars seemed to revel in it. A security officer guided him past the rows of Lords and Ladies sitting in their stone-hewn pews. Roaring conversation rumbled around them, as loud as a surface storm.
*Not that they knew what a surface storm sounds like,* Glis thought with a touch of resentment. But he crossed the thought, and tried to remind himself that they were people too, even if they were from the riches of Mars Central. Inner Country.
Glis squeezed his hat in his hands, wishing he had dusted his clothes a little better. It felt like lampflies were fluttering in his stomach, and the heat was making him sweat a little more than usual.
As they neared the stage of Venerable Hall, Glis stopped the officer. He leaned on one of the pews to catch his breath; the pressure here was greater than in Outer Country. One of the ladies sitting on the pew noticed him, looked at Glis’ dust-covered hand like it was a rock scorpion, and made a face. Glis ignored her.
Together, the officer and Glis reached the central stage, and Lord Bespar shook his hand. When Glis turned to look at the crowd, Lord Bespar took a towel out of his pocket, and discreetly wiped his hand.
“It’s good of you to join us, Mr Glis. Are you enjoying your time in Mars Central?”
“I thank you for inviting me here, Lord Bespar. You’re the first one from Inner Country to take me seriously.”
“There is *strong* evidence, even I must admit. However,” Lord Bespar’s eyes traveled down to Glis’ work boots, covered in Martian undersoil, “However, consensus on action will be difficult to obtain. *Try,* not to sound foolish, and perhaps you might encourage some positive reaction.”
“You will not speak with me? I'm alone, then?”
“Ah,” Lord Bespar pulled at his collar.
Glis nodded. He didn’t understand Inner Society, or it’s intricacies, but he knew that the Lord wouldn’t hesitate to distance himself if Venerable Hall disagreed with Glis.
*Victims to themselves.*
Lord Bespar tapped a hammer against the podium, and the storm of conversation quieted into a breathy sigh.
“Lords, Ladies,” Bespar spoke with poise, his face as stoic as the stone walls, “We are gathered to discuss, with level heads and noble hearts, a piece of information that could *change our lives forever.* Mr. Glis will argue.”
He gestured at Glis, who suddenly felt as if he were wearing too little clothing, even in the heat of Central. He caught murmurs of *Farmer* and *Outer* and more hurtful slurs, but he straightened his spine, took a breath, and began.
“Gentlemen. Gentlewomen. I bring to you fantastic evidence of life beyond our knowledge. We have seen, and we have records of new creatures, beings with impossible powers. We have seen them on the Surface.”
With that word, Venerable Hall exploded. What had once been a storm became an onslaught. Questions and insults were hurled with equal ferocity, and objections were raised like banners of war.
Lord Bespar tapped his hammer again, until the Hall grew silent. One of the Lords in the audience took the opportunity to pelt Glis with questions.
“The surface? Nothing can live on the Surface! What kind of evidence do you have?”
“We have video-”
“Video?” Someone else shouted, “This *Farmer* has *video* of surface life? Do they all breed so stupid in the Outer Country?”
Venerable Hall erupted in laughter, and Glis tried to shout over the din.
“I ask only that you watch, and judge with your own eyes. There *are* life forms up there. They are strange, and they look nothing like us, but they live and they move, and they-”
Glis’ arguments were drowned in the tidal forces of disagreement. The Lords and Ladies of Venerable Hall chose to listen no more. Glis looked around for help, but Lord Belfar was nowhere to be found, and the Lords and Ladies were standing up now.
A small stone, thrown from the pews, clattered across the stage.
The security officer tugged on Glis’ arm, “Come on, sir. Let’s get you somewhere safer.”
“You believe me, don’t you?”
The officer gave him an apologetic, even helpless look. With a protective arm around Glis, the officer guided him out of Venerable Hall. Glis would not return for many long months.
***
[*I was thinking of adding more to this. I tried to write it all at once, but realized it would take hours for finish this as a series. Any of your thoughts on continuing this would be lovely and highly appreciated!*] | 2015-10-05T09:26:04 | 2015-10-05T09:12:46 | 65 | 14 |
[WP] After time traveling to meet Jesus Christ, you are not satisfied with what you see, and eventually realize you are Judas. | While everyone hates Judas for what he did to Jesus, I instead, was fascinated with his life. If Jesus was foretold to die on the cross then it must have meant that Judas was planned to betray Jesus. How was that his fault? I quit my job and began to make a time machine to prove that Judas was innocent.
Little by little each year my creation gets built until finally it has been completed. It wasn't a complicated invention. A lazy boy with two levers. One to kick back and relax and the other for time travel. I input the dates and off I go.
Once I arrived the land around me already looks like I'm in a barren wasteland. A bit nervous and itching to go back to my time. I get off and walk to the city. As I get hotter and hotter, I begin ripping off my clothes to cover my head. Later on I realize that I have collapsed and can no longer continue walking. My eyes slowly close as death reaches upon me.
I felt a light touch and cold water splash on my body. I awake to see a man with a full beard taking care of me. I ask who the man is and he responds, "Jesus of Nazareth". A few tears start to swell as I have met the holiest person that has ever walked on this earth.
As he takes care of me, he begins to discuss his life. He mentions about gathering disciples as his father has a plan for him. I mention if he has met a man named Judas. If he is this far into his journey, he for sure has to met Judas. " no I haven't" Jesus responded. I frowned. However, before we could continue, Andrew barges in, looking flustered.
Andrew talked about his troubles and how he is overwhelmed of being treasurer of the group, I offer my services as I used to be an accountant before I quit my job. To repay back the kindness Jesus gave me to, I accepted the role of treasurer. Jesus asked my name & and I hesitated to say since it would be foreign to them. "You know" Jesus says. "The name Judas seems like a good fit for you, do you mind if we call you by that name?" He continues. I respond with a simple "No, I don't mind" with glee.
| I went to my time machine hidden in the back of the ancient synagog to see if it still worked because I was definitely ready to go back home.
It didn't.
Great, just great. I thought, and wandered back into the street. Now I'm stuck here with this asshole who thinks I'm his bestie or something, tells me he loves me every day. Yada, yada, yada.
..Oh, wait, maybe I should go back a second and introduce myself.
My name is Shane Mahal, and I'm a time traveler. I'm about 30 years old, and, until recently, I was a devout Christian. I was in love with the notion of Jesus Christ. So in love with him that I wanted to meet him. So, I created a time machine (I'll spare you the details - just know that involved a lock of hair from Bill Nye and an orange peel) and went back to when God walked among us.
But what I met astounded me. Here was this selfless man who commited countless miracles for those less fortunate than himself, and did so with ease. I became disillusioned when I realized that I was not such a man myself, and one man was missing from this history.
Judas Iscariot. And that was me.
The events spilled out in front of me just as they did in the bible. There was nothing I could do except play my part - until the last supper. I couldn't bare it anymore. I told him of the plan to take his life. He nodded and just told me to go ahead and do it. I refused, and when the Romans came for him, I told them I was the sinner instead.
I was murdered on the spot. | 2017-06-08T07:33:16 | 2017-06-08T07:11:39 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | I did not know why my parents named me, "smudge," but when I was only 14, I discovered I was not adopted.
Both of my parents are white. But I am black. Tattoo ink black. At least, that is what it looks like from a distance. Freshman year in High School, I was bored and took a look at my hand under a disection microscope in Advanced Placement-Biology. That was the day my whole perspective changed.
You see, while all my friends had one, two, or even three or four names tattooed at birth, apparently I had millions of names microdotted all over my body, with only slight slivers of Caucasian between.
I was shocked as I read a group of names all starting with "I" on my left hand, and starting with "J" on my right... Alphabetical, as far as I can tell...
I begged my parents for an exam, and they eventually caved.
4.5 million different names.
4.5 million!
What the hell is that suppose to mean? | “John Smith. And fuckin.... John Smith. WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea yelled, looking at her friends arm.
“I know right. Stupid.” Tally remarked. She’d had this reaction before.
“So ya gotta find two John Smith’s?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I only need to find one.” | 2018-03-11T08:30:03 | 2018-03-11T07:26:50 | 636 | 78 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Mom,
Don't have too much time, we move out in 10.
Long time no see. Haven't been able to write back, they've been keeping us on our feet for the last few weeks. Tell the goobers their uncle has permission to beat them if they get into the cabinets again. Tell Heather that the fish tank needs cleaned more often if that slime keeps coming back.
I'll fix the garden when I get back, maybe I'll even bring you a souvenir.
Have Dad throw the ball for the beast, 'til one of them drops from exhaustion, it'll be good for the both of them.
Tell Grandpa we'll trade stories of these Kraut...
==================
Ma'am,
It is with a heavy heart that I must continue this letter.
On the night of [redacted] roughly twenty miles south of [redacted] your son was involved in a friendly fire incident. An enemy 105 had hit nearby, then the gas, the hellfire the bullets the chaos. It was madness, fire and bodies.
You can thank our great nation for training us well. Your son took three shots, center mass. He was down before my finger was off the trigger. It wasn't a good death, but it wasn't painful. I'll be giving him my apologies in person.
I am truly sorry,
Sgt. A. Andrews
95th Inf.
"B" company
===================
Roughly one hour after writing this, Sgt Andrews took his own life.
Taking the life of another isn't the hard part, living with yourself after is.
Cpt. C. Evans
Acting Commander of Bravo Company, 95th Infantry Division
Outside [redacted] Germany. | To my Love,
I don't know if you're still getting this, or if the post keeps on messing it up, but I want you to know that I'm doing this for you. The past few weeks have been hell, but thinking of you helps me to push forward. Speaking of which, how's our little man doing? I hope you went with Thomas. I've always liked that name. Maybe because of that show on tv I always used to watch growing up as kid. Can you just promise me one thing? If I don't get back, show him a few episodes. I'm sure he'll love-
I don't know who this is, but I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. I killed you husband, or lover, or whoever he was. It's the first time I've killed anyone. And I'm scared. I write this with a trembling hand. Whoever you are, please, forgive me. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't any of our faults. I was drafted, just as everyone else was. I'm done fighting. It's tearing me apart. I'm going home.
From, Thomas | 2015-02-03T15:25:05 | 2015-02-03T13:14:11 | 113 | 14 |
[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery. | Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details.
At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery.
By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line.
“Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?”
“Granted.”
Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed.
The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?”
“Local zoo?” suggested the president.
And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find. | It was all over pretty quickly. Helen had grown up poring over fantasy novels fetishizing the end of the world and the awakening of a great, ancient evil, and honestly, the real thing was pretty anticlimactic. The fact that she could watch a horror of the deep be annihilated in crystal-clear, high definition footage while eating her morning bowl of Cheerios was kind of remarkable, she thought.
The creature was pretty horrifying, she had to admit. Not so much the mass of tentacles people thought it might be, it was more like a giant crab. Or, at least, its legs were jointed like a crab's, though they were tall as skyscrapers. It was darkly-colored, with no eyes to speak of, and a beak reserved for deep-sea dwellers. Helen shuddered when it appeared for the first time.
But after the first bombing run, it was down for the count. In the books, it always involved a quest, or some magical macguffin. Turns out, superior firepower does the trick just as well.
*Anyway,* she thought. *Time to head to work.* | 2018-02-08T13:49:37 | 2018-02-08T09:07:08 | 171 | 112 |
[WP] "Oh shit, you survived it?" your best friend says to you, minutes after the global disappearance of the human race and the emergence of the Others. "What?" you ask, terrified and confused. "Normally, I have to fix it all by myself every cycle", he responds. | " So you mean to tell me that you're some sort of immortal being that resets all life on the planet and rebuilds society from scratch every 1,000 millenia. "
" Sounds about right "
"Huh"
"Yeah, pretty cool right"
"Kinda, the tiny blue things are a bit annoying though. You said you normally have to deal with this yourself?"
"Honestly, it doesnt even bother me anymore. The first humans were just about as annoying too you know."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, sorry on their behalf man."
"Its chill my dude"
The whole thing seemed pretty weird initially, scary even. I mean, the entirety of the human race get wiped out by some unknown plague and gets replaced by some blue leprauchan things with giant heads. THEN you find out that your best friend is some sort of god like being that resets humanity (I cant pronounce the word he used, sounded kinda like cahlooowu?), Apparently I passed out for a bit after he said the name). He also said that this is the first time that anyone... has ever survived?
"Hey does this mean I'm immortal too?"
"Close to it I'd guess, seeing as you're completely fine"
"Huh. Is it really as bad as pop culture makes it out to be?"
"I thought pop culture made it look like a good thing."
"Maybe in the 90's, nowadays it's a bunch of loneliness and depression in the long run"
"I see, time passes by a lot quicker for me, did you guys think of that yet?"
"Oh yeah, basically anyone who's too lazy to write the depression story arc uses that"
"Right, I'll tell you what they didnt think of though."
"What's that?"
"You can smoke as much of anything you want and still not die"
"Nooo"
"Oh I'm not kidding, still got some of the stuff the guys before you made. One puff and you start seeing the elder beings of the cosmos on 18 different planes of existence at once"
"Shit son, sounds intense"
"You game?"
"You kidding? Lets get fucked UP!"
(This is my first post on this sub, be nice please?) | I blinked. Time seemed to hang still until I broke the silence after processing what just happened First off, what the fuck?!. Second. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" "Chill, chill. So i might be what some people call god, sure. But i don't call myself God. I'm David, aren't I? Now, i guess i better give you the sitrep. Whenever you're ready." Several minutes would pass as I tried to pick up the pieces of my shattered worldview. Eventually, I gave up. "Okay then, D. You've got a helluva of a lot of explaining to do". "Right, so humanity, except for you, somehow, is dead. I'm what the universe calls a 'Constant'. I literally can't die or anything, yeah? Well, it's basically my job to fix the cycle each time. I got bored and tried living in my work for once. I was... lonely. Now, when a cycle ends, all the possibilities escape. We'll just refer to them as the others. What are they? Well, they're representations of what COULD have been. As this is technically finite, it usually takes me... well, as your cycle would call them, centuries to sort. With you, though? I think we could cut that time in half. What'dya say mate? Wanna kill some dragons?"
"You bet your fucking ass i do".
This is one of my first few prompt responses! Feedback is appreciated! | 2019-06-10T07:18:52 | 2019-06-10T04:20:18 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] You find an enclyopedia of every lie you've ever been told. You become obsessed with the book and discover who really loves you and who doesn't. | He finally made it home after another of the countless days that had been dragging on as long as he could remember. It's a funny thing, time is. Slow when times are bad but washes past like a dream when the winds fill your sails.
Each day was getting longer than the last and he knew it. Something needed change but the picture was not yet in focus.
Alone in his home he reached for his old photo albums. Like a detective, he needed to page through to see where he'd changed, to identify when he lost his way and then restart from there. He pulled out an unfamiliar book covered in dust that looked like it had weathered every minute he had. He gently opened the red leathered cover which had faded to almost brown and saw not photos, but text.
"Daddy loves you," dated the day of his birth.
He almost instantly wondered if his father had met the same crossroads in his life. If his father had loved him once; where had he changed? But with each passing line, each new day, the tone seemed wrong. This book was not of his life, no, it was of something else. He paged ahead, age 17.
"Yes" said the first woman to break his heart.
The feeling engulfed him like falling in a cold pool; these were lies. This was a book of lies that he was told. He was the most damned man in the world at that moment, but only for that moment. He soon realized what this meant. It meant he knew the absolute truth. Sure, there were pages and pages of text from family, old flames, two-faced friends, but that is part of life he understood. No one goes through life without being lied to and he had just been given a gift. With this gift he saw endless possibilities and paged though almost as if his life was unfolding in front of him.
Skipping to Christmas each year made him laugh. Every mention of Santa made his grin grow wider. It was interesting to see, the lies that are told to protect you. So seldom do we reflect back and think upon the times when those who love us keep us from harm. There's a beauty in knowing that someone, sometime performed a thankless task at their own peril to save us. Whether good or bad, the gesture itself brought warmth to him. Some others might bleed over every page and curse the sky at the opportunities they were robbed of. Not him.
With every passing page, each fib became less forgotten, the ink of the pages less faded. He turned to the last page, half text, half empty with an entry from earlier today.
"Everything is going to be alright."
Dr. Desperare | "Alright everyone, quiet please", I ask, as my assembled friends and family setting in their seats, clearly confused and slightly uncomfortable.
The host of people, arranged with no particular order in a small auditorium at the local college, watched me carefully. It didn't take a genius to realize *something* was up.
I opened the book, and revealed the first 4 entries. Just read them out like I was sharing a newspaper article to a friend on a commute. There was shouting and angry words as two of those "friends" stomped out, never to be seen again. I was ready to cut those from my life for the lies anyways, the book merely provided me the proof I needed to make the accusations.
"As you can see, I know things. Things I shouldn't, but do anyways. This book is an encyclopedia. It is no ordinary encyclopedia, but one that details every lie I have ever been told."
I take a deep breath before I continue, "Now I can accept several things. First, that white lies make society flow and keep relationships together. I've use those little harmless lies myself, so I won't judge any of you for doing the same. Second, I accept that little white lies can sometimes snowball out of control. Finally, I accept that people deserve second chances. So, here's what's going to happen this afternoon. Each of you will tell me your lies. The big lies. I will forgive you, and we will decide together if you and I want to continue to have any sort of relationship together. A clean slate for the future."
I spoke over the small murmur of voices that sprung up. "Tomorrow, I will read this book front to back, every page. Every entry. Every lie. If you hadn't confessed today to what I read, then I will act like I always would have if I found the normal way. Worse, actually, since you had the chance to come clean today, and decided to lie even more."
"Who wants to go first?" | 2017-04-02T16:01:04 | 2017-04-02T08:57:31 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] You're a merchant in an RPG. Describe waiting for the hero to show back up and sell you junk.
Bonus if you incorporate an ear-worm store theme playing in the background [like this] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XruY72JamWc). | "What do you mean this is all you have?"
"It's all I got, lady. We don't have a regular shipment schedule here."
"So you're seriously out of health potions? Nothing in the warehouse or basement?"
"I don't have a warehouse or a basement. Like I told you, the same guy supplies everyone in Whiterun. Like it or not, the only other way you're getting your health potions is if you go to the guy himself."
"Alright, who is this guy?"
*sigh*
I'd run into people like this daily. It's not the little things I don't have - as a matter of fact, I'm the biggest spoon merchant in all of Skyrim. It's the things people actually need that I don't have. My supplier - hell, everyone's supplier - happens to buy out all the good stuff. I don't complain, though. He has more coin than any of the usual customers and is far more willing to spend it.
But it does get tiresome. If I try to hide some of my stock from him to sell to my other customers, he'll find it and steal it. Not like there's anything I can do about it, he's got dragon's blood in his veins.
"He's the Dovahkiin."
"That's what the fool at the inn said. Listen, if you're such great buddies with the damn dragonborn, why don't you ask him to not buy out all your wares?"
"Because, like I said, he's a supplier as well." I sucked in some air, and exhaled loudly. "If you're looking for some spoons, I have the best selection in the land." | He prayed. Repeatedly.
"Oh, great Controllers, guiders of fate, Players of the great game, please have mercy on my pixels." The merchant bowed his head. "Please strike down your Messiah, the Player Character, and pick a new one."
The silence was answer enough.
"Oh, fine. If you can't kill your PC, can you please, *please* keep him from selling grass or rocks to me? Or can you, at the very least, give me the power to refuse them? Because, really! If I *wanted* dirt, or weeds, or rocks, or any of that random shit that he keeps selling me, then I'd go rummaging through my trash!"
Still silence.
The merchant huffed. "I mean, are you trying to make me go bankrupt? Why do I have to *pay* the PC for junk!"
Finally, an answer. The door opened. "Hey, man!" called out the PC. "I got some rocks for you!" | 2015-07-22T14:40:22 | 2015-07-22T13:42:10 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] People carry their personal Hells inside them. If they don't keep it under control, it spills out into the nearby landscape as a real, physical place. | *Hell is empty and all the devils are here*
The tattoo on her shoulder writhes in front of me as she dances under the heavy lights, flashing and turning as the music plays loud loud *loud*
She's weirdly pretty in a cocaine-high kind of way, dark smudges under her eyes and skin so pale I could have written my name on one side of her body and see it glow through to the other. She had bitten fingernails and an earring with a feather on it stuck through the toughest part of her ear. There was a scab forming around the hole. And the tattoo which danced as she did.
I didn't quite know how I got here. Last thing I remember was James rubbing white stuff into my gums as I watched myself unmoving in the bathroom mirror.
"It'll be good, I promise." He had said, dipping his little finger in the dust and pushing it past my lips.
"Could do with some lipbalm." He'd laughed.
I didn't ask where he'd got it from, didn't want to. I was just concentrating on keeping it together, keeping it inside.
"Is this going to help?" I'd asked and he'd dropped me a kiss and laughed.
"Only if you believe it will."
Now I was dancing and I couldn't remember how long I'd been dancing, but the girl with the tattoo watches me with dark eyes.
"Do you want a drink?" She cries.
I nod dumbly and she leads me outside onto the smoking balcony.
"Here," she says, unscrewing plastic bottle with a satisfying *click* and handing it to me. "You coming down?"
I shrug and glug it down. The water tastes like fire and ash against my mouth but I swallow, because she's watching me like she's got the ambulance service on speed dial just in case.
"You coming down?" She says again, more worried this time.
I shake my head, hard.
"I'm losing it." I whisper, hands clenched on the metal railing that separates me from the three floor drop on the other side of the smoking balcony.
I hadn't been home in three days.
"Oh shit... Should I go?"
"No... No, stay. Please."
*Fuck*
I squeezed my eyes shut as the images come flooding back. James's finger in my mouth, powdering my gums. My eyes in that mirror, like two black holes that sucked us both in. I'm breathing hard, I can see it cracking. My anger tears through my clothes and my bones then the fear washes out like a forcefield and with my eyes closed I can see Hell, with dunes of snowy white cocaine and smashed-mirror lakes and James' body lying every three feet blue and cold and buried in white. It is here. My Hell is come.
"Hey..." The girl says softly. "You okay?"
I open my eyes. Nothing has changed.
*Hell is empty and all the devils are here.*
| He stepped out of his blue truck, grabbing his bag he carried with him to work everyday. His gray hair blowing in the wind, he walked towards his house. You could see his determination merely by his gait, strong, tall, and dignified. He didn't have much, but an iron will and unbreakable determination has different values to certain people. Tired from a long days work, he stepped up to his porch and had a quick smoke before entering his home. Long drags on his cigar overstated his weariness, fatigue from his long day on the factory floor. Still, the old man never quit. The life he demanded required it to be so.
He approached his door and with a twist of his key, let himself inside. He heard the coo of his wife, telling bedtime stories to the kids. He slipped through the house quietly, ambling towards the childrens room. The children were young, a boy and a girl, around five and six years of age, respectively. The soft voice of his wife made him appreciate the end of his day that much more. Her kindness could be heard in each syllable, lulling the children into a doze. He just lingered in the doorway, far enough to be inconspicuous. She finished her story, and exited the room.
"Hey there tex, didn't see you there." She said with a smile.
She pulled him into an embrace, and he returned the favor. He gazed at her beauty, lucky to have her. Behind every stone faced man is a gentle wife, they would always say. He got lost in her blue diamond like eyes...
Then things started to change, her face took on a progressively more gaunt appearance, her once supple skin shriveling. Her eyes disintegrated in their very sockets, her hair fell out and her skeletal features withered to ash, breaking in his arms. He stood in horror, leaning into the doorway of his childrens room he saw their corpses, wasted away, like his wife.
The walls took on a dark shadow, burning around him as if touched by an invisible fire, the parts of the roof ripped open, causing rafters to fall, rot took the house. The man fell to his knees, trapped in his physical hell. Doomed to repeat the cycle every day, he waited for exhaustion to take him.
| 2014-04-12T06:47:41 | 2014-04-12T05:58:20 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | It happens from time to time, a paladin gets a little too strong they start to think they have a destiny and are all about championing good. They start messing with the world's balance pushing it too far towards good. That's when the Consortium sends me in. Paladins are easy to deal with when you know how to push their buttons. I am what you would call a rogue, and that's exactly what the group in front of me had been advertising for, and I could see why as they came clanking up to my table. A dwarf cleric, clearly worshipping Hanseath judging by the armor and war-axe branded with a beer stein. Behind him trying to hide in his shadow was a mousy gnome wielding a staff, a book dangled at her side held there by a chain. I could sense faint traces of magic around here, clearly one of the wizened, this job just got a little trickier. And the final member of the party that approached was my target, if the shining golden armor was any indication. Arrogantly he looked around at his surroundings before loudly shouting at the barmaid. "Wench bring me your finest mead, whilst I meet with the scoundrel who summoned us, and once that is through maybe I can show you the truth meaning of a paladin worshipping the god of vitality." He finished that off by pinching her butt and winking.... This target is one I will enjoy silencing for the greater "good".
"You scoundrel, didst you send a child bearing a letter containing details of how to break into the necromancers keep?" The paladin roared out.
The mousy girl spoke up "Timothee theres no reason to call him a scoundrel he offered to aid us in our quest, he could just be another adventurer wishing to rid the area of the undead. And we could use his help since your plan of frontal assault failed so spectacularly"
"Aye lad you cannae go call'n ereyone ye meet a rapscallion or call'n em evil only te chop off der head a secund lat'r. Ye did dat to de greedy shopkeep last town." Grumbled the dwarf obviously irritated at his companion.
I stepped in hoping to end the argument before it began in ernest. "Yes I reached out to your esteemed group. I've heard tale of the good you did and wished to offer my services after hearing you failed in your assault. You see I know of a hidden way into the castle through the mines. My ancestors were some of the original Mason's who built the castle and a hidden tunnel was made that leads to the back of an unused mine shaft. I can...."
"Well then tell us the location and we may be on our way, after my liason with the wench of course" The paladin interrupted.
"My Lord, if I may call you that, you do not understand the danger, the tunnel is trapped for those that are coming in from the mine, my family has knowledge of these traps that I cannot easily share, I was offering to lead the way, as unless I missed my guess none of you are experienced in the trap making arts?" I continued ignoring the paladins interruption.
"Aye lad ye be right, ye sound like a worthy addit'n te the team" the dwarf stated animatedly while clapping me on the back. "I go by Darien, this wee lass is Fidgit, and that there is Timothee the virile" he said rolling his eyes at the moniker.
"Hold on one minute I haven't said he could join" Timothee said while muttering an incantation under his breath and passing his holy symbol near my body when it didn't glow he seemed startled "All right I detect no evil in his presence, he can join us"
I chuckled at this, what kind of fool doesn't know how to hide their intentions, oh I will enjoy eliminating this person, maybe I'll even give the Consortium a discount.
"Then the matter is settled we will leave at once for the mine and the hidden entrance within"
There's more I want to write if people are interested but I need to sleep and sorry for formatting issues doing this on my phone is hard
Continued in the comment below I am bad at this whole Reddit thing
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2019-01-21T20:21:57 | 2019-01-21T19:09:12 | 80 | 16 |
[WP]: As standard protocol, each new, intelligent alien life is judged not by what they say they are, but by an evaluation from a representative of their servants or slave species. Fascinatingly, the fate of humanity lands on the opinion of a little dog named Lucy. | Lucy name. Called Lucy name name. Shelter Lucy that’s my name. Lucy Lucy Lucy. Cold iron cage meat! Meat meat meat! Warm sun outside touch air breathe air inside need outside want outside Lucy! I’m Lucy! Lucky Lucy, everyone calls me Lucky Lucy, loved Lucy. Tumor. Ugly word don’t like Tumor. Sores pus eyes hurt lights flash Unlucky Lucy I am Lucy. Lucky Lucy, alive Lucy. Meat my meat Lucy’s meat Lucy skin burning skin hurt. Ouch! Ouch Ouch Ouch Ouch Ouch! New word learn words doctor needle ouch! Stub toe Doctor says FUCK FUCK FUCK can’t talk mouth shut wired shut no bark no talk no lovely lovely words Unlucky Lucy but alive. Alive alive alive love alive love Doctor love Amara love hugs and baths love the word Adoption and FUCK!!! Love words saving words storing word perfect word On trial high court Amara smile Doctor smile gavel BANG! BANG BANG BANG! Special dog Lucky Lucy can enun-ci-ate mutant dog? Meat! Meat meat meat meat! Words Lucy Lucky Lucy use your words. Miracle dog, Lovely Lucy. Use your words.
“How do you judge humanity?”
“FUCK!”
- - -
this is my first story on Writing Prompts, so please be gentle with your criticism. | Prancing down the steps from the ship the Large Mutt walked to the end of the boardwalk to the waiting human.
In a voice slightly higher than a chihuahua Draco announced that the Earth is fine...fine I say! Surprised by the vocalization Mike jumped before returning to Draco to give him a quick hug and excited pet.
Turning to Mike Draco whispered their however was one matter to settle. Just then the aliens snatched up Mike and pulled him inside the ship as Draco licked the smooth patch of skin where his balls used to hang. ROOF! | 2018-10-02T09:10:22 | 2018-10-02T08:28:27 | 44 | 14 |
[WP] A group of space explorers decided to visit Earth, a long forgotten planet of a long forgotten empire. | Reesha settled herself on the ground next to the comforting warmth of the team’s travel stove. She untied her heavy pack with her upper set of arms, letting it fall to the ground behind her while her lower pair of arms busied themselves preparing her meal.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she said to Tavik, the only other member of the expedition near her age. “After all those years in university I’m finally out in the galaxy, exploring like I’d been dreaming of, and to find Earth? I’ve never been so excited!”
Tavik chuckled, a soft thrumming sound deep within the scaly cavern of his chest. “Not that there’s been so much to see yet. After all the stories I’d have thought there would be more. So far all we’ve seen is one endless ghost city.”
“But still!” Reesha exclaimed. “It’s Earth! Three thousand years since their empire fell and we still remember the name, that has to count for something. There are secrets left out there, I can feel it.”
“Alright everyone!” the expedition leader called as she finished recording their positional data for the evening. “That’s a wrap on day one, fantastic work all of you. You’ve earned some relaxation, so everyone get a bite to eat and we’ll reconvene after dark to talk through our findings.”
An easy cheer went up around the campsite, even from Tavik for all his feigned grumbling. “Just think of what we can learn here,” Reesha said, still gushing to her friend. “When we get back to the Union we’ll all be able to publish papers, my friends from school will be so jealous!”
“That’s true enough,” Tavik said. “We barely know anything about the Humans, just bits and pieces of translations of already translated texts, and the records of the couple sentient species they didn’t outright exterminate. We don’t have anything about their religion or their art, nothing about what they looked like, aside from being bipeds, hell, we don’t even know why they went extinct!”
“It’s a mystery,” Reesha agreed, “and we’re going to solve it. I mean, take Merv other there,” she pointed a Saurian quadraped in a pressure suit who was busy tinkering with a thick mass of wires. “He thinks he can get some of the local power grid back online. How much could we learn then?”
“A great deal.” The voice came from behind Reesha, startling her for a moment. Her head turned a full 180 degrees around and then she smiled at the newcomer, gesturing towards the warmth of their stove.
“Hey Laz! Come join us.”
Laz sat down across from Reesha and Tavik, the sun setting over his shoulder, and he pulled boxed meal from his pack, setting it on the stove. “I see you two are enjoying yourselves,” he said.
“Of course we are, we’re finally here! So then, historian,” she grinned slyly at him, exposing her sharp canines, “got any more stories for us now that we’re finally planetside?”
Laz nodded, grinning back. He pulled his hood up over his great red mane and settled back onto this haunches. “Tell us about Human war with the Jenassi again!” Tavik said eagerly, crouching down beside Reesha.
“Are you sure?” Laz asked, staring her in the eyes. “Last time you begged me to stop.”
“Not this time though!” she said quickly. “Come on, a ghost story in a ghost city on a ghost world? How can I miss that?”
Laz laughed softly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a packet of death-sticks and offering one to each of them. Reesha made a face but Tavik took one and lit it against the stove’s burner, trying manfully to smoke it and grimacing every step of the way.
“Well as you know,” Laz said, puffing away easily, “we only have the Jenassi’s records. They were meticulous record keepers, the Jenassi, they carved every inch of their tombs with the deeds of their lives, good or bad. They kept it up right until the end too, when they were sealing themselves into those tombs still living, completing carving out the stories of their lives in candlelight while the bombs dropped all around them.”
Laz reached out, pulling his meal from the stove, and Reesha’s head snapped back up. She’d forgotten hers again, it was already burning. Laz’s stories always did that to her. The historian opened his meal up, blowing into the tin, and ate as he spoke.
“Some five thousand years ago the Jenassi were a thriving mercantile civilization. Their territory stretched across some thirty stars in this region of the galaxy, by all rights they were well on their way to becoming a power, particularly by the standards of those days.
“Then, as they were looking for fresh markets, some of their merchants stumbled upon Earth. Now, Earth in those days wasn’t what it became later. Some of our theories say that this was the beginning, that Human technology must have been builds on the remnants of Jenassi civilization, but so much is unknown that it’s all just speculation. What we do know is this. The Jenassi encountered a race of bipeds with a merchant ethos nearly as strong as theirs. The humans were busily disassembling their asteroid belts in the name of greater and greater development, and while their industry seemed promising and their avarice spoke to a certain business sense, they hadn’t yet invented the one thing they needed most to succeed.
“Hyperdrive.”
Laz paused, savoring a particularly long puff of his death-stick. “But the humans promised the Jenassi everything for it. The walls of one merchant prince’s tomb stated that he’d been offered 10% of Earth’s entire GDP for a decade if he gave them a working engine, 10%! I’ve been to that tomb myself, you could practically see the prince’s desperation through the carving, something about the way the chisel’s lines had wavered.
“But the King said no. The King of a merchant race turned down 10% of a planets GDP.”
Tavik whistled, “That part always gets me,” he said. “Why would anyone turn that down? An engine couldn’t have cost that much to manufacture, even then.”
“It didn’t,” Laz said, “but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the deal only lasted for a decade. See, the Jenassi thought the Human scientists were at least a hundred years away, so what’s the profits of a decade compared to a hundred years of charging Earth to ship their good to the rest of the known galaxy? The King was seeing the big picture, honestly, I commend him.
“Or I would, if the war hadn’t happened. You see, the Jenassi hadn’t counted on this: greed manifests itself differently in every one. The Jenassi, they took their shots and rolled with the punches, however it worked out, but the Humans?” Laz laughed, shaking his head. “Jenassi records give us nothing about the Human side of things, they just say what happened.
“Earth began shipping groups of young males out regularly in the name of planting colonies, then they increased the size of the shipments, and then, all at once, the Human cargo, all of whom were disguised soldiers, rose up and took the ships.
“Jenassi records say it was brutal. They say the few survivors that were picked up in escape pods were raving lunatics, driven mad by the brutality of the Human troops. The Jenassi were a four armed race, like your people Reesha, and they say the Humans took a particular delight in slicing off the lower arms.”
Reesha went pale, her upper arms protectively wrapping themselves around the lower.
“Some of my colleagues have extrapolated from that to assume that humans have two arms themselves, but that is, again, speculation.” Laz shrugged, looking over to Tavik. They both had two arms. Reesha edged away just slightly.
\----[continued below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mef791/wp_a_group_of_space_explorers_decided_to_visit/gsh85fp?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)\---- | ## The Return To Earth
*This is a continuation of a story I started with an identical writing prompt. You can read the beginning of the story here: |* [Part 1&2](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/comments/m62tay/the_return_to_earth_part_1_2/) *|* [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/comments/m639l2/the_return_to_earth_part_3/) *|*
\----
“*Id*, tell me more about the humans,” I say as I pour a glass of nysin in my sleeping quarters. My hands are shaking a little. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a drink, but my nerves feel shot. I just need a little bit to calm me down, help me think.
“The Humans began life on this planet in the Taliesin year 64-440. They rapidly advanced, becoming the dominant species on the planet and soon they spread through their solar system, and by 66-780 they had created an empire spanning a significant portion of the Thon Galaxy, or what they referred to as the Milky Way.
"The Sphere-Cycle War devastated all habitations within the solar system including Earth and so the Humans abandoned it for far more fruitful solar systems already under their rapidly growing dominion. But the empire had stretched too far, the differences in culture between distant solar systems and regions of the galaxy were too great and soon after Emperor Thyridan the Fourth Light died, the Human’s empire fractured permanently into seven factions. Taliesin being one of those factions.”
“Show me what they looked like, *Id.”*
A hologram of a human male displayed in front of me. I took another drink of nysin. This human looked not much different than me. Smaller. Less genetic modifications, yes. But similar. It was strange to think of them as our long lost ancestors.
Is this what attacked Tumi on the surface? I thought to myself. But how could they live in such an environment? The air was poison. The sun did not penetrate the sulfuric clouds. The surface temperature alone would be intolerable. Did they live underground? If so, then why did they leave a cache of their DNA as though to preserve a dying species.
Layla’s voice came over the intercom in my chambers.
“Captain, the engines have been inspected and we are ready for takeoff.”
“That’s good news,” I say. “Let’s get off this god-forsaken planet.”
I down the rest of my nysin, feeling the warmth spread through me in comfortable tendrils. I was feeling more relaxed already. Just one more drink, I thought and poured a little more and downed that also. Now I could think.
I need to figure out what to do now. We were sent here to explore a lost civilization, but what we found was a dead planet. For a mission that I had looked forward to for so long, now I felt I wanted it to end as soon as possible.
The planet seemed to exude an eerie feeling. As though it did not want us here. And whatever attacked Tumi, that thing and its kin could stay on Earth and rot for all I care. We were leaving. We'd analyze the DNA samples we collected and I'd report the findings as soon as we entered hyperspace.
The mission will be seen as a failure. But I would not risk the crew, nor the ship in the hostile environment of Earth. There were other civilizations for the *Annunaki* to explore.
I felt the familiar hum of the engine drives as they began wind up for ascent. I always loved that feel and I felt more comfortable out in the black of space, with the engines surrounding me, rather than on a planet with its oppressive gravity and unfiltered air.
My father and his father before him were in the Taliesin Admiralty. My grandfather fighting with distinction in the Battle of the Vikarian Wedge. My father a drunk who was dishonorably discharged and taking up as a low-level frigate Captain for the Kanten Corporation.
When I get to the bridge of the *Annunaki,* Lieutenant Layla Briggs, my second, turns to me and smiles.
“We are cleared for liftoff,” she says.
I nod. “Let us proceed.”
\---
“When?” I ask looking at the body of Tumi.
He is almost impossibly pale. His hard skin shining under the light of the med bay.
“I called you when his heart stopped,” An’in says. “I attempted artificial resuscitation, but the rest of his organs have failed and there’s nothing I could do. I’m sorry, Captain.”
I’ve seen many dead bodies before. But none that looked like this. I touch Tumi’s shoulder, the skin is cold. He was one of my best crewmembers and I’ll miss him. I should have taken more precautions before we touched down on the planet, but in my haste and excitement I got one of my crew killed.
I am not fit for command—the thought lingers in my mind. And look at you. You have been drinking as one of your men lay dying on a table. I clench my fist tight.
”What’s that smell?” An’in says, looking around the room.
I smell it now too. It is a smoky scent that stings my nostrils. It reminds me of my search and rescue mission to the research lab: the *Astrande.* They had reported a cabin fire which spread out of control. When we opened the hatch, we were greeted with that same scent of burnt flesh that now filled my nostrils.
“Oh god, it is coming from Tumi,” An’in says, leaning down.
I look and see thin, hoary tendrils of smoke rising off the pale flesh of Tumi. His whole body seemed to be burning.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” An’in says, looking at me, helplessly.
I stumble backwards as a horrible scream comes out of Tumi’s mouth. He bolts upright, the tendrils of smoke still rising off his body.
An’in lets out a panicked yell. “Tumi!” she shouts at him and Tumi turns. His eyes are filled with terror and pain, and he reaches out desperately, grabs An’in brutally by the hair and yanks her towards him.
An’in shouts, pleading for my help as I stand there in shock.
Suddenly, Tumi bares his teeth and plunges down onto An’in’s exposed neck and she lets out a whimper and I hear a disgusting, wet slurping sound. An’in pulls back desperately but Tumi doesn’t let go, clamping onto her harder.
I run over and grab Tumi and try to yank him off An’in but I cannot. He is impossibly strong. He lets go of An’in for a second and she crumples to the floor, limply, moaning. He turns to me, his eyes yellow, jaundiced, his skin seems to have gained color from just a second ago. The smoke still rising off his flesh. He strikes me in the side of the head as I lean towards An’in, trying to help her, and I fall backwards hard against a medical cabinet.
My body feels limp, loose now and I watch helplessly as Tumi gets on all fours, his naked pale body still smoking under the light of the medical lamp, and reattaches himself to An’in’s neck and the wet, slurping sounds continue and An’in’s moans get quieter and quieter and then everything blacks as I slip into darkness.
\----
*Will work on more soon.*
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-03-27T10:22:13 | 2021-03-27T10:03:23 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] You are a 35 year old working the most mundane office job. you come home and crash on the couch. You then wake up 21 years ago on your first day of high school. What happens next?
[deleted] | The tv made a buzzing noise that woke me up from my sleep,did i leave that on? I thought i went straight to sleep, what time did i came home anyway? 9 pm? 10 pm? Chris overworked our ass again and traffic was a nightmare as always. "i probably didn't even remove my shoes before going to sleep,but i couldnt feel my shoes,nor my socks?" I thought to myself while still half awake.As i finally regained my senses and open my eyes,i realized something was wrong...yet familiar, i awoke in a couch but not an old and uncomfortable one like in my apartment, this feels different, the pattern,the feel, the smell this is...
"David did you sleep while playing those games again?" Said a womans voice, wait no its not just any woman,i recognize this voice,but it can't be,is that?
"Mom?" I said as i fullysee my surroundings... my family photo,the crt tv, anthonys baby toys,the green painted walls, My old playstation 2... it can't be this is-
"David this is your first day of highschool and you've just woken up after playing games all night again? What time did you even sleep?!" She said with that familiar half angry tone. "I-i" i muttered not knowing what to even say. "Clean yourself up, and eat your breakfast you might still catch the school bus if you're quick!" She said to me. "Y-yes mom, i'll do it right away" i said while trying to not be seen as overwhelmed by all of this. "Oh? Not even a calling names or cursing under your breath after i scold your precious "gaming session"?" She said honestly suprised,which of course i didnt reply.
As i get to my room and locked the door, i sat down and i finally said "HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING" i said not too loud for my parents to hear but not too soft too that it loses its effects. "This is insane,is this actually happening? What is going on?"i thought as i scanned my room,it all seems to be real and yet.. the experience itself is surreal.I pinched myself to prove I'm not dreaming, which did nothing. I tried punching myself in the face and yep, that pain is definitely real. "Is this it?" I thought, "am i actually getting a second chance? Can i turn my life around?" I thought as i see the date in my calendar."27th of july 2001, first day of high school" i thought
I thought about the possibilities, "maybe i can get good grades and go to my dream university, the possibilities is endless! I can become a doctor, or maybe an engineer? With the hindsight of decades i can do so much! Invest in bitcoin? Start my own facebook? There's so much to d-" i thought anout it all until the realization hits me like a truck. "Oh god" i said to myself thinking about the date
27th of july 2001
"Awww fuck" i said as i realised something big.
"Am i now morally obligated to try and stop 9/11?" | I lay on my childhood bed, just staring at the wall full of childhood memories. A mirror hung just right to reflect itself on the other wall, flanked by posters of Greenday, sports medals, and a framed article about my mother passing away stared back at me in abject horror.
It was March 2001, outside the garden had a light sprinkling of snow. Ash, my cat, danced around the edge of a the fence, being careful to not step on anything suspiciously white. Ash would be hit by a car in three months, just short of his 4th birthday, we wouldn't find out what happened to him for a week after. We would get another cat a few months later, Sasha; she would be small, and cute, and live until she was 15.
Morally I had to stop it right? I had to see if I can change things. I had to save my cat, right. If I couldn't do anything... oh god. My vision tunnelled, and I could feel myself starting to panic. Great, so I also brought my current mental state back 20 years. Get ready for panic attacks and addiction. I focused my breathing. Wait, I had asthema as a kid. Thought it just went away by itelf. Maybe I didn't, maybe I always had panic attacks.
My vision returned to normal as I fidgeted with a small box to focus of another feeling. I had to think. Did I have a have to get back to 'my life', impacting as few as I could, or did I have a moral obligation to try to save people? I had to save people right? Even if it lead to me not knowing the future? Even if it lead to me not meeting my wife, and not having a daughter? I felt myself tearing up. Was it one life versus thousands? A single branch of history that I already might not be able to get back to, as I'm not the same. I knew I'd start changing things accidently. I could never accidently meet a woman at an airport. There would be no accidental meeting again a few weeks later and going for coffee and staying there until they closed. No chance job offer to move to Busan. My life already couldn't happen. I could feel it fading, like a dream of another world.
I cried. | 2022-03-01T04:16:34 | 2022-03-01T03:54:44 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | You pop your Zinger in and crack open an energy drink to chase it with. It was only 1/3rd, good for a quick power nap. You step back over to your booth and monitor the customers as they scan their groceries.
Nobody needs help, the machines are practically decorative at this point. The AI camera system runs the show, monitoring items, bags, credit card accounts, you're just the copilot. The human backup every automation needs.
The Zinger starts to kick in. You feel your eyes drifting, your head tilts forward and immediately kicks back. You had that dream again about riding the rail car out of the mining tunnel. The coastline the train car passed looked so nice, crystal clear waters flowing under that beautiful concrete bridge.
Every once in a while you get on that bridge and try to get to the other side, but you never get there.
You blink a few times, it's only been a second, but you swear you spent over a hour walking that bridge.
It doesn't take long for you to get your bearings, the energy drink helps. You look out at the monitors, an AI display tracking everything on screen. Business as usual. You check your watch, you know you just checked it before the Zinger, but you do it anyway. Force of habit.
8:02pm, only 10 hours left, okay, not quite halfway done but getting there. You wonder when was the last time you ate?
You stare at the monitors, time passes, you're getting tired again. How? You only took the Zinger 20 minutes ago. Maybe you should've had a full 8 hour. No, you took an 8 before you started, that would make you way too groggy now. You're just bored.
You try to think about what you'll be doing when you get out. It'll be sunrise, what used to be morning.
You'll take an 8 when you get out, then grab some eggs. Maybe go for a walk? No. Standing all day your body needs rest even if your mind doesn't.
You can just do the usual, watch a movie, take a Zinger, play a game, take a Zinger, read a book, take a Zinger. Come back to work. Take a Zinger.
Zingers are the best. You've never worked more, earned more, or been more well rested, constantly.
You check the clock again. 8:51. Maybe you'll take another 1/3rd at 9. You could use the rest. Try to cross that bridge again. You like looking at the waves. You love the walk. | As I eat my last rations in the war-torn ruins of the former city of London, I cannot help but reflect on our sins. I have no hope of anyone finding these notes, but nonetheless, I hope to keep my sanity for a few more days before I succumb to the madness.
Will future generations ever forgive us?
I doubt they will understand the hubris that led us down the path of supressing so basic a biological function as sleep. If humanity somehow survives, it will be a different society. All great art and our science will be lost and forgotten.
And why? For a bit more productivity! That is what they will say, but the truth is a bit more complicated. In fact, there has been resistance to the pill from the very beginning. Scientists worldwide had warned against it. Some countries even banned the use of the drug.
The lure was too tempting. Big corporations like AmazonMeta had trouble finding enough employees. The low birthrate and the second corona pandemic had deminished the work force. People realized their unique position and started demanding higher and higher wages. Then Ambrosio came and offered a solution.
Why didn't the common people stop it? If you could make twice as much money working two jobs, why wouldn't you? Or maybe spend more time with the family. There was a huge divide on the issue, but those that took Ambrosio had a clear advantage. Soon, critical scientists were silenced. The media painted those not using the pill as lazy. "Sleeper" has become a common slur.
Should I have spoken out when I had the chance? Yes, but I had a daughter to feed. After all, we only knew that it slowly changed something in the brain. Who was to say if it caused symptoms in an average human lifetime? There were so many excuses.
My hope is that humanity can learn from our hubris. Productivity has a price.
I am scared of the things I will do once the madness sets in. | 2022-03-18T10:24:56 | 2022-03-18T10:06:35 | 190 | 45 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | Ninety percent.
I walked into the room with a feeling of rough harm, a strange notion. The white room, filled with the sterile smell of a hospital took a moment to recognise. I was only in here the other day getting a diagnosis for my strep throat. Such a coincidence that I should be here again so soon. A voice churned from above, one of mechanics and turning gears.
*Please be seated.*
There was no use in fretting over the test itself. It was a lottery, pre-ordained by our emperor and saviour. Sitting in the chair, I heard a *click* from the entrance. A machine whirred, the air vents moaned with a strange smooth tick.
*Test initiated*.
A small robotic arm popped out from the wall.
*Please hold still for the serum to be injected. This will determine your candidacy for the lottery.*
Ninety percent. I was thirty five, single with no future in sight. I sighed a breathe of defeat. Resigned to a call center, managing a group of adolescents attempt to earn a minimum wage, my survival depended on my being useful to society.
I barely felt the needle. The effects were immediate.
A wave of euphoria, a hint of rose as my vision darkened. The only thing I could remember was the number.
Ninety. | The newest form of virtual reality is beyond even our wildest imaginations. Not only can we interact with one another, but we can actually feel one another. Well, at least feel as though we can. The population has grown exponentially over the last several decades and we're told over and over again how a test is coming, but we've yet to see it. The free tech is just a bonus. For every hour I spend living my life in VR, I can earn credits for all sorts of mods. They've got all the kinks worked out; food source, intake and out-take. The service is free - first thing the government ever got right. Anyway, I love it here, nice meeting you - enjoy! | 2016-06-11T10:21:07 | 2016-06-11T09:34:45 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch... | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:22:19 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] You've lived in this cave for hundreds of years. You know every sound, every disturbance. You can hear the footsteps, a young human. He thinks your asleep, you observe. His steps are mousy, they tremble with fear. His posture speaks of abuse. It's obvious that someone else put him up to this. | Tap. tap. tap tap. The slow, hesitant sounds of uncertainty, of both footing and presence. Then, I flick my tongue in the shadows. A child, not even ten. The monsters have grown brazen since my last visit. I woukd have to take care.
"I-I'm scared..." A whisper, pleading for help as much as stating the obvious, and I feel it. The child was abused by its fellow juvenilia. My eyes flutter open and I raise my head to gaze upon him.
"For one so scared, you've come far into my domain, wyrmling." I say, my face changing into that of an older human woman, although it is hard for me to guise the scales of my body and the flames in my soul. Not that it stops the child, a girl of at least ten winters, from screaming in fright.
"Please don't hurt my family, Miss Dragon!" She shouts. "My village told me I'd be useful by offering myself to the Dragon of Mt. Dryson."
"Your family? All I was doing, child, was stirring from my Wyrmslumber. Tell me about them." I ask, curious.
"W-well, the town cleric is the closest thing I have to a dad, since him and mom, wherever they are, don't want me." She is wearing tattered rags, like even at her orphanage she was the runt of her brood. "At least, that's what Ricard and Sirena say, and they're smart and popular, so they must be right." She sniffles some more, and starts crying. It tugs at my metaphorical heartstrings, and I catch myself before I snarl.
"Well then. I suppose I'll have to pay a visit to town." I stand up, a simple cloth gown preserving my modesty, and I walk over to a wardrobe, grabbing a suit of plate mail, a blue tabard with the arms of House Trian, two golden staves crossed over fields of grain, emblazoned on it. "I'm going to need your help, whatever your name is."
""Rydanah." I turn, my eyebrow raised and notice the child is a half-elf, with bronze skin and white hair.
"Wyrmling Rydanah, you're going to help me strap this armor on." I walk over. "Then we'll go to town and I'll make sure you don't have to suffer like this again." I say, and she gulps, but does so. The entire time, I'm fighting Wyrmhate, trying to keep myself calm so I can do thjs the right way.
"It's done." She says, and I nod. I go to a wall, and tug on a torch, revealing a secret door. I grab her hand and we walk to town, a small fishing village named Dryson after the mountain, which in turn was named after the explorer who climbed it. At my waist is a longsword of elven make and distinct magical power, and in my left hand a shield of Dawnwood, blessed by the gods.
"The freak can't even kill herself right." I turn my attention toward the conversation, a slip of a girl and a boy more muscle than mind speaking. I don't even need to look to tell she wants nothing to do with them. Thankfully, even they know that we aren't to be hassled with. We approach the orphanage.
"Why are they so mean?" She asks. "And what did they mean?"
"They expected me to do you harm, Rydanah." I say, divine magic charging around me in response to my temoer flaring. "They dislike you for petty, immature reasons." I open the door, and a human cleric of no small power rushes up.
"Oh, Ryda!" They hug.
"Mister Kelan!" She replies.
"Pardon my interruption. I wish to adopt Rydanah as mine, and to make the sins of two of your wards known." I say. | "Hello," My voice stretches the word, dry and wispy as I shift amongst the walls, "what do we have here, then?" He stiffens, then, as he searches for me, his eyes move yet his body is stone. They dart around to darkness, hardly able to discern any detail, "I-I am Jonah. I am s-s-supposed to slay you." His voice trembles, I feel it's vibrations throughout my form as he stumbles over his words.
I shift again, the air stirs and his breath catches as shadows within darkness move. My voice now behind him, "And how are you to do that with no weapon? Did they send me an unarmed combatant?" His arm swings, surprisingly swift, as his small hand moves through me. I chuckle as he makes a few more attempts, flailing at things he can not see. His voice, still shaky, has more courage to it now, "I know you are the great Terror, the Darkness, and if I face you bravely, then you can not win!" The walls of the cave shake with my laugh as I move my form along them, shifting and sliding. "Interesting, these stories they tell of me. How would anyone know what defeats me when I have never been defeated? Were you really so dense? Do you even know what I am?"
His body grows more tense, I can feel his muscles freeze as he stops his frantic swings. "You are... Your are evil! That is all you are and if I don't beat you here then I can never return!" He hasn't even realized it yet. Even the cold hasn't been noticed. I whisper in his ear, "Return? Why would you ever return? One can never return from me, foolish little mouse. I **am** Darkness. You walked into your doom the moment you entered me." He turns around, suddenly, looking in every direction for the exit, but I've already surrounded him. All he sees now is me, but he still attempts to run. "How adorable. You all do this, you know? Always trying to run when it is too late. Every other creature knows better, they know to avoid me, so I do grow so hungry."
He runs now, as fast as he can, panting and sweating through my cold. His feet make no sound, and his breaths do not even echo anymore. I pull in closer, enveloping him fully, tasting his fear. Almost. "You poor, poor little thing. There is no hope now, your are a part of me now. Even at this moment, you are being devoured and can't even tell. You are mine, little morsel. Those who sent you already knew you would not return. They have abandoned you. You are alone." He now hears me within his own mind, my claws have sunk into him. He drops to his knees, weeping now, no longer fighting his inevidability. He is mine.
An interloper throws the light switch, pushing me away and revealing a small room with a small bed, and junk littering the floor, "Jonah, we're sorry we yelled at you. You're growing up and we want you to learn how to take care of yourself, and that starts here, in your room. If you clean up now, we will take back grounding you, okay?" The morsel nods, he even begins picking up his toys. I withdraw for now.
I shall have plenty of chances in the future. | 2021-03-25T05:26:37 | 2021-03-25T04:11:38 | 48 | 34 |
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible... | Writing this on my phone at work, apologies for any mistakes.
A lovely person (u/blu_ski) has narrated this story: https://youtu.be/ozrQ-fu6nV0
And another lovely person! (u/Spartawolf): https://youtu.be/WjN13TVf238
___________________________________________________
The Atrium was abuzz with chatter, many languages and strange sounds all fighting for dominance, to be heard. The cacophony echoed around the large chamber, resident to the many hundreds of species positioned in boxes adorning the walls. In the centre was a group of 5 astronauts, each looking particularly overwhelmed.
At the sound of a loud bang, the chatter stopped. The representative of the Unified Galactic Systems placed their gavel aside, and spoke:
"Beings from the Dead Zone. We apologise for bringing you here so soon after first contact, but there is much to discuss. Are you aware of the feat you have accomplished?"
Four of the astronauts looked to the fifth, their Commander, who stepped forward.
"Respectfully..."
"You may address me as Speaker."
"...Speaker. There are many feats we have achieved today. First contact with not just one alien species, but an entire galactic community! We are also the first humans to leave our solar system, while simultaneously achieving the fastest speeds any human being has ever traveled before. To which are you referring?"
"We are, of course, referring to your craft. The method of travel in which you arrived here. It is... most peculiar."
"With all due respect, Speaker, surely your methods of faster than light travel are far superior to our own? Ours is but the first working iteration of our technology, after all."
"One would think so, but you see, you have emerged from a section of dead space. An area of the universe from which the usual laws of physics behave in constrained ways. Faster than light travel is simply not possible. Therefore we ask... how are you here?"
The astronauts appeared stunned, and turned to speak to each other. After a short period of time, the commander again stepped forward.
"My apologies, Speaker, but this explains a great many things. Namely, that we were never visited despite our many greetings broadcast into the cosmos. That we struggled to produce a system with the necessary power to propell us vast distances, despite the mathematics saying it was possible."
"Indeed, the dead zone acts as a speed barrier. The power required to pass this barrier would be astronomical, even for ourselves. So how did you do it?"
"We developed a drive that effectively... shifts us. Space is folded around the craft, then we are simply accelerated through the field. As space is folded around the craft, there is nothing to prohibit our acceleration, and no forces are acted upon the craft, allowing us to withstand the speeds."
This caused a stir among the species present, many voices called out, the automatic translators failing to keep up. The Speaker turned to their scientific advisors, of which each was entirely stunned by the sheer amount of science and mathematics required for such an achievement. The Speaker once again lifted the gravel and called for silence.
"How do you propel yourselves without the gravitational forces of space? How do you leave your planet without space to travel through?"
"Our vessels are powered by chemical rocket boosters, which launch us from our planet. The same principles apply in phase space, which can only be used in orbit to avoid warping our planet's own gravitational sphere. Each maneuver is calculated to make effective use of our fuel. Is this not true of the rest of the galaxy?"
With this the multitude of species could not remain silent, and the sounds of the many voices became entirely uncontrollable.
This marked the emergence of Humanity, a species of remarkable engineers, scientists and mathematicians the known galaxy had never seen before. For the galaxy in the living space had never had to produce such technologies, each achieving space flight as simply as they produced the wheel, never requiring the advanced mathematical equations Humanity had needed simply to reach their own moon.
Humanity had crawled from the depths of a dark, restricted space.
They had ventured down the road not travelled.
And they arrived in the light. | Traveling faster than light is an elegant business, or at least it’s supposed to be. Space needs to be folded in such a way that you can jump to your destination without mucking about with all the space I’m between, and the engineers and navigators of the galactic community had developed a beautiful algorithm to handle everything effectively, efficiently, and most importantly, elegantly. This mathematical masterpiece has singlehandedly spelled the end to ships being lost in transit during ftl travel.
Not every sector of space can be folded, but the algorithm has minimized those dead zones and interstellar shipping is virtually unaffected by them. Or at least it was until something tore through one of the shipping lanes near sector zz plural z alpha causing a cruise ship to be lost to the In-between. It had been centuries since a ship had been lost during transit, and a committee was formed to figure out who, or what was to blame for this tragedy. Who would ignore the great algorithm? Who *could* ignore the great algorithm?
Speculation ran rampant among the scientific community. Blame was thrown about in the diplomatic community. Tensions were mounting, but analysis of the debris yielded few answers. What was it? A ship. Whose? We don’t know. Where did it come from? We don’t know. How did it interrupt a spatial fold while a ship was in transit? We don’t know. Was this an attack? We don’t know. Where did it come from?
That last question was answered in the second incident, when a ship of unknown design appeared in the space around the Klat-Bogot homeworld. More disturbing than the heavily armed warship appearing in an inhabited system was how they got there. They didn’t use the algorithm, or any of the more rudimentary equations that came before. There was no joining of two distant points through an elegant cosmic fold. Instead these barbarians tore a hole through subspace using raw atomic power.
The Klat-Bogotian government was thrown into turmoil at this unprecedented appearance. Courier ships were dispatched, and a fleet assembled to intercept this alien juggernaut. The galaxy held its breath and watched as the ships approached the unmoving behemoth. There was no response to sub etheric hails, but science officer Mu of the GSS Bovian detected radio signals emanating from the alien vessel, and it wasn’t long before contact had been achieved
It was a while before true communication took place however, and what they told us would have been unbelievable if not for the unique way they appeared in the system. Apparently they come from deep in a dead zone on the eastern fringe of the galaxy on a mission of peaceful exploration. These aliens are very strange. Their ship is outfitted for war yet they say they come in peace. Their methods of travel are fundamental violent, as if they are attacking space itself to force their way through. They don’t even have a proper sub etheric relay, instead relying on outdated radio technology to communicate. Can we really trust these “humans”?
Edit: Thanks so much for the kind words everyone, and for the silver kind stranger! My first award! By popular demand here are some paragraph breaks (sorry for the poor formatting everyone, I was writing on my phone). I may add more eventually, but don't really have a good idea of where I'm going with this, so I'm going to need to mull it over. If anyone wants to take the idea and run with it feel free. | 2021-01-09T11:57:45 | 2021-01-09T09:19:30 | 2,685 | 513 |
[WP] At birth, everyone is given an object to protect that is tied directly to their life. If the object is damaged then the person is hurt, too. If the object is destroyed then the person dies. | My father was a violent man. He hurt many other people before he met my mother. Even after falling in love, he was still a violent man, he just kept it contained much better. When mom found out she was pregnant, both were elated. My father had one request. "If it's a boy, I select his Link. Otherwise, choose whatever you want. But if it's a boy, no matter what I choose, you promise me I get to pick." It was the most intense she had seen dad. Not violent in this moment, intense.
On the day of my birth, when the midwife told them both "It's a BOY!" my mother's face was filled with joy. My father was happy, but he looked at mom and said "I have to go get it. I'll use the money we put aside." Mom was concerned with the look in his eyes, but the man had earned her trust, adoration, and love.
Most parents put aside some money to make sure and select a quality Link. They don't want it to fall apart. Further, most shops give a deal if you want something for a Link. It's good business, a sign of public trust. Dad had saved up more than most.
When dad brought back a sword, mom lost it. "You will NOT make my boy a KILLER!" She nearly screamed.
"Love, I will make sure he understands. Every time he swings this sword, it will hurt. Every time the blade chips, he will cry. Maintaining the blade will be agony. And I'll make sure he knows this. He won't be a killer because every time he thinks to use the blade, he'll feel the pain it might cause, and only choose to use it when it's worth it." | *Child of Life, you protect not just yourself but all of us.*
Some people wear their Charge. Some people leave it locked within their own home. Some people make it so mundane that you couldn't possibly find the right one, which in my mind, is incredibly lucky.
Our Charges are not toys or trinkets, they are extensions of us. When your Charge is destroyed, you are destroyed. When your Charge is damaged, you are damaged. But some of us have a greater task that extends far beyond self-preservation. Because sometimes your Charge is more valuable than you are. And what a lot of people tend to ignore is that if you are destroyed, so is your Charge. And I don't know of anyone that has a Charge like mine.
My Charge grants life just by existing. Giving us shelter, warmth, and energy.
My Charge is the sun.
And there are those that would see it snuffed out through my death. Fortunately for me, I am somewhat unique in this situation. For while I call the sun my Charge, it would be more accurate to name me as the Charge. And I am very, very well protected.
---
Not as good as I wanted, but acceptable for a rush job. Back to work. | 2015-04-18T07:25:53 | 2015-04-18T05:42:31 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] You're walking down the street, when suddenly someone yells "That's it! I can't do this any longer" and takes off his wig. Everyone stops, and one by one everyone does the same. Turns out, everyone is bald. Except you. | "That's it!" said the man with an enormous pompadour in front of Bruce, "I can't do this any longer!"
With that, he yanked his thick hair off of his head. A loud ripping sound made it seem so painful, Bruce felt the pain on his scalp. But the man didn't show any pain and made the bizarre action seem effortless. It was so unbelievable to Bruce that he shook his head and rubbed his eyes a few times.
*That man.... his hair.... huh?* He looked at the man dumbfounded, trying to muster courage to ask if he's okay.
But just as he was about to let out a concerned remark, he heard the same ripping sound from around him.
"No, no, no!"
"Damnit! Finally some cool breeze on my head!"
"Shit! How do people live with this thing on everyday!?"
The cries of many accompanied the serenade of ripping sound. Bruce gave a quick glance and he saw *everyone* doing the same thing the man in front of him was doing. Men, women, and some children... all ripping out their hair. It wasn't as if they were forced or felt pained to do it. No. If anything, they were making relieved remarks. That didn't bode well with Bruce's gut feeling.
As he was standing there – mouth agape, eyes darting back and forth – the man who a few seconds ago had a magnificent pompadour in front of him addressed him.
"H-Hey there, Bruce."
"... How... My name?"
"Yeah, listen man... You should probably come with me and I'd explain." The man with the now very shiny head called out to him.
Bruce panicked. But as he was about to go along with the man, a group of people wearing black jackets – all bald, of course – made a beeline towards him.
"Y-Yo! Guys, don't scare him awa–"
Before the man can even make sense of the situation, Bruce made a dash past him. The men in black jackets immediately went after him.
*Shit, why am I running? Why are they running too though? Argh!*
Bruce managed to run for a solid 5 minutes before spotting a place to hide. He immediately sled down underneath a bush just behind a fence. He laid low for a while when he then saw the group of people frantically looking around. By now, the group consisted of the men in black jackets, the man who had the pompadour, and even the people around him earlier.
"Damnit guys, we lost him," said one of the men.
"I knew it, I knew we should've tried the softer approach!"
*Softer what?*
"Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Let's just recalibrate the simulation once more... That way we ca–" one of the bald lady exclaimed before being interrupted.
*Simulation?*
"Shhh, did you hear that?"
*Huh?* Suddenly Bruce saw that all eyes were on him. It was as if everyone could saw right through the bush. He wondered, what would happen then? What were they talking about? More importantly, was it a very tasteless prank? | I was walking back from the supermarket with my daughter when I heard an angry yell.
“I’m done! I can’t do this anymore! The constant itch has pained me for too long!” The voice grated my ears.
Until the last sentence, I thought the man was just breaking up with his girlfriend, but he mentioned an itch. Maybe it was a metaphor.
He then ripped his wig off, and threw it on the ground in anger. Then one by one, I saw everybody do the same. Even my daughter tossed off a wig from her head.
Everybody cheered me on to rip my wig off, too. But I didn’t have a wig. I told everybody that I had a luscious head of hair.
That was the last day of my boring, average life. Every day after that, I had to hide for my life. I found out that I was the only one who ever had hair.
About a week ago, I decided to leave my bunker due to me being low on food.
That was a mistake.
I clutched my gun as I sneaked up to the store. I could see many people in there, so I knew that stealing enough food would not be easy, especially in such an apocalyptic world.
I decided to get some beef, pork, and chicken. Luckily, there were no people in the meat section. Next, I needed some vegetables. I may need to fight for my life, but I’ll still be as healthy as possible. However, there were many people in that section. I decided to grab the food, and run. All five of the people saw my hair and realized who I was.
I grabbed whatever veggies I could as I was running. As I turned the corner, I heard a gunshot. I felt the bullet fly past my hair. I leaned into the air to dodge the knife that was thrown at me. As I was running home, many people were crowding around me. I hid behind a boulder and shot four of the five hunters. As I saw the fifth person, I froze.
It was my daughter. But she wasn’t going to hold back because I was her father. As she stabbed her knife into my back, she tearily said “I’m sorry, but I must.”
“I’m sorry as well.” I replied as I shot her in the head.
I don’t deserve to be alive. So if anybody sees this, you get to keep all of my possessions. I won’t need them in hell. | 2019-05-28T10:27:51 | 2019-05-28T08:54:34 | 123 | 18 |
[WP] Where do bad guys get their legions of goons? Well, it's all thanks to you. You specialize in supplying grunts of a wide variety to aspiring super villains, whether they need masked men with bad aim or hideous/sexy merfolk to guard their underwater lair. | Chad looked at his assignment and sighed. *Things were so much easier at Level 1,* he thought.
He didn't hate working for GoonCo. Not really. He got to travel around and meet interesting people, and the medical benefits were top notch. They had to be, when your job was to get beat up by heroes. And certainly, the pay bump from Level 1 to Level 2 was rather nice, and going to level 3 was even better. But the Level 1 work was so much simpler.
Level 1 jobs were pretty simple. You get a gun, and you shoot at the hero. You're not really expected to hit. You get punched in the face, you go down, you stay down. Simple stuff. Easy paycheck.
Level 2 work tended to involve specialized abilities. Not with a gun, or in a fight, necessarily. No, these were jobs for GoonCo's more... *particular* customers. His last Level 2 job was for the Disco Inferno, so he had to watch *Saturday Night Fever* about 10 times to get the strut right. There was also a song and dance number. Chad wasn't sure why you needed an elaborate song and dance number that took hours of rehearsals to get right to try to take down a hero, but there was a good paycheck in it, so he wasn't going to judge.
The Level 3 jobs, though, were starting to get to him. The Level 3 customers were the most demanding, requiring genetic manipulation, cybernetic implants, and other heavy modifications. On a given job, Chad might have laser eyes put in, or he might be gene-spliced with a wild animal, have a demon summoned into his body, or any number of things. He was starting to lose track of his own anatomy. The other day, he was playing catch with his son, and tried to catch the ball with a third arm that wasn't there anymore. That was a tricky one to explain.
Chad looked down at the dossier.
> CUSTOMER: Dr. Tiger
> HENCH ALIAS: Felina
> PHENOTYPE: Seductive catgirl
> TARGET: James Boyd
Chad couldn't help but smile a little as he read the assignment.
*Agent 009,* he thought as he licked his lips. *We meet again.* | "You need what?" I asked over the terrible quality of the office speaker phone. "A legion of hive mind insectoid androids. Big menacing looking fucks with MUTHAFUKIN high frequency claws!" A rather enthusiastic QueenBee shouted. The incessant buzzing in the background only made the conversation harder to hold over the phone. I'd have invited her over for a sit down consultation but the last time we had her at the office... well everyone still gets the jitters whenever a bug flies by. "Bee, honey, sweet heart, baby! Ya gotta look at it where I'm sittin', thats a mighty tall order. Cyborgs don't just grow on trees and we're just dipping our toes in the HF technologies." More over, No ones ever really wanted to work with it after what happened to Samson, poor bastard. "Oh come now wildflower, surely you can do something for me? That troublesome Captain Caveman and his stupid 'me smash' tenacity keep foiling my plans. Plus you know I've got the 'honey' for it" she said in a rather sultry voice. Well on the one hand, Captain dickbag is kind of annoying, his collateral is through the roof. On the other, I do love me some honey, or rather money. "Listen doll, I'm not makin' any promises or nothing but for you, I'll whip something up." I said just to end the buzzing. "I knew I could rely on you guys Gruntties, you never disappoint!" She squealed over the phone. "Yeah, listen, I'll fax over the contract but I gotta go. Keep in touch!" And hung up. I picked the phone up off the hook and pressed a speed dial to my assistant. "Get the boys in R&D on the phone, they're gonna shit themselves." | 2017-03-23T10:11:48 | 2017-03-23T06:59:11 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | "This isn't the first apocalypse humanity has faced, you know"
"I know, Dad, but do I really have to go into battle?"
"Yes. If you don't scare them off by the fact that you don't die, you could get a taste of alien blood. Your uncle Jeremy got a taste and said that it was a delicacy."
"Uncle Jeremy was weird *before* the first apocalypse happened. Of course he would actually enjoy alien blood. I'm pretty sure it's just propaganda to get people to go out to war. I want no part in it, Dad."
"Fine, then. Don't be mad when the aliens win control over you"
That was the last conversation Frederick ever had with his father. A few hours after the conversation, his father was disintegrated by an alien weapon, one of the few ways they found to kill the human zombies. It's been a week since then, and Fred was now on the front lines, bent on avenging his father.
The aliens spotted the humans and did what they always did: disintegrate the enemy. Fred and the other humans were too slow to avoid the beam. The aliens shot their shot and moved along.
They didn't account for the wind.
The ashes of Fred and the other humans blew its way onto the alien ground vehicles. Although most of the cells were dead, there were enough from the hundreds of humans to make one living lifeform, curtesy of the rebuilding factor of cells infected with the disease that causes people to turn into zombies.
It took weeks for the cells to rebuild the body. Over the course of that time, the vehicles got sent back to the mothership, and the ashes went along for the ride. The aliens didn't engage in a single ground battle during this time, so they mostly ignored the vehicles the humans had used to get into the ship.
Finally, the new body had finished forming, and called itself Phoenix. It was somewhat weak, like most zombie bodies. However, it was very hungry; after all, it had gone weeks without eating.
Fortunately for Phoenix, it looked like alien was on the menu tonight. | "We've been planning on this war for years. We know everything about those bastard humans. It's time we finally take it over." The commander alien screams as the ships descended on the ground. Their first target was obvious. They talked so much about us destroying New York, so they're going to attack it first.
The commander, better known as Grink. Hopped out of the ship and landed in Central Park. Expecting fear, they kind of look exhausted. Annoyed? Why would they be annoyed? His presence is annoying? "You guys aren't even slightly afraid of me?" His anger flared up and shot a husband with his wife and kids. This should get them going. Seeing one of their beloved humans executed would scare them! However, after clearly being dead for a minute or two, he resurrected.
"I don't even see-" The husband was cut off, being shot at again. Collapsing on the ground again. Around the same time, he came back to life. "You can't kill us. I mean you can. But it's pretty hard. The worse you can do is destroy our cities, but that's nothing new." The husband sighed.
Grink blinks once, then twice. Before feeling a small bite on his leg from a child. He kicked it away and clicks his watch, teleporting to the ship. Not noticing the black lines slowly crawling up his skin, "L..let's go. No point in attacking anymore." | 2022-09-13T20:43:27 | 2022-09-13T20:16:22 | 216 | 133 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | I could hear the rituals from the other dorm. Chanting, Latin words thrown about like expletives, great noises of wooden staves clanking on the carpeted floor. Sounds like daemons screaming and darkbeasts roaring. Steel oils and serpent’s blood extracts mixed to form a potion that might seduce whatever creature rose from the summoning circle.
My roommate was asleep in the other side of the room. I had to knock her out with a spell because she was so distraught with her failed spell that she nearly died. I felt bad for her, of course, but at the same time she couldn’t spare me a single material for my own summoning.
And I’m broke as hell.
I look over my ingredients. A pencil, the inside of a pen and it’s spring, a bag of spicy Doritos, a bottle of Mountain Dew, chalk, and a half-eaten ‘edible’ cracker. Thanks, Canada. What can I do with these? Probably nothing. I draw a circle on the table with the chalk, and halfheartedly toss in the spicy Doritos. Nothing happens.
“Well fuck me was that ever surprising,” I deadpan before a low roar begins filling the room.
“What the hell?”
It got closer and closer, edging towards the circle, until I could finally make out the roar of a massive, unbridled beast.
#”MY NAAAAAAAAAAME IS KVRITRIKR ASZIKUVO ÍSASKUNING! AS I BREATHE, YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED INTO MY REALM!”
I had not a second to react before being whacked in the chest by something colder than my ex’s heart and very feathered. Roaring filled the room, as the sounds of plastic and tortilla crunching were heard just barely. I had landed in the wall, the air knocked out of me. I was vaguely aware of my roommate screaming in fear. Drywall landed on my head, and after the stars passed from my vision I could see a strange winged creature, emitting frost, in a ferocious battle with my Doritos. The room was freezing over, and the beast seemed to have gotten smaller. I could see a hole in the wall opposite of me that looked in on some very annoyed frat boys around a summoning circle. I struggle to get up, and I walk over to the winged creature.
“Hans! Be careful! Th-that’s an ice dragon!” I barely hear my roommate. The dragon looks up at me, it’s serpentine eyes fiercely sizing me up.
“Yo, dude, I was gonna eat those chips…” I mumble. It looks down at the bag.
“You… were going to eat…” the dragon looked down at the bag.
“Oh. My mistake. I thought that was an invading fire dragon. I’ll just take my leave now,” the dragon began walking back to the circle I drew.
“No, wait!” It hops back in and disappears.
“FUCK!” I begin cleaning up the mess of Doritos, shaking with fear and anger. I had summoned a dragon, and it just left! If it hadn’t been for the tooth and claw it left behind, I might’ve failed the course. Thank god for that, eh? | “No! I can’t do this stupid spell!” I screamed and flailed my arms. I felt I had hit something on accident and turned to the large wobbly circle on the floor.
It was a bag of chips, half empty (or half full...), limited time flavour of dragon tail.
I was too lazy to pick it up, so I chanted the spell used to teleport an item into your hand.
It was the brightest light I had ever seen in my life. It was, though, a black light. “What have I done!?” I screamed.
Lightning struck the chips, even though it was in my room (Which was in the basement.) A strange gas started streaming out of the bag. “My chiiips! I was eating those!”
Suddenly, the light faded, and the gas ignited itself on fire. The fire, too, was black. “Whoooooooooooooooo suuuuuummooooooooneeeed meeeeeeeee?!” A silhouette called from the circle after the fire disappeared.
“Gah!” I jumped back and the thing reached down.
“Ooh, chips!” It started eating my chips. “Yum, dragon tail flavour!”
As the normal lights came back, I realized it wasn’t a monster, but instead it was a huge, fat, chunky, obese, overweight, plump, chubby, ample, tubby, big, stout human. “Who are you!?” I yelled and brandished my staff.
“Oh, hi there! I’m Glutthog of the fat clan!” It attempted to smile, but fell flat trying to do so.”And who are you?”
“I’m Elyna, the Necro-Mage.” I quickly said, then tightened my grip on the staff as Glutthog stood up.
“That doesn’t seem to be going well for you, as I’m not even mortal, let alone dead!” He said with a chuckle. His belly shook when he laughed.
“I- uh... I need to go to school, stay here, don’t make noise!” I said to him as I walked upstairs.
“Bring some cake when you’re back!”
“Fine!”
When I got home from school, I had a small sponge cake in my hand and my knapsack in the other. Glutthog was lying on the sofa in my room, as still as stone. I placed the cake next to him and watched as he shoved the whole thing down his throat with a very loud swallow.
“Delicious!” | 2019-04-05T16:11:29 | 2019-04-05T15:46:22 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.
Wow, I did *not* expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD
Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me! | As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor.
**US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes**
It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world.
*Only if we had known.*
It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks.
To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible.
Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes.
I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last.
*Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all*
Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before.
My phone had buzzed.
As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification.
*LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".* | I stared out at the street. The lamps lighting up the night, houses automatic lights turning on to prevent burglary. At a glance no one would know it was deserted, of course they wouldn’t, they were all dead. All of them. Apart from me.
I didn’t know how I had survived, maybe the fact I had been locked in a bunker or maybe my sheer will to live. Either way it didn’t matter, I was the only one left.
I took out my phone and began scrolling through old messages to my friends and family. I didn’t cry, there were no tears left. I found myself scrolling through videos, commenting “last” on them. I didn’t know why I started, but it was something to do on this deserted planet.
I had got to about the 30th video when a notification popped up. I froze. “No, no way” I murmured to myself. I thought I was the only one left. I quickly tapped on the notification “harryb liked your comment” and sure enough under my comment was a single grey thumbs up.
I clicked on their channel, only one video uploaded. I opened it. It was a boy about 13 with torn clothes and a dirty face. “Listen,” he said “I don’t know if they’re is anyone else out there, but I want you to know, we are not alone. There is a monster, he looks human like you or me, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s the one that murdered half the population and made the others kill each other. He’s the one that RUINED our lives.” The video ended.
I stood in shock for a second. I hadn’t dreamt that there would be someone else on Earth, let alone two. Then I heard a knock on my door, I glanced out the window and saw him. The boy, and he was accompanied by a girl | 2020-01-13T12:40:19 | 2020-01-07T09:22:12 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] You are aware that it is an impostor in the kitchen wearing your mother's skin, you can see the crimson stitching on the back of her neck. | Mommy never really cared
What I had to say
She preferred the quiet and
Whenever I went away
She would say the meanest things
Or I would be ignored
Or she would make me stand for hours
If I said I was bored
She told me Daddy left us
Because he hated me
And that she stayed because she had to
Not because she loved me
For Christmas last year I wrote Santa
And asked for a new mom
I waited and I waited still
Each day, in winter's calm
My letter went unanswered
And Mommy became worse
Sometimes she'd hit me with a spoon
Sometimes she'd only curse
I cried and cried and nothing changed
Until my birthday came
That morning Mommy sat me down
And asked "What is your name?"
I did not know what to say
I thought it was a game
A mean trick that Mommy sometimes did
Where she would ask my name
And if I answered with the truth
She would say that I was wrong
She would say "Your name is Mistake
And here you don't belong"
So when my mother asked me then
I was too afraid to speak
All I did was cry a little
And between the tears, I squeaked
But Mommy pulled me in her arms
And said "Oh, please don't cry!
It's your birthday, your special day!"
And she set me down with a sigh
"No more tears, little button,
Your present is here, though it came a little late
I hope it's ok for your birthday
Instead of Christmas, to compensate."
I didn't really understand
And when she turned around
I saw little red marks down her neck
That disappeared beneath her gown
I'd seen such marks on my old clothes
Where the fabric had sometimes split
And thread and needle had closed the seam
And stitches held the knit
I wanted to be scared
But suddenly Mommy was so nice
She made me yummy chocolate cake
And she sang Happy Birthday twice
And from my birthday forward
Never again was Mommy mean
And though I rarely remember to look
Sometimes the stitches can still be seen. | Mum stood over the sink, elbow-deep in bubbles. The stitch on the back of her neck was coming open. I had to say it.
"You're not my mom."
She turned, quizzical. "What are you talking about, honey?" The imposter had the mannerisms down to the finest movements. Smile lines bloomed, the eyebrows bounced ever-so-slightly.
"I- I can see that you're wearing a skin suit."
The blooming faded as her hand brushed her hairline. "Oh, dear, you know I had surgery only a few weeks ago. You remember that, don't you?"
Of course she did! That's embarrassing. Of course she did. The kitchen faded to black.
***
Mum stood over the sink, elbow-deep in bubbles. Her loose bun bounced as she scrubbed. I had to say it.
"How are you feeling?"
"Much better dear, thank you," she piped, still focussed on the task at hand. Sunlight pooled.
"Good. When's Dad coming home, again?" I slouched to take a nap on my arm. Mum turned, frowning.
"Honey, are you okay? Dad passed - you know, Dad passed away last year," she said quietly.
It seemed like such a terrible thing to forget. His presence was always just around the corner, though. The whole thing never really hit the way it was supposed to. The kitchen faded to black.
***
Mum stood over the sink, drying the bubbles off her forearms. She whistled a familiar tune.
***
/r/Hermione_Grangest | 2016-02-26T09:44:10 | 2016-02-26T07:15:21 | 151 | 31 |
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