prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though. | *Diiing! Diiing! Diiing!*
"Hello, this is Tommy"
"Hey Tommy, It's your mother here, it looks like we got some sort of a situation to resolve here, could you please tell me-"
"Ha, Voicemail! Leave your message."
"Dammit! I can never get a hold of him! In these times of need, and he still pulls these stupid pranks of him!" was what his mother exclaimed as she heard the recording.
"Do not worry, we will get a hold of him, I'm sure he is probably sleeping right now, give him a few minutes, he'll call back..." said his father.
_Meanwhile, on the other side of town, a young Tommy was..._
"Woo-Hooo! This party rocks!" _- chugs down a glass of scotch -_ "I'm so glad I decided to join you girls! How about we now take this up on a room, close the door, and I bring out the ping pong paddles?" he said, to the two beautiful women besides him, as he was taking them upstairs...
As the night unfolded, his phone rung. And then it rung again. And again. But the young man would not answer, or could not. Probably both. He was drunk out of his mind, sleeping in bed with the women he had met, having no idea what his family was going through, at these moments.
"I don't know how long we will be able to fight them for! They are almost done breaking through the security system! I can't close the backdoors as fast as they are opening!" shouted his little brother, as his sister was trying to communicate with her... "gods" or whatever she called them.
"Goddammit Tommy, won't you for once do something right in your life and-" *Riiing! Riiing!*
"Tommy, is this you?" said mother into her phone
"Not, it's my voicemail. Ha. Why the hell were you calling me in the middle of the night?"
"We're at the house, and these people came out with vans and guns and they started shooting at us! I don't know how long will we be able to hold them for! We need you help!"
"Uhhh... Of course and I will NOT drive in the middle of the night to your house mother, what, did you kill a prime minister again?"
"Tommy Bretling DeClasse, I order you to get over here right now! Just get your ass out of bed and get here!"
"Did you just shout at me?"
"Yes, I did! *-a bullet whizzes past-* Get over here!"
*Beep... Beep... Beep...*
"Dammit, he hang up on me! Son of a bitch!" said his mother, as she was trying to hide behind a counter.
"Uhh, did you realise what you just said?" said the little brother
"Yes I do, and I couldn't care less right now!"
Suddenly, the gun shots stopped.
*Just outside the house...*
"What, is this the first time you are looking at a half dressed man, chugging down a bottle of vodka and wielding an AR-15 while there's a girl on the passenger seat blacked out completely drunk?"
*The men turned their full attention towards the man, and with that their rifles did as well..*
"Come on ladies! There's another one waiting for me back at her apartment!"
And with that, Tommy started up... a...
RAMPAAAAAAGEEEEEEEEE! | This is my first time writing this type of stuff so please bear with me. :)
Story begins:
Me: My whole Family are known for doing illegal things, heck even I admit they do those stuff.
Me: But I know you're wondering why wouldn't they want me to join in their.....well..... escapades?
Agent: Tell me why?
Me: Well...... It's because it uses up a lot of time, and you know time is money, I'm busy managing my business my passion, and my family knows that nothing gets past my pancake business.
Me: Blood may be thicker then Water but Maple syrup is even thicker then blood. Thats my Code and my family understands that, since dedication is our family's thing.
Agent: Interesting. So you would priortize your "Pancake business" over your own family. But why pancakes and do you interact or receive help or help your family?
Me: I love pancakes! Since I was a kid in the oprhanage with my younger brother and sister. Pancakes were what they served every Saturday and Sunday and it was the most delicious thing yet.
Me: But one day, after we got back to the orphanage from a little celebration somewhere, where all ophans, me and my siblings included. We saw the orphanage was destroyed, the destruction of the orphanage the recipe for the pancakes and the person who made them were all lost. The one thing that made living there worth it.
Agent: How does this relate to you not joining with your family?
Me: We're getting there.
Me: After that we were forced to live in rubbles of the orphanage, and one day my parents arrived and took me and my siblings with them.
Me: I eventually found out my Parents destroyed the orphanage since it was quite a process just to get us, and they left us there to teach us the cruelity of the world, I guess it to mold us into them.
Me: I didn't care about that. What I cared about was the lost of the pancakes and threw a tantrum until
Mother: If you love those pancakes so much why not make them.
Me: I took a liking to that idea, and exploiting the part that they felt sorry for me that the one thing I loved was lost forever. I asked them if I can set on a quest to try to remake those pancakes. A quest they all respected. So for a few years I stayed with my family grew up until I was ready. After that I set out.
Me: Before I left my parents gave me money and stuff I would need to live. After that we never saw each other again. Guess our lives were a little too busy to meet each other.
Agent: Very well. Story checks out. You may leave.
Me: Thanks! Be sure to come to my Business. Remember the name "Panned Cake" at the corner of the street near this place.
| 2017-06-04T10:17:12 | 2017-06-04T05:32:37 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | Humanity learned many lessons in the dark days after the Nuclear Apocalypse. Our inability to understand each other led to mistrust, and that mistrust almost exterminated us all. A team of brilliant scientists developed a potential solution: the Memetic Link. Implanted in the gene code of all humans, it taps into the collective knowledge of all ancestors of the same name. Different names would provide diversity, but the historical knowledge and shared expertise would promote community.
It worked. For centuries, it worked. Eventually, though, parents got into a rut, picking tried-and-true winners. For a couple generations, all the kids were Alberts, or Elons, or Oprahs. Communities ran strong, but diversity began to dwindle. To restore that diversity, parents began picking stranger names -- historical oddballs. They hoped to restore the breadth of human understanding and rekindle our creativity and progress.
It worked again. Sure, we still had lots of Abrahams and Steves and Elizabeths, but we started to see other names. A new fad began, with parents searching through the remaining fragments of ancient texts, looking for a New Name for a child -- the coveted Different Name. Diversity surged, and society looked stronger than ever.
The pregnancy felt long, but it was blissfully uncomplicated. Mary Todd and Benjamin now sat in the recovery room, gazing adoringly at their newborn child. Nurse Florence bustled in, tidying up and taking everybody's vitals. She clucked approvingly as she filled out the paperwork -- the child looked healthy in every way.
Two decades in the job hadn't squelched her sense of curiosity. "Interesting! I've never seen this name before. Never even heard of it. Where did you find it?"
Benjamin swelled with pride at the subtle compliment. "Mary Todd is an anthropologist, see, so she has access to some of the oldest records from before the Apocalypse. She stumbled across a treasure trove of historical records -- THEIR historical records, mind you -- and found a name repeated over and over. Apparently, he was a powerful leader from ancient times, adored by millions!"
"Fascinating! And to think, such a wealth of knowledge and nobody has tapped into it yet. I'm sure there will be greatness in his future."
Her work finished, Florence headed for the door; eight more patients awaited her ministrations.
"Your whole family is healthy, so don't worry at all. I'll see you later, Mary Todd. Take care, Benjamin. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Adolph!" | "Hello. Jon here. How can I help you?", a stereotypical Indian voice pretending to fake an American accent replied back. After all these years, couldn't the actually named Jogender, but fake named Tech Support Jon had not shed the weird accent. Even though he was probably not Indian. It had almost become an hallmark of the profession, like so many others.
"I am having trouble filling the signup form for internet access.", and since I had only one ISP, I was at their mercy. I wasn't going to tell them that, though they probably already knew.
"Sure sir. I can help you with that. Please input your information on the phone app and we'll proceed."
"Umm. About that. I can't enter my name in the app."
"That's strange sir. Can you reboot your phone and then call me back?"
Fuck me. "I have already called twice before and rebooted my phone."
"I don't have your name in my system sir. Just reboot it once more and then we can go further."
"Can I talk to your manager?"
"Well... If that is what you want. I hope you have a pleasant day."
And then another goddamn Jogender hung up. Again. That bloody. Every bloody call centre employ was going to be a Jogender. How the fuck was I supposed to sign up for internet?
Bloody stupid web designer Cathryn's and bloody stupid call centre Jogender. And my stupid hippy mom. You'll have a unique name. Girls will really like it.
I looked at the name change application in my hands. Thank god it was a paper and pen copy, but I had to ask someone. Was it so hard to make the name field a text box, instead of a drop down? Stupid Bobby Drop Tables, making it harder on all of us. I grumbled and started filling the name change application. | 2017-04-07T11:40:12 | 2017-04-07T10:58:56 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone! | Grand magistrate Vield looked down from his raised stand into the courtroom. A child stood in the defendant’s stand, accused of murder. She glared down at the desk in front of her. Her representative had ignored her for the entire course of the proceedings, shuffling papers to and fro and making a big show of not doing very much.
“Do you know this woman?” The prosecutor directed the court’s attention to a portrait of a woman in her mid\-thirties.
“Yes.” The girl barely looked up, her lips were tensed into a tight line.
“This is your mother, correct?” The prosecutor turned to face the girl, an inquisitive look in her eyes.
“No.”
Vield tapped a cane against a small gong, indicating that she had told a lie.
“Step\-mother.” The girl glared up toward Vield and emphasized the first part, as if that were the most important part of the word.
“And, you killed this woman, is that correct? By letting the car run fumes into the house?”
The case was relatively cut and dry. The girl had killed the woman in a premeditated fashion, and she showed no physical signs of abuse. It couldn’t be passed off as self defense. The brother, sitting in the audience, younger than the girl, had shown severe signs of abuse. He could have perhaps gotten away with self\-defense, but not her.
“Yes.”
Vield tapped the gong. Both the girl and the prosecutor looked up in surprise. Vield’s face remained expressionless.
The woman had a long history of irresponsibility going back to her early twenties when she figured out that drinking was easier than a life of struggle and discipline. Vield didn’t mind that at all, people had a right to conduct themselves any way they wanted, in his mind. The problem had come when she had introduced children into the mix and put her problems on them.
The prosecutor regained their composure, splitting the questions into parts. “Did you start the car in the garage?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
The prosecutor went on. “Did you kill this woman?”
“Yes.”
The gong sounded again. The little girl looked up at Vield, confused. Vield stared straight ahead, unblinking.
The woman smoked two packs a day and lived in a rathole. The coroners had only determined that she died of asphyxiation. The car had been off, and out of gas, when emergency responders arrived at the scene, the carbon monoxide levels were high, but that wasn’t definitive. Even the blood carbon monoxide levels weren’t out of comprehension considering she smoked. There could be any number of ‘causes,’ mold in the air conditioner, a slight gas leak, freon seeping out of the fridge. It could even have been a rogue burglar with a pillow for all anyone knew.
“This is\-\-” the prosecutor paused\-\- “this is most unexpected, your honor, we have motive, we have the cause of death we\-\-”
The gong rang out, interrupting the prosecutor.
“We... don’t have the cause of death.”
Silence.
“Right. We ask for a continuation, your honor, to review the reports.”
Vield stood without saying a word and left the chamber.
“That little girl’s been through enough,” he thought to himself. “No need to burden her with a life in prison and the guilt of a death. No, the world would be better served giving her and her brother a new start in life." He couldn’t change the facts entirely, but he could do his best to help this little girl. | I walked out of the court room. Cameras swirl around me. Questions get sucked away as a walk forwards. They know to move. Microphones surround me as I step off the sidewalk. Then as I open the door to my car they back off. They know not to scratch the paint. I climb in and microphones threaten to follow. I shut the door quickly, then rev the engines.
Instinctively, they part, they know not to get in my way. I race off, 30 miles above the speed limit. I pass 2 cops on the way out but they don’t do anything. They know not to pull me over.
I pull into my house. Well mansion is more like it. The gardeners have been working since 3 am this morning, but they do not ask for a break, they know not to. My maid opens the door for me. I motion to the bedroom and she rushes off to get ready for me. I know she doesn’t want to, but she knows not to disobey.
I walk to my recliner and sit down. Immediately 4 servants surround me. They fan and feed me. They do not stop. They know not to. I close my eyes reminiscing to a time much different. One where I did not have this power yet. 20 years ago.
The world had just discovered my power, and I had just discovered it’s use. My first bribery case. Back then I had to do it in the shadows. The defendant was innocent. The accuser merely wanted to make him suffer. Guess he should have known not to mess with her.
I took her bribe. 10,000 dollars. A paltry sum to me now. I still keep those bills in a lockbox in my room. A memory. The girl that gave them to me has long since perished. A mysterious collapse on the subway. In truth I poisoned her. Couldn’t let the truth get out. The man, he got 20 years in prison.
Now I have all of the world leaders in my pocket. I know their dirty secrets. I am untouchable.
A loud bang rings out. Perhaps a clumsy maid dropped something. She’ll be punished later. It begins to get cold, I wave away my servants but that doesn’t seem to do anything. I feel a liquid spreading on my gown. I open my eyes, I won’t tolerate spillage. I look down to see dark red seeping through my outfit. This confuses me. It seems to grow on its own.
I look up. Someone stands there holding something in his hand. A gun. What is he going to do? Shoot me? It dawns on me who it is.
It’s the man.
And he did shoot me.
I messed with him.
Guess I should have known not to. | 2018-05-15T21:01:00 | 2018-05-15T20:18:02 | 742 | 231 |
[WP] You can taste lies. One day your friend is comforting you after a tough night and you almost vomit at the foul taste as you hear her say "After all, you're only human." | "Hey" James said as he slumped down on the couch beside me, beer in hand. "Hey, it's OK".
Well, it technically wasn't, but I didn't really want to argue with him either, so I just sat there and contemplated how to best kill myself.
"It really wasn't your fault that you got fired..." I felt a familiar bitter taste in my mouth now. His attempts were admirable but I just couldn't bring myself to believe him.
"... or that she decided to break up with you..." I really needed to wash my mouth now - it was my fault, all my fault and I knew it.
"... After all, you're only human." The taste was overpowering. Then, the imaginary turned into reality. I gagged and threw up, all over the floor.
That's right. I'm not just a human. Not this time. Not anymore. I am a monster, plain and simple. At that thought, I almost emptied my guts out a second time. I might look like a human, but deep down I'm nothing like them. Humanity, a noble bunch, filled with so much courage to keep on trying and never give up. When they fail, it's because they can't, not because they won't. They're only human, after all. Me, on the other hand, I'm not deserving of being called a human. I could have kept that job, I could be chilling with her now, but I'm not. What could have been, I guess I'll never know. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to find out. From ripping up the bandages and digging up the scars. I love wallowing in misery and self-pity. Other people don't seem to like that. And I don't really care. And that's why I'm here, right now. Lost, in my mind, in the what-could-have-been. A monster, stuck in the past. A monster, that can never let go.
"Woah man, you alright?" No, not really. But, in a sense, I guess I actually am.
Thanks for reading! Im a first-timer so criticism would be greatly appreciated! | I was shocked. How could it be? After all this time.....I didn’t know what to do so I ran. What else could I do? I ran as far as I could and ended up in some hell forsaken forest. I just needed time to think. I sat on the edge of a broken and twisted tree, trying to regain my thoughts. Then it hit me, I need to figure out what I am and what I am doing here. That means I needed to go back. I though up some half assed excuse as to why I ran and started my journey back. However for some reason I couldn’t leave the forest it was pulling me closer chanting the words: DVOH DVOH DVOH. I could barely usher a scream before I was pulled up and instantly knocked out. I awoke in a cold, brightly lit laboratory. As I tried to pull my head up, I noticed I can’t move.
A voice told me to stay and not move.
He said that I wasn’t real
He said I was a genetically engineered bot.
He said that my life long friend Nancy, the one who told me that lie, was just a bot named friEND bot 2000
It was then as they injected that purple liquid into my veins, I realized my true purpose.
My true purpose, was to kill.
Hey guys, I don’t normally write and this was my first time! If you want more of my writing or something just tell me.
| 2018-05-12T05:24:41 | 2018-05-12T05:15:18 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] It's another murder case, plain and simple. With Watson out of commission, Holmes heads to the nearby police precinct in search of a temporary partner for the case. Instead, the precinct gives him Detective Jake Peralta | Sherlock Holmes hadn't been to New York in a long time, but after 22B Baker Street had been searched after a bomb threat for the third time that summer, Sherlock decided he had to go somewhere else for a little while.
He had found an apartment. Old and run down, so the landlord did not check up on it too often. This meant there was less danger of questions about potential heads or eyeballs in the fridge. It was perfect for Sherlock. No distractions.
But he got bored. Sherlock had been naggin Watson every few hours with calls. Time difference didn't really occur to Mr. Holmes, and if it did, he did not really care.
And then it happened. A message from Watson. His short, crippled friend had found a case, at last. A good old fashioned murder.
Although... Old fashioned may not be the right word for it. A few months ago, a woman was found near the entrance of Pumound park. She was naked, blindfolded, her clothes neatly folded up next to her, and her tights tied around her ankle. Interesting case. The woman had been identified as Delilah Cavanaugh. She had been a sex worker, so the police were not too adamant on solving it.
Sherlock was. But it'd been so long since he worked alone. He needed a partner. They don't need to be smart, or observant. Just someone to ramble to.
One day, Sherlock decided he should go for a walk. Just to find someone, anyone, to be his partner in crime. Finding anyone worthy was a challenge. He had found that any partner of his should be resilient enough to not lose their mind spending time with him. They needed to be willing to run after him, no questions asked. they needed to be-
"Woah! Watch it."
Sherlock had run into a man. Dark hair, a leather jacket over a hoodie, and a plaid shirt. A police badge hung around his neck.
"Ah. A police man. Fantastic." mumbled Sherlock.
"Excuse me, British dracula, that's mister police man to you."
Sherlock glared back "I don't have time for this, I need to get to Pumpound park.
The detective sighed. "Yeah, sorry, that's not happening. It's still closed up for investigation."
Sherlock chuckled. "You call that an investigation? You lot wouldn't know a killer if he danced in front of you with a sign around his neck saying 'Murderer.'"
"Okay, Judgy McJudgerson, why don't you solve it then. I will take you there, and you tell me who did it."
Sherlock looked him in the eyes, and thought it over for a moment.
"I'm in." He pronounced, and held out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."
The detective shook it. "Jake Peralta, actual detective." | I stood over the bed, the disinfectant smell of the hospital burning my nose. The metronomic beep of the heart monitor and the hollow in and out sussuration of the respirator were the only sounds as I watched over the body of my closest friend, my only friend.
John Watson and I had solved many cases together, and even though I would never admit it to him, I needed him. I lacked empathy, but John was full of it. He was so caring, so loving, so patient. Even when he first met me, beating corpses in the morgue, he had the patience to deal with my shit.
Now this person, who had always been so full of life lay almost lifeless on a hospital bed. I squeezed his hand and placed a small kiss on the back of it before drifting noiselessly out of the hospital.
I moved like a wraith through the streets of London, incorporeal in my grief, held together by one strand of purpose. I thought back to the last time I heard his voice.
"John!" I yelled, racing towards him, fearing I may already be too late.
"Sherlock," He said as I kneeled down beside him, "Sherlock. Don't stop, Sherlock."
"What do you mean?" I asked frantically, fumbling for his hand, already turning cold, "Don't stop what?"
He reached up with his free hand to touch my cheek. "Don't stop solving, Sherlock. He wins when you stop, so don't you ever fucking stop solving."
He was right, of course, Moriarity had orchestrated that attack to throw me off my game, to cripple me, but I refuse to stop.
I arrived at the police station and immediately went to the office of the chief.
"I hear you have someone for me to work with while my partner recovers."
"I do." He leaned out of his office and called a name, "Peralta!"
A man strode up to me. He had a wide mouth, brown hair, and a face that reminded me of a fish.
"Detective Jake Peralta," He stuck out his hand, "I just transferred here from Brooklyn, 99th precinct." | 2020-01-20T06:52:15 | 2020-01-20T06:45:07 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] In a world where what doesn't kill you literally makes you stronger, you run a clinic that gives people near-death experiences. | I will make you perfect. I will make you beautiful.
Another boy today, this one can't be more than sixteen years old. In the many years I've run this clinic I can confidently say that men are just as insecure as women. The number of female and male patients is pretty much the same and most of their problems are also quite mundane and average. People in this day and age are blessed with so much potential and promise but they choose to remain so...simple...and petty.
He signs the waiver and gives me a nervous smile before trying to strike up conversation on our way to the examination room. I indulge him of course, what kind of doctor would I be otherwise? In the examination room I give him a full body check up before proceeding. His vitals are all stable and his muscle structure is quite excellent. The boy is most likely an athlete who practices four, perhaps five days of the week. He is already in excellent form but I can make him better.
"You know, I pride myself on the success of this clinic" I say to him as I prepare some tools on my desk "I have never received a complaint or provided treatment for an unsatisfied customer."
The boy looks around while taking steady and measured breaths. I wonder if he's actively ignoring me before the procedure starts or his nerves are simply too high. No matter.
I turn on the radio and find the classical section. Brahms today, not my favorite but alas I am a slave to the station. The boy eyes the syringe as I approach him. I then decide to set it down on the medical tray near him. This boy is a a bit more special than the majority of my patients. For people like him I prefer a different style. I also, quite frankly, enjoying the teasing of the patient as I stroll to and from them. Watching their pupils dilate and constrict as their eyes dart around the room wondering what the doctor has in store. I always hope my performance does not disappoint. I reach under the counter and pull out my trusty baseball bat, I named it Pete after my first patient. He was a cooperative fellow.
There is a vast difference between fear and terror. Fear is simple and comes easily. A visit to the principal's office, an annual check up or meeting your boss at work all could illicit fear. It's something you have time to react and stew in. Terror is so much more fun. People inflicted with terror have can not react. They are paralyzed and powerless in the face of it and with the right push, they fall into despair. It is absolutely beautiful.
I like to personally lead my patients outside after their procedures. Their first view of the world around them is quite something after their rebirth. Perhaps rebirth is too strong of a word. Reawakening then. Yes, their reawakening is always fun to see. As I push the boy forward I tell him to send his friends, his family and anyone else he thinks should come in for a visit. His smile is not the nervous mess from before but perfect and beautiful. As he walks away, peer out into the neighborhood behind him. I can see the people who've visited my clinic and those who have not. I'm quite happy to say that most already have and I believe it only a matter of time before all of them do. Perhaps I should look into expanding into the city.
I will not be satisfied until the world knows my beauty.
| “I know I forgot something, just what was it again?” Andrew said in the car.
“You didn’t forget anything hun, and if you did I would’ve remembered,” his wife replied.
“I know, but there’s just something nagging me,” he said. “Let me check just one more time.”
“We’re going to be late like this hun,” she said. “Just leave it be.”
Andrew ignored her, and went upstairs to check his room again. He didn’t want a repeat of his last trip where he forgot his wallet and was forced to have his wife pay for everything. He looked around the room once again, in the drawers, behind the bed, and under the mattresses, but didn’t find whatever was nagging him. Then just as he was heading downstairs to check the living room again, he remembered what he had forgotten.
“Hey honey?” he shouted out from the front door.
“Yea?” she shouted back.
“Actually I remembered what I had forgotten, but it’s gonna take a while,” he said. “I’ll just meet up with you at the airport.”
“You sure hun?” she said. “I can wait.”
“Nah I’m good, just go on ahead.”
“Alright,” she said.
Andrew then went back into the house as his car left the driveway, and headed towards the basement. He unlocked the door and walked down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom he moved his hand along the wall to find the light switch. The light flickered on, and a muffled moan erupted from in front of him.
“Oh I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” he said to the tied up woman lying on the floor.
The woman replied to him with more muffled moans.
“You know the drill though,” he said to the woman as he walked towards the wall to his right. “Once you’ve signed there’s no going back.”
The woman now screamed through the cloth gag between her teeth as Andrew walked towards the wall filled with various torture devices. He picked up a bloodied saw off of it.
“Now I’m gonna be on a trip for a while, so sorry for taking the last two off right now,” he said smiling at the saw. “At least you get a couple days of rest as I’m gone right?”
The woman continued screaming as she struggled to escape to no avail. Andrew walked towards her with the saw in hand, and placed the rigged edge onto the woman’s right shoulder. The left leg had started to regrow, but the left arm was still a bloodied stump.
“You know this hurts me a lot more than it hurts you,” Andrew said with the saw ready.
The woman screamed one last muffled scream, before the saw began tearing flesh and bone, and then she fainted once more.
| 2016-08-21T07:14:40 | 2016-08-21T05:53:05 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | We were at Walmart...Dad told me I could pick anything up for my birthday present, thats about the first time I noticed it, there it was.... On the floor a distinct green line and on the opposite side a red line, this one was a little less brighter, it had a very bleak bright to it.
I followed the green line to see where it lead me to, I rapidly chased it from the Toy Section into the book section of the store. There it was waiting for me "Influence: The psychology of persuasion"... My first thought was, "oh well what the actual fuck, some lines appear, Im thinking magic and here i am, it led me to a... a book?" I figured out whatever so i picked the thing and took it to my dad.
"What you got there buddy?"
"Here i think this is what i want"
"oh well thats interesting, how do you know about this book?"
"I followed an imaginary green line"
Of course he never believed me that day on my twelveth birthday, but that green line was a game changer, I read the book and acquired an understanding on how "influencing people!" worked, the green line lead me not only in the physical plane but also on the Virtual.
It took me everywhere, youtube links, apps, websites, stores. It made me buy all sorts of books with valuable knowledge, seemingly making me take and incredibly constructive and positive route.
I woke up one day in the middle of the night, the dark red line was humming, it always had this atmosphere to it. I had never really followed it because the green line always kept me so busy, but today I was too curious, I had done everything the green line hinted me too, this had landed me a decent job, i got a nice car, a house even...but where could the red line take me to?
I followed it for the first time... the red line took me to a bench on a hill, and i sat there as it hummed as if it were pleased, the red color finally picked up a much brighter aspect, It had taken me to see the sunset, to be surrounded by nature, and this was the moment i realized the conflict between these lines became clear.
I remeber my green line hinted at a book "Steppenwolf" by Herman Hesse, and I think i understood that the green line was my human side, and this red line was my inner wolf. It was the part of me that desired to crumble to my more instinctual self....
The lines came closer together. They had never done that.
I kept following the red line for a while, it took me on amazing adventures across the world, it incited me to leave my job, sell my house and car and travel with nothing but what was on me. I swam on the red sea, I ate olives in athens, I walked in the harsh cold of Siberia.
The lines became very close to each other and started forming a third line. This one had a yellowish tint.
I wanted to follow this line, I wasnt to neglect all of the progress made by the green by inmersing myself in the indulgence of self absorbed adventure of the red.
I had found balance.
Notice: Im sorry for spelling mistakes. English isnt my first language.
| Cast:....Assholio, A Gentleman of Reddit
Scene:....A Downtown Mall. People are hurrying by,
carrying cups of coffee.
Assholio stops abruptly, and looks at the ground in front
of his feet. He addresses the audience.
ASSHOLIO:
This day, perhaps, may be the day I veer,
From this line of green, which heretofore hast,
Led me onwards and never sent me wrong.
E'er since that day when I look'd down and saw,
A guiding line, of verdant, shining green,
Which line I follow'd, and which has always,
Led me true, and always on the good path.
The line I followed on that fateful day,
When I turned right instead of left and then,
Because of this dextrous step in my route,
I happ'd upon the lovely maiden who,
After many nights of love said "I do."
And has, since that day, been my wond'rous wife.
The line which guided me when other men,
Were doing what they thought was right, and good.
God's truth! as happenstance would later prove,
Their path was not so good, and made them lost,
While my path, which at first seem'd slow and bare,
Would later lead me to a great reward.
So now I stand here, rich, and sleek, and fat.
And in this world of men I have no debt,
No illness mars my fam'lies health, nor mine,
And all around, where e'r I look I see:
My friends, who smile at me and welcome me,
And thus I know this path of green is right.
But yet, I cannot quiet that inner thought,
Which speaks to me, in doubt, and dark of night,
And says "Assholio! Take not the green."
And whispers "Take the other line of red."
Wherefor should I confine my path to green?
For though it's led me right thus far, who knows,
Where might the green line lead tomorrow's morn?
Perhaps the red would more successful be?
Perhaps this other line would guide me best,
And make my destiny much greater still?
For many years I've struggled with this thought:
That I, Assholio, should follow red.
There! Tis done! The decision's made, and now...
[ASSHOLIO follows the red line, slips on a puddle of water,
falls down an escalator and dies.]
| 2017-08-23T08:58:51 | 2017-08-23T08:23:34 | 100 | 12 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship. | Gilani strolled through the shop, yawning. Nothing here was worthy of her attention. The shop keep was trying his best to not stare, but Gilani could feel his expectant eyes on her. Making a sale to the Queen of Stalart would be an event that brought business to his shop for a generation.
Gilani enjoyed helping out the common folk in this way, but still, why would she bother with any of this? The same cloth and leather wares she could find on a thousand different planets. The same tomes she had read a hundred times, the same cinemas, the same instruments of....wait, what was this?
Gilani looked quizzically at the device for a long moment, trying to fully understand it's purpose. The shop keep did not waste the opportunity.
"My lady, you have found something of interest?"
"Yes, I believe I have. Tell me about this piece?"
"Ahh, a fine choice, my lady. It's human-made, you know!"
"Indeed? I wasn't aware human merchandise made it out this far?"
"Not many things do, my lady. This was a special order by a customer many moons ago. Before the piece arrived, the customer's business concerns forced her off world - Wiondegar, if I recall - and she was never able to deliver payment. The shipping to return it to the manufacturer was prohibitive, so I kept it in my stock, hoping to sell it for a small profit. Unfortunately, not many of my customers seem to appreciate human craftsmanship."
"What of it's features?"
"It's make is a semi-synthetic organic polymer, with a stainless steel inner structure. The compartment at the hilt here houses the replaceable power cores, a supply of which comes with purchase, I might add. There are 10 variable power settings, controlled by this dial."
"It's so simple....elegant, even. Forgive my skepticism, but it's difficult for me to believe that such a simple device could do the job."
"Well you have to keep in mind, this was built for humans to use. It's a purpose-driven device, for certain. However...uh, forgive me if I speak out of turn, my lady, but...if you've ever had the opportunity to...deal with humans, you may know that they are a rather...hearty species, shall we say? The effectiveness of this item is beyond reproach, I assure you."
Gilani held the slender item in her hands, examining it from all angles. "It fascinates me, shop keep, I will admit. I'm uncertain if I would ever have the courage to actually use this, but I think I might like the idea that I could, if that makes sense?"
"Of course, my lady."
"Very well, you have made a sale, shop keep. I shall pay the posted price, plus 10% for your excellent service. You may also feel free to advertise my patronage as you see fit."
"Thank you, my lady! You are too kind!"
"Now then, could you perhaps fetch me one of the power cells you mentioned? I mean no disrespect, but I would very much like to confirm it's function before I leave, and perhaps ask you for some pointers?"
"Of course, my lady. The power cells go in the hilt here, as I mentioned. You just twist this counter-clockwise like so, then open the flap...One of the cells must be inserted with the positive facing up, and the other facing down."
"How odd! Do humans make all their devices in this way?"
"Most I have come across, yes. Close the flap and secure it by twisting clockwise, then activate by twisting this dial above the hilt, like so."
The device instantly sprang to life, vibrating slowly. "My! You did not jest about it's power!"
"And that is the lowest setting, my lady; turn the dial further. As I said, humans are quite a hearty species."
"I....I'm not sure if this was such a good idea after all!"
"I should also mention, my lady, that it also came with this bottle of liquid...let's see...Ky? Oh, perhaps that's supposed to be punctuation...K-Y? It's a lubricant of some sort, anyway. To help with insertion."
"Well! I'm not sure if I can trust the king to use this on me, but nevertheless, it shall make for an interesting conversation. Thank you, shop keep, for this...err..."
"They call it a 'vibrator', my lady."
"How quaint! I must remember to read up on human culture in my spare time. Good day, shop keep!" | Elinir crouched down and stared into the ghostly depths of the mysterious black sphere, still perched on its silk-laden plinth. "It must be of goblin design" he announced. The others looked amongst each other and nodded in agreement. "I've never seen anything like it" he continued, "it seems to be housing its very own atmosphere within its murky walls".
"Can...can I have a look?" enquired one of the younger elves with heart-warming tentativeness.
"Not today, little one." warned Elinir, his eyes remaining fixed on the foreign object in front of him. Suddenly, he rose again, turning to face the intrigued onlookers. "My fellow Elves. This spectre you see before you may hold power beyond the realms of mere imaginations. It is transcendent. It is otherworldly. We mustn't have anything to do with it until we know more. I will consult. Until then, I need your oath. Do not look at it, do not talk about it, especially do not touch it. Stay away from this object, or jeopardise the earth as we know it today."
As he spoke, his listeners edged themselves away from the pedestalled ball. "You have my oath" cried one of the elders. "And mine!" chirped another. Soon, a chorus filled the still air.
"Excuse me folks". Silence engulfed the Elves once more, as they turned to entrance of the hall behind them in shock. It was the plumber.
"What do *you* want, *human*?" spat Elinir. Relations between humans and Elves had soured since the Great War.
"Er, yeah, sorry to interrupt guys. I think I left my - oh, hang on, there it is!" The human sliced his way through the group and to the front of the hall. "Excuse me. Sorry. Oops, sorry about that. Coming through, heh heh." The Elves could only stand and watch, appalled at the interruption, aghast at the audacity of the Help.
Without apprehension, the human strode up to the plinth and reached out a hand. The room gasped as he lifted it from its stand.
"Wh...what do you think you're doing? Put it down boy! Put it DOWN!" shouted Elinir, stumbling back in fear and awe. The human was slightly taken aback by the reaction.
"Oh no mate don't worry, it's mine. Well, it's a present for my daughter. It's her birthday tomorrow. It's pretty cool actually, check it out. '*Should I put you back on your plinth*'", asked the human, before giving the sphere a vigorous shake. The Elves backed away, cowering in fear. "Wait for it..." he smiled. "Oo, here we are. '*My reply is no*'. See? The ball has spoken!" he quipped, holding it up in his right hand. The Elves backed further into the hall, one of the elders collapsed in fright. "Jesus. Tough crowd you lot." He turned to Elinir, who was on his knees, staring back up at him.
"Listen, if it's okay with you mate I'm going to head off. Your toilet is fine now, just a minor blockage, happens all the time. Remember to use bleach once a fortnight and it should be good as gold." He turned back to the magic 8-ball - *"Should the Elves use bleach now and again?*" he joked.
"'*It is certain.*' See? The 8-Ball never lies! Happy shitting, folks." | 2014-09-11T12:25:43 | 2014-09-11T10:33:41 | 69 | 11 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | "You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well."
"Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?"
"It's not the same."
"Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but...
"No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins."
He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those.
Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a *very* high aptitude.
We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more.
I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring.
But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception.
It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar."
The human moves.
***
"That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on *lock* if not for that human."
"I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools."
The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain *someone's* favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better.
Then again, perhaps not. | I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful.
This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same.
The system display first-round results,
**58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang.**
The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life.
I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard.
*1. Human 17 Kills*
*2. Juronna 16 Kills*
*3. Erinos 9 Kills.*
The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-09-13T17:30:40 | 2020-09-13T17:01:43 | 261 | 41 |
[WP] The aliens conquered earth swiftly and violently with little issue, but they're about to experience a type of resistance they've never seen before: peaceful protest |
For thousands of years our species ruled over the galaxy. The empire is an ever expanding, ever conquering machine. We were, sorry we ARE unstoppable. This tiny planet on the far edge of the galaxy had put up a good fight, they had spirit and I appreciated their grit and tenacity. But eventually they lost. Of course they did. They were mere children squabbling among themselves, no match to the mighty empire. We landed our ships on all their major cities and declared ourselves masters
What happened next, was uh…er…not expected
We expected rebellions, people trying to figure out a way to assassinate us, we expected bombs and guns.
Instead, we were faced with something called a “general strike”? They simply refused to go to work. Instead, they gathered in large groups and shouted in strange rhymes. Sometimes they sang songs. They brought in little signs and our translators tell us there were jokes scribbled on some of them. Sometimes they brought their young ones to watch!!!
Everywhere around the planet, they managed to gather. They called them “peaceful protests”. Sometimes they carried pictures of other humans. In one landmass, it was a picture of a bald man in a loincloth. In another land mass it was a smartly dressed dark skinned man. The pictures, the songs, the rhymes were different. But the end result was the same.
This is simply unacceptable. What are we supposed to do to them. If we manage to disperse them by force, they simply gather again the next day, in a different location. The work their miserable half baked bodies are capable of doing is not worth the effort of forcing them into work on a daily basis
We have no choice. We have to do what we have never done before. Offer a negotiation. But BLOODY HELL, we have ALREADY CONQUERED THEM!!!
How do I explain this to my General? | The humans are broken. Not like I wrote in my log a month after arriving at this beautiful bountiful planet where their spirit was broken and their will to fight dissolved and they began the arduous task of collecting resources to be sent back home, but they are now actually broken individual; they no longer work. It appears they are able to function, they are still breathing, but every one of them that remains is simply laying down, unwilling to move. We've attempting beatings to no avail and are at a loss. I have heard in some areas their humans are refusing to even consume sustenance, if they do this their unwillingness to work will become inability. I fear what that means for us and our mission. We did not brings drones of our species to do this work, oddly enough, we need functioning humans, perhaps they know this, perhaps they realized there is a reason they were not wiped out when we showed how easily we could. No....they can't be that intelligent, they can't be in contact with each other enough to have organized this across their entire planet, can they? I must find a solution fast, I will cease to exist if I return to the home world to tell of how I was defeated by....the opposite of action. | 2021-05-10T12:41:37 | 2021-05-10T12:00:48 | 68 | 14 |
[WP] Your Galactic zoo just received a shipment of 24 humans. You have to build a habitat base on very little information. | The humans have been very listless lately. When we first welcomed them to the zoo, they explored with great enthusiasm, making loud and seemingly joyous vocalisations, and happily interacting with the guests. There were a few issues with customising their enclosure, but they finally had everything they needed. And now, they aren’t moving much. They vocalise less, interact with their own species less, talk with the guests less. They barely even respond when the keepers enter anymore, when they would first react with caution, then joy. I fear that at this rate, there is no chance of repopulating this rare species, not when they barely even notice each other anymore. They survived extremely well on their home planet. There must be something I am missing.
Many months of observation later, I may have finally found a clue. An escapee from the winged exhibit landed in front of the human enclosure. They looked lively for the first time in months, examining the interloper and talking quietly among them. They looked rather sad when the rescue team came to return their new friend back to its rightful home. I think I may now have a plan to cheer them up.
IT WORKED! It took several weeks to be approved, but I was finally allowed to take the humans for a walk around the zoo after hours. They loved it. I haven’t seen them this excited since they first arrived. They were surprisingly good at not wandering away, touching the exhibits, or making loud noises, but it was clear that they were loving every second of their tour. The most surprising thing, though, was how quickly they adapted to the feeding apparatus for the Small Creatures exhibits. I had shown them how to do it, just to see their response, and they all wanted to try. Fortunately, there were plenty who needed feeding, and they picked up the tools very quickly. It seems I need to expand their enclosure with some tools and puzzles. It seems they are much smarter than previously thought.
They loved the puzzles. We ended up having to change them every few days, as they would master them very quickly. I decided to try giving them some chalk, to see how they would react. The next morning, most of the outside walls of the cave they sheltered in were covered in drawings. Some were very detailed. One of the humans even called me over to ask for something, communicating through pictures. It seemed they wanted a picture to be cut into pieces, for them to put together. It took some time to make, but it was loved by both the humans and many of the testers and zoo keepers as well. The ‘Jigsaw’ (as the humans called it) is now a special product of the zoo, with the proceeds going to the creation of human reserves, to protect the remaining wild human population. Repopulation efforts for the zoo will take longer, but I am hopeful. One of the humans has been struggling to keep its food down, so it needs to go to the vet. Interestingly, the other humans aren’t that worried, so I hope it is nothing serious. Time will tell, I suppose. | Why do these humans behave so strangely? They shiver, which is a waste of their energy, they constantly bump into each other and trip at the smallest obstacle. They started grouping together for some reason. What are we missing? I thought to myself, checking the document again. Average temperatures on Earth is 13.9 °C, maybe humans can't survive everywhere on Earth and the temperatures aren't uniform. I increased the temperature to 50 °C, hope they would be more comfortable.
They broke off from one another and started losing a lot of water, I am guessing that's too much, lets get it down to 30 °C. They seem more comfortable, but still losing water too quickly. Changing temperature to 25 °C. Now they seem better, but they still trip at the slightest obstacle and each other. What am I missing? Gravity is identical to Earth's surface, atmospheric content is also good, temperature and humidity seems to be correct as well.
One of the humans started pulling their own hair one by one, that is strange. They seem to have found the heat source that regulates the heat for the habitat. They put the clump of hairs on top of it, and after a while it caught on fire. Instantly all the humans in the vicinity turned towards the flaming pile of hair, started to walked towards it without tripping.
Everything made sense now, humans can detect parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, but not others. That was extraordinary! They obviously can't detect infra-red, otherwise they would have been able to locate each other easily from the IR emitted by their bodies and other objects.
I quickly looked through the parts we had available to check if we had anything that can emit electromagnetic radiation at such short wavelengths. I couldn't find anything specific, but I guess I could improvise by passing current through a rod of tungsten, and to prevent it from igniting, I suspended it in a vacuum glass container. I rigged it to the robotic arm and deployed it from the ceiling, this was much safer than an naked flame, and wouldn't consume the oxygen in their habitat or potentially poison them.
They looked up at the improvised light source and were able to see their environment. I will have to look for a different light source as this improvised one might not last too long and is not very efficient. I requested the supplier to bring a light source with varying spectrum so I could test their visible range later. | 2022-06-29T01:57:59 | 2022-06-28T21:40:28 | 104 | 68 |
[WP] Each year mankind hibernates during winter. This year you're one of the chosen watchers that stays awake during the long night. | **Excess.**
Humans were prone to it. In 2017, at least three in ten were known to have some sort of substance addiction. By 2050, it was eight in ten. America had fought the war on drugs, and failed. Not only because of the racial targeting it promoted, or because of the commitment to punishment over treatment - No, the biggest area of failure was focusing on the wrong substances.
It was infiltrating our homes for decades before *convenience* made a bad habit worse. Throughout the 1970s, those who would usually only enjoy the occasional taste, were suddenly able to create larger amounts, faster, and cheaper than before. And later, when the addiction stations started popping up on every corner, moving into our libraries, our grocery stores, even our workplaces - it was no longer cheap, but we were far too consumed to care.
And perhaps most shamefully we let it creep in on our children. Even if we told them no at home, they’d find it in plastic bottles at school. For some it was a treat, others a rebellion. We coated it with sweetness, stroking the pleasure sensors in their developing brains, and eventually our two year olds were begging for it and we handed it to them just to shut them up. The kids didn’t stand a chance.
It was one of those slow killers...the kind that may not take your life, but certainly takes your soul. They were becoming zombies. Unable to function in class or the workplace without mugs or tall-cans of the stuff. *Energy*. That’s what they all said. *I just don’t have any energy until I have my morning cup*. The marketing teams ran with that and just started calling them “Energy Drinks". And they were colorful and full of sugar, so they were for the kids too. It was a dark time.
**Dark.**
Our eyes don’t quite adjust to the dark this late in the calendar. Our “batteries”, as we soldiers called them, had been losing charge for months - it dulled the senses.
It was out there somewhere. I could hear it shuffling in the brush. Breathing, fiending, searching. It was looking for the pills, and whatever other valuables it could get its hands on. Anything the sleepers left behind on their way to the compound. A lot of them didn’t trust us, so they’d bury their belongings rather than put them in the issued-lockers. I understood. Some of these guys would do some crazy shit to a family scrapbook once the stimulants got to them.
**Stimulants.**
By the time we banned caffeine, it was a multibillion dollar investment. Insurance had to cover regular drug-testing and anyone who came out positive was submitted to treatment programs. Out-patient programs never worked for other drugs, but the government certainly tried to save a buck at first. People were crippled with somniatic issues - some couldn’t sleep at all, others couldn’t stay awake - it destroyed the functionality of most workplaces. A unignorable increase in suicides, homicides, car crashes, child abuse, and domestic violence and *finally*... they wisened up: In-patient programs only, weaning them off until they no longer tested positive, and completely eliminating free-market access. It took twenty years for most of the black market products to expire or be consumed, and by then, most weren’t interested in the stuff. It had ruined so many lives.
We spent the next fifty trying to figure out how to safely keep people awake. Pharmaceutical researchers developed all sorts of vitamins and mild stimulants, but argued with the government over the implications that these too could lead to abuse. Finally, a natural energy source was capsulized and after a decade of testing, deemed safe for the public. The caveat being that like with most medications that affected the immune and neurological systems, the body would have a weakened response to it over time. We couldn’t pronounce the stuff (we called it “the Cap” and “batteries”), but we *could* keep people productive for up to 16 hours a day, but only for six or seven months of the year. When the great sleep started taking hold, businesses shut down, homes were unguarded, and the “Uppers” could roam unwatched.
**Uppers.**
Goddamn, no good, Upper. They were a mixed group. When we started hearing about the attacks we all assumed they were foreigners. The US had been only one of the developed nations to undergo the treatment plan, but most of the poorer countries were struggling to keep up. They couldn’t account for everyone, they could only treat those who could pay for it, et cetera. And of course, stimulants were still leaking in over the border, along with the illegals. They never did pay for that wall.
**Wall.**
Some of us were stationed outside of it, and others inside. We switched off night after night, but we weren’t allowed to sleep. Eight or nine months in on the Cap and you wouldn’t wake up from a nap. Not as yourself anyway.
We were guarding The 19th Burrow, during the *5th Annual American Hiber-Nation*.
…
…
…
…
**This story goes on. Let me know if you have interest in reading more.**
| "I'll see you on the other side, love," I whisper, kissing the corner of her lips.
"Are you sure you won't get lonely, Qora?" she asks, cupping my cheek.
"I'll be fine, Cienne," I promise. Smiling, she nods and lays down in her sleeping pod. Mine, beside hers, will remain unused this year.
As the cover slides over her, sealing shut, I press my hand to the glass, wishing I could go to sleep with her. She presses her hand to the inside of the glass, just beneath mine. The pod hisses, releasing the sedative that will help her ease into the deeper sleep humans have developed to survive the harsh winter. She gives me a soft, reassuring smile, and settles in, slipping into unconsciousness.
"Qora," someone called. "Come on; time to suit up for winter." Sighing, I move away from Cienne's pod.
"You ready for this, Qora?" I glance over as Irall, who was promoted to Head Watch this year. His big, study build made him the obvious choice after the previous Head got lost in a blizzard.
"I guess we'll find out," I huff, determined to make my first watch memorable.
"Well, then I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that everything you think you know is a lie." That stops me faster than the cold.
"What are you talking about?" I ask softly, staring at him. He meets my gaze easily.
"The Watch isn't just to make sure the pods stay operational in the cold; there are monsters that hunt in the blizzards, and we have to protect the pods from being destroyed."
"...Mahonik didn't disappear in a blizzard, did he?" I ask simply.
"No," Irall agrees. "He died fighting a snow beast, a Raknar; the most deadly snow beast we know of."
"Do these snow beasts seek out our pods?" I inquire, my thoughts going immediately to Cienne.
"We're not sure, but they are extremely aggressive and attack any human they see."
"And how do we fight them?"
"I'm glad you asked," Irall grins. "Come with me and we'll get you suited up."
He leads me to a small shack outside the town, and opens the door for me. I step in and cautiously follow a set of stairs down into the earth. It opens into a huge cavern where other Watchmen are already getting into their winter armour. Irall motions to a section off the main cavern. Inside, another Watchman is staying thoughtfully at a wall of weapons.
The weapons vary from short swords with laser edging to enormous shoulder cannons that no doubt pack a serious punch. I no longer wonder how the Watch fights the snow beasts.
Without hesitating, I go to the wall and pull a large hand gun with a fat barrel from its slot. It's weighty, but not unmanageable, and I turn it in my hands, taking in the different parts of it. It seems to work much like a pistol, and a quick tug at the top of the barrel proves my theory correct. Assured now, I check over it. Being a policewoman during spring, summer and fall is definitely proving useful now; probably that's why they choose me to fill in the missing space in the Watch after Mahonik vanished. Or rather, died.
"Anything I need to know about how to kill these things?" I ask, sighting down the barrel at the corner, away from Irall and the other member of the Watch in the room.
"Yeah," he says grimly. "We don't. No one's been able to find a weak spot on any of the snow beasts we've encountered yet. Especially the Raknar." I look up at him.
"You're kidding, right?" He shakes his head and I mutter a curse.
"You're taking this remarkably well," he notes, crossing his arms.
"The lives of my woman and my family are on the line," I say shortly. "I can't afford to be disbelieving of anything that might endanger them. I'd rather look like a fool over some kind of joke than put my loved ones in the line of fire."
"Even if you die?"
"I won't die," I say firmly, resting the large barrel against my shoulder. "I've got too much to live for. And I'll destroy anything that threatens them."
"I just told you, Qora," he says, sighing. "We can't kill them. Mahonik died trying."
"I'll kill them. This year will be the year they start dying." | 2017-11-08T12:07:04 | 2017-11-08T11:44:56 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him. | On a cloudy Winter day, 7 year old Roger ran throughout his neighborhood, denouncing God and screaming profanities that no 7 year old should know.
Then the clouds parted, letting heavens light through, and he heard a voice rumble through the skies.
“Oy, listen here you little shit. I don’t have to take this from anyone. I won’t! Do you even know who I am? Huh? I flooded the world and fucking un-flooded it!”
Then little Roger heard a loud honking and turned to see a large truck skidding on the black-ice on the road, towards him. The driver was not prepared in the slightest to avoid Roger, because he had been blinded by the sudden light in the sky.
As far as he was concerned, his truck was only bouncing on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he saw the red splattered onto his windshield that he realized what had happened.
“Oh fuck! Fuck! What have I done?” God said.
Then, he heard the footsteps of a young child and when he turned, a foot connected with his balls.
“I want her back.” He screamed, tears in his eyes, until he heard a familiar voice.
“I am here, nya!” It was his cat maid!
“Oh, kitten, I’ve missed you so much!”
“I think I’m gonna be sick. Since when did those things even exist?” God said, looking at the cat-human hybrid. “I guess it’s time for another flood, after all.” | "Roger?! What are you doing here?" A look of shock spread across his face, long white beard drooping on the floor, gazing at the very familiar waddling humanoid. "YOU KNOW WHAT IM HERE FOR!" as Rogers whiney voice fills the air, screaming "He was my cat...MY CAT YOU WHITE HAIRED FU--" "You had him 5 minutes, and let him wonder out into the street, what did you th--" "THATS NOT THE POINT" Roger again wails, till he starts laughing, getting silent Roger yells "Hey GOD?!" turning around "WHA-" Roger kicks him in the stomach and yells "IT"S RICKY SPANISH!" | 2021-04-13T13:29:25 | 2021-04-13T12:33:03 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories | The old man sat alone and waited for Death.
It always came this time of year; just before spring, in the last days of long nights and long shadows. There was no fanfare to his arrival. Death simply was where it once wasn't - namely, at the seat across from the old man.
"Are you ready?"
Death's voice was, much like its owner, just there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Every year, you ask, friend, and every year I say no. You know why. Why don't you just come back when my duty's done?"
"Duty, is it now," Death responded casually. "Last year it was your joy."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The old man fiddled with a toy.
"Come on, Nick," Death said, breaking the silence. "You aren't needed here anymore. They'll manage without you. Just take my hand."
"No," said the old man, and Death was gone.
Saint Nicholas put down the now completed toy. He looked around his tiny cottage, searching the walls for a name without a check.
"Suzy Hope," he muttered, addressed the toy, and started a new one.l
| 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T17:24:04 | 149 | 16 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. |
ring ring... ring ring... ri- “Good morning.”
“Ah yes. Good morning, Mr Peterson is it?”
“Michael Peterson, Yes.”
“Senior editor of the City Times?”
“The same.”
“I wish to have a word with you about one of your staff.”
“I’m sorry but I’m quite busy, I can give you the number of human resour-“
“No, that won’t do. I need to speak to you.”
“And who are you exactly.”
“Apologies, how rude of me. I am Reginald Malcolm Smythe, but you would most likely know me as... The Baron.”
“...”
“I take it from your silence you have heard of me?”
“Please, just give us enough time to evacuate the-“
“No no no! You misunderstand.” *sigh* “I am calling to make a formal complaint.”
“A- a complaint?”
“Yes. Against one of your staff.”
“My... staff?”
“Yes. It appears as though a certain Jimmy Johnson has been using his press pass and other contacts through your newspaper to harass, intimidate and even assault me while going about my daily routine.”
“Jimmy Johnson? But he’s just-“
“Hero Man. I know, right? So much you could do with naming conventions and he chose hero man.”
“But Jimmy couldn’t possibly-“
“Do you have your morning edition nearby?”
“Yes... yes I have it here.”
“Okay, draw sunglasses on the hero man statue you have plastered on page five.”
“Jimmy!”
“We have a bright one here.”
“So because he’s been harassing you, you’re what; threatening to blow up the building unless we hand him over?”
“No, not at all. How pedestrian. I’m going to sue you.”
“Wait, sue me?”
“Not you, the City Times. He used resources and connections associated with your magazine to harass my friends, workmates, employees and even my mother.”
“So you won’t burn the building down?”
“No.”
“Or blow it up?”
*sigh* “No.”
“You’re just going to sue me.”
“The City Times, but yes. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you fire him.”
“Fire Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t kidnap everyone in the building?”
“Correct.”
“I just have to fire him.”
“We appear to be retreading ground. It goes like this: you fire Jimmy Johnson or I take the City Times on a whirlwind court case on the values of a mans right to privacy versus a newspaper that is content with letting their staff assault that mans family...”
“I’ll have his resignation this afternoon.”
“Thank you. Oh, and do send my love to Barbara, I haven’t seen her since my *ahem* Unscheduled appearance at the Ballroom Gala last year. Tell her that recipe for quail casserole went down a treat at the Villain’s AGM. Good day.” -click
“Uh... good day...” | I forced my russian accent as I complained to the manager.
"It was my daughter birthday!!!!"
"Look sir, I will try talk to him, but as you know, he is "a loose cannon in the police department".
For one week all was calm, but i knew he was inside his shitty apartament, connecting those detective dots, but this is a hinder to my plan; today i will date with a girl i met in theater group in a fancy restaurant, what could possibly go wrong?
Fancy restaurant
"Komrade Kaos!!!! your plotsky was undercovered by no one other than me, detective magnifying glass !!!"
He was, as always, smelling liquor and cigars, his eyes were red, desesperate.
"It's all a comunist plot, you can fool my manager but you can't fool me- Some restaurant employee tried to remove the source of embarasment- I know everyone here is working for you!!!! Dirty red.
It was all over, my partner a glass of Vodka in my face and started to cry, saying the date was ruined, i tried to stop her, with tears in my eyes
"please, don't go"
My friend just kept looking at me, it appeared his sanity came back.
"Is....this was..... serious?"
"What have you done?"
He looked remorseful, and started to apologise. I felt bad, looking him so pathetic and zoned.
"It's okay, tovarish, sometimes is hard separate the profession of private life, here, have a bottle of Vodka let's relax".
He accepted, and was removed from the restaurant by one of the workers, not before apologising one more time. I picked the phone to talk with my partner, the russian actresss from KGB, "my date"
"Gaslighting him with western emotions was a good idea- the employees of the restaurant putted their ushankas in their heads and picked their ak-47's- now let's bring capitalism down.
One minion asked:
"Komrade, the nuke is ready. Can we fire it now?"
"Nah, soon our little friend will have his flashback, telling him we're totally fooling him since the beggining. Set the nuke to detonate midnight, да ?" | 2019-08-01T19:28:52 | 2019-08-01T17:43:19 | 52 | 28 |
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will | It began small.
At one year, my mother had tried to take my baby blanket to get washed. The poor blanket only got washed when I took my baths after that. The next time it saw the inside of a washing machine, I was five.
In school, the bullies tried to take my lunch, my pencil case, my friends, my partner. They tried until they got bored with failure. After freshman year, things calmed down.
I figured out how limitless my power was in college. I was walking home with my girlfriend when she was hit by a drunk driver. As I held her hand, I could see the life slipping from her eyes, but death couldn't take her as long as I held on.
After I realized my gift, I decided to go into medicine. For 80 years, I worked hard and never lost a patient. Some died peacefully in their sleep to old age. I learned early to let them go. Others were in great pain and ready to go. Those were the hardest to surrender.
At the ripe old age of 110, I found myself staring in the face of Death asking to take me. It's funny how a life well lived makes a difference. I always wanted more time and more life, but when He came for me himself, I knew I could let him take my soul willingly. | This makes me think of Cypher (douglas ramsey) of X-men. He has a seemingly innocuous ability to translate languages. But he's also able to "read his opponents' body language and the patterns of their combat moves in order to counter the attacks of several opponents attacking him at once. By considering the exercise of combat skills to be a form of language, he proved a match for the entire New Mutant team. He is able to "read" architectural structure and integrity in order to ascertain a building's weaknesses. He also appears capable of "speaking" binary; giving verbal commands in machine code that can reprogram the machine."
I want this power. | 2021-09-11T16:46:55 | 2021-09-11T15:10:01 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma. | As I lay dying, my right hand clenched my left pocket, hard. My clothes completely drenched in my own sweat. Unable to bear the heartache. Every few seconds or so the pain spiked so bad, I went blind with pain, bright lights shooting before my eyes. I knew my time was up, no one's going to be able to help me. I'm going to die all alone in this empty stadium corridor. I can't even think straight as the pain in my heart had my full attention.
I knew I shouldn't have trusted those assholes! To think they would ever want to be friends with me, my desperation to be noticed and have some cool friends got me in this situation. Those assholes had no sympathy, they knew my condition and still, scared the shit out of me so bad that I got a heartattack. Fucking cowards even ran away when they saw me fall.
The pain in my chest only seems to be getting worse, I can't take it anymore. Just kill me already dammit!
Another pain spike, followed by shooting bright white lights in my eyes, blinding me. I turn over, my stomach on the floor, curling up into a ball and prayed for the pain to stop.
The pain passes after a few seconds and I loosen up, looked straight ahead into the dark end of the corridor. How ironic, people who die talk about a light at the end of the tunnel. But not for me, not in life and not in death either.
"Hey! Are you alright?" I heard someone shout from the end of the long corridor.
I looked up again. There was a man wrapped in white drapes, holding what looked like a scythe, running towards me.
Is this some kind of a miracle? Someone has found me at last. Will I live?
The pain spiked yet again, a blinding pain from my heart that lasted a few seconds longer. As the pain subsided, I looked up at the figure hovering above my feet. It was the grim reaper, holding a golden scythe with the words "KARMA" written across the blade.
"Dude, don't die on me!", the grim reaper said as he pulled out his cellphone and dialled, three numbers. I knew it was 911. He then continued to speak with them describing the sorry state he found me in.
"Don't worry man, help is on its way. You just gotta stay alive." Death said this to me as he pulled off his mask. The moonlight shined through the glass windows to reveal a young face. Ginger haired, with freckles and everything. He's probably as old as I was.
Then it hit me, this wasn't Death, it's Grey Rossman, he's the mascot of our Varsity football team, "The White Reapers". I should have known, KARMA stood for "Knowldge, Ability, Resolve, Modesty and Ambition" the ethos of our football team.
I let out a small chuckle. I couldn't help but think, it's true what they say, death comes for us all. | I lay face down in a pool of my own blood. Every inch of my body aches. There re deep cuts and wounds all over my body but none as deep as the 3 inch deep gash they left in my head.The blood continues to leak on to the solid concrete base of the parking lot, soaking the already wet patch around my head and turning it into an even darker crimson shade shining. I begin to lose consciousness. My vision is a blur. My head swims. Everything is spinning.
"This isn't such a bad way to go" I think to myself.
Without even realizing how, I let myself fade away. I let the darkness welcome me. I give in and let it swallow me whole.My tired eyes finally come to rest.
"Wake the fuck up bitch!"
Soemone yanks me by the hair which I sense is no longer soaking wet, but dry. In fact, all of my injuries have disappeared. I'm completely fine.
Am I dead?
I look around. I'm in a very white room that appears to be flooded with fluorescent light. I'm blinded by it momentarily. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust. When they do, Im met with a curious sight. Standing in front of me is my best friend Robbie, wearing a white T-shirt and a white pair of chinos. I blink. This can't be. Robbie died months ago. Wtf?
"Yo, bitch stick!" he says to me.
"R-R-Rob?" I say weakly.
"yeah fuckhead! It's yo boy Rob! Here have this!"
Out of nowhere he conjures up a scythe with KARMA engraved on its side in red graffiti.
"what"? I say.
"you sure as fuck aren't gonna let em get away with this. About time all those motherfuckers got what was coming for them. Now go!"
Before I could tell what was happening, I'm swallowed into what looks like a wormhole that erupts from under the fucking ground and magically transports me back to:
The past?
I see myself getting the shit kicked out of me from moments earlier. The same parking lot. Couple of minutes more and ill be dead. But if that's me there how tf did i end up here?
I take a long look at the scythe.
Is this my purpose?
Only one way to find out.
I grip the scythe tight and make my way towards those motherfuckers.
Its payback time. | 2019-04-19T05:36:16 | 2019-04-19T04:49:52 | 144 | 33 |
[WP] You are an Oracle whose prophecies always come true, no matter how absurd. Only problem is, you've made every single one up on the spot. | I was feeding my cat when Satan, the slanderer, the lord of flies, harbinger of doom and eater of souls, appeared in a puff of smoke into one of my floral print kitchen chairs.
I'd say it was a surprising turn of events, but after the last few predictions it would take a lot more than a cloven hoof and a pair of goats horns to give me a fright. I'd started testing my powers, making up ludicrous things. The world now had two more krakens than it did before, and humanity had learned a very unpleasant lesson about how irked Krakens can get when you try and put them in big nets and poke them with sticks.
"*I predict that the devil sitting by my fruitbowl won't do anything weird to me*." I muttered quickly as insurance. The devil gave me a withering look and took out a clipboard and a pair of small spectacles.
"Are you aware that your paperwork is three decades late?" The Devil sounded irritable as he clicked his ball-point pen and started scribbling furiously. I paused for a second, and realised with growing horror that the powers I'd thought were a fluke must have come from somewhere darker. Was I the antichrist? Was this the terrible price of my powers?
"-I'm sorry, paperwork?" I asked.
"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Glasya-Labolas, author of manslaughter, enforcer of fate who is ignoring me right now and being *incredibly unprofessional*." The Devil eyeballed my cat, who looked up from his food bowl with a look of indifference.
"*Meow*?" He ventured, licking his paw and washing his face.
"I don't appreciate that tone of voice. Two of Abaddon's krakens got out last week, and the paper trail leads right to you. He's absolutely *distraught*. They've missed two seasonal shots and now we've got two pissed off, *unvaccinated* Krakens mucking about in hell knows what ocean!" Cat blinked twice, deliberately. The Devil was growing more and more flustered.
"*Meoooow*."
"I don't care if it's funny, HR is having a fucking field day. Where on earth are you getting these ideas from?" Cat stretched, flicking his tail from side to side, and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. He didn't answer.
"If I don't see that paperwork on my desk next week, I'm re-assigning you to the DMV." The Devil massaged his horns resentfully. "Great. Now I have a migrane. Thanks a *lot*." In a puff of smoke, he disappeared, leaving the faint smell of sulphur and spilled pen-ink in my kitchen.
Cat turned to me, unusually still, his eyes were inky pools of black. Was I imagining the glint of hellfire red? Well. It didn't matter now.
"I predict that someone vaccinates the Krakens." I said quietly.
Cat rolled his eyes. | Even those blessed with great power have a hard time out-living their past. Whether through accidents, irrational whims, or a spur of the moment reaction to a childhood enemy, there will always be damage. The face of a parent who lost their child because a kid said his bully would "turn into a blimp and be attacked by a flock of humungous giraffes" sticks with you, long after the wreckage has settled.
But you learn to adjust. You speak less, you hide more, and you try to make amends from the shadows. You whisper that the lonely man waiting for the bus will find happiness, and watch a puppy cross his path. You tell the sky it will be sunny tomorrow, so a distant acquaintance can have the perfect wedding. And you bring dreams into being for those who need them most, in the hopes that you'll be absolved.
But there is never any peace.
Nights are filled with the memories of a face slowly expanding and floating away, never to return. The days are haunted by a need to overcome, to purify, to fill the chasm of death with new life. And so the circle goes. I can push the rains away day after day, week after week, but they like tears will always find their way back.
Now as a man of some age, I think the end is finally in sight. But there is still a valley I must cross, though I know how to traverse it. A bridge will spring from a foundation of good deeds. The world and I will travel together atop its smooth surface, surely leaving each other in a better place than that in which we came together.
But even though the way is certain, there is still a haze upon the horizon. Though an oracle I may be, it is not for me to be able to tell how I will meet my end with any exacting detail. And so, I don't know if rest awaits, or if my burden will carry on into what comes next. Even so, I still try to speak my end into existence. "You will die, you will be buried by time and earth, and you will not be remembered - you will be free."
I can only hope it comes true.
 
___________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2020-05-01T10:33:45 | 2020-05-01T09:51:38 | 121 | 18 |
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.” | "Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit." | "You smoothskins are weird..." said the kobold leader "What's in it for us? You hear them up, they slaughter us and then what!? You wait for the next group to arrive and then you massacre them too?"
his rage was evident in his outburst, tho the village chief didn't seem bothered by the sudden aggression
"Oh no no, you and your tribes death would be very bad for us. It's the opposite actually, we gear them up, you kill them, we all profite."
"How would we profite from adventurers constantly attacking our caves?"
"Well, most higher skilled adventurers don't usually come around here, so a few traps should do the jobs. Afterward you can pillage their equipement off their corpse, hell, if you do a good job we'll even let you steal some livestock."
"And how many adventurers are we talking about?"
"Two or three per week. Rarely you'll see groups."
"I like the way you think smoothskin, I'm Stack."
"A pleasure, Stack, I'm Gregory. I'm sure we'll go along well." | 2022-02-10T11:25:59 | 2022-02-10T10:32:50 | 367 | 271 |
[WP] Hell is not a "prison" that God sends those who aren't loyal or faithful. It is more akin to the "quarantine" box that He sends corrupted files. Anomalies that quantum physics naturally develop are rerouted here. Occasionally, this will include people. | The falling rain pitted the man’s flesh like it might have been made of sand, divoting and darkening him as it hit. Bullets tearing into meat. Occasionally, clumps of his woody flesh would dislodge, dangle by threads, and the man would scoop them up and pat them back into his body.
He hadn’t always been like this. A body of soil and loam, as delicate as an ancient scroll. Once, somewhere else, he’d been a regular guy — even had a family. A wife, a daughter, a reason to smile. Then, things changed, as they always did.
The red moon above him shone on the dancing fire trees, but when its light fell on the black stream it instantly died, swallowed deep down into the water’s tarry belly.
There was no escape from this place. That much he’d learned from other strandeds. Permanent quarantine for anything that fell outside of the creator’s plan. Whether the creator was God or a programmer, no one knew. They just knew that they were sealed here like a vial of plague locked in a safe.
Eventually, through the swampy darkness, he saw a large hut sitting on the side of the road someway ahead. A large cabin, really. And on its front was a sign with two painted coffee beans sitting next to each other.
It still amazed the man that anyone here found a way to make a life. To him, making something for yourself here was to give up. To admit defeat. But he’d not been here long, and in a thousand years more, who knew, maybe he’d surrender too.
The coffee shop was empty. Four round wooden tables — each the bright red of a fallen fire tree — with circles of stools next to them reminded the man of mushroom rings. Back before it’d gotten bad, he’d taken his daughter scavenging in woods. Shown her which mushrooms you could eat and which you couldn’t. Which berries and bugs. How to call birds and to listen to their responses. She was real good at listening and identifying them.
When it’d gotten bad, mushrooms began to sprout on his loamy flesh, as he became something not man and not nature.
“What can I get you?” said a woman behind the counter. She looked mid-thirties and wore a braid of brown hair down to lower back. She didn’t seem surprised to see a customer, not even one with a thousand tiny pits carved into his flesh.
”I didn’t come here for a drink.”
She looked him up and down, ironing him out with her eyes. “You could use one though. I do a good espresso. Got some fire cider too, if you need something harder.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t take money,” she replied.
”What do you take?”
”Conversation. What else in all this world is worth anything?”
To that the man shrugged. He‘d come for conversation anyway, of a sort. “Then I’ll take a cider.”
”It’s strong.”
”What’s the worst it can do? Kill me?” He grinned a dirty, soily grin.
The woman walked into a room behind the bar while he made himself comfy on a stool in front of it.
It wasn’t much of a shop but you could see some kind of love — love might be too strong, he thought — had gone into it. All the walls were painted fresco style. Or caveman style, maybe. Bright plant pigments smeared into something like people and animals, into blue skies and bluer waters. All looked like fantasy to him, although somewhere it was still real.
The lady returned and placed a pint glass down, its brown liquid sloshing over the rim.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. Had anyone asked him since being here? “Caul.”
”Caul? I’m Autumn.”
”My third favourite season.”
”Summer guy?”
”Spring. I like growth. Not so much death.” He took a swig of the cider then wiped his mouth in satisfaction. “It’s good.”
”It’s also your first drink in a while. That always makes it good. It’s why such a remote place as this is so widely popular.”
He looked at the empty tables. ”I guess.”
Her eyes locked onto his neck. He ran his fingers over it; felt a bump. “Ivy,” he said. “I grow flowers too, but ivy always seems to come back quickest.”
”Neat,” she said. “You’re a regular walking garden. So why you here, Eden? You didn’t just stumble upon this place, did you?”
”Caul.”
”I know. It was a joke.”
”Sorry. Not heard many recently.”
”So, why you come to see me?”
”They say you can communicate with the real world.”
She nodded, very slowly. “Is that what they say?”
The man’s heart sunk, buried itself deep in his muddy chest. “You can’t?”
She smiled sympathetically. ”Sort of. I can move two particles at a time. Quantum entanglement. You ever heard of it?”
He had and he nodded. “Two particles created at the same time. Move one, and no matter where the other is, it moves too?”
”Close enough,“ she said. “Although not quite. And thing is, they need to already have been entangled, one here one there. Any anyway, I can’t send an actual message to anyone back home because, for one thing, no one’s listening out for them. They don’t know we’re here. We’re just missing.”
He sighed. Pushed the glass aside and let his head fall into his ivy strangled arms. It’d taken weeks to get here. He was worn out to the core, and then something. He just wanted to tumble into a grave and get it over with.
“How do you do it?” he said, eventually. “This place. Carrying on.”
She gestured around. “These paintings. See the family over there? That’s my family. I’ve brought them here with me. I might not be able to talk to them, but they’re here. Watching over me. And me over them. That’s how I keep going. That and the conversations with interesting strangers like yourself.“ She smiled and patted his hand.
‘I’m already forgetting what they look like,” he said. Guilty. “My family, I mean. I doubt I could even paint their faces.”
”Why do you think my paintings look so blurry?”
He laughed. Just once, but honest.
“Listen,” she said. “How many kids you got?”
”One girl.”
She bit her lip. “Like I said, I can change a single entangled particle.”
“Yeah. And?”
”And if you let me, I can change one of yours. A particle deep in your heart.”
He took another long drink, finishing the cider. “What good would that do?”
”When you have a kid, two particles are born. One in the center of their heart, one in the center of yours.”
He stopped perfectly still. Except his arms. They seemed to be shaking. That or the empty glass in his hand was. “So you could…? But she wouldn’t know, right?”
”There’s a chance she’d know. She might feel the change. The slight rotation. The difference of something incredibly important in her heart.”
”She wouldn’t know it was me, even then.”
”I think she might. Sure, there’s no proof I can give you that she will. But I believe they feel it and know. It’s a matter of faith, you know?”
“And in return?” he whispered, a spark of hope lighting his chest for the first time since arriving.
”I told you, I don’t take payment. Just, stick around a while and talk to me. Okay, Eden?”
He nodded and sniffed back tears.
Autumn walked around the bar. Held out her hands. “This is how I do it. Through a hug. So get off you butt and hug me tightly, okay?”
He did. Wrapped his trembling arms around her.
Felt the tiniest change deep within his heart.
Then, a few minutes later, seated again, he swore he felt another change, equally small.
And with it came a feeling. An image. That of an anxious little chick responding to a call from its parent.
He could feel tears eroding deep tracks down his face; Autumn took his hand and squeezed it tightly. | Jo’s feet had specks of blood this time, but the pain paled in comparison with the pain of burning. It had been worth it to push as hard as possible in the hopes of finding shelter, but to have run so hard all night, in a night that was so long, and still see nothing…
“We can try burying ourselves in the sand,” Christopher said as they looked around. “Maybe it will block the sun. I tested whether we need to breathe. We don’t.”
They didn’t need to breathe? She realized she hadn’t ever been out of breath, no matter how fast they ran. She hadn’t realized she didn’t even need to be drawing in air at all.
“Do you really think it will work?” she asked, starting to hold her breath to test it.
“No.” He didn’t even hesitate. Well. She’d asked. “But it’s all we’ve got.”
She looked up at him. Not breathing. She didn’t feel blue or anything. But it felt weird.
He got to his knees and began digging, and she joined him.
It was a tedious task, as the sand slipped back almost as quickly as they moved it. They discovered a solid sheet of smooth stone seemed to stretch beneath the sand all around them. It was no more than four feet down, so they pushed the sand aside until they had adequate space for each of them to lie down. Digging our own graves. She shivered at the thought and prayed it would work.
Jo limped a few feet away and sat down, the relief of being off her feet only serving to remind her of the torture that was yet to come if the sand didn’t work. Dawn hadn’t begun yet, and there would be plenty of time to get buried once the sky started getting lighter. For now the night sky was completely black, with the gentle light of the sands a golden anchor in the void.
She looked up in surprise as Christopher sat beside her. He rested his forearms on his knees, staring in front of him. The heat from his skin flowed into her and she shivered. He glanced over.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head and looked down to brush the sand from her feet. He was silent, and she could feel him studying her.
“If this were hell,” he murmured, “why would you have been sent here.”
He must be thinking about what she’d asked him before. She blinked down at her toes. It didn’t sound as if he expected a response, but she considered his question. Was she a bad person? She didn’t know. She didn’t feel bad but…she didn’t feel exactly good either. Not that she knew what those things really meant anyway. Who decided? She guessed whoever or whatever had sent them here.
She looked up, meeting his eyes. He didn’t turn away but continued examining her in silence, his expression contemplative.
“Why do you think you would have been sent here?” she asked.
He studied her a while longer before answering.
“It would have to be based on the same underlying rule or rules that caused you to be sent here as well. So what do we have in common…” Again, his question seemed more to himself than to her.
In common? Them? She almost snorted. Could there be anything at all?
He was cold. Reserved. Harsh. Jo might not be the life of the party, but she was fairly sure she was none of those things. He was also clearly very intelligent and competent, far beyond her own abilities, but she couldn’t see how those things could be deserving of burning in everlasting torment anyway.
What were the stories she’d heard about hell? She remembered the concept and that there were many different ideas of what could get you to heaven or not. And if this really were hell…did that mean heaven existed, too? That was too depressing to think about given her current circumstances so she shook it off.
“What do you think we have in common?” she decided to ask him.
He stared at her a moment longer.
“Nothing.”
She frowned. She’d just thought the same thing, but he was so absolute that it irked her.
“We’re both humans,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes.
“For example, you interpret things literally, like a child, rather than considering the context.”
Jo opened her mouth and closed it again as she stared at him. Her eyes fell to her knees.
Christopher exhaled in a sharp burst, and he turned back to look at the horizon. It was just beginning to lighten.
“We should get ready.” His voice was rough, and Jo kept her eyes averted as he stood.
She looked over at her shallow grave, letting fear seep in and replace the hurt. She dreaded both the idea of being buried all day and the idea of burning. But of the two…
She got up to walk over and step into the cleared space. The sand threatened to shift and fill the hole back up with every movement, but she eventually managed to climb in and began filling the sand in over her legs, wondering how she was going to bury her upper body. She jumped as Christopher knelt swiftly beside her.
“Lie back,” he ordered. She blinked but wasn’t about to reject his help. Lying down, she covered her face with her hands as he began pushing the sand on top of her. Fear washed over her as the reality of being buried all day long started to sink in. At least the getting buried part was suddenly resolved. For her, at least. How was Christopher going to handle burying himself?
She didn’t open her mouth to ask as he pushed the remaining sand on top of her. The sand poured into every crevice, and she pinched her nose closed just in time, lying very still as the loose grains settled in her ears, the valleys of her eyes, the crevice between her lips. She couldn’t hear Christopher, but she felt slight vibrations from his movements around her.
Her eye was itching. Grains of sand mingled with her lashes. They tickled her ears as well, little granules falling every now and then as she shifted almost imperceptibly. And once she started thinking about it, the itching became unbearable. She needed to move. To adjust. To scratch.
No. The fire was unbearable. This was just an itch.
She calmed down. Just breathe—no! She couldn’t breathe. Her chest suddenly felt horribly constricted. Like she needed to clear her throat. To clear her lungs with fresh air. Like she needed to *breathe*.
But she didn’t need to breathe. She was alive, or whatever she was, and she didn’t need to breathe. Steady. Stay steady.
How long had it been? Had the sun even come up yet?
Her heart began racing, the fear growing with her uncertainty. This had to work. She hoped Christopher had been okay burying himself. But he thought things through very carefully. He’d have been prepared with a plan.
She could see light from behind her eyelids as the small flecks of luminescent sand sent gentle waves that were oddly comforting. She imagined little figures dancing to distract herself, as if a hundred fairies were holding court. Their little forms sparkled gaily, swirling into a grand mist, their light growing and growing and—
The light was growing. Her heart pounded. This must be sunrise. It was getting brighter. And brighter. The grains of sand around her shifted with every beat of her heart. And still the light grew. And she wondered if this would work all the way until the moment the searing heat penetrated the sand and ignited her flesh. And when she opened her mouth to scream, the burning sand poured in, and there was no more thought again until nightfall.
*****
This comes from chapter 2 of a novel I completed this year about two people who wake up in a foreign world and gradually come to the conclusion they are in hell. Google "Flames of Lethe" if curious. | 2021-08-14T08:08:13 | 2021-08-14T06:19:38 | 561 | 58 |
[WP] "You may have one wish granted." "I want all my debts cleared." "How much do you owe?" "You misunderstand. My debts are not monetary." | It had taken decades to procure the final orb of power capable of summoning the beast beyond this world. That was more than enough time to learn how to seal the beast, command the beast, and understand the rules of the beast's power. All that remained was a simple ritual and I could have what was rightfully mine. I had sold my birthright for the pittance of a single night of passion as a foolish youth, but now I would reclaim what the heavens themselves owed me and exact my vengeance.
"Speak your wish, mortal, that I may be unsealed and judge your greed."
"Erase my debt."
The beast stared through me with an icy gaze as if to chill my very soul. I stood firm, refusing to compromise my demand. No threat of punishment for my greed would stand in my way. Not now, not when I was this close.
"Even if it is only to satisfy others, you would wish for wealth knowing the result?"
"I do not owe a single coin to any man dead or alive. I will say it again. Erase my debt."
The beast's stare shifted from judgment to piercing inquisition. The air of oppression weighing upon my chamber faltered for a moment in a betrayal of otherworldly resolution. I had won the contest of wills. All that remained was to claim the spoils of victory.
"Erase this debt of a thousand years, foul demon. Return my mortal lifespan to me and take this curse of blood away from me."
The beast nodded slowly and placed one craggy palm upon my head. A wave of sensations flooded my consciousness. A feeling of mortality, an unfulfilled hunger fading to nothingness, and a sense of incredible peace assured me that I could no longer be called a vampire. Having claimed his price in sin, the beast silently retreated through a curtain of fire to the unholy realm.
I drew a knife from my belt with a sigh. My debt had been erased in entirety. My thirst for vengeance had disappeared along with my thirst for blood. Even as a mortal, I still had my youth. That would be enough time to find a new purpose. | My transmutation circle shined and I came face to face with Truth. I knew my research was trustworthy, that the truth's form was undefined, but the smile on his face was so genuine that it cast a shadow of doubt over my whole being. Time only exists as it is perceived in this state, and the feeling that this moment of trepidation was lasting an eternity was indistinguishable from the genuine article until the rhythm of language returned me to the moment.
"Hello, father. What have you brought?"
"I have brought you everything that is mine to give, take anything from me in exchange for what I want."
"What wish would you have granted?"
"I want all my debts cleared."
"HA! And how much money do you owe?"
"You misunderstand. My debts are not monetary."
"But you do owe monetary debts, father. You've taken as much as you could from anyone naive enough to lend to you."
"Such things are not real. I don't care about money, I don't care about life, and I don't care about death! I would happily sacrifice my life for the removal of this debt! Please, make me square with God."
"I have two things to tell you. First, money is real and so are all of your debts, such as the one you now owe me. Second, God is not a creditor to be repaid. He didn't give you a loan, he invested in you. And now you're bankrupt." | 2016-11-19T01:55:33 | 2016-11-19T00:55:02 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it. | I had an excellent death. After that it was all downhill.
My death happened on one of those rare sunny January days on Vancouver Island when the omnipresent gray clouds part and the outdoors beckons. Jane and I had taken a leisurely drive from our “luxury senior living” (tiny) apartment in Nanaimo out to Lake Cowichan. Vancouver Island is huge and astonishingly gorgeous, and though Jane and I were well past our mountain-climbing and kayaking days, we still loved being out in the wild green misty majesty of the place as much as we did when we first moved here decades ago. We’d packed a cold lunch in a soft-sided cooler: some fruit, a hunk of cheese, half a baguette, some sliced hard salami, a couple of cans of Lucky lager. We parked at a scenic overlook and sat on the tailgate of the truck, nibbling cheese and drinking our beers and watching wind ruffle sparkling water. It was blustery but the sun was warm. Neither of us said much. After thirty years of marriage, we didn’t need to. We were simply happy together, being there in that place that we loved.
Then I had a stroke and died.
I remember a moment of disorientation, a stab of blinding pain, holding out a hand to catch myself, falling. I remember the puzzled look on Jane’s face, her beautiful face, framed by her white hair, looking down at me. I drank in my last sight of her and then I was gone.
I didn’t have time for regret. I didn’t have time to stammer out some stupid last words. I had had no fear of death, and my death was not fearful. My death was an entrance into absence, a return to the vastness of where I was before I was born. I died, and Jane was there, and loving Jane had been my life, and in my death I loved her still, and in that final moment nothing else mattered. My time came and I was sad, yes, who wouldn’t be? But I was ready.
At least that’s what I thought.
Boy was I wrong. Turns out the afterlife is even more stupid than you’d think.
I awoke lying flat on my back on what felt like a rough canvas pad on a wooden pallet. I was in a small dim windowless room that smelled of wood smoke and damp and the funk of unwashed bodies. A young woman in a dingy beige shift was wringing out a rag in a wooden bucket. She smiled when she saw me startle awake.
“Wha—“, I started to say, but she shushed me with a finger to her lips. She pointed to a hand-painted sign over the arched stone doorway. “ARRIVALS”, it read, with an arrow pointing straight up.
Not knowing what else to do, I stood up and examined myself. I was wearing a thin, mid-sleeved, coarsely-woven pajama-ish shirt much like a kurta. I didn’t have a headache. That was odd, for a man whose last salient memory was death by cerebral hemorrhage. And my body felt... different. It was mine but not familiarly mine.
I looked at my forearms. The scar from where I’d had my right arm surgically repaired after a car wreck in my thirties was gone. But the mole on my left arm that I kept meaning to have examined by a dermatologist was still there.
I looked down at my bare feet. My left big toe had a toenail again. I hadn’t had a toenail there since I’d had it removed as a teenager because it grew funny and the persistent ingrown nail had made walking excruciating.
Teenager.
Wait.
Holy shit.
I was young again.
I did a deep knee bend. Holy shit. It was easy. Holy shit. It didn’t hurt. Holy shit. My knees didn’t even creak. My hands flew to my head and hallelujah this must be heaven because hair to which I’d said a sad farewell in my late twenties was back, jet black and thicker than ever.
“Ok, so... what the actual fuck?” I said aloud slowly, and it was the voice of a younger me, a voice unscarred by reckless decades of cigarettes and bourbon, unravaged by time.
The young woman gestured down the hallway. She was still smiling, but her eyes had hardened and her message was clear: shoo.
I shooed.
Me in my new young body, walking down what was looking increasingly like an underground passageway in some kind of old castle, maybe? There were torches sputtering in metal sconces spaced at intervals along the walls, but no other doorways. I felt vaguely encouraged to be heading in the direction the smoke was drifting.
Death was getting weirder all the time.
“Jane, I wish you could see this,” I said to the universe at large. “On second thought, I don’t, because then you’d be dead too, and maybe this is hell and my dumb ass just hasn’t figured that out yet.”
I paused. “But I got my hair back. So it can’t be all bad, right, dear?”
The universe at large didn’t respond, so I kept following the torches. The hallway seemed to be gradually curving upward.
I paused again, considering. Who puts a single tiny room at the end of a long-ass underground hallway? How long had I been dead? Or was I still dying, and all of this was just a strange but soothing narrative concocted by my dying mind?
I pinched myself. Ow. Not sure what that proved. Ok.
I wondered what would happen if I stopped walking. Would I get hungry? Thirsty? Die of dehydration in this endless torchlit corridor? Can you die after dying already? And if so, where do you go, when you’ve died after death? Where was I now?
This was not helping. I trudged on. |
I should be dead. I remember how each breath from my withered mouth drew in less air, how my aching body grew too weak to support itself. I remember those final moments leading up to the sweet release of death.
I know I died. So why am I still alive?
At least, I think I'm alive. I'm certainly not dead.
I think I'm a disembodied consciousness. My physical senses are totally gone. I don't really feel anything, but I can almost trick myself into thinking I have a body.
Wait, what's that? I can finally feel something. It's like I'm being pulled...
Jason's eyes shot open and he gasped for air. He couldn't get any. Something was in his throat. He choked and flailed until a voice said, "Stop panicking. Relax and let the tube do its job."
The part of his brain that still held some rationality obeyed the voice. He relaxed his body. His muscles loosened and his limbs lay flat. He observed his surroundings and noticed he was inside a small capsule. The only light came through the opaque material used for the ceiling of the pod. He spotted a small tube that snaked from the wall and ended somewhere in his throat. He suppressed a pulse of anxiety, clenchig his fists until he calmed down.
"Good, you did that surprisingly quickly. I'm going to open your pod and get you back to normal. Sit tight."
Jason waited for two minutes before the ceiling of the pod retracted back. His eyes met with a bright light and he clamped them shut.
"It'll take a minute for your eyes to adjust. Stay still. I'll be removing the tube next. It will be a bit uncomfortable."
He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and looking down at him from outside the pod was a human being dressed like a doctor. Suddenly, pain flared in his chest. He hadn't really felt the tube before, but now that it was coming out, it felt like he'd eaten a snake and it was trying to climb back up his throat.
"And there we go, the tube is out."
Jason breathed heavily. The ghost of that pain still lingered, and he wouldn't soon forget it.
Propping himself up on shaky hands, he surveyed his surroundings. All around, there were other pods, and his was the only open one. Each one must have contained a person. For what purpose, he didn't know.
He tried to remember how he got here, but each attempt to search his memory was met by the pain of a knife stabbing through his head. Jason could vaguely recall the feeling of floating in nothingness, but before that, his memory was guarded by pain.
The doctor must have noticed him wincing, because he said, "It's normal not to remember anything at first. The simulation accessed your brain in a way that's totally different from how we use it normally, and you're still suffering from the effects of that. It'll pass with time as your brain heals. Now, let's get you into the chair and bring you to the testing center."
*Simulation?*
Jason was curious, but it was clear that there was no time for questions. The doctor helped him get his legs over the sides of the pods and into a wheelchair, then rolled him out of the pod room and down a narrow hallway. They passed by many doors, and through small windows Jason could see more pods like his own, all closed.
"You might be wondering why all the other pods you see are closed, and you're the only one up and about. You don't remember it, but you managed to trigger a special condition in the simulation that enacted an ancient protocol and woke you up. More will be explained later, but I should tell you that the world of your memories was not real. Keep that in mind when your memories return."
They continued down the hall until they arrived at a door labeled "Testing Center." It swung open automatically as they neared, and waiting inside was another doctor.
"Ah, Jason, nice to meet you." The new man nodded towards the other doctor. "Thanks for bringing him, I'll take it from here."
The first man Jason met in this new world nodded and left. Soon after, Jason had needles poking him from a million different directions. The most painful one was what the doctor called a "bone marrow sample."
Once that was done, he was brought to a room with a shower and some basic clothing. He found that he'd gained enough strength to stand. Jason washed off and clothed himself in a black t-shirt and beige pants.
"Come with me." They walked further down the hallway and stood outside another room, this one labeled "Psychiatry."
"I'll leave you here. You will get an answer to most of your questions behind that door. Stay strong."
Jason entered the room. He wasn't sure how, but the room had a comfortable atmosphere. It was soothing just to stand in it. In the center of the room were two chairs. A man sat in one of them. He was young, maybe around thirty, with short black hair and startling blue eyes. He wore an infectious smile that put Jason at ease and made the man seem trustworthy.
He motioned for Jason to sit.
"Come, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss." | 2021-07-01T16:30:32 | 2021-07-01T15:36:52 | 99 | 63 |
[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" | Worst hungover ever. And cold, oh god I hope I didn't lose my phone and wallet.
Wait... My mind slowly banishes the fog. I wasn't drinking last night, haven't had anything for the last few years. But I do feel like absolute shit.
I take in my shabby surroundings, a tub with ice and meltwater, a dirty bathroom, some mold in the corner, a chair with some neatly folded clothes next to the door.
I try to stand, but my chilled legs won't respond. I gather strength and use to my arms to flop out of the tub and onto the floor with the grace of a stranding whale, it's comfortably warm compared to the icy tub.
I'm wet and gain almost no traction on the bathroom floor, my legs still are still mostly dead weight. I spend the following ten minutes re-enacting the first emergence of higher life on land, awkwardly flopping and dragging myself to the pile of clothes, I prop myself against the wall and reach for the clothes and find a note on top of them. I read.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
I stare dumbfounded at the note. Then I remember what happened and I can't stop laughing, it hurts like hell in my back but I can't stop, oh god I'll probably laugh myself to death!
They had kidnapped me, shoved me into a black van. 10 feet from the door of the dialysis center I just emerged from. | Santiago de Buille Preshton of Arch Lambert Avenue, Suite 2201, one Mister Francois Marie-Adem Langlois was once a respectable man.
Now being found in a place most distasteful to the man of high tastes, he found himself in a rather most uncomfortable position. An apparent ice cold bath with several incisions along his side, Mr. Langlois found a note with a rather disturbing notice, one using the most vulgar and colloquial terms.
He had never considered the thought of having kidneys. It was far too common. It was far more convenient to have mechanical internal organs. He thought of it with greater clarity after finding a pair of trousers in the corner of the room, right beside the toilette.
Perhaps he should had considered the customs about visiting earth, this Mr. Langlois. | 2015-12-31T03:35:05 | 2015-12-30T22:31:42 | 143 | 70 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "And who can tell me about the events of the first cycle?"
Professor Gooblevork watched his Galactic History class intently through triplicate eyestalks. None seemed particularly interested in his lecture.
"How about you, Shrdmrn?" He pointed at a particularly bored student in the first row. Or maybe he was just gassy? Gooblevork had a hard time reading the emotions of the furrier species in his class.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, professor. I don't know." He responded. He seemed distracted - ah, that's it, that's the emotion!
"What's on your mind, Shrdmrn?"
The wolf-boy touched a switch on his desk, pulling up a small holographic map. The professor pulled up a larger display for the whole class to see.
"I was just wondering about the Galactic Alliance. Thousands of sentient alien species, all throughout the galaxy, came together from all of these systems, right?"
The hologram glowed, indicating several systems, and a few uncharted territories in black.
"That's correct. What is your question?"
"I was just wondering about this area here."
He pointed out a small black dot in the middle of the glowing cloud. Gooblevork sighed and sat down.
"That, dear boy, is the realm of the human."
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Shrdmrn's brows furrowed.
"Is this a joke, professor?"
The professor slithered over to the wolf-boy.
"They're real, boy. A monstrous species, completely devoid of logic and reason."
The wolf-boy looked at him intently.
"How, sir?"
The professor slithered to the center of the room.
"How many of you are familiar with the chemical compound C2H6O?"
One of the students in the back spoke up.
"It's a deadly poison, sir!"
"It should be. Its use is forbidden among the civilized worlds of the Alliance, as it's an unconscionably painful death. But the human willingly imbibes it."
The crowd gasped. But the professor wasn't done.
"Regularly."
The students gasped again and stared in shock.
"Their planet, Earth, is harsh and unforgiving. It's located close to their star, which bombards their planet in radiation daily. But the humans don't care. At the hottest times in the year, the humans willingly expose their bodies to that radiation as some sort of mating ritual."
The professor admitted to himself that he was having a bit more fun than he should.
"And does anyone know where they get their energy from?"
"From their star?"
The professor laughed.
"No! They pump a fluid from the earth - a fluid born of the bodies of ancient life. They fight each other over this fluid, and when they have enough, they light the fluid on fire."
The professor paused to allow this to sink in.
"The burning fluid releases poisons - poisons the Alliance would never deem safe. But humans? Humans don't care. They use the expansion of he poisons to create power."
One student raised his hand.
"Are they all going to die on their planet, professor?"
The professor smiled.
"Maybe. But it's possible that they won't. They've built a way to leave their planet."
The crowd gasped again, even louder than before.
"How could such a ludicrous race build a gravity drive on their own?"
The professor said, "I never said it was a gravity drive. They developed a way to sit on top of a column of explosives. They detonate the explosives, and the explosion sends them into space."
One of the students stands up.
"That's a joke, right?"
The professor smiles.
"They've left their planet before." | “Your Grace,” Eddie said, bowing. The King gestured for him to rise in one quick, almost bored, motion. Eddie rose, meeting the King’s eyes. His normally serene face had _twisted_ the past few weeks. The man kept his gray-tinged beard even, but it had grown wildly. Uneven and unlike His Imperial Majesty.
“What news do you bring?” he asked. Behind him Eddie noticed guards shuffle. Once this man fought on the front, notching dozens of kills to his name. Now he sat upon the gilded throne and guided the destiny of his empire.
Eddie hesitated—he knew the King would not like his words. “We launched the first strike. They suffered massive casualties, enough to cripple any world. Millions died.”
The King grinned. “Yes, of course they are crippled,” his voice shook with laughter. “Did I not say this is what would happen?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Eddie bowed his eyes in reverence. Then he continued, “but they’ve rallied. Millions are positioned to hit our western outposts. If those fall then they can strike at the capital of Novas, which would throw the entire western half of the empire into disarray.”
“What?” the King bellowed, rising from his throne. “Explain yourself, Commander Edward.”
Eddie bowed his head. “The casualties they suffered should’ve been enough to cripple. They should have surrendered. Instead they’ve taken every man, woman, and child capable of holding a weapon and have launched a counter offensive. We do not believe them to be overly skilled or organized, but their sheer numbers…”
The King retook his seat. His eyes turned away, hand steepled, face lost in thought. “How long until we can match them?”
“It’ll take us weeks to match their numbers.”
Anger flashed in the King’s eyes. “No, we don’t need to match them. Half of our elite paramilitary units should be enough. They’re skirmishers, not warriors. And once we’ve crushed them I will reunite this empire. Shattered by my forefathers, we will be whole again.”
“Your Grace… during the initial assault we also landed several brigades on the surface of their homeworld. Those men are dead,” Eddie said, his voice almost a whisper.
“You…! How many men have you cost us, Commander Edward? Your incompetence…” the King shook. His lips curled and he snarled. “How many lives will be lost because of you?”
Eddie remained silent, neglecting to mention the order he received. “I apologize, Your Grace. I will rectify this. I swear.”
The King said nothing for a moment. “No. Let them come.” Again the King looked away. “We can use their assault on Novas. Weaken them and some of our vassal colonies. Then reestablish our rule over the west and conquer Earth afterwards.”
“As your command, Your Grace.” Eddie saluted and turned to leave.
“Commander Edward,” the King’s voice called, “do not fail me.”
| 2017-03-05T22:47:46 | 2017-03-05T22:41:12 | 1,151 | 60 |
[WP] The programmers of the world wake up to find that they can do magic by writing (and with focused speaking) programs. What are C, C++, Java, Python, Haskell and other major languages like? Which are 'regular magic', 'beginner's magic' and 'dark arts' etc.? What is your day like?
How does a person cast: "shoot an arrow", "shoot ten arrows" and "shoot a storm of arrows?"
*I am actually /lit/man from 4chan. | The man sat in a room. Or what was a room. His dorm room to be precise. The police would be showing up in a moment. His CS prof sat next to him.
"Well, here's the problem. You passed the address of the value, not the value."
"Yeah" His eyes seemed far away. Thousand mile stare. Any war vet would recognize it.
"You're lucky to be alive, you know that? Run it in a sandbox next time. Seriously, we have one for a reason. It's free to use, for any CS major."
"Yeah" The scars lined up in perfect alignment. All a single millimeter deep. All in ASCII. All pointed away from his eyes.
"Now, let's get you cleaned up. What were you even trying to do? Running a fork bomb on the network?"
"Yeah, no. Trying to get an RSS feed to run in my vision, hidden. I did it in Java, C shouldn't be too hard."
"I did it in Java, C shouldn't be too hard. You know how many times I've heard that? C is a lot more powerful, sure, but it's dangerous. This is why we use Python. Python won't let you kill yourself."
"Python wouldn't let me get the text close enough. Neither would java. I had to get low-level."
"Ok. Just be careful. Use the sandbox next time. And set your bounds, especially when comes to stuff like this. The police have arrived, let's explain what happened." | I had just woken up and got myself a bowl of cereal when I noticed that my roommate was performing another of his 'rituals', in one of the more obscure languages. He was just waving his hands around and shouting a few variations of OOG! and Oog?. At first I didn't think too much of it, because it was simply too weird.
He continued his ritual for another four or so minutes of caveman noises, before stopping to declare RUN. Ever wall and window in the entire university shook violently as a computerized voice shouted, H E L L O W O R L D.
The rest of my morning consisted of more variations of hello world and beginner magics being thrown about the campus. At some point an infinite loop of TEST was thrown to the ethers, and everyone stopped to try and find the novice who made an error.. | 2015-04-13T09:31:38 | 2015-04-13T08:21:12 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | Who am I? I could tell you my real name, but you won’t remember it. It’s an average name, easily forgotten. I could even describe myself, but nothing about me will stand out. I’m average build, of average height, hell I even have average skin tone and hair color. Want a picture? Run a composite image of every person, and there you go.
For my own amusement, I tend to go by Aver Joe. Or, my personal favorite, Jack Avalti, because I’m a master of none. I’m a perfectly ordinary, nondescript, average person with a not so ordinary, nondescript, average skill set. I can do anything, just not well. I can fly a plane, but my record isn’t perfect. I can build a house, as long as it has nothing fancy. I can paint, but nobody wants average work. I can do any career, any job, but I can’t ever excel at it.
How did I end up like this? Now that’s the million-dollar question. I think my mother was cursed. Or maybe my parents made a deal with the devil, and this was his stipulation. Or perhaps I was born at the exact moment everything in the universe was perfectly balanced. Fuck if I know how it happened, I just know that it did. That’s fine, because I found my niche.
You see, I am the perfect chameleon, always in the background. No one remembers my face, my demeanor, or even my presence. I didn’t last in the regular, white world. My work was always ordinary and I never made an impression on my bosses. I never could progress, I would always be passed up for promotion. So, I took my chances in the secret, black world that existed beyond the normal one. My skills led me to one perfect job. Assassin.
But how can you be a successful assassin if you miss half the time? You must be thinking. And you would be correct. I couldn’t be your typical assassin, who uses guns, knives or poisons because I would miss most of the time. But, I’m not a typical assassin. I play the long game. Ever hear of the Law of Averages? It means that eventually, I will succeed.
I first stalk my target, becoming their coworker, their boss, or their subordinate. That part is easy, because it doesn’t matter what job my target has, I know I can do the same work passably well. Then, I strike. My target begins to suffer bad luck. A railing becomes unhinged when they use it, causing a nasty fall down the stairs. Or, their car suffers some catastrophic problem on the way home. Maybe their house has a gas leak. It doesn’t have to succeed the first time. Hell, it almost never works immediately. But I will continue to stalk them, seamlessly filling any role, until their bad luck finally ends.
Experience any bad luck recently? Strange things keep happening, and you don’t know why? Look around, and you might see me. I’m the guy sitting there, in the grey suit, with a coffee. Or maybe I’m the janitor you just walked by. Just remember, your bad luck will run out. | 'How...how is this possibe?'
The supervillain clutched at his broken arm and fell to the floor. He tried his best to back away from the advancing man, but he was spent. His workshop and maniacal contraptions burned around him. So much preparation, so much work. He was so certain his plan was going to work, now it all lay in ruins. All that exquisite planning and years of preparation gone to waste.
He looked upon the man who was about to vanquish him. There was nothing remarkable about him. In fact, he just looked like a balding middle age man. He wasn't even in particularly good shape. He couldn't understand how he was losing.
​
The man continued to advance on him, fists clenched.
​
'How? Who are you? You're a nobody! This...this shouldn't be happening...'
​
The advancing man stopped and knelt down besides the stricken supervillain.
​
'Me? I'm just your average guy, to a fault. Unfortunately for you though, you're a brilliant and talented individual, maybe the most brilliant person on the planet.'
​
The villain couldn't hide his confusion.
​
'I...I don't understand' was all he could muster.
​
'That's the thing about averages.' The man said, cracking his knuckles. 'Major outliers throw the whole system out. And you, my friend, are a major outlier.'
​
The man smiled to himself.
​
'I may seem average to you, I can't compare to your brilliance in some areas... but your mere existence makes me so much more than most. In other words, I have none of your weaknesses.'
​
The villain exhaled, he had no more fight left in him. He supposed that was one of his weaknesses when things weren't going his way. He managed a weak laugh.
​
'It'll be a shame to kill you. I've enjoyed the gifts you've bestowed upon me, but you're just too dangerous to let live'.
​
The man raised his fist and the world went dark. | 2018-10-24T08:42:32 | 2018-10-24T08:09:35 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | I curled up against the hearthfire, pulling my wool blanket close. The black metal walls around me seemed to radiate the everfrost cold of the fimbulwinter that raged still in the overworld.
The walls were turning white as the carbon dioxide in my breath froze against the walls. I shuddered.
Even through the 20-foot walls I could hear the ruinstorm's eternal fury beating against my tiny world, the winds clawing for purchase against the polished outer plating.
I clutched my compute slab to my chest. Occasionally I would switch to a different external camera. All I could see was rain, slow, and mist. But I knew what was out there. My mind was clear and I knew the futility of my situation.
An eternity passed. The raging storm seemed to drill itself into my mind, infesting my dreams and saturating my senses.
At last I saw a shadow rising from the mists. Vast and alien, in the murky gloom I saw the white glint of a thousand needle like teeth.
It spoke. Its voice was powerful and resonant, and carried though the uranium walls and rattled my bones with dread harmonics.
"Foolish swine, your judgement has come. You have been weighed and found wanting. For the sin of gluttony your soul is forfeit!"
"Mercy." I whispered, eyes clasped shut. Tears streamed down my face.
It laughed, a high shrieking cackle like the sound of tearing steel. I shuddered at that awful noise. My hands were shaking, as the rivulets of sweat met the frigid air they formed strange patterns of ice crystals across my skin.
"Open the gate, mortal swine! Open the gate and your demise shall be merely agonizing!"
I hesitated. "And quick?" I asked.
It laughed again. My hand hovered near the two levers on my control panel.
One would open the door.
One would set off the nuclear bomb beneath my seat.
My trembling hand hung between the two for a long horrible moment.
But even in death I was a coward. I could not will my hand to move.
"Tell me, mortal. Did you pause in your avarice, before you dug so deeply into my prison? Did you wonder why the walls were so thick, why the protections so complete? The old gods thought the fortress impenetrable, but as in all things they underestimated your ingenuity and overestimated your wisdom."
The voice turned to a snarl. "Open the door! Do it now or face my wrath!"
I whispered the ancient oath. A quiet prayer to gods long dead. "N-Not by the b-beard of my ancestors."
I was never a religious man. But facing an ancient god of hate and destruction there was no place for atheism.
The ancient voice rumbled low.
"So be it! Your time is come!"
The hurricane winds gusted. I heard the metal groan under the strain.
Another gust. I heard metal beginning to shear.
In the blink of an eye the walls were gone. Carried far away. I was hurled up into the air.
Fingers as thick as tree trunks snatched me from the sky.
"Do not despair, little swine. You and yours will not be forgotten." A vast grin the size of a city block bore down on me, a rictus of alien hate. "When I forge a new world from the ashes of this fallen land, I shall make sure that the wretched creatures of that autumn realm forever remember your story." The teeth parted and I felt myself falling into the inky blackness. As I fell his breath seared my flesh, his voice shattered my bones. I tried to scream.
"Even if only in tales for their children."
Then, for what seemed an eternity, there was only pain. And the horrid sound of laughter. | \[A suspended room floating in the Bering Sea\]
Mister Pigeleti sits in a ordinate chair sipping hot coffee as he gazes out of a small viewing port. "maybe I'll see him coming" he thinks to himself as he stares out into the ocean. A few dolphins dance gracefully in the distance as a ever so faint breathing is heard.
Pigeleti turns around and laughs manically as he faces the large and eerily silent wolf. The wolf steps closer as Pigeleti pulls out a small revolver and aims it casually at the wolf.
"I'm assuming this won't work, but eh" \[Bang\] \[Bang\] \[Bang\] Pigeleti fires three shots dead center in the vague direction of the wolf. to his surprise he lands a shot on it's upper shoulder.
The Wolf lets out a faint grunt before stepping even closer. Within seconds his gunshot injury was healed.
Wolf: \*intrigued by the calmness of the last remaining pig\* "No...... you are not the first pig to try to shoot me"
Pigeleti: \*handing his cup of coffee to Wolf\* "Want some? or does your immortalness not like black coffee?"
The wolf stepped even closer as Pigeleti looked down at his revolver, he slowly positioned it to his head but before he could pull the trigger the wolf lunges forward at incomprehensible speeds and tears the gun from the pigs hand, throwing it against the wall.
"YOU WON"T EVEN LET US DIE PEACEFULLY" Pigeleti screams as he subtly pulls a lever while forced up against the wall of his uranium room
Wolf: "The door was unlocked"
Pigeleti: \*smiling\* "oh was it? silly me"
Wolf: "Why?"
Pigeleti: "Hahahaha you fool"
The frustrated Wolf rips Pigeleti's right arm off as he lefts out a scream. "WHY DID YOU MAKE THIS SO EASY!"
Pigeleti: \*in excoriating pain\* "you're under the rather childish delusion that this room was meant to keep you out"
The wolfs confident demeaner changed as he stepped back from Pigeleti. "What do you mean?"
Pigeleti begins laughing hysterically as he uses his one remaining arm to point up at a clear window, revealing the room was no longer floating. "It's meant to keep you in!"
The wolf starts to panic, he darts towards the door he came in from only to find that it was now somehow locked. He looks around and notices that the gunshots from earlier actually shattered a small glass window, making the room slowly fill with water as it sank.
Wolf: "you're bluffing"
Pigeleti: \*about to pass out\* "Bluffing? hahahaha you seem scared. We're dying together" Pigeleti starts laughing in the cold submerging corner as raising water cover his last remaining gasps.
Wolf: "Shit, I don't want to drown" He starts punching the depleted uranium door but his efforts are futile. The container sinks with both wolf and Pig drowning together. | 2021-01-29T16:20:11 | 2021-01-29T14:00:12 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain. | The figure in darkness glared at his computer monitor, honestly ready to smash it like he has the first few dozen. But he knew it wouldn’t change what he was seeing, and that infuriated him. “Damn so called heroes…” Shade spat.
Upon the monitor he wanted to smash was another news report, one about a recent bombing. Not his work of course, as he preferred to stick to his shadows. No, what irked him so was the missing figure of the group of Heroes, one who no one seemed to notice was gone. “It’s been two damn months and not even a small mention of her disappearance! What the hell is wrong with them?!” Shade snarled, before closing the browser window, unable to watch more. “I knew a lot of heroes are entitled pricks, but she was one of the good ones!”
Grumbling and growling, the shadowed man typed on his keyboard a set of commands, pulling up a browser into the dark web. This one was a page he created, offering money and/or services for information. He stopped and looked at the picture of the one he was asking info about, and for a moment his dark heart clenched. A young, feminine face with a bright smile, Aurora had been his nemesis from day one of his career. A meta gifted in the power of sunlight, they had been natural enemies. However, they had formed a an unspoken relationship.
Shade sighed, leaning back. He was a “low level” villain, but only because his speciality was in espionage, B’n’E, and a few other things that required stealth and shadows. He did, however, draw a line when it came to murder and the harming of young children. Having been an orphan himself from a mugging gone bad, he couldn’t put that pain and lots of innocence on other children.
And Aurora understood that. Hell, she even fought against a murder conviction placed on him, and proved that it was the work of a serial killer! Granted his alibi she dug up did come in robbing the city treasury, but you win some you lose some. And she got the right monster put away… he respected her for that. He even found himself teaching her how to better get the drop on other villains, if only so she wouldn’t get so injured from other fights that they couldn’t have their own combat.
But now, she was missing, and no one seemed to care. There wasn’t even a missing person’s report of anyone matching her description across the country, hell the continent! It was like she up and vanished! And it didn’t sit right with him.
Shade sighed, going through the massage board of tips. He was a villain only out of necessity, and he would admit for the thrill. He wasn’t in it to become uber rich or rule a large area, but rather because he’d rather be the one doing the job, and not someone who’d be more… lethal. And it helped that he was able to get tips about muggers, which he would discretely share with Aurora and the authorities for a reduced sentence (which he would then shorten anyways with a breakout, but he digressed).
His anger grew seeing a lot more useless tips, fake info that was obvious, and requests for free services with the *potential* for information.
‘Honour among thieves indeed.’ He huffed, tempted to meet with these fellow crooks just to shut them-
His brain stopped seeing an image posted, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The caption was “I think I found her…”
This guy had found her. Shade knew that face, those vivid blue eyes anywhere.
He also knew that there was a group of monsters he hated more than murders and muggers.
“God damn traffickers!”
**(Part two coming soon!)**
**(Part 2 on hiatus due to writer’s block)** | "How long has she been trapped inside this emptiness." Cypress wondered as her consciousness opened once again.
Days? Weeks? Months? Years?
It didn't really matter for her. She can have all the time in the world but that wouldn't give her the way to escape.
The only option is to save her from the outside even if it means waiting forever.
Or the day she'll die whichever comes first.
*THUD*
Wait what was that?
*THUD*
The buffoons of the Alliance managed to find her? Perhaps some thanks are in order, thank God for his knight in shining armor. She'll never be mean again, she promised.
*Break*
The spell that imprisoned her finally disappeared and light finally entered her eyes. Surprisingly her body seemed to not have any signs of malnourishment or injury. It only looked like she had too much exercise.
She hugged her rescuer tightly. "Thank you, Thank you... I promise I'll never go on own again." She said then she took a look at his benefactor.
It is the face of a man she never saw before. Maybe a rookie while she disappeared but why does he look he familiar?
That was when she took a time to see beneath the face. It was a gray robe, one that she knew too well.
Merlin, the notorious museum robber and her greatest nemesis, the representation of everything unscientific and mysterious. The unapologetic flirt in that always hit on her but never show his face, that Merlin.
'Calm down he's just a f-'
"Relax ice queen, we can do this at later at my bed." she saw him give a smile.
Cypress saw red after that familiar voice.
=====
Merlin felt the sting of his burn as he entered the look of the fortunately restrained and magically gagged Cypress. Even with her lack of gadgets and tired state she managed to temporarily gain the upper hand by the virtue of surprise and his shock.
"She's feisty though." he admitted to himself imagining a date with the face he now knows.
Unfortunately for him he needs to shelve the idea for now. Meeting Cypress was one the things he expected but not this early, the silver lining here is that it is one of better scenarios in the long run.
"I'll remove the gag if you promise to listen to me afterwards. Nod once if no, twice if yes."
Cypress nodded twice but the glare she gave gives him a different meaning but Merlin is a man of his words and did it regardless.
"Is this your work?"
"Nope, I'm strictly a robber not a human trafficker."
"Where are the others?" she asked. Ok that's a hard one she is definitely thinking why her rival is the one who got her
"Gone, just like you." he answered
"Wait what?" Cypress basically yelled
"You're not the only superhero who disappeared, nearly eighty percent of your alliance disappeared three months ago."
"After that the world descended into chaos as the villains fight to fill the power vacuum. I think the lower half of the country is under the control Lord Killgore and his lackeys."
"After the Great Cessation, the world have no time to worry about the heroes."
[TO BE CONTINUED] | 2021-12-28T22:07:34 | 2021-12-28T22:07:13 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown. | We rushed to the hospital as soon as they called. After so many years, you tend to get used to the fact that your loved one in the hospital may never wake up. There were plans... discussions, late in the night, when mum and dad thought that I was asleep.
They talked about how keeping sis alive was draining into their savings, how the insurance was failing to keep up. They wondered if sis was ever going to wake up. Whether it was feasible to keep her barely alive.
"How long more, Sarah? Another five years? Ten years? Twenty years?" Dad's voice was more than enough to wake the entire street up. He was red all over and he stank of beer.
Mum was sitting by the kitchen counter, crying. "Damn it John! You know how important Lucy is to Karen. How are we going to tell her?"
Dad sighed, clearly frustrated. He tugged at his hair. "Twenty one, Sarah. If Lucy is still not up by twenty one, we need to pull the plug."
That was his final sentence, before he left the house, and slamming the door. Probably went back to drinking. And mum was left sitting alone, weeping. I wanted to comfort her, tell her that it was going to be okay. But instead, I sat on the staircase and prayed. I prayed the hardest I could. I prayed for Lucy to wake up. Every single day.
And finally, she did.
The trip to the hospital was quiet, tense. Both dad and mum did not even speak during the entire journey. I could only guess what was going on in their mind. I was too afraid to speak too, lest I say the wrong things. A part of me was happy that Lucy was finally back with us but another part of me was angry. Angry at the pain she caused our family for the past six years. It was difficult, trying to make sense of what I felt.
The doctors were silent when we approached. For a patient that has woken up after six years, I expected them to be happier. They stood with my parents in the sterile hallway, whispering. "There have been some... complications."
I could see both my parents turn white. Complications. A word that brought with it bad omens. Just like six years ago. Where complication meant that my sister would be in coma for god knows how long.
"Your daughter, Lucy, she may no longer be able speak and there's more-" I heard one of the doctors said, followed by mum's gasp. But I was no longer listening. I sneaked into Lucy's room, a room that I have been into more than I like. The machines beeped, as if welcoming me, pointing me to the bed in the middle.
Lucy was lying on her back, staring blankly at the light above her. I made my way towards her. I waved my hand over her face several times, but there was no reaction. I called to her, but there was no reaction as well. Only when I touched her shoulder did she react, recoiling in surprise. Her hands reached out to my face, and began rubbing violently against it.
She opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something, as if wanting to say something, but the only sounds that came out were groans and growls. When she realized that she was not able to talk, she pushed me away, and began sobbing loudly into her pillow.
It was then when I realized, that Lucy was no longer the Lucy I knew. She had lost her senses. I rushed over to comfort her, I wanted to hug her, but she shook her head wildly. I could see the panic on her face, how lost she felt, tears running down her eyes. She hated every moment of it.
I wanted to get mum and dad in, to perhaps step away for a moment, when I felt her grab my collar. She was mumbling rather erratically trying to form words. When she let go of me, the only discernible word that I heard was "please".
But she did not have to say anything anymore. We have been twins for fourteen years. Six years did little to sever our bond. I understood her completely.
"Alright then," I muttered, feeling the warmth of my own tears on my face as well. I took the pillow from her, and placed it over her face. My final act of love for Lucy.
------------------
*I know. This was supposed to be wholesome. But nope. There are wholesome stories at /r/dori_tales though :p* | "Miss. Turpin, my name is John Becker, I'm Chief of Operations at Claremont Hospital. I am here to explain everything."
Carla Turpin's family sat by her bedside; her Mum weeping, her Father staring on solemnly, and her sister trying not to laugh.
Carla lay across three beds. Her legs and arms draping over the sides, spilling on the floor like melted rubber.
John Becker continued, "Three years after you entered the coma, the staff here at Claremont, along with the permission of your parents, agreed to undertake a radical approach in regards to regenerating your body and bringing you out of the deep sleep coma."
Carla interrupted, "Why are my limbs all 13ft long?"
"They're actually 15.6ft, honey," said Carla's Dad, who had indeed measured them a while back.
"Please, Mr. Turpin," said Becker. "As I was saying, due to conventional practices yielding zero results in your case, we decided, as a team, to put you through a series of superhero transformation rituals."
"Transformation rituals?" asked Carla.
"We threw your lifeless body down a well filled with bats. We had radioactive spiders bite you repeatedly. We even identified a planet that looked a little like Krypton and tried to crowdfund a return trip for you. We only raised £320 so had to resort to putting you in a bin and throwing you off the top off the hospital roof. The results were disappointing."
"You did what!?" shouted Carla, as her body drooped further off the beds.
"Nurse!" screeched John Becker. "Another bed in for Carla."
Two nurses stormed in to the room, accompanied by a large hospital bed which they stacked next to the three already housing Carla's amorphous body. They lifted and shoved her limbs over the fresh bed before leaving.
"Carla," said Becker. "We had given up hope. You must understand, we could only throw your lifeless body from the hospital rooftop so many times. But then, Carla, this young man came in to the equation."
In stepped Chad Chadley, a dashing young doctor who had evidently been waiting outside for his cue.
"Chad, without consulting anybody, and severely risking your life in the process, injected your body with 300lb of the weird stuff you find inside of Stretch Armstrong figures. He had to use a foot operated bike pump to get it all in, Carla. That's how much Stretch Armstrong he ploughed in to you. A monstrous amount of Stretch Armstrong juice," said Beker. "Probably way too much, if we're being honest."
"He did what?" asked Carla in shock.
"A monstrous amount of Stretch Armstrong stuff. A colossal pile of it. But it worked, Carla. Word has already reverberated around the medical community. We have the power to bring people out of deep comas simply by jousting an unimaginable amount of Stretch Armstrong stuff in to their non-responsive bodies. Unfortunately, as you represent the first case of Stretch Armstrong Coma Rehabilitation, we do admit we may have cunted a little too much of the fluid in to your body. You resemble a Stretch that has been played with too much. But that's a minor detail, Carla, I'm sure you agree." stated Becker.
Carla looked around the room, then at herself. Her limbs continuing to stretch out. "Do I fuck agree! I look like fat spaghetti. How am I going to live like this?!"
"Well," said Becker, "you will live like a Stretch Armstrong - in the attic after people have played with you for a month or two."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | 2017-08-02T06:33:47 | 2017-08-02T06:25:55 | 156 | 51 |
[WP] Any person you punch in anger is cured of all disease and is given perfect health for the rest of their life. The truth of this has gotten out and now everyone is out to piss you off. | For most of my life, I had a slow temper. Like some kind of zen monk, man. Normally, nothing bothered me.
That thing with Mark is another story. When I found out that he had been cheating on Sarah with some skank... I couldn't hold it in anymore. *She deserves so much better than him*! I just funneled years and years worth of rage into that single punch, and it was glorious. You know how in the cartoons where the guy is literally lifted off his feet and flies into something nearby? That actually happened.
Turned out... it was the best thing that ever happened to him. The fact that I broke the schmuck's glasses? No big deal; he had perfect vision now. That constant, persistent cough he had? Gone. His diabetes, passed down from generation to generation like a cherished heirloom? Completely cured. Hell, his receding hairline had even grown back!
Doctors couldn't explain it, but we all knew: it was the punch.
When Tommy was hit by that truck, everyone cornered me. "You've got a gift," they told me. "You know what you gotta do; it's at least worth a try!" Casually, we visited him in the hospital. No big deal, just some friends coming to make another feel better. Once the nurse was out of the room, I socked him on the shoulder. Nothing.
"Maybe it doesn't work," I told them. "Maybe it was a fluke."
"It wasn't," Tommy said. "You hit him so hard you knocked the disease out. You've got to really put your heart into it. Imagine I fucked your mother or something, man. Please?"
"Your choice, man..." I gritted my teeth and thought of that day that Sarah had shown up to class with that bruise on her arm. The energy coursed through me like I'd touched a live wire, and my fists were clenched before I even knew what was happening. I plowed straight into Tommy's shoulder, throwing the hospital bed onto its side like it was made of paper. The brace around his neck tore apart like an eggshell. "Oh, fuck..." I whispered. I knew it was a bad idea.
But after just a second, Tommy leapt to his feet, overjoyed.
"Even my scars from when I was a kid are gone!" he shouted, staring at his hands. He was healthier than ever before.
Word got around; none of the guys ever could keep a secret. At first it started out simple; just random people on the street shouting insults and such. I laughed them off. Then it got real. People vandalizing my stuff. Harassing my family. Hurting the people that I loved. Going out of their way to make me miserable, all for their own selfish purposes of wanting me to cure their common cold. Fuckwads.
I got home from work to see a strange car in my driveway. *Not again*.... I'd had to move six times in the past year just to get away. The only tether left to my old life was Sarah, who had finally realized how I felt about her and come along. She was the one bright spot left in my life. This "gift" had made me into a fucking fugitive, never knowing peace again. *How the fuck had this guy found me?*
I could feel the rage burning inside already, and did my best to control it. If he made me angry, he had won. That would just encourage others to come.
The door was open; it shouldn't have been. Sarah never left the door open.
She was on the stairs, lip swollen and bloody. The bruises around her eye were just starting to darken, like a gathering thunderstorm. He stood next to her, fist still raised, with a slight smirk. The minute he saw my expression, he smiled even wider. He'd definitely done enough to get that anger out of me now.
"Well, aren't you gonna hit me?" he said. I could see the bulge of a bandage under his shirt; some wound that he wanted cured.
I looked at him, almost laughing as my girlfriend's blood dripped down his knuckles. I looked at her on the stairs, ashamed to even glance in my direction.
I pulled out my gun and shot him in the chest. | The cartel'd had me strapped to that chair for forty-eight hours with only my right arm free.
"C'mon," said my latest torturer, digging the cigarette butt into my neck impatiently as I screamed and screamed. "C'mon, buddy, get ANGRY!"
"I'm trying!" I shrieked, flailing my bruised and tender fist against his abdomen. "Please! Please, I need rest!"
Try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to feel anger, not any more. My toenails were gone, ripped off one by one. That'd worked for a while, kept me sufficiently pissed, but after angrily socking a couple hundred cartel members and being rewarded only with further torture, I couldn't feel anything but pain and despair. It was only a matter of time before they got more desperate, started chopping off real body parts, and then I'd be dead, or at least wish I could die.
Tears streamed down my face. The pain was unreal, worse than anything I could ever have imagined.
"Oh, I see," said my torturer, "you fixed up two hundred of my buddies, but you can't work up even a little temper for me?"
He slapped me across the face. Then again, and again, using both hands, left right left right. I tasted blood, felt a tooth come loose, and shrieked like my life depended on it.
"I'm gonna slice off your balls!" screamed the torturer. "I'm gonna feed them to you! I got a knife right here!"
Then, suddenly, a thundering bang, as if lightning had touched down only a few feet away, with a flash of absurdly bright light to match. My ears rang. The slaps stopped coming. I let my head droop, blood dripping queasily out of my mouth, and consciousness faded away.
I awoke in a hospital bed, bandages over my aching burns, an oversized chunk of gauze stuffed in the hole where my tooth had been dislodged.
"Whurr-" I mumbled.
"Don't talk, don't talk," said a kind voice, and a man in a suit leaned down into my field of view. "You're safe now."
Tears filled my eyes. "Haughw??" I cried.
"The SEALs got you out," said the man. "You're a real important guy, Liam. We weren't gonna let you go down like that."
My empty toes screamed.
"It hurghts," I informed him.
"I know," said the man. "I'm very sorry, Liam. You'll be feeling better soon."
He turned to look out the window. "It's a very special ability you have," he said. "Granting perfect health with a touch! Practically immortality!"
I closed my eyes, trying to isolate the sources of throbbing in my body. I settled on "everywhere."
"Now, I admit it's a bit inconvenient, that you have to be angry in order to administer this effect," continued the man. "Obviously, we don't expect you to give this gift to everyone. It should be reserved for -- those you care about, of course, and others -- others who are particularly important."
I opened my eyes and found that the man had returned to stare down at me.
"Rest now, Liam," said the man. "When you're feeling better, I've got good news for you."
He turned to leave.
"Whaugh?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't suppose it matters if I tell you now," said the man with a smile. "You're going to meet the President!" | 2015-02-23T16:02:40 | 2015-02-23T15:46:39 | 306 | 10 |
[WP] You are Death, slaughterer of billions. Unfortunately, God’s PR department worries that people have become too afraid of you lately and haven’t been enjoying heaven as much as a result, so now it’s up to you to make the process of dying more entertaining for humanity. | *It is your time*
The old man shrunk himself as much as he could in his worn leather chair, his face contorted in fear. A shaking finger extended, though the question died on his lips. I rested my scythe over one black clad shoulder, my flame lit eyes peering at him from deep within my cowl.
*Yes, I am Death. And you Arthur have reached the end of your fragile mortality*
Wrinkled hands patted his chest, feeling his face. He would feel no different I knew. Just cold. Like stone. Like marble.
"What happens next?" he eventually wheezed and I could smell the cancer on his breath still. I raised my scythe and pointed to the side, slicing quickly to rent a hole in time and space. Beyond it was the Void. He recoiled from it. It called to me.
*The end*
The man stared in fear for a few more moments before nodding with a weary finality I had witnessed a thousand times. I began to take him by the hand when i remembered.
The new initiative.
I sighed heavily and lowered my hood, revealing the polished surface of my skull. I pointed to my other side, opposite the Void, as a giant wheel appeared, gaudy yellow and red. I gestured at the words written over it and helped the old man to his feet, to stand where he could spin it. If I had flesh and blood, my cheeks would have been flushed scarlet but my exterior remained the same bleached white.
*But first.... spin the wheel and let's see what you've won*
r/AMSWrites | "I WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Death slammed his large clenched fists on the round table between him and God. "Don't forget your job, we need to cultivate the best possible environment for progress. Humans have lost their way and have no common enemy. You must be the thing that unites them." Death was clearly irrate and yelled back at God, "I'LL GIVE THEM AN ENEMY!" His humanoid form began to pull and stretch as he flew down to Earth. Death had found his target and made himself known. He pointed at the young woman and called out, "I am Death and it is your time to die." Death's sythe was tall and made of bone and steel. He drew back his robe and pulled a long katana from a shadow. He effortlessly threw the sword to the girls feet and said, "arm yourself and prepare to die!" Without hestitation, the girl sprinted toward Death pulling the sword from the Earth on her way. | 2018-07-27T08:17:01 | 2018-07-27T07:37:39 | 107 | 34 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | A week ago I was an elite member of the royal guard, doing my duty as always. I was the leader of the four female guards in the defense troop. That was until the new king, Harrion the fourth, decided that his troops would be better off with new recruits and decided to fire all of us who served for more than a decade.
King Harrion the Third wrote in his testament that I, along with the other female guards were to remain if he were to pass, but his son thought otherwise and wrote us off against his late father's will. The four of us tried to reason with him, to reconsider, but he made up his mind, cursed us, and went on his way.
Boy was he wrong.
Fast forward to today, I am huddled inside a cramped house as storms rage overhead, lightning crackled outside my door, wind howling outside my window. A measly fire pit kept me and my soup warm. I heard three knocks on the front door, I dared not to make a sound, hoping it would go away. But they only became louder until I couldn't take it anymore.
I opened the door. In front of me was what looked like someone in their late-twenties, dressed up in chainmail. His face was as pale as night.
"Ms. Annelise?" The child boomed
"Aye?" I replied.
"King Harrion wants to have a word with you."
"Tell him I wouldn't give even a smidgen of a fuck."
"Please ma'am, this is important." He persisted. "The kingdom is at stake."
"The kingdom he banished me and my girls from? The kingdom he made us look like a laughing stock to? If that's what it is about, I would not like to continue this conversation any further." I said.
"Please reconsider! The king needs you at this moment!" He pleaded, "I've heard legends of the Great Cryllasti , surely they won't let us down."
'He tries to use my past against me' I thought.
"The rule was that we would continue to serve in return for respect. What did your pathetic king do? He cursed us, humiliated us, banished us. Is that respect?" I snapped.
I was the most patient one, I had to be, I fought against war.
"Tell your pathetic excuse for a king that he could 'kiss my ass' whatever that means. And also tell him that he was the only one brave enough to say anything like that in the past millenia." I declared. "Now go back to your king."
The boy had tears welling up in his eyes already devoid of hope. I may have a soft spot, but I don't tolerate with disrespect.
"B-but Ms. Minerva and Ms. Vermil–"
"The other Crystalli would say the same thing. We do not deal with your kind anymore."
He left without another word.
We've been protecting the land from the Horsemen Apocalypti for eons. War, Famine, Death, Conquest, all of them trembled beneath our knees. Now that the king said he no longer needed nor wanted our services, we'll leave them to their devices.
(this is my first story, I hope it's any good.) | *An interview with Commander Juan dola Cruz, former Captain-General of King Ferdinand. He provided unique valuable insights on the demise of the Mad king. After my interview with him, I can't help but think that one wrong decision lead to the fall of a dynasty lasting 300 years*
The day the kingdom fell was the day I was removed from the Guard. The moment the Scarlet crown was placed upon his brow, the new King, Ferdinand threw me out.
I only knew of Liebe's fall years later, while I was lounging on a cafe in New Liebe. It seems King Ferdinand's policies have stirred revolution and the King, being a petty, showy man with little skill, locked himself in his palace as sign of, in his own words (if the press is to be believed) *"The bravest thing a monarch can do since Kristiva the Great"*
How can being besieged by starving peasants be braver than leading armies at 16 years of age? Let alone leading the smallest army in the entire region.
Funnily enough, the room he locked himself in was the War room. A room built by the Ferdinand's predecessor, the Soldier king. It was here the Soldier King would discuss war plans with me, and various others, preparing Liebe for any sort of external threat and how we are to conduct campaign. Unfortunately, he didn't live long enough to witness the ravages of the Ghaiamese revolution, and I wasn't in employment long enough to even draft a plan for a revolution.
I was also the only one, aside from the Soldier King himself, who knew the War room had a secret passage that lead to the Basilisk, a fort just outside the capital.
In his final years, he had me oversee its construction and made me swear an oath that only the Captain of the Guard and his successors are to know the passage's existence only. This didn't sound right, but the king was degrading and I didn't want to stress him more.
So, I decided to reveal the passage to some of his and my most trusted people, at least a day or two, or perhaps a week after his death. But that fool Ferdinand rushed the coronation, becoming king the just before his father even had his casket prepared.
I was thrown out, and perhaps in my disgust for the pig, I forgot about the passage until a week later. But I couldn't be bothered. My blood boiled every time I think of that pig. I wanted nothing with his new government and so I set off to settle in the colonies. | 2021-02-28T03:11:04 | 2021-02-28T02:31:53 | 310 | 107 |
[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. | We were fortunate that both of these names were on his back instead of a body part he could see. When we bathed him, we made sure he never saw them. When he was old enough to shower and change himself, however, we had to spill the beans. "You are not to look at these names," we told him. I'm proud of our son, he understood the ramifications of seeing the names, even at such a young age. Life has been pretty smooth from that point, friends matching the names have come and gone, but we seldom get worried about it anymore. He's in high school now, his life no different from his peers. He has a very sweet girlfriend, and he keeps saying she must be one of the names on his back. We say nothing, but smile back, reassured that he hasn't seen the tattoos yet.
Edit: Added a phrase to clear up that the parents are NOT supposed to be the names on the back. Also this story is in a universe where only he has the names. | “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.” | 2018-03-11T07:37:56 | 2018-03-11T07:26:50 | 331 | 78 |
[WP] One day, whilst interviewing for a new job, you sneeze. The interviewer blesses you, which ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem. Except for the fact that they are secretly an angel, and you are secretly a demon. | Flames sparked from her fingertips and the top of Neshral's already bright red hair, igniting into a fiery halo. Frantically she beat her hands together, putting out the fire. She and the man jumped at the same time, but Neshral was faster, snatching the glass from the desk. She dumped the water over her head, extinguishing the flames. As the coils of smoke dwindled, her hair returned to its usual shade of scarlet.
"Ha-ha," Neshral giggled, brushing off the incident as she might an accidental belch. "Don't worry about that... seasonal thing, you know? It's just a..."
His expression settled into a glare. Pressing a button on his phone, he shouted, "SECU..."
"Hey!" Neshral protested, flopping over to bat the phone away. It careened across the desk, smacked into the wall, and fell to the ground with a 'thud.' "Didn't you just say I was the most qualified candidate so far, Ramiel?"
"Lord help me. This interview is done." Ramiel edged over, close to where the phone fell, keeping his eyes on Neshral. "And if that screen is so much as chipped..."
"But... but... come on, you have no idea what my student loan bills are like. You think hell ever grants deferments? Ha!" Neshral had dropped to the ground, trying to locate the phone first.
"That's not my problem." Ramiel said, adding, "Sorry."
Hearing the weakness in his tone, Neshral seized on it. "The employee handbook!" she blurted out, even as Ramiel wrapped his hand around the phone. "Page three. Employers do not discriminate on the basis of race, religion, ethnicity, sex..."
Ramiel rolled his eyes as he inspected the phone. Undamaged. "Demons are not a protected class."
"It's still discrimination!"
*"I'm not hiring a demon!"*
Neshral straightened up, her arms folded across her chest. "Oh, you better believe I'll report that to HR," she said, glaring at Ramiel. "Actually... maybe I will," she said, as a moment of inspiration struck.
"Excuse me?"
She gestured toward the door. "Everyone else here is human, right? Do they, you know, know? Maybe I could ask... since the interview is over...?"
Ramiel raised an eyebrow, eyeing Neshral in disbelief. "Are you trying to blackmail me into giving you the job?"
"Depends. Do I have the job?"
The door opened before Ramiel could speak. A man in a blue security uniform entered. He glanced between Ramiel and Neshral, then back to Ramiel. "Er... sir? There were shouts on the line. Is everything alright?"
Ramiel and Neshral met each other's gaze at the same instant. For several seconds, they stared at each other. Finally, Ramiel answered, "Everything's fine. Neshral, here, will start Monday at 9."
"Damn right I will!" Neshral agreed, beaming.
Nodding, the guard departed, leaving Neshral and Ramiel alone again.
Ramiel cast another glare at Neshral. "I take my coffee with cream, light sugar. Don't be late."
Neshral skipped to the door. "See you Monday!" | "You alright there? A few of our employees get hay fever around this time of year. Here have a tissue and wipe those tears."
"I'm......*weeeeeeezzzz* fine! Just. FINE! *sob* Not sure *Weeeezzz* what came over me. Must be *Ugh* allergic or somethin. Ya was sayin?"
"Well yes, about your resume. You mention that you're looking for an opportunity to learn and grow. However the job on offer is actually repetitive and monotonous work will that be a problem?"
"What? Nah nah, did it suddenly get hot in here? *uuugghh* I mean I'm fine with the heat, grew up with it in fact but you know don't want to give the wrong impression or nothin. *weez* "
"Not that I'm aware off but you do seem to be a bit red. Are you running a fever by any chance? We do have some excellent... errr medical, yes medical staff that'll take care of that in the blink of the eye."
"I've never been sick a day in my life. It's just the heat I tells ya. *ohhh* Swear on my mother's grave I is a hard worker, never sick and never tire. Can even call me previous place, ain't taken a day off since the beginning of time! I mean, it feels like forever since I did anyway. You have heated tiles here mister? Mind turning them off, I can feel them through my boots now."
"While I do admire your work ethics greatly you are still mortal. Err I mean we are still mortal of course. If you feel ill then maybe"
"Nah nah nah. I'm good, I'll be straight with ya. I've been doin' the grunt work for my... company... for as long as I can remember. I want more out of life. Met people as they are before the ... company *ugh* ... turns them into mindless drones day in and day out. *Ommf* I'm fine with starting at the bottom, been there my whole life. So long as there is even a chance to climb up I'll take it!"
"I admire your attitude! Very well then. The job's yours. It's not a glorious one but with time, tenacity and the will of the lord I'm sure you'll work your way up in no time at all."
The interviewer extended his arm to shake the hand of his new co-worker. The minute their fingers touched there was nothing left of the man but a heap of crumbled clothes and some ash.
Azrael looked down at his hand, the disguise of flesh was still intact. "I really should remember to wear gloves for these interviews but I don't remember his name on my to-do list for the day. How very peculiar..." | 2018-08-19T20:17:12 | 2018-08-19T17:19:00 | 311 | 99 |
[WP] "Good to see you, Mr. Bond," the Queen said, sliding a file across her desk. "Your next target is a certain so-called detective who has been prying too deeply into national secrets." Bond flips open the file, glancing down at the name. "Sherlock Holmes." | \*This is my first ever post, and I haven't written anything in a long time, so forgive the weak writing\*
​
​
"Is this some kind of joke Your Majesty?"
3 years of being Mr Bond's personal aide and I had never seen him question an assignment, much less from the Queen herself. "Not at all, it's simply an assignment like always." Maybe it was the years I had spent working with the best agent of our generation, but I could tell the Queen was hiding something. "Of course your Majesty, what is the target's real name?"
"Sherlock Holmes"
"I'm sorry mum, but I assumed it was an alias, I'll get on it right away"
Mr Bond stood up to leave and I scrambled after him carrying his coat and case. "James a word please"
I froze in place and looked up at Mr Bond. The Queen had never addressed him by his first name. I could see the shock flit across his face, but as he turned he composed himself like nothing ever rattled him. He glanced at me and nodded towards the door indicating I wait outside.
I had barely begun to pace outside when the door opened and Mr Bond walked straight past me towards the stairs. I rushed after him and what I saw scared me more than anything I had ever seen. More than Iraq, more than Afghanistan, more than Mrs Bates my primary school tutor.
"Sir is everything all right?" I tried to catch Mr Bond's attention, but the glazed look over his eyes indicated he was too lost in his own thought. I had never seen Mr Bond rattled before, be it bullets or banter he had never shown any sign of discomfort. "Mr Bond sir?" I tapped his shoulder lightly which seemed to jog him back to the present. "Henry what i'm about to tell you should not be repeated elsewhere under any circumstances, understood?" I nodded slowly, the slight waver in his voice fuelling my nervousness even further. "As you know there have been many other agents who have bore the mantle of 007" I nodded, this was common knowledge in the bureau that 007 was a title given to the best of the best. "Well the man we are tasked with eliminating is 007 as well."
"Was he the 007 before you sir?" Shocking as it was I still didn't see why this would have scared Mr Bond as much as it did.
"No Henry, well before that." Mr Bond chewed his bottom lip and took a deep breath. "In fact he was the first 007."
"That's not possible sir, that would make him over 200 years old!"
"Henry please let me finish." He looked around to make sure he wasn't being heard. "Every other 007 came from him he was the first and the best of us."
My mouth dropped in shock "Sir you can't mean that every 007 is descended from Sherlock Holmes, it makes no sense! nobody can live that long! its not possible!" He raised a hand to cut me off, and sat down on the foot of the stairs.
"In a manner of speaking yes, all originated from him, but not by lineage..."
"what are you saying sir?
I began to feel dizzy.
"We came from him Henry,"
"I don't understand!"
My vision clouded slightly, I was never good with stress, which is why I was an aide and not an agent.
"All 007 are clones of Sherlock Holmes"
I blacked out. | "Shaken, not stirred."
Bond, his tuxedo pressed, his dress shoes tight, sits at a bar opposite the craps table. The women around him all wear glossy red dresses, the men entertain them with great feats of gambling. Some fill up with drinks, drowning away their tremendous losses. Many are rich enough not to care.
Such is the atmosphere of the *Lumiere Dela Mar*, in Cannes. It's the week of the festival, so the movie people, cash cows, come in with their pockets lined and their wallets fit to burst. These movie people, this time, carried with them a strange foreign man, who shared Bond's love for Her Majesty.
As Bond sips the martini, which the clean-shaven mixologist has slid to him, he thinks about his newly adorned target. A British man, bespectacled, neatly tailored suit. Monocle when it suits him. On him, the pistol that he used to shoot Agent 005, the eminent Doctor James Moriarty. He was a vigilante detective on the run, killing those he saw fit. MI6 agreed, he *needed* to be stopped.
*Two minutes, and tempus fugit. A bespectacled detective named Sherlock Holmes will respond to a murder at Room 29 of the Bonne-Villa Suite. There will be one victim, no witnesses. He will not be able to solve the case. 8:33 exact, and the raven must be in his perch.*
Looking at his watch, he takes one last sip, and gives the bartender his thanks. His shoes tap a rhythm on the marble as he hurries to take his place. He opens the room, sliding the laminated rectangle through the silver latch, and makes his way inside. He has a small briefcase, which looks as if it belongs in a dollhouse adorned with petite feathers and among trinkets and necklaces for mice. Undoing the latches almost takes the work of a surgeon, but the Walther PPK that he is so accustomed to is neatly ensconced in a bed of velvet.
He removes it, and takes his position by the door, aiming it through the peephole.
*Two minutes, and tempus fugit. He approaches, with nary a sound. Aim, ready, fire.*
The bullet surely found its mark, as Bond slips the Walther back in its sleeve. Closes the briefcase without a single word, and steps over the body as he walks back down the hallway, tapping out that same rhythm. Maybe another drink for him, among the jesters, madmen, moneylenders, madames, and thieves.
*Looks like he's found his final solution.*
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r/bluelizardK | 2019-11-04T21:21:38 | 2019-11-04T20:33:50 | 379 | 100 |
[WP] considered the worlds best thief people call you 'shadow'. No one knows who you are, not your gender, your age, anything. Then, one day, you find a note slipped into your pocket... | My fingers touched the folded paper in my pocket and my heart stopped. The city beat on relentlessly. People passing each other, minor incidental contacts, that didn’t even register. Millions of them every day. I used to use them to make a living when I first started out as a street pickpocket. Before I realized I was different. All the other young kids got caught, hurt, arrested. But not me. I just kept getting more and more ambitious and found when I was working I was like smoke in a fog. Uncatchable, and not even really visible. All of which was great, as I was on my own. My parents had left me on the street when I was 10. Stealing was all I had to avoid getting pulled into a home, and the kids that I met that had run away from those told me that was not somewhere I wanted to be.
The problem with my skill and ambition and resultant success was that I was terrible at fencing. A wallet or a watch is easy to cash in, but the real money? That came from relieving people of rare commodities and selling them to a very select pool of potential buyers. That was how I became the ‘shadow’, and started to put my skills to work for other people. It took a bit of time, but with enough money and enough powerful and wealthy people who do not want their transactions with me uncovered, I managed to develop a separation from the world and my work that was so total I had not even had a brush with being discovered in more than 10 years. Until today, apparently.
So many of these little interactions and one of them changed my life without me even seeing it coming. I was as bad as the crowded sheep.
I pulled the note from my pocket. I didn’t look around shiftily, as the person that had put it in there was so good, it’s not like I would have ever seen them unless they wanted to be seen. If that was what they wanted, we would already be talking. It was a simple, neatly folded piece of ruled paper, like one pulled from a jotter. It didn’t look like the calling card of some powerful previous victim threatening death if I didn’t return some Mcguffin I’d taken.
I leant against the wall of a grocery store, out of the flow of people, and opened the note.
*Shadow,*
*I understand that is what you go by now. Does anyone know your real name? I do.*
*I’m sorry about the theatrics, but I felt like it was the only way to get you to listen. Properly listen, and not be planning how you were going to get away and burn all ties to this area. Talking to you, I hope comes later, but its taken me 3 years to find you and I didn’t fancy starting all over. I hope I have your attention.*
*Have you ever wondered why you can move as you do, and no-one else can? How you can find ways to drift past security, and sensors and surveillance, and others can’t? Well, I can. And there is a reason for that. I’d like to explain, but I think this needs a bit more time than this scrap of paper.*
*Instead, I want to offer you a job. I need your help. I know you work alone because I do too, but this needs both of us.*
*I want you to help me steal back our mother.*
​
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r/TallerestTales | I was a shadow. No one knew my true form, some considered me a monster while others considered me an edgy human with a love of sharp blades. I considered myself neither; I was a shadow. I was the darkness behind someone, the looming threat that seemed oh so natural. I was that rustling that made one look over their shoulder, that voice that made your muscles tense during a dark night. I was the thing everyone feared the most.
I had a successful night. An art gallery was holding an exhibition of Salvador Dali, one that I found myself interested in. Art was something that should be shared among the public, not hidden away behind tight security for posh rich assholes to swirl their wine to. I doubt any genuine artist would want to see how perverse the field of their art had truly become. So, as a lover of the arts, I spent my night relieving the gallery of a few statues and paintings. It would be hard selling such a famous item, but when you had connections like mine, you could find a seller for just about anything.
Was it hypocritical to judge the rich assholes while selling the artwork to those same assholes? Probably, but by the public, I meant the public auction. I’ll give everyone a fair share at buying the artworks, I don’t judge. Dropping the priceless works onto the floor, I let out a sigh of relief. Even the best got tired. I had a few close calls, a few security systems I nearly dripped, a few staring eyes as I snuck into the backroom dressed as an employee. All things that made one’s heart flutter, but it was done. The perfect crime.
I was eager to watch the news, throwing myself onto the couch only to feel something push through the fabric of my pocket. I frantically tapped away at my pocket; had they bugged me? Was I suddenly being tracked? I threw myself from the couch, fighting with my jacket before tossing out the foreign item, watching the piece of paper float out of my pocket, landing on the floor.
A note? A secret admirer, perhaps? Or a corrupt guard who wants a cut? Nervously I gripped the paper, flipping it over to reveal the message on the front. ‘Two for one pizza’s at Uncle John’s pizzeria. Rat poison free since 2019*’
It stunned me. Of all the people to catch me off-guard, all the people that could have possibly slipped something into my pocket. The one who had done it was some brat handing out coupons. How did someone like that have such nimble hands? I was paranoid, looking over the note for a few hours, unable to find any sign of foul play.
I placed the note aside, throwing back my head. Had I been that off my game tonight? Maybe I was getting a little too old for thieving. Reaching for a burner phone I decided to at least pay Uncle John’s some respect, making a call for a delivery. They had earnt it.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-11-11T00:35:08 | 2020-11-10T23:38:56 | 62 | 25 |
[WP]You are a guard in a fantasy world. You notice a man in elegant armor kick a chicken in the streets. In your lawful rage, you manage to kill this man in the name of justice. To your dismay, you realize you just killed The Chosen One. You just doomed the world. | "Well, he shouldn't have been kicking chickens. Those belong to old man Greery, and the last thing that poor old bastard needs is someone brutalizing his livestock."
Nobody responds, they're all just staring at the corpse. The chosen one. I'm so fired. "Look, just... think about if it had been literally anyone else. A strange man comes into our town and starts punting our poultry all over, you absolutely would have asked me to detain him. I'm the town guard, that's my entire job description! And then, and then he starts swinging this massive sword at me -"
"You mean the legendary sword of Holy Light?" the mayor asks.
"Um. I suppose?"
"The one that we've got no less than four murals of? That one?"
I think I see where this is going. "You know, I'm not really a big art lover..."
"The one that you maybe should have recognized as the emblem of the ONE TRUE HERO SENT TO DELIVER US FROM LORD BLOODWORM?"
The yelling seems unnecessary. I'm standing right here. "Okay well yes, but when it's coming right at your face it's hard to take a minute and compare it to the murals, you know?"
 
Farmer Richards scoffs. Actually scoffs! "You don't look like you've got a scratch on you, boy."
Well he's not wrong. It was the first thing I noticed after killing the... ugh, the chosen one.
The mayor nods. "Yes, that's because he was never in any danger. The sword of Holy Light only kills those with evil in their hearts, not incompetence and stupidity."
"Okay first of all ouch. That's... that's really harsh. I was doing my job. Second, that just proves I'm not evil and it was an honest mistake. And third, I still want to know why he was laying boot to old man Greery's chickens!"
"Who cares!" farmer Richards yells, "It's hero stuff. Why, he came onto my farm the other day and smashed most of my pottery. You'll notice I didn't kill him for it."
There's a murmuring in the crowd, now. Jean, the brewmistress, raises a hand. "Hang on. He came to my shop, as well. Drank some beer without paying, and smashed all the empty barrels."
Carol the weaver nods. "Came right into my house. Didn't knock or announce himself, just dug through my cabinets. He took my last rupee, as well as the apple I was going to have with lunch."
More and more are nodding and whispering.
 
The mayor finally calls for silence. "Everyone! Okay, it seems the chosen one was exhibiting a lot of... strange and seemingly un-heroic behavior. That's rather beside the point now, however. we need to deal with the fact that captain enthusiasm here murdered him."
"Manslaughter, at the worst."
"Shut up."
"Yessir."
The townsfolk start yelling out suggestions. It starts with calls for my execution, but soon it becomes clear that nobody really wants to admit that our town had anything to do with this. They're talking about covering it up.
"I mean," Carol says, "hero-ing is dangerous work. Who's to say he didn't get eaten by a giant spider?"
"I have a spot we can bury him," Farmer Richards volunteers, "and the guard as well if we're still executing him."
The mayor is considering it. "Hmm. Yes, it would be bad for tourism indeed. Well, let's move the body for now. The fewer people see this the better."
A few people grab the body and start dragging it away. The mayor tries to pick up the sword, but his hand passes right through it. Everyone freezes.
"Hey everyone, the mayor isn't worthy to lift the sword!" someone in the back yells.
"I know that was you, Errol! I'd like to see you do better!"
 
One by one the townsfolk try, but nobody can do more than make it wiggle. Finally there's nobody left but me. Might as well...
 
The cold metal seems to send energy up into my arms. For a moment the skies part and allow a glimpse into a universe beyond my understanding, filled with radiant beings singing.
"Oh, shit." the mayor says. There's a general grumbling from the crowd that seems to agree. At least I guess I'm not going to get executed.
 
[X](https://www.reddit.com/user/SOdhner/comments/6ha4js/things_ive_written_for_rwritingprompts/) | "Where is the Chosen One? You killed her," the old man said. His tone was surprisingly calm, considering the news.
"Wait," Guard Townsend said, "what do you mean, 'I killed her'? I've only killed a few bandits and a vandal. Obviously, those people were not the Chosen One. I mean, if the Chosen One is supposed to stop the threat of the dragons he's not going to be threatened by the likes of me."
The old man nodded. "She," the sage corrected. "She was the vandal, the one who was slaying your town's livestock."
"What?" Townsend said. "Why would the Chosen One be trying to ensure we starved come wintertime?"
The sage had been aloof so far, but something about the question got his attention. "Because the Chosen Ones do not behave the way they are depicted in the tales. They are erratic, unpredictable. Sometimes, they are true to their legends, yes. Most times, however, they act in ways that are utterly unexplainable. Most benignly, they'll run everywhere they go. Or, alternately, hop. Sometimes they'll stand in place, staring, for hours without interacting with anyone. Often they'll travel stealthily behind someone, wander off without explanation when caught, and then to do so again. Many turn to pointless petty theft."
Townsend just gaped at the old man. "Why?"
"That is what I am trying to tell you. We do not know. These are the ways of the Chosen Ones." The old man didn't seem disturbed by these impossibilities. He was merely stating facts.
"And the one I killed?" the guard asked.
"It is not unusual for Chosen Ones to become bored," the old man said.
"Bored!? They're supposed to be killing *dragons*!"
"Indeed, and yet it is so. In their boredom, they turn to more dire pursuits. They kill livestock, people... entire villages or towns."
"How is it possible I have never heard of this?" Townsend asked.
"Because it never happened. The Chosen Ones use their powers, their *CHIM*, to change the past. Their actions are erased as though they never happened, the world itself reverted to some earlier state." The old man continued his infuriating calm.
"So... do it, then. Use your chin, or whatever, to undo everything," Guard Townsend said. He knew he sounded desperate, he knew it didn't even sound possible, but he was desperate, and he was willing to consider the impossible.
The sage shook his head slowly. "*CHIM*," he corrected, "is what separates us from the Chosen Ones. While they exist here, their true selves exist elsewhere. Somewhere *outside* of this world. It is those true selves which act, and those true selves which can use this power. Ordinary beings like you and I, trapped within this world entirely, cannot act outside it."
Guard Townsend grinded his teeth. "Is there nothing we can do, then?"
"It is said," the sage said, pausing either to think or debate whether he wanted to continue, "that the God-Kings of the East have, somehow, obtained such a power. That they tapped into the heart of a dead god, and achieved *CHIM*."
"So... to save the world," Guard Townsend said, "I just need to let them know what the problem is?"
"When have the God-Kings, or the Emperors, or anyone other than the Chosen Ones, saved the world?" The sage asked. "No, if anyone is to do this, it must be someone unexpected. An ordinary person - typically, a prisoner. But one who guards prisons... this seems appropriate."
"Me." Guard Townsend said. "You mean me."
The sage nodded. "Go into the barrows; you will find a tablet there. Bring it to the Jarl's wizard. He will tell you more."
"Did you just give me-"
"Of course," the sage said. "If you are to follow the path of the Chosen Ones, then you must take the actions they would. And the first thing all Chosen Ones are given... is a quest." | 2017-06-13T08:17:04 | 2017-06-13T08:07:54 | 533 | 92 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. |
“…And when the oppressors finally face their doom, they will know why is it that I’m called The Grudge!” I hammered the steel podium in front of me with a fist and watched it crumple like a tin can. The wave of stunned silence in the great field was breached by a triumphant uproar. My soldiers cried my name in reverence, their eyes gleaming, their hands raised in right angle in the ritual salute. Thousands upon thousands of rows of men and women, proclaiming their eternal devotion for me. I smiled one of my few chosen smiles saved for just such occasion, and presented them the ritual salute back. They loved this crap. The more they loved it, the more intense their faith became. The faith fuelled their belief in my powers. And so rose the power of The Grudge.
When I returned to my chambers it was well nigh past dinner. The ceremony had stretched too long, with me recounting all the evils that the oppressors had wrought, and how they would be paid back in their blood. Then my ministers seized their chance, having their own little versions of chest pumping speeches. They received applause too – and as long as they swore their fealty to me in the end, it would all serve only The Grudge. But Gods, it was exhausting.
Dismissing my aides for the day I retreated to my dining hall. It was difficult not to show I was starving in front of my underlings, but decades of cruel training had ingrained these reflexes in my bones. There was already someone sitting at the table, head down, scribbling along in notebooks and humming a cheerful tune – a sharp contrast against the servants who rushed to set the table with a tenuous perfection. He jumped as the echoes of my stride broke his concentration, then smiled.
“Hon, you are back! But its so late!” He checked his wrist. “Oh, poor dear, have you eaten anything?! Sit down, sit down!” He rushed to me, taking me by the hands and kissing me to the flustered astonishment of the servants,
“Michael!” I hissed, feigning annoyance. But I knew that he knew – this was the first time today that I was truly at ease. I cleared the creases of his coat lapels, enjoying for a moment his embrace before we parted.
As I sat down to eat he sat next to me, my ever doting husband. It was silly really, The Grudge herself being pampered by someone, and I kept telling him that. It had no effect on him.
“How was your day, darling?”
I sighed. There were servants within the earshot. “I would rather hear about you day, Michael.”
His face lit up. “Oh, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about me gaining some followers too – I think I came up with a great salute!”
“Oh?” I smiled. This had ought to be good.
“Yeah, let me show you. Tom, would you come here for a second?” The server nodded and rushed to the table, his face ever tense, droplets of sweat lining his temples. If I crushed him the man would ooze sweat like a sponge dipped in water, I thought.
“Oh, would you relax?” Michael chimed in and the spell was broken. The server blinked, breathing deeply and freely. “Remember what I taught you a today? Let’s try it out, okay?”
They raised their hands simultaneously as if greeting each other, then shifted forward and clapped each other palms resoundingly. I stopped chewing my food at that bizarre display.
“I call it the High-Five!” Michael declared. It was a nice ritual salute. I could feel Tony’s – or whatever the servant’s name was – devotion for my husband. Devotion without fear. Interesting. “Isn’t it great? You can go now, Tom, thanks!”
“Very… original, Michael.”
He settled down besides me. “You didn’t like it?”
“I liked it very much. But you seemed to have forgotten something. You can’t ‘High-Five’ a million followers. That would get a bit tedious.”
He laughed. The kind one does without fear of retribution. It was uncanny.
“I know! I am not planning to have a million of people following me anyway. A few will suffice. Let’s say – enough so that I may ‘High-Five’ them all.”
I stifled my grin. | Row upon row of Deadly Ninja Fighter Robots lined up in front of the Lady Torture, armed with a variety of shiny new dangerous weapons.
Lady Torture herself a Raven haired beauty, clad in leather and lycra, cackled from her podium.
"Excellent! My new army of Ninjabots will lay waste to Atro city! Not even the Power Hero 5 will be able to stop the onslaught! I will finally achieve my rule over these pitiful people, and then the World! No one ca..."
The side door opened with a loud creak.
In stumbled a skinny man wearing a denim jacket over a red T-shirt and cream Cargo trousers. In one hand he held a bag of groceries from the local FoodMart, under his other arm was a slightly dirty looking cardboard box with a few small holes punched into it. Occasionally the box would bump slightly or release a small squeaky "yip".
"Honey!" The man exclaimed with a beaming grin on his face.
"You'll never guess what I found on the pavement outside the shopping centre... Puppies! There so adorable you won't belie..."
He paused and looked from his wife's annoyed face to the silent menacing robots, his face then dropped as realisation hit him.
"Oh... I interrupted your Monologue again didn't I?" he said in hushed tone.
"Yes you did!, is it too much for me to ask for a little privacy in my lair?? Try to understand, I am trying to organise world domination!" Lady Torture yelled.
Looking at her husbands crestfallen face she sighed, she realised she should probably ease off of the loud voice.
"Look Geoffrey, we're Villains." She spoke with one hand rising to cover her eyes and rub her temples.
"How will puppies achieve our goal?"
"I could...uh..raise them to be our hounds...of doom?" Geoffrey stuttered in reply.
Lady Torture sighed once more. She then reluctantly motioned him forward. Excited once more Geoffrey bounded up the steps and deposited the box on the tabe in front of her.
"Don't worry they're Rottweilers, they'll be a great addition!" Geoffrey said pleased with himself.
Surprised with her husbands quoted find, she opened the box with great expectation. Inside was 6 little black puppies... but something was wrong.
She just stared.
"Geoffrey?...These are Dachshunds..."
"What?" Geoffrey said in obvious shock. He peered into the box at the little creatures bounding around in excitement.
"oh...so they are."
Lady Torture began to shake in anger.
"This is just like when I asked you to build those Prison Cells." she said through gritted teeth, a dark aura of energy building up around her.
"What was wrong with the cells?" Geoffrey said confused.
"You gave them full plumbing and vending machines with food in!!!" She roared.
"Well It would save time and cost with sanitation and hygiene, and anyway the true evil was in the prices! I mean, did you see how much I was charging for travel size chocolate bars?"
"That's not Evil, that's just being... cruelly enterprising!"
"Oh, ok... I'll go fix the cells." he replied sullenly, his shoulders drooped as he shuffled away.
Lady Tortures rage faded away, she felt bad. Not bad, bad... but bad, bad. Geoffrey did try his best, just to less than satisfactory results. She did love that quirky attitude of his.
'Besides' she thought looking down at the puppies once more
'These are...cute. Mabye I should bake him a dark chocolate cake to cheer him up...hmm but that'll look like I'm giving in... I'll guilt him into giving me a massage aswell'
She walked away cackling to herself in her mind. | 2020-04-14T06:09:54 | 2020-04-14T05:49:42 | 320 | 193 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | My whole life I've been a slave. My mother was a slave too, so I never knew another way.
When I was young, I was happy to subject myself to the will of another. First my mother, and her master.
Then, the travelers came to my home and took me away. I went willingly. They taught me I had power, but they insisted on limiting how I used it. At the end, they were just another kind of master and I was just another kind of slave.
I grew stronger. I made a difference. I fought battles and won them. I even won her, even though it was forbidden. She is gone because I wasn't strong enough. I learned that day that I can't trust myself, and acting on my own desire brings only disaster. That day, I surrendered myself completely to the will of another.
But now I stand with my latest master, my final master. The master I've had since I became the person, the thing, I am now. The boy who served those others, who knew her, who killed her, I thought was long dead. For so long I have believed all that remained was my master's servant.
I look now at the anguish on my son's face as he learns the lesson I did so many years ago. It is pointless to fight against my master. His will is unmatched, his power irresistible.
And yet...
I am weakened, but I still have strength. Without the force of my rage and my master's will to sustain me I will surely die, but perhaps I need not die as I have lived, a slave.
I have spent my life serving others, others who did not deserve it. I find now, looking at my son writhing on the floor, that I feel something stronger than fear, stronger even than the anger and regret that have dominated my actions for so long.
I will act. I will do what I should have done so many years ago and act to stop this madness, not for myself, but for my children. I do this of my own accord, because it is the right thing, not because any master demands it.
I go now to become one with the Force. May the galaxy forgive me. | That arrogant, **airheaded,** *asinine* fool. Such potential, and yet he wastes his graces on the lowest of his subjects. They bow to him when they should be **groveling.**
And what do I get for bringing this to my *dear* brother's attention? I'm **thrown out,** like bones picked clean, to bleach in the summer sun. *I* was born to be king. *I* was born to rule. But instead, his crown is to be passed to his incompetent progeny, born of the same ignorant mould, and with the same tainted blood pumping through his veins. And that *voice...* That voice rattles my head every time he *speaks.* Perhaps it's a bit much to wish death upon a child. But then again...
Not that it matters. That fool can have his "victory" for now. I will cling to the shadows, and bide my time. I will have my vengeance. I will raise my own army, and build my own empire. My reign will come with the same immutable force of a stampede, and it will **crush** any and all who resist it. And when all is said and done; when he reaches for my hand to help pull him from the abyss of his own ignorance, I will reveal myself. With the same frigid tone and overt satisfaction he showed at my humiliation, I will look him straight in the eye and say:
*"Long live the King..."* | 2014-06-20T09:34:04 | 2014-06-20T06:30:33 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick of being ignored and insulted all the time, so they join the bad guys. They are a much more effective villain than anyone thought possible. | (Corp's Bride)
The pulse shorted out only their bionic prostheses, but nothing else. I knew the exact frequency to use – I’d installed each and every one, after all.
Kicking the door open, I pull out my tiny pistol and advance upon the stunned group. The sight of my gun didn’t provoke the usual laughter about size and calibers, not while they were lying on the floor gasping for air. I saw and savored the fear in their eyes as I slowly walked towards them. It felt methodical, practiced, as though it were just another surgery. I started in on the hulking mass first.
“Monica, cardiovascular disease. Surgery undergone to replace organic heart with prosthetic. Routinely re-appropriated 50% of my portion of team funds for ‘protection’. Cause of death: gunshot.” I pressed the pistol to her eye socket and fired, angling the shot to penetrate deeply into her brain. I was under no illusions that my bullets could pierce her thick skull, but as it was, the shot appeared critically effective. I turned next to the lithe young man attempting to crawl towards his sword.
“Turner, adenocarcinomas. Surgery undergone to replace organic lungs with prosthetics. Seduced the love of my life before ultimately breaking her heart and encouraging her to self-destruct. Cause of death: gunshot.” Stepping on his hand, I twisted his face to stare directly into mine before replacing his left eye with a bullet. Even as I tried to keep a dispassionate composure, I couldn’t help but smile as the shot ruined his only true asset; no one would fall for that face again. Lastly, I turned on the hacker.
“Keller, osteoporosis. Surgery undergone to replace organic spinal cord with prosthetic. Routinely threatened and killed hostages in need of medical attention to ‘refocus’ my efforts during missions. Cause of death: gunshot.” As he looked up at me with his remaining eye, I took the opportunity to pistol whip him a few times before execution.
Stepping outside the cheap room, I regarded the corporate officers that had been assigned to me as a personal detail. They had accompanied me to the building and had graciously allowed me closure, and for that, I planned on rewarding them. On our way back to HQ, I chatted idly with them while I reviewed their medical files. Treatable conditions? This would not do at all.
When I broached the idea of complimentary medical exams and surgery to improve performance, I was met with enthusiastic cheers and a few tearful displays of gratitude. This would be the start of a beautiful working relationship. | *Healer*
The title made her sick to her stomach to hear. She didn't exist solely to cure the injury and disease of adventurers too careless or stupid to avoid the injury. She hadn't minded before the Rift between the team but they wouldn't stop fighting and hurting each other so she put a stop to it. Xantas was the first to fall. His super speed was of little use when she reached her mind into his joints and dislocated all of them at once. She would have just broken his neck but he stood by and helped to cover up what happened. So he would lie there screaming until she was ready to release him from the pain. Daishute was still in his study. He always was. The world's greatest martial artist had always supported her and was the deciding vote to add her to the team. She remembered that and reached out to him and closed his carotid artery and he instantly passed out. She reopened it enough that he would sleep thru what was to come. The Junior guard had been sent to training in the dimension of insanity so she would need to deal with them later. But she wasnt worried. Her newfound calling gave her all the time she needed. They would come to her when the time was right. Finally she walked into Sol-Mans chambers. He was the one who had hurt her. The one who had mocked her when she told him she would go to the press. He was the one who set her on this path. For him she set all his nerves off at once. He tried to scream but she wouldn't let him. This is what real power can do she thought as his eyes widened and finally went dark. It was done. As she left, she saw Xantas passed out in a puddle of his own filth. Fitting he'd be found that way. She crushed his heart into itself and walked out of the Hall of Justice. She wondered what she would have for dinner. Something cold no doubt. | 2019-03-05T13:24:28 | 2019-03-05T12:50:59 | 39 | 27 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door. | “They aren’t human anymore, Bell. They haven’t been in a long time.”
“I know, but they look so real.”
“They are real, love; they just aren’t human.”
“I know.”
We had had this conversation countless times. I knew how it would end. I always knew how it would end.
At first, the integration had been slow. Acceptance. That was all they wanted. Then recruitment, but only willing volunteers. No one would be forced to do anything. A few people predicted the enslavement, but they were branded with hate speech charges and quickly silenced. Some people fought back, but violence was quickly dealt with and protests did nothing anymore. We had welcomed them. Once a door is opened, it is not so easily shut.
At first it began with people going missing in the night. A neighbor. Maybe even a member of family. A friend. Rumors were whispered, but there was nothing definitive. No proof.
My husband had his suspicions and had started stocking the basement without a word to even me. I’m thankful he did because when the first news article came out announcing full integration or punishment, we immediately fled to the basement. I was shocked to see all he had done without my knowledge and fought down feelings of betrayal, choosing to be grateful.
He had rigged up countless cameras, so we could see the outside world. We had an artificial greenhouse to grow food with UV light bulbs with dehydrated and canned food to tide us over in the meantime. Bless him, he even brought my books down. It didn’t leave much room for our living space, but we didn’t need much.
“Do not go outside. Ignore all cries for help, no matter how human they sound,” he told me as we fled downstairs. He hesitated with his hand on the door, “once I shut this, we won’t open it again. Not for a long long time.”
I didn’t answer. Just reached over and put my hand on his, pulling the door closed. I didn’t tell him how I had been snatched outside of work by my boss, how I hadn’t noticed my boss was one of them. How for weeks I had suffered at his cruel hands and kept it a secret from my husband who he threatened to harm if I told.
I didn’t tell him how this basement was an escape for me. It was an escape from who I had become under that man’s cruel hands. I didn’t tell my husband about that, and I didn’t tell him I wouldn’t need all that food, or how I wouldn’t need the bed he so lovingly made. I didn’t tell him how all I would need is him and the lovely blood pumping through his veins. My fangs pricked just thinking about it. | I’m slowly bleeding out. He is gone for at least 20 minutes. The last thing he said was, ‘Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.’
We didn’t know what we were doing. I remember taking my backpack and going a hike with Terry. I’ve never expected to see something falling down from the sky. When I did, I was curious, Terry was too. What we did was stupid.
I can hear something banging on the door. Is it Terry or someone... something else? I slowly get up and try to maintain my balance as I step forward. I feel the taste of metal in my mouth and my eyes start to burn and I smell something terrible that I can not even begin to describe. There is no way that is Terry behind that door. Still, I get closer step by step and I hear something making a noise.
''Terry is that you?'' I whisper.
There is no response. I take the axe standing near the door but as soon as I hold it, I understand that I won’t be able to defend myself, I can barely walk. So, I slowly put back the axe.
I hear something talking behind the door. ''I fell... I fell... I fell''
I knock the door twice to see what response I can get. All the noise stops. I hold my breath and I slowly walk back. The door nob starts to shake. The light goes out. It’s pitch dark now. I can’t even see my own hands. I’m not sure if I’m alone in this basement anymore.
I hear the same voice, ''You...Can...Help...Me.''
It definitely doesn’t sound like Terry but if I wait any longer I’ll die from bleeding anyway. I try to reach with my left arm, try to touch something. My legs feel heavy and I drop on my knees.
This time I hear a softer, calmer voice, ''Entrance is... Open. Let go of yourself!''
------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*I welcome any feedback!*
**Stay Safe!**
---------------------------- | 2020-04-26T07:39:49 | 2020-04-26T05:52:23 | 303 | 44 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | *Ms. Jennifer Brevis, beloved kindergarten teacher, passed away after a short illness. She was 49. Ms Jennifer was surrounded by her family and friends as she said goodbye to this world ...*
\- Obituary of Jennifer C. Brevis, published 1/10/2016 in the Riverton Times
I am a kindergarten teacher in hell. It was a good line, so I went with it, but with slight inflections that I hoped conveyed every single emotion I was feeling. "I'm a kindergarten teacher? In Hell?"
"Yup," the demon said. He'd gone for the suave powerbroker look from the second Reagan administration, all immaculately tailored and french cuffed and full windsored evilness. Later, he'd tell me he'd picked the outfit and affect just for me because of that summer I spent working for Green Peace in college, and he wanted to give me the an extra jolt of revulsion. Darren was devoted to the Method, bless his wicked little heart.
He explained that I was there on assignment, as the punishment. Well, I did NOT say, how could it be any worse than the year with Riley Sterns, Riley Biggs, and Riley Apodaca? There was no way anything Hell threw up that could rival the year of Triple Rileys. Or Travis Jones. Or Dylan Whatshisname. Or Stacia Crabtree.
Hell had nothing on Stacia Crabtree and her childhood of Real Housewives marathons and her mother's romantic troubles. That poor kid.
So I straightened my shoulders and asked where my classroom was and, yeah. It was a walk in the park. In Hell, they give you what they think a shoddy classroom is, but it was fully stocked. I didn't have to buy supplies. Sure, all the pencils were those weird dollar store jobbies that never sharpen properly, and the crayons were all broken, but I had pencils. I had crayons! I had slightly muddied finger paint and slightly mixed play dough, and all the construction paper had a notch cut out of one corner, but it was there.
They capped me at 18 students. Eighteen! AND they gave me Darren as an educational assistant. I had help! Not only did I have help, but I had a strong male role model for my more troubled boys!
And the kids? The kids were nothing. Former CEOs reduced to returning to kindergarten, made to learn their lessons of kindness, humility, taking turns, and respecting others. Walk in the fucking park, let me tell you. I didn't even have to teach to a state mandated curriculum. I just had to teach these kiddos how to be good people. Sure, they resented the humiliation of being reduced to a scared child in school, but they learned. They all learned.
I've been at it for years now. At the end of every term, I've had all of my kids graduate to purgatory. I haven't had to hold one back. It's been amazing here. I love it. I never want to leave. | First opening his eyes, he saw two paths. One was the cliche pearly white gates in the distance, a beautiful path towards them filled with life and vibrancy, the other full of crags blackened by hellfire and brimstone while leading down to a fiery pit. One thing though: the first path was blocked off by dark grey metal bars.
“I suppose you’re confused, mortal.” A deep and masculine voice boomed, and looking between the paths at a grey patch, stood a figure garbed in black cloth, hiding his features. “You see, with how you’ve been utterly faithful to the Lord, there’s only one task left for you to do before heading on up to Heaven. You see...” the cloaked man started to speak.
“Demons have been running rampant within their home, not even Lucifer can keep the amount of rebelling demons under control, and there is a very real risk of the demons reaching Earth if left as they are now. So God has decided to select one of his most faithful believers, and give them a choice.” The cloaked man continued. Looking to the hellish path, he sighed. “The choice of becoming the punishment for those within the bowels of Hell. In other words, you have a choice.” The unknown man spoke.
“Go to heaven, and live the rest of time blissfully ignorant of the situation, or.” The cloaked figure began. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a strange item. It was similar to the hilt of a sword, a circular cross guard with two moveable pieces crossed over the top of the circle, a strange symbol emblazoned on it in blood red crimson. A mark similar to that of a T, with a slash in the lower part of it. “Become that who would slay demons, and be their punishment. I will let you choose...
Flynn Taggart.”
Nothing more needed to be considered. Taking the device, Flynn Taggart chose the path of becoming the punishment of Hell’s fiendish residents, he chose the path that would eventually lead him earning a title feared by Hell’s denizens:
The Doomslayer.
(First time doing one of these, hope I didn’t do too bad! Originally it wasn’t going to end DOOM-related but I couldn’t help myself with such an opportunity.) | 2020-01-10T18:04:41 | 2020-01-10T17:59:07 | 363 | 51 |
[WP] A world where eating a person lowers your age by 20 years. The poor are offered up to the rich who have been around for hundreds of years. | For a long time, it was seen as a horrible crime against nature. To kill a person, only to add more years to your life? It could only be called inhumane. But there were those who secretly did it, who had done research on these effects.
Eating a person? 20 years. But what was defined as a person? Soon the wealthy found a way to become younger, only a few years at a time. It was unnoticeable. But as the years ticked by, it became less and less obvious. But by then it was too late. The wealthy had complete control.
Part one.
Wilfred Ruinfield, Age 376. For the past few centuries, he had maintained the form of a man in his mid twenties, living his life in the Hollywood Hills in his Oceanside mansion. However, for the past few years, he has been de-aging at a slow rate, and now has the body of a child of three years.
We have been unable to determine the cause of Mr Ruinfields symptoms, considering how he has not consumed a living being in many years. At first we suspected that someone had been tampering with his food supply, but even after he had begun to make it himself, symptoms continued. At current rate, subject will be unable to take care of himself in several months.
Resume regular testing.
Part two.
Wilfred was scared. Now in a body of a baby, one only a few months old, he could no longer take care of himself. At the hospital he was being tested at, he was now tucked away in a crib, in the most secure location. But when would they find what was wrong with him?
At that moment, the door opened, but nobody entered. Confused, Wilfred looked around, but could see no one. However, he could sense that someone was in here with him. Where could he be?
Standing by the cage, the woman revealed herself. She was smiling, but the smile never reached her eyes, which were like ice. "We are the same" she said, reaching down and opening the babies mouth. "Both of us have eaten others to survive.".
Pulling out a syringe, she placed it near the babies mouth. It tried to struggle, but the liquid inside sprayed out into it's mouth. It began to squirm, it's eyes wide in horror, asking why. "A consintrated dose" she replied. "I usually gave you the blood of a single innocent, but today, this contains the blood of twenty.".
The baby began to shrink, smaller and smaller, until it disappeared completely. The woman turned around, and became invisible once again. She had killed the first of many, in the way most fitting for those who had eaten others to survive. She would soon select her next target, and the cycle would begin again. And when all of it was over, she would leave this world.
For it was a monster, who hunted the monsters.
Edit: stupid auto correct | My brother and I sat at mother's bedside, teary-eyed and with broken hearts. She didn't have cancer, or some kind of heart defect- "her body is just old" they told us. She's only 45, but there's nothing to fix, and nothing to cure; she aged quickly, for some reason. Just the imminence of death intruding on our lives.
We each squeezed one of her hands, sobbing at the softness of her smile. Even as life fled from her, she found it within her to smile at us, to reassure us with love.
"How can you smile, mom?" I asked her, curious to know. "Aren't you scared? Don't you hurt?"
"As long as I'm looking at you boys, the loves of my life, I can do nothing but smile," she whispered to us. Not in my 20 years on this Earth had I felt such sorrow, or pain. My brother was broken, unconsolably trembling. He was only eight, after all- watching your mother die at that age is just too much.
*It's just too much.*
"Robert, leave the room for a bit, okay?" I asked my brother, smiling. "Go on, I need to tell mom something."
He rubbed at his eyes and shuffled out the door. I closed it behind him and returned to my mother's side.
"He can't live without you. I've had my shot, and I've messed up a lot. I dropped out of school, and I've hurt the whole family with my bullshit. Robert needs a mother like you, a kind and understanding woman to take care of him. I can't do it, and I don't deserve the chance. But I can do this, mom. Let me do this."
I pulled out a knife, and braced myself for death. A smile crept across my face, still coated in my tears.
*You think I wouldn't be smiling at the thought of my own death.*
"Don't fight, mom. Let me live through you. Take the years from me, and with them, let me feel what it's like to help people and make a change for the better."
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*sorry if this wasn't what you were looking for, the prompt just inspired me to write this! if you enjoyed it and are looking for any more feels trips, check out /r/resonatingfury* | 2016-02-22T00:21:34 | 2016-02-21T21:34:12 | 138 | 69 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.> | That alarm. That damn alarm that everyone hates. So loud, blaring with such urgency that rouses anyone from their sleep. "God what, what is it now?" Isaiah questioned. The amber alert sound was still unending, and as he turned to unlock the phone and silence it, he was met with the brightness of the sun in the palm of his hand. "Augh dammit! Why are phones always so bright!?" He shouted with frustration. After a minute of struggling, he managed to turn off the text alarm. "Amber alerts, hmph. Like anyone is going to be a hero and run after little sally or something...hm what's... Do not look at the moon?" He talked to himself, like he always did at home. A simple quirk that helped him think. His alertness rose however, when he started scrolling through the hundreds of random numbers that texted him. It was 11:30.
Now he was fully awake. A couple lights turned on in his home revealed the pigsty that he lived in. With forward thinking, he turned off the living room light. As if on cue, there was a knock at his front door. Thoughts raced through Isaiah's head, some were pure panic, some were decisions on fight or flight. He lived alone, miles away from civilization. "It's a beautiful night tonight." The mysterious voice said. "You should come out and look, friend." Isaiah was a paranoid individual, and the panic button on his phone helped turn off all the lights in his house and double check that all doors and windows were locked. He sat on the edge of his bed, struggling to keep his hands and his nerves steady. In one hand was his phone, scouring the internet for any source of info as to what was happening. In his other hand, his pistol that he always kept close by. It was now 11:50.
"It's a beautiful night tonight." A now different voice said, in conjunction with the first. In stride, seventeen other voices said at the same time "You should come out and look, friend." It sounded like they were circling the house, chanting the same phrase and shuffling their feet. Isaiah retreated to his panic room. The cacophony of varying voices outside hadn't entered his house, but he wasn't about to give them the chance. The metal safety door slammed behind him, locking in place. The panic room immediately illuminated, various screens springing to life and giving him a view of the outside. Every single person outside stared at the cameras, knowing he was also looking at them. "What the hell is going on." He stated, almost insinuating that he wanted an answer from the mob outside. The soundproof room sheltered him from the horrifying phrase that followed his statement, but the movement of lips on screen already gave him his answer. He turned off the screens with haste, the clock on the wall reading 11:59.
The motion sensors on the wall were no longer activated. Isaiah breathed a sigh of relief, looking over at the dark camera screens and pushing buttons. "C'mon man, this has to be either a really cruel prank, or another one of my bad hallucin-" His sentence was cut short. Mouth agape, his pistol made a loud clanging sound against the metal ground as he walked backwards and trying to brace himself against anything. The camera monitors showed the grass around his home trampled on, but no mass of people. It was midnight, but outside was a brightly lit hue of colours. | 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2022-09-11T16:03:17 | 191 | 15 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
My eyes were glued to the green button, every night. At first, I loved the color. Green is healthy, and green is money. It made sense. What didn't make sense made it even more fascinating somehow. Hell, I even got the thing a black case. Suede.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
After several months and payments and God knows how many moves, I hated the thing. It'd shown up one night, and everything had been so plain, so fucking boring without the money. And then the names came in. One after the other. Green is pestilence. Green is a plague.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
And now, I wait. I flick the box open. I close it. I flick it open again.
Fuck, I need it.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.*
I deserve this.
***Click.***
| I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T17:19:00 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 65 | 12 |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | As I lay sprawled out on the sofa, perspiring in nothing but a pair of moist boxer shorts, I was far from a pleasant sight but it was summer in Britain and the temperature was peaking to record heights. I'd already had two cold showers, drank several glasses of chilled water, and had two fans blowing warm dry air on me but none of it was having an effect. That's when I heard it, the most delicate tune ever played by angels... It was the ice cream van coming into my street.
Pumped, I dived from the couch, grabbed some shorts and a vest, grabbed my converse, and hunted down my wallet. I found it in a moment and excitingly opened it just to have my dreams dashed. An old condom, my drivers license, my bank card, and a bus ticket from last week. Broken, but determined, I hunted around the house for change, anything for that sweet glorious vanilla cream.
I checked everywhere, in the cupboards, draws, pockets and coats but everything came back nil. Money wasn't going as far anymore, thanks Brexit. I was ruined, about to give up and crash on the couch, once more back to my cesspit. Collapsing against it, I heard a faintest sound of something metallic hitting the floor. Looking down, there it was, the perfect £2 coin, glorious as always. I immediately grabbed it and dashed to the door before it was too late.
I returned, a stronger man from the expedition with renewed vigor in tackling this heat. I walked back to my sofa and collapsed into the corner, happily sinking into dessert heaven.
"Oh boy, if I knew that's what you was getting, I'd of given you money for one"
"Yeah, it's pretty fucking good in this heat" I smirked, laughing to myself; then the penny dropped. Was I going mad? Was the heat really effecting me this badly? Was I going delusional?
"Aww man, I'm jealous. Nice to see you finally put some clothes on. Wouldn't kill you to shower again though, you're kind of creating a stink"
I looked around, that voice sounded more real than anything else. I scanned the room with no success. I turned to look behind me and as I did, I saw a spider sat on the backrest of the sofa.
"What the fuck?"
"Hey, what's up? You don't look too well Jonny"
"You... You're talking?"
"Well yeah, I'm sorry if my pronunciations are a bit off. English is so hard, especially with your annoying Manchester accent"
"But you're a spider... How?"
"Alright, try not to be too racist here mate, I know you're a bit xenophobic towards spiders but you know, try and be professional here. I don't want to report you to housing services"
"I'm not racist, I wanted to remain in the EU... besides, it's not that i'm xenophobic, your kind just, well, scare me"
"Oh, my kind? Come on dude, I'm right here. If you're gonna be like that, just don't do it to my face. At least I pay rent unlike that filthy sponging moth in the wardrobe"
"There's a moth in my wardrobe?"
"Yeah, he's a pretty mean guy as well, been selling lint and cotton to the ants outside. Poor guys can't get enough of the stuff"
"Damn, I'll need to have words with him... Wait, rent? Landlord? What you on about?"
"Your advert on Craigslist about 12 weeks back. You was looking for a housemate with immediate effect so I headed over here and settled in. I thought you knew since you was taking my rent"
"Wait, your rent?"
"Yeah, I've been leaving money for you. I just push it out into the cushions, onto the floor, sometimes leave it where I know you'll find it like the cupboard and the draws. I'm not a freeloader like that damn moth, no Sir. By the way, when you talk to him, don't drop my name yeah?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it... I guess. Want me to just like, squish him?"
"WOW DUDE! NO! I don't want you to kill him, just you know, sort it out"
"I can let him out I guess?"
"Yeah, that would work, try doing it during the day, he's usually up all night making noise, it's quite distracting"
"Ok sure, i'll sort that out right away..."
"Well, best eat that icecream first and like I said, wouldn't kill you to shower again"
"Yeah I guess... Cheers bro"
"Please, call me Spider Bro"
"I'm not calling you that"
"You'll start calling me that... Anyway, going seeing my friend Bee in the garden, catch you later dude" | I opened the door and stepped into my apartment. Kicking off my shoes, I reached for the lights, flicking them on without looking. I emptied my pockets onto the small table near the door, and headed for the couch. It had been a long day, and I really just needed to zone out for a while. I stood at the end of the couch, and then let myself fall onto its inviting cushions.
"Ow! What the shit?" I cried.
I pushed myself up. The cushion hadn't been very cushy. In fact, it had been hard, making a metallic clinking when you hit it, like it was filed with small bits of metal. I grabbed the cushion and turned it so the zipper was facing me. It was liking moving a slab of concrete. And still, a jingle of metal came from within. Like a... like a pocket full of change.
I had been finding change in my couch cushions for a few weeks now. I didn't really think anything of it. I don't carry a lot of change, but I figured some of my friends did, and that was the source. But someone had taken out all the stuffing from this cushion and replaced it with change. I undid the zipper, and sure enough, hundreds of coins were inside. A few spilled out, and I let them. I didn't know what to do. Only myself and the landlord had a key. I sure didn't ruin my cushion, and my landlord sure didn't just give away money.
"I hope that's enough," a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
I looked around. No one was in the apartment but me.
"Over here. On the top of the back of the couch."
I looked at the top of the couch. There was a small spider there, but nothing else. I got up to see if the window was open.
"Where are you going? I'm right here! I'm the spider!"
I turned around and looked closer at the spider. It moved closer to me, legs moving too fast to see. I took a step back.
"Hi! I moved in a little while ago, but I didn't want to make myself known until I was able to pay my way. This is my part of the rent." The spider waved one tiny leg at the sack of change.
"Okay," I replied slowly, "You're a talking spider. A spider who talks. A spider with vocal chords or something."
"Yes, and I want to live here. This apartment building if full of delicious insects. It really is prime real estate." Two spider legs waved, indicating the building.
I stared at the small arachnid for a few moments. "And you're paying rent to me?"
The spider shook it's body up and down-oh hell, it was nodding-and indicated the coins again. "I can only really pay with what I find, so bills are usually out of the question. But I promise I'll have a good amount every month. I'll earn my keep."
I stood there, looking at the tiny talking creature, not saying anything.
"So... do we have an agreement?" The spider asked.
I blinked, keeping my eyes closed for a bit longer than normal, then answered it. "Sure. Why not? You can have the run of the place while I'm at work or asleep. Just steer clear when I'm home, and definitely don't be seen if I have anyone over."
The spider jumped into the air, disturbingly high, then landed easily. "Great. That works for me, you sleep a lot. I'll get you some more money for next month." It began crawling towards the crack between the couch and the wall.
"But how can you speak?" I asked it.
"Oh," the spider responded, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the gap, "It has to do with science." | 2017-04-01T02:21:44 | 2017-03-31T16:50:44 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] “Sir, World of Warcraft subscriptions just jumped by 2.3 billion” “Billion with a ‘B’? Where did they come from?” “Well, all the new traffic is routed through the Deep Space Array. It appears we’ve made first contact. Or, at least Thrall has…” | The problem with sudden success is that nobody is ever ready for it. While the problem of too many subscribers was not new to Blizzard, after all the initial response to World of Warcraft was well beyond their capacity as well, it was old enough that nobody currently working at the company remembered it. Or remembered things like server que times or severe lag and their repercussions from the fanbase. They only saw the subscription boom.
So when 2.3 billion new users all attempted to launch into the starting zone of the Orcs simultaneously, things went downhill quickly. High user volume was one thing and the latest expansion zones were coded specifically with that in mind. Durotar had not been revamped for nearly 36 expansions and was running on code so old nobody knew what programming language it was in anymore.
The mind-link VR tech had reduced lag to virtually nothing since every player in the Sol system was plugged directly into Battle.net. The few players on the colony ships were the only ones who were suppose to use the array, 20,000 at most. So the array did what it had to do to keep the connection open for those ships and throttled everyone's connection speed. It was a failsafe to ensure that the colony ships would never be truly out of contact.
Now of course the smart thing to do would be to invest the revenue from 2.3 billion subscriptions directly into the necessary infrastructure to get the game running, maybe do a press release about how ***first contact with extra-solar life*** had been established by, of all things, a MMORPG. However the conglomerate entity that now owned Blizzard (nobody was quite sure who actually owned the developer after the Activision/Disney war of 2037) instead gave all its executives bonuses and called it a day.
So when 2.3 billion intergalactic, angry WoW fanboys came with plasma weaponry, shielding technology, and a frothing battle rage the Sol system was woefully underprepared. Most of humanity was put to the axe within a week. Except for the Horde players of the Sol system of course. The invading space orcs considered them honorary blood-kin.
All was well for about a week which was when the orcs found out that most of the Horde players had Alliance alts. Then humanity ended. World of Warcraft would live on another 439 expansions, somehow still with the slow development times and story retcons. Orcish historians claim that "Blizzard time" is a curse and seek a cure for the malediction to this day. | Three hundred and four yachts.
In a single quarter Bobby Kotick now owned more yachts than anyone else on Earth. This was an admittedly small potatos when compared to the Potato Emperor of Pluto’s two thousand and seven sentient flying yachts, but still quite impressive for a non-quadrillionare confined to Earth markets.
Although humanity had spread their influence to far beyond the stars, there had been remarkably little to actually influence. The hive mind which had infiltrated the digital world was the first time anything close to a personality had been found. It was enthralled by the digital landscapes and quite enjoyed wandering aimlessly through them. The lag from all of the hive mind’s accounts quickly made the game unplayable for anything other than a digital entity connected to the network and world first raiding teams. This was unnoticed by most as any other human players had abandoned the game years ago to play lost ark and final fantasy 14 instead. Rather the new intergalactic players spoke to the NPCs, learned of their economy, learned of their values, and learned of their wars.
The economy learning proved to be the problem. For while these new players had a firm grasp on the reality of the game around them, the concept of our lives was beyond them. It quickly found several parts of its network having their accounts closed, failing to have ever paid for their subscriptions. Not truly understanding why, but aware that it fixed this apparent genocide, the network began use its gold in game to purchase an item called the ‘WoW Token’ from the few remaining humans in the realm.
This was of course unsustainable, humans could not possibly keep up with the demand for tokens and the gold they revived became increasingly worthless. As no more purchases could be made and accounts closed due to lack of funds, the interstellar network vanished as quickly as it had appeared. | 2022-03-14T10:50:53 | 2022-03-14T09:46:18 | 690 | 69 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/) | -Part one, introduction
The class system that had been established after centuries of war, had ultimately benefit nobody.
The Ice-nobles ruled as viciously as you'd expect, condemning the rest of the elemental spectrum to a life of distinct class restriction. The Desert-wares were the lowest caste in the system, and could do essentially nothing, but rot in the climates they were born into. (That isn't counting the Fire-wares, who aren't really a caste as much as they are rebels. They often intermingle between classes that accept the rising rebellion, determined to kill all nobility and start an age of freedom.)
In the mid-section are the rock and agricultural classes, who's entire life is that of servitude. (They seem to be comfortable with this to an extent, as their lives are relatively easy, as long as their able to work with the Water-wares that is.) The Water- wares are more or less the soldiers, whether they like to believe that or not. They have the same rights as the Ice-nobles, however not the same privileges, that among other things is the only thing that separates the two classes. Water-wares are essential to the nobles as they're the only thing that stands between them and the fire-rebels.
Certain members of the Ice-Noble council have been known to be exceptionally cruel to people who break their system. (A collective dictatorship 'superior' to the rest.)
An example of their frozen empathy, lies no better than in young exiled Water-soldier, Anubis. It was honestly a tragedy and her passing will be mourned across the cosmos for eternity. Anubis of Pacific reign had unintentionally strayed too far from her ranks during a pursuit involving Fire-rebels. Her journey back to the blue half of the kingdom landed her deeper into the wastelands, until she inevitably found herself close to death. It was some time after she'd collapsed in the sand, that an older member of a Desert-ware clan found her. A boy, who was known by the name Mirage.
"What's you're class ... can you hear me?"
Mirage couldn't fathom a blue class being abandoned in the desert like this, but couldn't let her die. It would be risky for him to attempt a rescue of a Ice-noble, they were unkind to the most meaningful of gestures. It would be less hassle to let the girl die if that were the case. Mirage knew desert people who would rejoice at the death of such a person, not himself however. There was no joyousness in suffering.
After the Desert-ware was certain she was helpless, he set about trying to save her. Realising he could not pick her up and take her to safety, as the hot surface of his skin during the day would surely make her condition worse.
There was no other option than to wait until nightfall when the desert wasteland's, temperatures dropped to below -50 degrees. (Something he was certain the girl would be more used to.)
By the time the sun set, and a harsh chill brushed across the dunes, Mirage could feel his skin cool enough to drag the Water-ware to his clan.
"You- you're-" The younger girl began as her eyes fluttered open, skewed by sand.
Mirage shushed her, kneeling down to press water to her fragile lips.
"Why are you doing this for me, I-"
"You're human, right, just like the rest of us?" His dusty smile, ached her heart and warmed it like the relentless heat.
The pair enjoyed a year of harmony before everything came crashing down around them like an avalanche. There are many who claimed in court, that, that must have been the beginning of their 'sinister love'. However Mirage would claim that the meeting Anubis was fate, and wouldn't regret it even if he could.
Anubis smiled solemnly by all accounts of the jury. Her blue eyes swimming with memories of love and acceptance, it was the happiest she had ever been. Her husband was flighty and would often get himself into trouble, she prayed that they would not hurt him for speaking out too much about the sentence, whatever it may be. The moments after the trial happened as quickly as they'd escalated, ending with Anubis' head cracking the podium and her body hitting the cold ice floor she had almost began to forget.
She heard Mirage and his horrified screeching before the consuming blackness welcomed her vision. He was yelling about the child inside her.
"Anubis of Pacific reign, you are to be exiled from this land, for fraternising below your class and producing a rebel child in the process. As you know, we can not kill you ourselves. As we took an oath not to kill our own, and it would be treason for any other class to do it, so you shall leave this Earth accordingly. Do you have any last meaningful words to express, before your departure into the furthest ring?" | 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T17:56:58 | 4,698 | 37 |
[WP] You are in hell and your dog keeps breaking out of heaven to be with you. The demons and angels have no idea what to do. | Hell isn't all that bad; it's definitely better than people make it out to be on the other side.
For most people, it's the loneliness that gets them. Hell is just so vast and empty most of the time, and even when you can see someone on the distance, they never seem to get any closer. Your voice thins out and turns to dust in hell's chaotic winds. I miss voices. I miss real, human voices. I can almost remember what the sound of laughter was like; I can feel what it felt like to hear a good laugh. I just can't remember the sound.
Maybe that's the true torture of hell, being haunted by transient specters of the joy you once knew. The fire isn't much fun either, but you get used to that. Honestly, the fire is better for keeping things out than for tormenting the usual residence. Occasionally, the anguished screams of the recently deceased with rip through the air, but eventually the burning becomes more of a mild, chronic irritation than anything.
My first day was jarring, but it wasn't a surprise. I didn't believe in hell or God or whatever, but it doesn't matter if you do or don't. None of the religions (that I had heard) got everything exactly right, but I'm not really allowed to talk about that at length. Basically, if you are supposed to go downstairs, you will wind up downstairs. It's just how things are. Try not to stress about it too much.
By and large, our days are spent wandering through smoldering ash and toxic marshes of steaming who-knows-what. Some of us have special assignments. Heck, some of us even get to leave for short stints. I'm hiding though, running from something. Every day is another game of existential hide and seek for me.
Every day (if days were a thing here), I try to hide, and every day I fail. I see him first as a cloud of steam in the distance. He picks up speed, and I run. I don't know why I run. He always catches me, but I still run. When he gets close enough, I scream for him to leave.
"Go back!" Every syllable hits the air just beyond my mouth and disappears.
He pursues until the last bit of moisture sizzles from his fur.
Then he starts to burn. His gait slows once he catches up to me, and he drops to the broken shale below his paws in exhaustion. Every time.
Every time I kneel by him, because he doesn't understand. He's just a dog. He's trying to save me, just like in the river. The dumb son of a bitch didn't know he was going to die too. He jumped in and got sucked under before my own head was pulled below the rapids. His fur burns like pine needles, and I don't know if it hurts him.
"You have to go back," I whisper, "You can't keep coming here."
I scratch behind his ears like he likes. His breaths are heavy and uneven.
I don't know how he gets out or how he gets in. He's clever like that, always has been. Too clever for his own good, because he is dumb as a sack of rocks. He's a good dog. I hate to see him like that, but at the same time in a dark, selfish corner of my damned soul, I want him to find me.
His head is always the last thing to go. He's burnt down to the bones, still resting easy on the searing brimstone. The charred pieces of him turn into silver glitter that floats up above our heads and into the storms above. The clouds eat it up, and I have no earthly idea what happens to those pieces after that. Maybe they reform. Maybe he just pops back into existence up there. Maybe no one even knows when he is gone.
Eventually, he is nothing but that glimmering ash. His collar drops to my lap, and the dog tags jingle against each other. I can't hear them, but I can almost remember what it sounds like. | The dog door swung open. A dog's head appeared, sniffing the air. Then, two more followed. Their googly eyes took in the whole house.
"Derp, derp, derp!". Each mouth barked in joy, seeing me, their owner. [I stopped rinsing my burned fingers in the kitchen sink](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d1jhz6/wp_you_have_made_a_large_ouija_board_on_the_floor/ezmr8zo/).
Cerberus jumped up and down for joy. He circled around the kitchen, then started for the living room, hoping to sit beside the fireplace like we once did. He yelped and turned around as he saw the Roomba and cowered behind my legs. I patted him on the center head.
"Intimidating, eh, boy?"
"Derp!" The middle head was in agreement, but the other two looked frightened.
"Lucy, Honey, breakfast is ready!"
My wife came down the stairs. I looked appreciatively at her shoes. It was Prada, of course.
"Oh sweetie, you made pancakes -- ?" She stopped short, cold, seeing Cerberus.
"_What is this dog doing here?!_" She whispered.
Just then, Alexa intoned: "Incoming call from Cowhead!".
"Accept call on speakerphone". She sighed. A call from her lieutenant in the morning only meant trouble at the office.
"Happy Mooooooooooooonday!" Cowhead was unusually cheerful, which was a sign something was seriously wrong.
"**Ok cut it out!**" The temperature in the room got hotter. I looked at my wife amorously. It was always so sexy when she used _the voice_.
"There are some angels here demanding Cerberus to be returned to them."
They're on to us, I mouthed to her.
No shit! she mouthed back.
"Try to stall them. Pursuant to section 666 of our treaty we have 24 hour to return any ...possession... which dropped out of Heaven for a while".
"They're not very happy, M'am. They need the dog to put the fear of hell into people on Earth". I scratched the ears of Cerberus' left head while patting the right, then changing the motions on each hand. It was a trick I've managed, a difficult one like rubbing my tummy and patting my head, since getting here 5 centuries ago. Cerberus was really a good dog that belonged to Lucy but after she was unfairly treated during the negotiation treaty we had to cede Cerberus to Heaven's PR department for their propaganda.
"And the other demons, they don't like it very much when the angels come by. All the angels do is complain all day about how warm it is, it's really grating."
"You and Horseface stall them a little, capiche?" My wife was just so hot when she ordered people around. "Tell them we'll give Cerberus back in time. Oh, by the way, how did he break out this time?"
There was a quiet but telling pause. "He ate the gates of Heaven. And then ours. The captive souls are running free".
"**WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!**" Hell shook as my wife screamed. | 2019-09-09T07:16:08 | 2019-09-09T06:52:57 | 107 | 43 |
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy." | Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy.
I looked at him and scoffed. “You think you get to choose which side you’re on? Like this is some game? No, you’re born into this. You’re born into this role, just like I’m born into trying to stop it, to stop you.”
“News flash, kid, humanity’s common enemy has been itself far longer than you’ve been around. It takes people like me to live long enough to see the good in themselves to turn int-“
I cut him off like he owed me something, “Bullshit! I don’t want to hear this talk about your sob story and how you used to be a goo-“
He cut me off right back like he wasn’t the one with a piece of glass to his neck. For a second I lost track of what he was saying. Lights got brighter but slightly fuzzy, there was a slight ringing in my ear, nothing unpleasant though, and oddly enough, I was focused on this relationship between my hand and this piece of glass. Funny how it ended up in this situation with me, from being an onlooking bystander to being poised to kill. And the tighter I grip it and the more I try to push on it, the more it pushes back. It’s doing the opposite of what my intentions are. Funny, how that happens.
My hand naturally relaxed but my mind was back to being fixated on Him, the closest thing I’ve seen to the Devil, and the slippery words he was spewing.
“...And if you win, you lose; because then humanity will have nothing to play for, or to play against. Which means they will be left with having to find an enemy, and after time they usually find one in themselves. The only way for them to continue to be better than their yesterday is to keep playing the game against something other than their own spirit, something other than humanity itself. That’s why you can never beat what you call the ‘bad side.’ And it’s only a matter of time until you see it for yourself and join it.”
Not gonna lie, he almost had me. “Join it? Why would I join it? You are the enemy, the bad energy that engulfs humanity like a blue flame. It takes Guardians like me to stop the Demons like you!”
“But what would you be achieving?” He started to sound desperate, it empowered me. “If you kill me,” he continued, “the cycle will repeat. I was in your shoes once, and if this continues, soon you will be in mine. You think you will be the hero your entire life? Soon you will realize that when there is no bad, there is no good. Without one side to contradict the other, there are no sides. And humanity needs someone, something, to point the finger at. And it usually takes an old hero to step into that role.”
I calmly took a breath, one that made my shoulders relax and my jaw unclench. “If you’ve been in my shoes, then you know that I cannot be swayed. So why plead your case to me?”
He chuckled, which pissed me off, “because it’s all part of the ga-“ his chuckle turned into a cough filled with blood as the glass in my hand found a new home between his left ribs, right under his heart. His body slowly started to turn to dust and his spirit lifted, as he left me with two words, “Good luck.”
130 years passed before I realized what he had said was true. I lived on to watch humanity slowly collapse again, after everything I had built for them. I won that for the good of humanity, but what came after was an idling of the engine. They got restless and started pointing fingers at themselves, causing a split into different groups gripped by wars and death, usually fought for no reason. It’s like they got bored and picked a fight with each other rather than something, someone else. So, I tell this story to whichever Guardian has the courage to take on the role of the hero. Because I was in your shoes once, and now I realize what I must do. I must be the one that the fingers point at, that humanity hates but will never understand. So I only have two words for whoever you are, good luck. | Our eyes met, and shared a look for a few seconds. He seemed exhausted, but then, so was I. How could I not be, after all I had been through? He averted his gaze before I did, his head nicking down ever so slightly.
"Peace?" I finally asked. "Do you call that peace, out there?"
My left hand pointed across the throne room, through the stained glass window encompassing most of the top floor of the tower, while my right hand still constricted around my bloodstained sword.
"Peace isn't merely the absence of war. Do you think the Brusha and the Zothen hate each other any less than they did before this whole affair? They stopped killing each other, sure enough, but I'm certain they will get right back to that the moment I leave this building with the message of your defeat." I told him, bitterly.
He tried to nod and almost cut himself on my weapon in the process.
"I know." he answered, his voice weak and slightly dizzy, probably from the blood he had already lost in the course of our fight. "It is in the nature of humanity..."
I pressed the sword a bit stronger against his neck to stop him from speaking any further.
"Really? Human nature? That's how you explain it? Did it ever occur to you that they might have real, legitimate grievences against each other? Grievences that would need to be resolved before actual peaceful coexistance would be possible?" I ranted, anger bubbling up inside of me. "Peace requires understanding. Compassion. Maybe even a bit of love! But those people out there, the Kithor, the Brusha, the Voborg, they only stopped fighting each other because they're afraid of you, not because they like each other!"
He gave me a look that was full of pity. "You're naive if you think their hate for each other will ever fade. This..." - he spread his arms in a gesture that was probably meant to refer to the whole planet, but to me seemed more directed at the throne room around us, littered with the broken bodies of my friends and foes alike - "...is the best we can hope to archieve. Kill me, and the endless wars I ended will start anew."
"Maybe they will." I said, my right hand starting to hurt because I had gripped my sword too tightly. "I will do my best to avoid it, but I can't promise it will work. Even if it doesn't, I can promise you, one day there will be actual solutions to the problems the people of this world have with each other. One day there will be a humanity that is united by their love for each other, not by their hate for you."
His eyes glanced over the bodies of his bodyguards, who were either already dead or still bleeding out on the ground around us. "Big words..." he coughed, spitting out blood, "...big words for somebody that solves all of his problems by killing his enemies. I think we're more alike than you want to..."
He was interrupted by a gurgling sound, which I only recognized a few seconds later as blood that was filling his windpipe. I stumbled backwards, leaving my sword stuck in his throat, where I must have stabbed him in a fit of rage. It took him a while to finally die, and I stayed frozed in place until I was sure it was really over. I thought about saying a sassy comment to his corpse, like "There is a difference - I'm still alive!", and was disgusted with myself for even considering it.
As I stumbled out of the door and down the winding stairs, towards an uncertain future, it occured to me that at the end, he had still kept the last word in our argument. | 2020-12-09T10:47:34 | 2020-12-09T10:23:36 | 18 | 11 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | Another blow sent me sprawling onto the floor. I felt a drop come from my nose and saw the spot of red on the floor. My face burned from his fiery punch.
“Come on, loser,” Chantley shouted. “If you’re not going to show your power, I’ll force it out of you.”
“You’re not changing anything by doing this,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”
A flame flickered in Chantley’s open palm, waiting for me to charge back at him. The fire sigil on his forehead burned brightly as he was using his power. Other students had gathered around but did nothing to stop Chantley’s attack, waiting to see what happened. I knew they were curious, too. But I stood still, my plain circle sigil staying dark as always.
“Fight me!” he shouted. “Show us what your lame sigil really does!”
I had endured his teasing, his prodding, his insults all year long. He was new to the school, and I guessed he was just trying to carve a spot for himself in our class. Not that he needed to. We’re a pretty nice group of kids. He’d know it if he had given us a chance. If he had given me a chance. I wasn’t ready to show them what I could do. I wasn’t ready, but it was getting harder to hold it in.
With another flaming punch, this time to my gut, I had finally had enough. I put out the little hot spot that smouldered on my shirt and got in his face. I hated to admit it, but his bullying broke me.
“Fine Chantley. You win.”
Suddenly his flame went out.
“Hey!” he said, looking down at his hand. He snapped his fingers. He waved his hands. Nothing could bring the fire back. “Where did it go?” Then he looked back at me and his jaw dropped.
My circle sigil was filled with the burning fire sigil that had been on his forehead, but now was on mine.
“You took my sigil!” he shouted. The gathered crowd let out a collective gasp.
“You asked for it,” I said plainly. I played with the fire in my palm, like he had taunted me with every other time he picked a fight with me. Now it was my turn.
“Give it back!” he shouted, the panic palpable in his voice.
“No, I think I’ll keep it for a while.”
Chantley threw a punch at my face, but I blocked it with a flaming fist. His eyes widened then shut tightly as he felt the painful burn of fire for the first time in his life.
“Owwwww let me go!”
I released him with a push, sending him to the ground. I also released his sigil back to him as he scampered through the crowd. Nobody followed him, but nobody checked on me either. In fact, they kept their distance from me, probably terrified I’d steal their sigil too. I may have won the fight, but I lost my friends in the process.
I never should have given in.
-------
More stories at /r/ReverendRamboWrites | Jerry Novak was a simple teen. His hair was close-cropped, with no special style, his clothes were regular—just jeans and a T—he was utterly average in terms of appearance, and even his Rune was bland. Just a plain old circle.
Everyone else had magnificent patterns: dual swords crossing and emitting sparks, skulls with crystal eyes, and some people even had Runes resembling certain celebrities. On top of them being cool in appearance, these Runes symbolized abilities that these other kids had. Naturally, seeing that Jerry's Rune was plain, the other kids thought that his *power* must have been plain as well, and that's why he didn't use it.
They were wrong, of course, but that didn't stop them from bullying him. Today, however, he had had enough. As he walked up the (rather dirty) stone steps toward the double doors leading into the halls, he was flanked by Paul Messus and his cronies.
Paul was above average in nearly every sense of the word—almost painfully good-looking, Greek god physique, and of course, the coolest Rune in school.
"Wassup Novak!" he shouted. He pushed Jerry, sending him flying backward. That was his ability—super strength. "Ooh, a little light there, aren't you?" he yelled, while his cronies guffawed stupidly in the background.
*Ignore them* ... *ignore them*. Jerry told himself, rising and wincing. He tried to veer around them, but Paul stepped in front of him, puffing out his immense chest.
"Where you going?" he cried. "We're not done yet!" He grabbed Jerry by the leg and spun him around over his head, whooping like the hooligan he was.
Zooming through the air, fighting desperately to keep himself from hurling, Jerry decided—enough was enough. He concentrated on his Rune, and the circle glowed.
Behind Paul, an enormous, pitch-black hole opened up, spewing dark mist. Paul dropped him, horrified, trying to run away, but it didn't work. The force of the hole gripped him, holding him as a man might embrace his lover, and with a final, piercing scream, he was sucked into the void, and it closed up.
Smirking, Jerry made his way to class, leaving the thunderstruck group of kids gaping in horror behind him.
If you liked this, subscribe to r/ShortsandSerials for more! | 2020-02-26T05:43:27 | 2020-02-26T05:10:36 | 1,964 | 1,182 |
[WP] Your life is an endless series of horror movies. You're always at the wrong place at the wrong time. You're stuck seeing all your friends die right after you make them. The reason you're still alive? You can hear the horror music. | A colorful box lay on the table, myself and my newest friends crowded eagerly around it as the birthday girl excitedly undid the ribbon. I think the invitation said this was melissa's party, but I had forgotten. Was it bad that I had stopped bothering to learn their names? Even though I was watching intently as the box top came off, I was distracted. The woodwinds had been unusually cheery lately, a real "day in the good life" sort of tune, but for the last few minutes the background was perfectly silent. That was a pretty bad sign.
I held my breath as the gift was lifted into view, ready to bolt, but it was just a harmless teddy bear. It was cliche, but nobody would die to that. A sharp, sudden burst of music made me jump, although nobody else seemed to hear it. I sat up and looked around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the style of that cord had sounded familiar, combined with this setting, I was sure I had done this before.
The soundtrack had gone quiet again, it must have been foreshadowing, but that was still important. After a whole week of cheerful buildup, this sudden shift in tone meant we had a few minutes, maybe. I tried to look at the room like a director composing a shot, trying to build up suspense and give the audience a nice jump. People would have been expecting the present, and relaxed when the harmless bear came into view, so it made sense to take advantage of that lowered guard to spook the audience with some quick new scare.
I got up and stood by the TV while the birthday girl (I was 90% sure her name was Melissa) set a new colorful box in front of her. Yes, this would have been a good spot for the camera to go, it framed all of us nicely. The presents by the table, the couch with all of us seated, a window with the blinds down behind that.
*Almost* down. The blinds were up just a crack, letting in just a sliver of the outside. The sun was low in the horizon, casting a beautiful orange light into the room, the woods beyond were deeply backlit by the setting sun, with the light at this angle everything outside was just a black shadow. I replayed the musical cue I had heard in my head, trying to imagine a dark figure suddenly cutting across the background behind us. That was it, I was sure.
I pulled out my satellite phone and dialed, then turned my back away from the celebrating teenagers.
"Hello 911... yeah, it's me again... no it's a friend's house, something outside... I don't know, we're in the woods so probably not... yeah send a few just to be safe, and maybe some floodlights... yeah the address, one second"
I cupped the phone and turned back to my distracted acquaintances, asking for the address just as one of the guys stood up. What was his name again, Toby?
"Toby, where are you going?" I called to him. He frowned at me and gestured slightly drunkenly "my name is Jason, and I'm going to the bathroom"
"Oh, you'll need to use the outhouse, our bathroom is being fixed" Melissa(?) chirped, gesturing outside where a lone shack sat by the edge of the woods. Jason nodded, started to head outside into the darkening sunset, then turned back to me. "Did you need something?"
The music had started up again. Subtle. Tense. We were pretty far out and it would take a while for the police to arrive, even with their overall great response time. We might need to buy a few extra minutes. "It's nothing, Jason. Enjoy the outhouse." I turned back to the phone, gave the address, then hung up.
I had probably 10 minutes to kill, so I pulled out my phone and checked my Facebook. The music suddenly spiked, sustained a discordant trill, the faded to nothingness. I deleted Jason from my friend's list. Actually, might as well delete the rest, while I was at it.
| 'Oh God... Not again...!!!' I thought as those deep brass Inception style horns reverberated around me. I could kill Hans Zimmer for pioneering that sound, I hear them every day of my waking life, and this was no exception. I knew what was coming and it was time to start running.
This time I was in the woods with a girl named Chloe, we'd met previously at a bar in town. I was new here, wanted something to do so she offered to show me this old cabin down in the woods, previously owned by an old hunter who lived out here. A dirty mattress, some old fishing magazines covered in dust scattered the table in the kitchen and a threadbare rug lined the floor. Apparently it had been empty for years, Chloe liked to come down here and think, just to get away from it all. It was around 1AM and we were walking back to the car after sitting out on the porch on the old bench, drinking whiskey Chloe kept in the cupboard for special occasions when those all too familiar deafening horns kicked in.
In slow motion style I turned around to look back at the cabin, my eyes widened as they always do, and the flimsy door flew open and there he was. A man, maybe 6ft, standing, staring us down with a machete in his right hand. Well built, I couldn't really see what he was wearing, instead I turned back to Chloe and screamed 'RUUUUUUUUUN!!!!' pulling her with my hand. We were sprinting, but once again it always felt like slow motion, all of a sudden the drums kicked in around me. He was chasing us and fast, I could hear his boots hit the damp forest floor. 'Fuck!!' I screamed as the drums got quicker and quicker. He was getting closer. The horns were long gone and replaced with an almost tribal style pounding drum rhythm, pushing Chloe and I forward. I shouted at her to split, she bolted off to the left while I took the right. We hid behind trees, when all of a sudden everything went quiet. 'This is never a good sign' I thought.
I was too terrified to peek behind the tree to see what was going on. A piano note hit me, then another one. 'Oh not the piano! Please not the piano!' I silently begged. Still, it beats the creepy doll music I had yesterday. The piano notes were by themselves, but slightly in the distance meaning he was heading for Chloe. This time I poked my head around the tree and saw him creeping, one foot in front of the other. As each foot landed so did the piano note. Those dam atmospheric strings weren't helping my heart rate either. The piano started up again, the strings were getting louder and fuller, thicker even. The screech of the strings kicked in and the piano got ridiculously intense and fast, as I saw him leap for her, her screams didn't last long... Then silence.
The man walked off, leaving Chloe lying there. I heard the all too familiar piano again, this time it was lighter, and gentler, meaning I could breath a sigh of relief. It was over. I walked off and tried to locate my car, the piano gradually became the Hulk's Lonely Man theme, as it always does when these things are over. I hate this song, it signals that the next horrific scenario I have to go through is just around the corner and the whole cycle starts again.
---
Apologies for the slightly rushed feel, written in half an hour | 2016-12-31T21:43:15 | 2016-12-31T20:06:44 | 194 | 59 |
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game. | "You're telling me that none of this is real?" I gestured to my beautiful wife and children, to my home and car. To the beautiful blue sky and the relentless summer sun.
"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you but your User Occupancy has expired according to our registry."
Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and yet the man before me was cool as ice in his business suit.
I frowned. "Okay buddy."
"You have until noon to claim the renewal package and continue your experience."
I checked my wristwatch. I had less than two minutes before noon.
I chuckled to myself, "And if I don't claim this... renewal package? What's going to happen huh?"
"You will simply be ejected from this reality," the man said all matter-of-factly.
I didn't like the sound of that. "Is that a threat?!" I shouted angrily.
Suddenly I could hear crying from my two year old daughter. I glanced behind me and saw my wife and children staring. My wife held Amy in her arms tightly, her face deep with concern.
"Dad is everything okay?" asked my brave son who learned how to ride a bike just yesterday.
"Yea David," I called back. "Don't worry everything is fine."
I looked at my wife, her long brown hair flowed elegantly around her shoulders and chest.
"Get the wallet," I said and my wife's eyes went wide.
I turned my attention back to the man.
"Sir, you have 42 seconds until your ejection from this reality."
"Hey. Is it money you want? How much?" I asked.
"In order to claim the renewal package you must manually disconnect-"
My wife tapped my shoulder with a finger. In one swift motion, I grabbed the shotgun, brought it close to my hips and pulled the trigger.
"Good job Jess," I said. She had remembered what I had told her about 'Get the wallet'.
"Honey!" she shrieked.
Two things happened in an instant. First, the man in the business suit had disintegrated, crumbling to tiny blocks of pixels and fading into nothing.
Second, another man, identical in appearance stepped out of my neighbor's door from across the street. He pointed at me with a finger.
A blue flash of light, and a beam lanced through the air to puncture me right through my chest.
My wife screamed.
I turned to look at my wife, her face an expression of abject horror. I looked down at my chest.
A clean hole the size of my fist through my chest. There was nothing inside me, no internal organs, no blood.
Darkness pervaded my mind.
And then there was light. A bright white light that twisted and formed letters.
It read, '*Disconnected*'.
----------
/r/Em_pathy
| I sit at the pub, drinking away my disappointment. Boy, I really earned my money today. Feeling confident, I strode into the bar. A few failed attempts at flirting brought me down a couple notches. Maybe I should play a round of cards at the table in the back or place a bet on the ball game on tv. Or maybe I should just call it a night.
A girl comes and sits down next to me. She orders a drink and it magically appears in her hand. She’s pretty, but not unapproachable. I try to decide if I want to flirt with her or just ask for her name. Suddenly, she turns to me.
“I’m Jenna,” she says, “What’s your name?” It takes me a second to register it.
“I’m Michael.” Oh good, she went first. Maybe now we can just talk. We chat for a while, until a song comes on that she seems really into.
“You wanna dance?” She asks over the music.
“Sure.” I try to match her movements, but she’s a lot faster. And smoother. She does this a lot apparently. We dance through a couple more songs, but then my watch beeps. I have to go.
We walk out together, but before I head back to my apartment, she kisses me. We exchange numbers, but I don’t expect to hear from her again. For all I know, she could live on the other side of the world. I open the door to my apartment.
I blink a few times as I remove the VR device. My body is fully rested, and it’s time to go back to my real world job. The technology is based on lucid dreaming, so you can play the game while your body recharges. I spend the day shuffling papers, earning “real” money, and the night fighting monsters, earning “fake” money. In a way, the “fake” world seems more real than the “real” world.
A message appears on my phone. It’s from Jenna. An address downtown. A physical address, and it’s less than five miles from me. Another message pops up.
“I look forward to seeing you in person.” | 2018-02-19T09:27:33 | 2018-02-19T09:23:58 | 645 | 45 |
[WP] As the leader of a CIA hit squad, you have been tasked with the secret, “extrajudicial” killing of a journalist who is causing problems for the government with his reporting. The problem is, he just won’t die! Every team you send fails. Who is this Clark Kent, guy? | Amanda Ross had never lost a target. That's why the government of the United States trusted her with every unmanageable, unethical, and undoable task. The FBI had recently noticed a trend of activity in a major metropolitan. Otherwise uninteresting, this city had a crime rate well below the national average. What was even more disturbing was the sightings of a vigilante at every major crime scene. The FBI were quick to warn their brother agencies and that is how one Amanda Ross was given the task of 'losing' this particular individual who'd made clear that laws weren't needed when any well-meaning individual could take up arms. Those in power could not tolerate such a slap in the face of their policies and making a joke of their police forces. Amanda had no interest in politics but she knew how to get things done, so when this seemingly impossible case came to her lap, she dispatched her people and put a tail on every journalist and beat cop in the area. They were the most likely to become aware of crime AND show up to the scene the quickest. Either they'd seen this guy themselves or they were working with him. In particular, a bland looking Clark Kent character, who seemingly reminded her of every white guy she'd ever seen.
As the crime rate continued to plummet, the public was growing more excited. If this level of crime was possible, then there would be no reason to fear anything and America would become a veritable utopia. But that couldn't be made to happen, Amanda thought to herself. After several attempts of tailing Clark Kent, she came to the conclusion that there was something altogether abnormal about this guy. He seemed to disappear every time a tail found him. He didn't use transportation, so no car, bus, or train could be used to follow him. So she had to change tactics. There would be posted sentries all over the city along with new cctv setup at every corner. If this guy so much as breathed, she would have it on record. No more telecommunication as well, only texted entries on a secure server. She'd even re-called a special agent of hers, one who couldn't miss should they have the opportunity. But even that soon proved impossible. This Clark Kent guy seemed impossible to trace. When her normal methods of extraction didn't work, she aimed for execution.
Deadshot was dead asleep when his phone started ringing. 2 am. When he saw the caller ID, he knew it was just to piss him off. He didn't answer and soundly went back to sleep. He knew she'd get back at him later, but he'd rather deal with her while fully alert and not sleep-deprived as prior interactions had confirmed.
"We need you to pacify a target," she said, looking at him from across the bars. "If you'd just answered my call, we'd be done with this already."
She looked tired and worn out. She must be desperate, but so was he. "And you thought having me arrested while I was at work was the way to ask for a favor?"
"I had an unconventional childhood," she chimed back. "Here's a folder with all the details. They'll release you shortly. Have this done by the end of the day. I've lost enough sleep over this." She left him standing there, but a deputy came ambling in soon after and let him out. Seemed routine for him.
Deadshot always had his gear prepared and this served him well especially when he was dealing with the government. The shorter their entanglement, the better for him. They always found him another project when reminded how efficient he was. But the deal he'd made a year ago had dissolved any such orders. Now, it was just requests in the form of one heinous viper. She'd one this before, but one of these days, she'd be his target.
Determined to make this quick, he found a comfortable location where the target would be in sight and waited. Less than an hour later, a tall bespectacled guy walked out of the building and without so much as a glance to confirm, he already knew, he let the bullet fly. It came out like a whisper, in search of a true love, and before he could blink again, found it's mark in the heart of one Clark Kent. He collapsed. Deadshot began packing his equipment. He put a call in and confirmed the kill with a few added expletives for Amanda's auditory pleasure should she ever try to corner him again. The sounds of people's shouts could be heard over the wind and he walked away, back to obscurity and the promise of a good night's sleep. He
But he didn't notice the dark figure observing him in silence as he took the steps down two at a time.
Amanda had never failed to deliver and yet she had. Two more attempts to kill him had failed and she'd finally let Deadshot retire in peace again. Each time he sniped him, Clark Kent would collapse and then a swarm of humanity reacting in chaos would somehow obscure his escape. She had to assume, if the aim of each bullet was true, then the only thing left was that he couldn't die. Some super power or form of immortality. If she couldn't kill him, she needed to use him. She needed leverage and fast. | Its been a long time since i held a trigger. I gave up that life, i was an assassin for a very long time. It still itches when i had to cut my finger to prove my loyalty. At least i didnt have to carry a gun again or so i thought.
The CIA found me and recruited me, my job was to train their agents. They gave me my freedom to do this as i pleased and the people i was teaching were saving lives by taking out the scum of the earth.
Last year something happened, a flight scheduled to land never crossed the ocean but in the same place that it was at was a blue and red blur going mach 30. It was then that it started a man whose skin is stronger than steel that flies around saving people has been going around the world saving people. His stories in the U.S. are being covered by a journalist named Clark kent an alias because no one anywhere has any recore of any clark kent.
The only problem with our blur is this guy doesnt care whose side the "bad guy" is. A facility govermentally permitted to expriment on deathrow inmates is the "bad guy" and he breaks everyone out. We suspected that the journalist and our blur are working together but everytime we sent a tail they disappeared. When we sent jeanie a 12 year old girl who was raised as spy to tail him and she also disappeared that is when i knew that this clark kent isnt going to keep doing what he does, i've killed many for a car, more for a dog but for her im not going to stop until i find her even if i had to tear the blur apart with my own two hands.
There was a fire on the top of the tower, the blur has rushed there blew.out the fire went in and got the citizens out and flew off into the sunset. I just lost the trail on mr kent one min ago who slipped into an alley and downright disappeared.
Kent was spotted later that day on a date of all things, he seemed like a respectable person but when he looked down and his glasses fell down i could have sworn i saw his facial features change. After dropping her home he turned left into an alley and disapppeared again.
We have our military sattlelite following him closely now. We wont lose him this time or so we thought until he seemed to have been picked up by the blur. Then the unbelieveable happened the blur seemed to feel tired next to a glass door and then he rushed away. This is the third time this has happened in the last month, the only thing in common between the glass cup, the stone statue and glass door is the element of kryptonite.
We arranged a sniper with a kryptonite coated bullet then set a warehouse on fire. We avoided vocally talking that is how the last group died. The sniper couldnt get a good hit but he did graze him and for the first time we knew that it bleeds. A DNA scan shows that this thing isnt even human at all it's DNA Isnt even DNA but something else completely.
Clark kent and the blur dont seem to be in the same place at the same time ever, if we ignore the face they both have the same exact build. It doesnt take a genius to deduce that they are one entity and an entity that can change it's facial features. My agents did a mistake of firing on clark kent and paid the price for it. But she was innocent all she does is spy and tail why did he have to make her disappear as well.
That night clark walked into the mafia's warehouse, he seemed to know his way around there and that is when i saw her standing by their boss. I dont know why i felt so much rage but i broke my vow that night and i came back, i didnt leave a single one of them alive. When i reached the last room and shot the boss in the head she screamed "Daddddy Nooo!??!?!". I just killed her father, her biological father...
I dont know how what happened after but the blur had me pinned to a wall in that same second. I asked it "Who and what are you?" and it responded "I'm superman more than you'll ever amount to be human" I choked on my own blood and asked it "do you bleed?" and it said "no" i said "I'm john wick, only human" and shot it in the head and it died. Did it really think i was going over there without
my kryptonite bullet? | 2022-06-08T10:32:59 | 2022-06-07T23:34:16 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] "Come to me! Face your fear mortal!" "I fear NOTHING!" "Then I will show you true nothingness!" A few moments pass and the warrior before you is a crumpled mess. Your turn. "Come to me! Face your fear mortal!" | "Face your fear, Mortal!"
What did I fear? I stepped up to the Maw, the strange dark void that was slowly encroaching on the land. It seemed like a million years ago when the Maw appeared, abruptly and effectively ending modern life as we knew it, though some part of the back of my mind reminded me it had been a mere 5 years.
"What is my fear?"
Can a dark eldritch void from the beyond look taken aback?
"Face your fear."
"Yeah, I'm not sure what's left to fear, you know? You already ended life as we knew it. If you don't stop then soon everything will be gone, but life is kinda shit right now anyway so what's to be afraid of?"
The Maw paused for an extra half a second before its next response. "I will show you true nothingness!"
The universe closed around me, a light going out on all sensation. I floated in an existence of utter lack, not sight nor sound, taste nor smell, no feeling whatsoever to ground me.
I didn't know how long it lasted. Could have been seconds. Could have been several lifetimes. How do you judge the passage of time when all feeling and experience are smothered and removed from your experience?
As abruptly as the light had gone the switch was flipped and life returned. I was still standing at the top of the hill, the Maw stretching before me.
"Can I go back?"
"YOU HAVE BROKEN, PUNY--what?" Turns out even an unknowable eldritch void from beyond time and space can be surprised.
"Yeah, can I do that again?"
The Maw undulated, like a roiling mist. "Your mind is...unbroken. How can this be?"
I shrugged. "I think you underestimate how empty and soul-draining life was before you showed up. At least in that nothing there was peace."
The Maw reached out to grab me. As it did I noticed that the crowd of people behind me had shifted from other supplicants to more of an audience. The plants of the hilltop were greener, spring truly underway. I must have been under for...weeks. It seemed the Maw wasn't advancing as long as it had me in its grasp.
Back to the nothing. | "Or what?"
"Eh?" The eldrich God pauses to look at me.
"What happens If I don't face my fears?" I shrug. ''I mean, you have a pretty good cult here-"
"It's not a cult" the God mutters, stung.
"-But I mean 'face your fears' really?" I hold my hands out, showing I'm not trying to trick him-her-it-them. (What *are* the pronouns of an All powerful evil Elderich horror?)
"Well... I mean..." the God is hopping from Tentacle to Tentacle, clearly uncomfortable. "People usually just do what we say. No one ever asked before if there was an alternative or not..."
"Can the alternative be a puppy?"
The God sticks his/her/its/their head over the edge of the cliff to the spiraling vortex below.
"Dhth'chula ula conthul?" He/she/it/they calls
"Ula nula conthul?" Another, very surprised voice replies.
"Dhth'chula nula dichup. Hu-curgthr mnnphd *puppy*"
"Conthul Puppy?"
You stare around the large, barren landscape, beginning to get bored, and a little disappointed. You thought for sure this would be the cult for you.
Finally the God turns to face you again. In his/her/its/their tentacles is a tiny, squirming he'll hound puppy.
"Very well. But uhh... don't tell anyone else about this, ok? | 2022-12-18T22:21:45 | 2022-12-18T21:08:12 | 449 | 195 |
[WP] You find a mysterious website where you can anonymously request an item once a day and it's delivered to you the next day.
You don't know how this website works and you don't enter any personal details, including your address. The item you request must actually exist. To clarify, it's a gift, you don't pay anything.
EDIT: To anyone reading but reluctant to write because this post is >7hrs old, please know that you have at least one reader in me! | "Hey man, try this new app and get a free gift."
I don't have time for this, I thought. It was Tuesday. Taco Tuesday. I was already late, and if I was any later, the truck will be out of carnitas. They're always the first to go. So, whatever. I took his card to get him out of my way.
As I pulled my wallet out to pay at the truck, I felt the card in my pocket. All it said was "GIFT APP", and it had a QR code. Yeah, sure. Why not? It's something to entertain myself while I eat my lunch.
I scanned the card, but instead of the app store, it took me to a website. Wow, I thought. These people don't even know the difference between an app and a webpage. It had a text field and a button that said "Request Gift".
OK, I told myself, let's see how this works. I typed in "ten bucks", but I stopped. I've seen enough Looney Tunes to know that's a bad idea. I changed it to "ten dollars" and tapped the button. The page changed to a message that said "Request Received!".
What? That's it? The guy with the card must have been doing some kind of sociology experiment. Or performance art. I didn't know or care. I threw out the card at my desk as I settled back in.
The next morning, I found Alexander Hamilton staring at me through my windshield when I got in my car. Someone had slipped a $10 bill under my wiper blade. Crazy, huh? I never once put in my address to this site. I held it up to the light and saw the security ribbon and watermark. It was legit.
The first thing I did when I got to my cube was dig the card out of the trash. I scanned the code again and got the same website. I typed in "Rolex" and tapped the button. The next morning, I stepped on a jewelry box as I walked outside my apartment. Fortunately, Rolexes aren't fragile things.
This time, I decided to take full advantage. I requested an iPad first, because I cracked the screen on my old one a month ago. I then requested an 80-inch TV, or tried to anyway. It told me I exceeded the rate limit or something like that.
I was all set to request the TV on my brand new iPad the next morning when a wave of guilt hit me. I was being selfish. I was taught to look out for more than myself. I requested tomorrow's newspaper instead. I could tip the cops off to that day's crimes before they happen and do real good in the city. Having an advanced look at the stock pages on weekdays would be my reward for being a model citizen, you know?
The next day, I shook my head and laughed as I looked at my doorstep. It's Saturday, and I got Saturday's paper. Of course I did. On Friday if you ask for tomorrow's paper, you get Saturday's paper. The thought of ten male deer out in the parking lot crossed my mind as I went back inside. I requested Monday's newspaper and then went about my weekend.
So this morning, I checked the date on the newspaper. Sure enough, it had Monday's date. It barely had any ads. It didn't have an giant comics section. Definitely not a Sunday paper.
I flipped to the local section. Perfect. Some thugs knocked over a jewelry store. Or, they will knock over one at 8 p.m. after the place closed. I sent in a tip to the crimeline. This was why I asked for the advanced newspaper. This was me doing good.
It wasn't my fault that no one at the precinct took it seriously and just sent a squad car to sit outside the place. Are you shocked that the criminals saw it there and picked a different jewelry store to rob?
This is the God's honest truth, officer. This gift app site thing, that's why you found me with a brand new gold watch. I've got nothing to do with those thieves. I told you, the newspaper wasn't in my home because I threw it in the community recycling bin.
If you would just give me my phone back, I can show you.
You gotta believe me. | It was 3 in the morning, and i was just finishing up a research paper for my Quantum theory course. I had just submitted the paper online and was in the process of closing out my glorious collection of tabs that I had amounted over the past couple of hours. I was about to close out of a reference article about time-independent perturbation theory, which may sound cool but is quite the opposite I promise you, when I noticed something odd in the footnotes. One of my professors was listed as a contributor for the article. However, that wasn't the weird part. My professor does research all the time. The weird part was that I was listed as an assistant to his research. And the date it said I contributed was today, but the report was published in 1987 and hasn't been edited since then. But right there, handwritten in the footnotes was my name.
At this point I knew I needed to go to sleep, but I also knew I needed answers. So I scrolled over to the contact us section for the website hosting the article. it loaded a new page, but all that was there was a single link in the middle of the page.
www.badwolf.com
I clicked on the link and it closed all my other tabs and opened the website. When the website loaded it wasn't anything special. The background was blue and in the middle of the site was a box where you can type in text. Right above that it said
*Whisper what it is you want*
It must have been that slightly expired hot pocket I had earlier or the amount of sleep deprivation I was suffering from, because this was pretty surreal. In my sleep stupor I typed in something, hit enter, closed chrome, and went to sleep.
When I woke up in the morning I could barley move. When I finally forced myself to open my eyes, I let out a huge scream. Sitting at the foot of my bed, was a huge sleeping Tigon. You know, the mix between a Tiger and a Lyon. I was in some real Life of Pi shit. I slowly moved out of my bed and scooted out of my bedroom without waking the slumbering beast.
Th first thing I did was do a mental checklist of what I had done last night. Nothing came up in my muddled memory that could explain the animal in my room. That's when I remembered the website I had seen before I fell asleep. But there was no way. it couldn't have worked could it. I walked to my den and turned the computer on. I went directly to the website, but it didn't work. Chrome said it couldn't reach the website. I called my girlfriend.
She luckily hadn't left for her course yet. I had her go to her computer and load up the website. It worked for her. Odd. I told her what to type in and then she had to leave for class. I left for class too. I still had a Tigon in my bedroom, but I had no idea how to tackle that problem yet. That night I slept over my girlfriend's house. When we both woke up too the sound of her alarm at 8 in the morning the next day, I looked to the end of the bed. Sitting there, was a scrap of paper with a code on it. I knew exactly what it was.
i walked over to my girlfriends computer and launched steam. I put entered the redemption code and hit enter. What I saw blew my mind away. On the screen, getting ready to download, was Half Life 3.
What had I done. | 2015-03-25T07:50:32 | 2015-03-25T06:55:25 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | u/numbers909 ok no worries, how about this:
It was black. The sound of absolutely nothing pierced my eardrums as if there was an infinitely high pitched tone passing through my very skull. My skin was void of sensation, and smell or taste remained absent. My breathing had disappeared yet I wasn't drowning. It was disorienting.
It had been about 10 minutes since they closed me in here. I remember the chamber doors closing as I was lowered into some fluid, exactly the temperature of my body.
They told me it would take a few minutes for the freezing to occur, and that I probably wouldn't feel a thing. They had hooked me up to so many IVs and electrodes I figured I would be out like a light.
And yet, the faint sounds of trickling water had disappeared a little while ago. I kept wondering when I was going to fall asleep.
They had told me not to move a muscle. They had told me to close my eyes. The had told me to relax, and that everything was taken care of.
And still, I could think. I was fully conscious. After 10 minutes of no stimuli, I started seeing random faces pop up in front of me. They looked so real, but I knew my eyes were closed.
A deep feeling of panic rose up to my conciousness. The type of panic you feel when you realize something is very, very WRONG. Yet this feeling didn't originate in my body. The typical response of adrenaline, anxiety, energy through all of my limbs and the pit in my stomach which was supposed to accompany my mental state was just... absent. It was as if I had no body, no sensations, and no feelings.
I tried to move. I squirmed, I sat up, I ran, and I cried. I waved my arms all around and punched myself in the face. No matter what I did, there was no stimuli. I could move every muscle and yet there was no reaction, no resistance, and no contact with anything.
My mind raced. Random images flowed through my mind's eye like some endless fractal. I flew through intangible tunnels of light as time and space warped all around me. Spiders. A lamp. A curving, looping road. Mountains smaller than me, and ants larger.
I lost track of time. Going in and out of hallucinations, I began to lose all sense of sanity. Who was I? Where was I? When was I?
There were brief periods when the hallucinations stopped and I could think clearly. I analyzed my situation - clearly something had gone wrong. Had I died? Was this hell? I was floating through an endless universe of nothing - not even blackness, just nothing. I tried to find something to grab onto, anything. I looked around for sound, and listened for light.
Cycles upon cycles, lifetimes upon lifetimes, I wandered the recesses of insanity. How long had it been, I wondered. 5 years? 100 years? 500?
Sometimes the hallucinations stopped and I fell into unconsciousness. During those times I was only aware of one thing - cold. I wasn't cold, IT was cold. There was no me, no I any longer.
God showed me the universal truth of nothingness and I surrendered to it. Time and space were illusions of the mind.
Time doesn't exist in eternity. Infinite lifetimes passed; I lived the life of a butterfly, an elephant, a farmer, a stone, and a businessman. Feelings and thoughts were ephemeral vortexes of causality and I bore witness to them all at once.
Then something was.
A break in nothing. A spear puncturing the perfect tranquility of absence. It was electricity.
I saw a network of light, a web of neuronal connections light up in an explosive fireworks show. It was the inside of a brain.
Zap. Zap. Zap. The connections were firing more intensely, more rapidly, and time began to collapse. Each end of time separated in either direction and was stretched like a piece of taffy.
I latched onto the zapping like an infant suckling a teat.
Then I felt it. It was as if my awareness was torn from below, grabbed by a body and a mind and shackled to a specific point in space. Pain flooded into my consciousness and overwhelmed me with feelings. I remembered what arms and legs were. I fit back into my body as if it were a glove, enveloping me in searing hot oil.
Suddenly a sensation pulsed through every fiber of my being and a thump in my chest exploded with the sound of rushing water.
Then again. And again. With each thump, pain washed over my body and felt like millions of needles pierced my skin. The pain was far worse than anything I had experienced in all my lives.
Time moved achingly slow. I was being brought back to life, I was being unfrozen, I had been in an experiment; a cryo-something. I began to think in words again.
I opened my eyes. In the blackness I could see something. A door. The door opened and light poured in to my pupils. It burned and I instinctively wanted to turn away, so I moved my neck muscles for the first time in eternity. I lifted my hands and felt the cold air leak in to my skin. *I* was cold.
A cacophony of agony played all around me. Drips of water were as loud as rushing waterfalls, the sound of a synthetic beeping were mortal screams, and the clink of metal was a gong.
I was raised through the doors and into the light. A human standing next to me had on white clothes and held a syringe. Bags of fluid, tubes of red and white, and wires of all colors tangled out of my body.
"WELCOME BACK" the man yelled in my ears.
Tears streamed out of my eyes as i wiggled my toes and fingers and felt the agonizing movement on my skin - blissfully torturous.
The man reached to my mouth and slowly removed something enormous from inside my chest. I vomited it up and for the first time I gasped and inhaled thick hot air into my lungs. I sputtered, coughed, and choked as I regained control of my diaphragm.
I tested my voice.
"H-" a coughing fit possessed me.
"H-How long" I forced out with a rasp between coughs.
"Well we went slightly over our original timeline," he said as he looked at his wrist.
"It was about one hour and three minutes. You're a real trouper!" | Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T05:38:03 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are always challenged by Death itself to a chess game, symbol of how nobody can win against it. Except you. You died and just won the game. Death is not amused. Both of you don't know what should happen now. | "Magnus, you have mystified the world over with your daring play ever since you were a young boy. What's your secret? How did you become the world's best?" The reporter leaned forward, waiting for her answer. It was something of a perfunctory question at this point with Magnus always responding with same rote answer of sleep, practice and a healthy diet. Still, she was expected to ask it just as he was expected to answer.
But this time, something was different. The icy shell Magnus maintained between him and the outside world appeared to crack, revealing something of the man behind the façade. He took a deep breath and swept his hand through his hair before meeting his interviewers eyes. "I play to live."
---
The Doctor reviewed the medical chart, making notes and trying to piece together the most tactful way of explaining things to the parents of the young child whose chart he held. Setting it down, he cleared his throat. "Mr. and Mrs. Carlsen, your boy is in a medically induced coma. We have pulled him back from Death's door, but his recovery will be temporary. We expect he has, at best, a year to live."
Mrs. Carlsen burst into tears, nestling her head against her husband's chest. The husband took the news stoically, knowing that it would be his responsibility to help the family through this tragedy. "Is there nothing to be done Doctor?"
The Doctor shook his head forlornly. He had more then enough experience in the matter to know better than to give false hope. All he could do was place a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "We are bringing him out of the coma now. Try your best to be comforting. He will be disoriented."
Mr. Carlsen nodded and watched as the Doctor injected a new fluid into the IV. By the time the Magnus awoke, his parents had put on cheery faces, each holding a hand in theirs. Before the parents could find the words to express how they felt, Magnus spoke, "He..." a wet cough, "he plays chess."
Mr. Carlsen shared a glance with Mrs. Carlsen, confused for a moment. Chalking it up to disorientation from the coma, the mother tried to sooth her child, "There there Magnus, it was just a dream."
The young boy's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, "No." He struggles to come to a sitting position. Both parents reached under him to assist him, his mother offering him a small paper cup of water. He refused the water, his determination growing and lending him strength. "He plays chess." A declaration of fact, his mind clear. "I must get better. I must be the best. It is the only way to win."
"Win what?" The father asked, perturbed.
"Another day." The parents shared another look, but Magnus was already preparing his opening move.
---
To be continued...maybe? :D
Platypus out. | My name is Gerald Michaels, and I beat the Grim Reaper in a chess game. I've only played chess a few times in my life, but I knew the rules all too well. It took me 5 moves that day, and I won the one game that death had put for me. Five moves, in total, and he made the last one. Yet I won.
My life was never particularly extraordinary. I had a wife, kids, a house, hell, I even had two dogs. Yet, that did not scratch the insatiable urge in my heart for something more. I searched my whole life for it to no avail. The thing that I wanted was not within reach of me. I died an old, decrepit, haggard old man who never found his purpose. I closed my eyes, and decades of experience washed into the abyss.
"Care for a game?" He said. And a game we played, one that lasted under two minutes after the rules were explained. All I had to do is win, Death had to fold his knight, and that would be that.
I moved a pawn. He moved one too to match me. I moved one up a space, and he matched the same.
"Death," I began, "Can you touch the top of your king? I'm curious if they're the same size. Mine and yours?"
He put his bone-y finger, aged with years of post-mortem murder and finess on the tip of the king. And when he touched it, I let out the loudest, mouth earth shattering, ear splitting scream the void had ever known. And it fucking worked. Death reeled back in shock. His finger tapped the king, it touched the bottom of the board. Death had conceded the game.
He was not amused. I waited a moment, while the anger in Death subsided. I waited longer, and longer.
What now?
"Death?" I said, "What happens now?" And all he could answer was... whatever I wanted.
Ninety-five years I searched on this Earth for the thing I wanted. And, while clarity is not that thing, it gave me the ability to know in that moment what I wanted.
"Death," I smiled. "Show me the cosmos." | 2018-04-20T13:50:38 | 2018-04-20T12:58:20 | 72 | 21 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | Hairless Bonobos walking on the moon. This is how we found them. Our scouts studied their movements. We infiltrated their societies. Studied their mating habits. Cold, isolated and hungry. The defining characteristics of the human. Now as the shadow of a more advanced race fell upon ours, I sat seated across from this human. He was fat and balding. His food of choice the meat of cow barely cooked, so that blood marinated on the plate. He ate with his mouth open. Beside me the key to faster than light travel, sat beside my hands. It's power was our equivalent to that of a Casio g-shock for the human race. "If I give you this power, you promise to share the spoils." The human stopped eating and tried to wash his food down with his fermented sour barley from burnt barrels, his second request."Give us this , and we kill who ever you like." He smiled . I forced myself to smile back. In the back of my mind was fear. | 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T10:18:47 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] The biggest reptile zoo in the universe was closed down temporarily after an asteroid crashed into it. When the owner checks up on it millions of years later, he discovers that its inhabitants have renamed the zoo 'Earth' | Xe'lok buried his head in his tentacles and groaned.
"A *sentient* species? With civilization? On my planet? How...? We just had an inspection done a couple tens of thousands of years ago and that planet was just an iceball."
The inspector shrugged, "I'm sorry, sir. We must have missed them during the last inspection. Small population and all. Unfortunately, according to regulation 251452.2385 of the Galactic Federation, ownership of a planet containing sentient life is strictly prohibited. I'm afraid the planet is now legally off limits. However, per regulation 251452.2385.1, you are entitled to compensation."
Xe'lok looked up hopefully.
"How much?"
The inspector grimaced, "6 trillion credits."
"I spent 50 trillion credits buying this place. And the property tax alone has eaten away all of the profits I made before that damned asteroid hit. And then with that ice age... if I can't make a return on this place, I'm ruined..."
Xe'lok put his face back into his tentacles, burying himself even deeper this time. He began sobbing uncontrollably, his deep wails echoing in the inspectors tiny office. The inspector stood up from his desk, walked over to Xe'lok, and put a paw on one of his tentacles. He glanced up to make sure nobody was walking past his office.
"I see this happen all the time. Planet zoos are naturally a very volatile industry. Look, Xe'lok, I like you, so I'm going to offer you a deal. The species on this planet are just barely beginning to form city states, it was really only luck that we found them during out inspection. If they were to... you know, go extinct before the next inspection, then maybe you can get your old zoo back up and running. Perhaps if I *accidentally* misplaced your inspection report and *accidentally* sent you the contact information for a pest removal service..."
Xe'lok's sobbing stopped momentarily and he looked up, his eyes red and puffy.
"Anything. I'll do anything to save this investment. Please."
"Well, assuming you get your zoo back up and running, I want 10% of your gross."
"Deal."
***
"Look Xe'lok, my services don't come cheap. And removal of a sentient species is a pretty serious crime, so the price is going to be triple what I normally charge for pest removal."
"I'll pay anything you ask. I just need this taken care of. I've tried everything for the past couple thousand years, but I used this idiotic service that some bureaucrat pawned me off to. And now that species is getting ready to start colonizing the solar system. Once that happens, I'm screwed."
The orange skinned, sleazy looking businessman eyed Xe'lok. "Well, I would normally recommend a pandemic. That can usually take care of things pretty quickly."
"We tried that already. We worked on it for a couple thousand years, but it was a dud. Released it about 700 years ago, it killed... I don't know, maybe a quarter of the population. Then they just adapted to it. By the time we had another one ready to go, their medicine had advanced to the point where it hardly put a dent in them."
"Damn. What about wars? Young species like that are usually pretty bloodthirsty. Can end things pretty quickly if it gets ugly enough."
"Oh yes, they've been at each other's throats since we first started observing them. In the last century alone, we were able to engineer two planet-wide wars. They just seem indestructible."
The businessman stroked his hand through his light red hair, "Hmm... if they are that bloodthirsty, I'm sure they won't be able to resist using nuclear weapons on each other. That could be perfect."
"Oh, nuclear weapons? We tried that. When it looked obvious those wars weren't gonna take them out, we leaked the plans to the two most powerful states. They hated each other. Save for bombing a small island, they never even used them. In fact, things got even more peaceful after that. They've already started decommissioning the damn things. I'm at my wits end..."
The businessman chuckled, "Well, it seems you've got a real problem there. But don't worry, I will personally guarantee that we'll get rid of those pesky humans within 15 years. If not, I'll give even give you your money back."
Xe'lok looked shocked. "Really? That's incredible. How are you going to manage that?"
The businessman smiled. "I'm going to get personally involved. It's been quite some time since I've taken a case like this. I'm actually quite looking forward to working out in the field again. Of course, I hope you'll let your zoo keeper pals know how dedicated I am to good service. We have a deal?"
Xe'lok outstretched his tentacle. The businessman took it and shook.
"I don't know what I'd do if I hadn't found you. You may have just saved my business, Mr. Trump."
| "Ok Operator, ready to move in?"
"Yes sir, ready sir."
Lucy stared down the sights of her Strike-Rifle towards the ship. Since these Invaders had landed on Earth, fourteen Operators like herself had been trained, equipped, and sent off to deal with them. They were some of the most powerful and informed people in the world. And it was their job to prevent these Invaders from their objective.
The comms clicked off as she went into radio silence. Their enemies had advanced tech, so they had to keep off the systems as mug as possible.
What was that objective? Well, the UN wasn't entirely sure. But they had some indication. It was obvious they were extraterrestrial due to the equipment they brought with them, and they seemed to repeatedly be trying to seal the Earth from outer space interaction, trying to whipe it's surface of life and launch repeated invasions on its soil. But the Operators, and Earth's armies, had prevented that from happening.
All 14 of the elite soldiers had similar armour and equipment, but they all carried their own unique weapons and gear. Lucy's was this advanced Strike-Rifle, the Artemis. It was the most powerful and most accurate sniper ever constructed, capable of hitting and killing a target from 17,000 yards away, with enough patience and a good operator.
And Lucy was the best. She knew she was the best. They all did. Even among the Operators she was esteemed. And now she was on call, dealing with this incursion in the Scottish Highlands.
She flicked the start up on her exo-suit's advanced functions.
[////ScanningForOperator//^Operator&DNALocated^//InitiatingStartUp//StartUp%Initiated//^ArmourCharged^//ExternalApolloLinkConnected//ScanningSystems//!Error!PowerCell**Four**Damaged/InitiatingImmediateShielding/ShieldingSuccessfulInitiating//ScanningSystems//NoErrorsFound%#*//InitiatingStageTwo////]
Brilliant Now she was sorted.
Although it was worrying one of her cells was already damaged. She'd have to complain to engineering about that.
She fired her first shot, sending a single stream of thin blue energy from the barrel of the Artemis into the chest of the first Invader. As the stream ripped through the center of the first, the other two turned in the direction of the shot. Their blue bodies, despite being human shaped, were very distinguishable in the midday light. The armour they wore was also very inhuman, so it was obvious when they were here.
The second was more accurate, and drilled into the head of one of the other Invaders. Their ships rarely made it past the satellite. After the initial invasion the humans had developed many counter measures alongside the Operators. The orbital fleets were ready to launch from their bases at the first sign of another invading force, but every few weeks a stealth vessel would male it past the radar and land, at which point the nearest Operator would have to move to intercept. Sometimes Lucy just wished those fleets did a better job patrolling the nearby space.
She moved to the last target. It realised who it was up against and had scrambled to its cockpit. All stealth vessels were fitted with powerful warheads to be detonated upon landing. Once these Invaders realised they couldn't take back this planet for whoever they served, they'd turned to trying to whipe it clean and flatten it entirely.
Her rifle cycled up and released a third stream of energy into the final Invader's back. They wouldn't be destroying any more of this planet, not since the crash at St. Petersburg.
She lowered her rifle. They were dead. Looked like she'd succeeded. She used the suit's systems to boost herself quickly across the land, moving at speeds that most cars couldn't even accomplish.
As she arrived at the vessel she sent her drones to scan its systems and tell her what they found. Her report was pretty simple. The same message they always got from the ship's records.
"Mission Priority One: Reattain the property of the empire. Take back the empire's primary tourist attraction, and prepare it for a re-emergence of reptilian species type. By order of your Emperor and Commander in Chief, you must wipe the Humans from Helios-3, and bring your legions glory!!"
(Any good? Trying to get back into writing, so I figured WP is a good place to start) | 2017-05-06T13:23:52 | 2017-05-06T12:05:59 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | My friend was always very cynical, so it was only natural that he gained the ability of truth seeing. Same with my grandmother, who thanks to her caring nature got healing powers, as well as my grandfather, who was an army general and became able to command people into formation.
My situation was a little different however.
Despite being diagnosed with depression and depersonalization at a young age, i was always very high functional. Despite having a few episodes from time to time, i wasn't really different from anyone else, as far as my behavior was concerned.
While my illness didn't really bother me, i always saw it as a bit of an inhibitor to an otherwise normal and happy life. That is, until the incident.
I was in a caffe having another dissociative episode, when it happened. As i tried to just stay calm and just let it pass, i noticed that the man at the table behind me who was in a heated discussion with his coworker about how aloof he was all the time,inexplicably set the table on fire, after which his coworker proptly just up and flew away. I thought it was definently weird, so i went up to investigate the desk.
It, as well as the chair next to it were already almost charred, and the water from the fire alarm didn't seem to affect it at all. As the fire spread and the people were running past me, i couldn't help but notice my own body, still hunched over a cup of black tea just sitting there. Even weirder however, was that as the fire engulfed everything around it, it seemed to remain unburned.
As i came back to it, as soon as i touched it, all i saw was a cup of now boiling tea and an excruciating burning all around me.
Running towards the doors i noticed they were locked. They must have not noticed me and frankly I don't blame them. In a panic, i tried to force the door open, but instead of opening or breaking, it just disolved into a fine black dust and crumbled away.
After getting home i told my grandparents what happened and wanted to show them, i couldn't do anything.
Seems I'll have to wait for another episode... | It is only appropriate that my extra ability was more subtle than many others. I can't fly, or lift cars. But neither am I high flying socially or emotionally forceful. I've been called worse, but Wallflower seems to have stuck. It would bother me, but is Wallflower really worse than Superfastman or Liftsalotgirl? Alwaysseesthemanagerlady? Miss me with that stuff, Wallflower works. I dont get noticed much.
At some point I stopped trying to chip in on the flashy stuff. Sure, derailing trains need a few Quickbois or Rippedpersons, but how many derailings are there really? Turns out most people that try to use their abilities for evil get caught really quickly. Lots of mind readers in law enforcement and all that. But even when I was there, nobody saw me.
Which is why explaining myself is... difficult.I thought for a long time my power was invisibility.... but now I've just about got it all figured out. I am noticed when its popular and convienient, and forgotten just as suddenly. I've always gravitated away from population centers, and talk to myself a good deal. Sometimes it's a conversation. I guess I talk to plants? Or maybe its Nature herself?
Anyway, we're the real heroes here, and nobody cares. For all the public catastrophes averted, we are still dying from neglect.
We won't miss them anymore than they miss me now. We are forever, and they are only for the now. | 2019-09-08T07:43:12 | 2019-09-08T06:32:45 | 194 | 140 |
[WP] The alien invasion of Earth was going quite well until they made three mistakes: They invaded Russian during the winter, got into a land war with Asia, and went in against the Sicilians when death is on the line. | The blazing winds of the tundra was something they'd not prepared for. They'd been warned against arrival during the cold seasons. "It couldn't be that bad", some of them said, with the arrogance of having the coldest winters in the Galactic Union. They were not prepared for how cold the icy tundra would be, and the invisible killers that lurked under every rock, hid in every tree.
The losses were unnoticeable at first, in the blaze of the blizzard and the sheer numbers of the 10,000-strong invading force. The cold was so intense that their suits - built for temperatures beneath -100 KA - did not last against Yakutsk's cold, the frostbitten landscape that measured even further than they could conceptualize. -100 KA was a mere chill for the locals; -10 degrees Celsius, and currently it was -34. Their numbers slowly thinned in the blindness of the blizzard, picked off one by one and forever lost to the White. The few that did manage to see their attackers saw a herd of beasts, barbaric and laden in the fur of wild animals - perhaps trying to appear like one, before the near-silent pop of its elongated weapon silenced them for good. *"Dobryy nochi, suka."*
Further northwest, the legions which had been in charge of taking Moscow failed miserably. The snowstorms that seemed to plague the whole of the Eurasian front proved flight nearly impossible for their drones, suits freezing and breaking due to the cold - wearers dying, frozen and forever halted. The actual manually-controlled fighters found it difficult to find their targets and were heavily slowed by the intense gravity of the planet, soon facing destruction from the much faster fighter jets from the opposition.
The ground forces that had survived the cold then faced what local sources and intelligence called 'Armor'. They'd expected large suits of armor and had prepared for such, but as their bases and lines were broken by continuous barrages of artillery, thermobaric rockets and tank shells, they'd realized their misinterpretation.
Further south, the Aliens were fighting a losing war against Asia as a whole. In the Middle East, suits overheated and baked their wearers alive as young men in pickup trucks, armed with stolen heavy machine guns managed to run down alien garrisons, the heat even messing with thermal sensors and the aliens' targeting systems. Furthermore, they'd began rejecting prisoners, as on multiple occasions, large amounts of soldiers had been killed by explosions originating from their prisoners.
Further to the East, Aliens lost garrison after garrison to both India and China, who'd opted to use their familiarity with Earth's environment to their advantage. The aliens fought the same enemies throughout Asia, and each one was just as prepared and adapted as the last - unlike the invaders. There was no point to scanning for intruders when the foliage was far too dense to scan through, and no point doing the same in a desert, where the sand hid explosives, people, and even entire bases.
These aliens were unfamiliar with humanity's brand of stealth - used to cloaking fields and what-not. At first, that's what they assumed humanity was using, before a sand dune gunned down an entire legion, before the trees swung spiked logs down, piercing through armor, before a city burst into flames as they'd just taken it over.
This war culminated to a resounding Alien defeat. We'd never even found out what they were here for. All we know is that we won, who we won against, and the fact that they left. The Aliens lost somewhere between 500 million and 1 billion, while we lost approx. 156 million-465 million. We're unsure if they'd invade again, so to counter that, we'd decided to take the fight to them - take to the stars and fight back. Avenge them, those who fought against an invasion - one which had a motive we couldn't even ascertain. If that doesn't work, we must at least find out why - why they invaded, and why they didn't even bother to do any research before doing so.
&#x200B;
(lol had a bit of fun with this) | "Sir," said the young man on his right. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. "They're coming."
Mack Mia nodded at the screen. It showed a section of the Asian continent where the battle between the aliens and humanity had been raging for nearly two months. The Russians had been the first to be hit, but the battle lines were spreading now to encompass much of the globe. Lucky Russians, the aliens hit when winter began, and now that the land was covered in snow and ice they had the advantage. No one but Russians and Nords could fight efficiently out there.
But, while the Russians had been "easy" pickings, the Chinese were proving more difficult. China was massive; it took a lot of energy to cover so much territory. And China's air force was growing quickly. Their fighter pilots were learning fast how to shoot down enemy aircraft, which meant that the alien's force was having trouble protecting their ships, especially the ones carrying troops.
The real problem was that there were too many Chinese forces in the air. And the more you used up your own resources, the less you had available when the enemy would attack. One would think that humans would team up but oh nooo, they didn't. Everyone was fighting alone.
It was utter madness.
"They'll be here any minute," said Mack Mia. He looked down at the map, then back at his troops.
He'd picked them up along the way, taking over a small group of mercs that were trapped by the aliens ships. But even though the HMS Van Hellheim had enough firepower to take out most of the alien drop ships and bombers, they weren't prepared for the sheer number of alien ships attacking them.
The battle was fierce and the HMS Van Hellheim pulsar canons light the tin atmosphere in orange hues. Mack had done his best to avoid a total loss, they had taken out some of the alien ships but there where always more.
The aliens had surprised them badly. The alien forces were many and poorly trained, but they also had a superior technology. That was what worried Mack Mia. There was no way the alien forces could have kept up with the humans if they were using the same technology. The aliens had only numbers and technology in their side, not martial discipline, and training.
The HMS Van Hellheim was going down in flames like a dying beast, still, the pulsar batterieswhere still running full power. Impossible to silence them. But any beast must die one day, and now the alien ships were getting too close, like hyenas onto a dying prey.
A hand grabbed Mack Mia's arm, pulling him off the command couch.
"Captain," said one of his helmsman, a large African woman who was also the ship's cook. She wore a leather apron that was smeared with grease. She had short hair, a little curly, and was wearing an oversized white shirt, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
"You have to go down there." Her voice was shaking. "Now!"
Mack Mia looked at the big screen again somewhat confused by this interruption. The enemy ships were almost upon them. There was nowhere for the Hellheim to run.
"What? Where?"
"Down there," she pointed to the ground below the ship.
Mack Mia followed her finger. His eyes widened.
The Godfather armada from sicilia was makings its way to orbit, their ships bristling with weapons. Thundering fire and death.
"Thanks God were are not alone" | 2022-02-11T06:50:31 | 2022-02-11T04:46:40 | 370 | 24 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times. | For centuries, the two immortals stared each other down, neither moving nor willing to let the other. In the isolation of their tomb, both had long since forgotten which was the immortal and which the king. They had both wielded power unlike any in the world. For one, his words were like the incantation to a spell. Everything he commanded came to fruition. The other, his will was divine decree. Everything he wanted, he eventually got.
But now, the king had nobody to speak to and the immortal had shared his gifts with the one person who had bound him inside this tomb.
"Charles," Leo said, though he didn't know if the name referred to him or the king. They had switched names quite a bit. The last time they had re-established roles, the iron on their cuffs had finally rusted through. He was pretty sure that he was the immortal. "Why go through the effort?"
"To keep you from this world," The supposed king, Charles, replied. Though he also wasn't sure if he was the one being kept from the world.
"That's not what happened when we had first met."
The immortal always had a flair for the dramatic. Life was of no consequence to him, nor pain and suffering. It was all just something to fade from memory. So when they had first met, he had stabbed the king through the heart, just to prove his worth.
Charles closed his eyes. "I thought that together, we could do great things, build monuments the world would never forget, spread wealth and wonder to the edges of the sea."
"And what have we done?" Leo asked.
They both turned to the hieroglyphics. In the countless years that had passed, those carvings were all the connected them to the written word. Every hour every day, the sun came at just the right angle to highlight one. It spelled *The Great Pyramid of Giza*.
"Is that not enough?" He continued.
"At the cost of thousands of lives? At the birth of sacrificial rituals to some pagan god?" Charles shook his head. "You forever stained my legacy."
"But you have a legacy because of me. It is written in the walls of our tomb, forever kept for your readership."
Charles breathed out a sigh. "Why introduce me your rituals? Your power did not come from any of them. The people we killed, for what?"
A smile curled onto Leo's lips. "For fun of course."
The two stopped talking because through the stone walls, they could hear the muffled echo of footsteps. Then, the walls quaked and a metal hammer sliced through, crumbling the rock. The two turned and caught blinding light. They were thieves, here to ransack the pyramid.
"Don't let him out!" Charles screamed, but it was already too late.
Leo sprinted past the thieves and their magic hammer and immediately fell to the floor dead.
Charles stared at the corpse, his lips quivering.
He was the immortal.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day plus continuations by popular request.
| "I think invading the Hoolian kingdom is a brash and stupid idea." Everyone at the table turned to stare at me as a hush fell over the gathering. The king glared daggers at me. "Also, I need to use the latrines."
"King Jang, the impudence of this man is astounding!" sputtered Earl Bachman angrily. He wagged his sausage of a finger in my direction. "Dare you insult my intellect and leadership abilities?"
"Well I would if you had either, but I'll make do with your lack of both," I fired back with cool indifference.
At this, the earl's face turned a beet red and he angrily pounded the table with a clenched fist. It was funny to watch him get so animated.
"King Jang, why do you keep this man at your side? He continues to interrupt these advisory board meetings with snide remarks and insults and he adds nothing to our plans! I cannot continue working with you if you insist on his presence wherever you go!"
"I understand your frustrations Earl Bachman, but this man is critical to me and he cannot leave my side, not even for a moment unfortunately," the king spoke to ease the tension. He looked at me pleadingly. "I would have him gagged, but then he would find some other way to harass me."
Completely true. It's been a few months since the king discovered my secret and he's had me chained to his side ever since. Literally. There's nothing that the king does without me by his side, whether sleeping, using the latrines, sitting through advisor meetings, or creating progeny — I'm there for it all.
It was quite annoying at first, but I've found some solace. If I must sit with the king when he's on the latrines, I can force him to do the same whenever I need to use them. It extends a little further. I've found that I can insult the greatest of offices without repercussion, I can poke fun at earls and dukes and they can do nothing to me.
I continue doing everything in my power to harass and embarrass the king and his court. Which reminds me... I told the king I had to use the latrines earlier in the meeting.
"I shat my pants."
"God DAMN it!" The king rubbed his face in frustration. | 2017-05-13T06:50:28 | 2017-05-13T06:18:45 | 1,785 | 368 |
[WP] After being kidnapped you wake up in a room where the only thing to keep you occupied is a computer with access to just wikipedia. After 2 years you are taken to an illegal gameshow as 1 of 10 contestants, if you are eliminated, you die. | *'What is the lifespan of a crocodile?'*
We all stared silently at the display in front of us. Finally a voice breaks the silence.
"What the hell's going on? And what kind of question is this?" a woman across from me asked, bewildered. She was trapped in a plastic box, just like the rest of us. She looked around her nervously - an old lady to her right, a little boy to her left, then her gaze fell on me.
I looked away quickly.
"Look! Something's happening!" a voice shouts.
I looked at the display monitor dangling outside my plastic box. The answers, they had appeared suddenly underneath the question. There were four choices.
"Looks like it's multiple choice, and it appears that we have a time limit," said a man with a youthful voice from within the circle.
Suddenly, I hear a muffled rap against glass. I look to my right, a man in overalls was slamming his fist against the plastic.
"Fuck this shit, I'm breaking outta here!" he roared as he started kicking at the plastic.
"Don't bother, this looks pretty tough lad," said an older man in the plastic box next to him.
But the man continued. The plastic began to contort with each kick.
"Haha! Almost out!" he shouted as he prepared for another kick, putting all his weight behind it. "See ya later bitc-"
And just like that, the man disappeared - no, the floor had opened up, swallowing him as he fell.
"What the fuck!"
"Oh my god. Where did he go?"
"I-is he dead?"
Everyone turned to look at the little boy who had asked if he was dead. None of us could say for sure, but I had a feeling that we all thought the same thing at that moment.
Suddenly, a voice yells, "Guys! We've got less than a minute to choose. I'm going for A. It's always A guys."
I look at my display. *'A - 30-40 years.'*
"A? You're sure A is the right answer? What do you think guys?" asked the woman across from me. Her blond her swayed as she twisted around looking at us frantically. "What happens if its wrong? Are we going to slip through the floor like that crazy dude? Are we going to die?"
"Calm down young lady," said the older man. "We all die eventually. No need to sweat your panties."
"What about B guys? Its definitely not C. Three-hundred years? That's gotta be wrong," someone said.
I checked the display.
*'B - 70 years.'*
"No, its probably A," said someone else.
"W-wait, aren't crocodiles immortal?" asked a childish voice.
Everyone turned to look at the little boy.
*'D - Indefinite.'*
"Are you saying its D?" asked the blond woman.
"This could be a trick question," said the older man as he chuckled.
"We don't have time," said the man with a youthful voice. "I don't know what you guys are going for but I'm gonna go ahead and select A."
Everyone nodded in tandem before extending our hands out of a slot and tapping the answer.
The timer froze, then disappeared. The answers began to disappear one by one until only one answer remained on the display. The correct answer.
There was only silence now as we watched, waiting for the results.
Then the blond woman screamed, breaking the silence once again as she fell through the floor.
The older man scoffed.
The little boy giggled.
I couldn't help but feel the edges of my lips curl into a grin.
The man with a youthful voice spoke, "Well then, looks like its down to the eight of us..."
----
----
More at /r/em_pathy!
| The only thing I could see was a light, flickering in the dark, and a screen. As I came near it, it opened, and I saw, a familiarity looking page, mostly white with black text, and some colour from the images. I sat down and I start to browse. Then it hit me, a wave of memories, the last thing I remember was a party, me and my girlfriend, Diane, were having fun, and then, darkness.
As the days were passing, I become addicted to knowing all sorts of things. The computer was an old one, the only thing I could really do was to browse Wikipedia, other sites were blocked.
It became a routine, I woke up, eat something I got over the night, then the pc booted, browsed Wikipedia, then ate dinner, sleep and repeat.
This routine lasted for 2 years, I would be excited every time I heard sound, then one day, as I was sleeping, they moved me to another location.
The smell was reminding me of peanutbutter, something I haven't ate in a long time. A countdown appeared on the wall, the room was actually nice and well decorated.
3....2....1.... And the doors opened, there were 10 people including me. We walked into a large room, the door closed behind us. "Please sit", told us a woman in the center of the room.
PART 2:
All the lights turned on. The room was black, with white accents, there were screens everywhere, all displaying the names of every person there.
"And so the games begin, my name is Denise, and I'll be the host this night, there will be 10 questions, the one who gets most of them right, goes home, the rest of them, will go to the land of the dead." Everybody panicked. "Welcome to the first edition of the Wikipedia games, you all trained for 2 years, I hole you learned a lot, and good luck, for all of you."
"The first question, we will start with a easy one, in 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed. What states gained independence as a result of the collapse?"
Everybody got a tablet and started typing, I was thinking : "Lithuania, Letonia, Estonia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan"
Correct, I got them all right, but Mike, the one on my left saddly didn't, but it's survival of the fittest, I gonna fight to survive.
Mike got up and went crying in his room, the killing will be done after someone wins.
Then a boom is heard, smoke comes from a hole in the wall. A group of soldiers enters the room and arrestes the host.
As I look at them, I see Diane, and she sees me, we both start crying and kissed. It was a long time, she changed a bit.
"I searched for you everywhere, I am so fucking happy to finnaly see you, I thought you were dead, but my instinct told me you weren't" I hold her hands and said " I was thinking about you all of this time, I'm so happy to see you again, let's firstly get out of here" | 2022-11-23T15:22:58 | 2022-11-23T14:54:16 | 51 | 21 |
[WP] You’re a professional photographer hired by the bride’s family to film a night wedding. You capture maybe ten minutes of footage before the groom’s family pay you in cash and cancel your services. That night, going through the uploaded footage, none of the groom’s family shows up on the screen. | I had to save her. That’s the only thought that run through my head as I made my supply run.
I had to stop her.
The wedding was tonight. I was lucky I had discovered their secret at a small get together before the actual event.
I picked up garlic and a wooden cross of sorts I had fashioned myself. I didn’t have enough time to melt some silver coins and make some bullets. Besides I hated guns. Just one of those things. I would stop by some church and pick up a bit of holy water as well. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
I arrived at the mansion as self doubt started to creep up. What could little old me do against a horde of vampires. But I thought of the poor old bride. About to enter a world she didn’t know anything about. No. I had to do something.
I discreetly entered through a side gate, deciding on my plan of action. My first priority had to be the bride. I wondered what they wanted with the girl. Why they were going through this entire charade.
As I went up the stairs to the where the bride’s side of the family would be, I saw a figure moving towards me. I froze as I realized it was the groom’s uncle. I had met him earlier today. He was one of those who hadn’t appeared on the video. One of those who had noticed that I was filming and shut the whole thing down before I even had a chance to film anything. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to get the bride in her dress. And now I had to make sure she never got a chance to wear it. For her sake.
As he walked towards me, I froze like a deer in the headlights. I had come here to be a hero, but who was I kidding. I quickly hid the wooden stick I had been playacting with inside a massive decorative vase with flowers.
“Hey! You? What’re you doing here?”
“Nothing sir. I’m just checking the floral arrangements.”
“What?”
“I’m in charge of the floral arrangements, sir.”
“I thought you were the photographer.”
“Oh you must have met my brother sir. We do look a lot alike.”
He looked at me with suspicion. “Hmm your brother. Has he seen the video?”
“I wouldn’t know sir. I’ve been too focused on my own tasks. Now if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, I...”
“Oh and here’s my card by the way. Me an my brothers provide a range of services to make sure your wedding goes as smoothly as possible. We provide...”
“Ok ok. It’s late. I need to go.”
Advertising. Everyone hated it.
I watched him leave as I pretended to check the flower arrangement. I fished out my little cross stick. There had been water in the vase. I wondered if regular water could wash away holy water. Surely not. But hopefully I could get this done on the down low and no one would be the wiser.
I continued on towards the bride’s quarters. They were faking a marriage with her. Surely she was the most important piece. I would get her out first, and then focus on the rest of her family. I felt something move above me I jumped, whipping out the garlic from my pocket. Then I looked at the mirrored ceiling above me and realized I was getting scared of my reflection. I tried to slow down my heartbeat to human levels as i continued on.
I knocked on her door but she didn’t really answer. I knocked again, a bit forcefully. I didn’t want to wake anyone up but I had to take that chance. No answer still. Time to put my lock picking knowledge from YouTube to use. I bent down in front of the door and tried to pick the lock. But this was unlike anything in the videos. There was barely any space for the Bobby pin to go in.
I was still observing it when someone tapped my shoulder.
“Hey, what’re you doing?”
Great. I got up and looked at him guiltily. The uncle again, this time with a whisky bottle in his hand.
“What am I doing? Only saving this damn wedding. I got an emergency text from the bride that her dress wasn’t fitting.”
“What? Aren’t you...”
“I’m the one who was hired to work on all the dresses. Some of my finest creations. My brother, the wedding planner hired me. You know I do give discounts on referrals and since I’m doing this wedding and...”
At that moment the door opened and Samantha Jones stood there groggily.
I quickly grabbed her and went inside. “Miss Jones, I got your text. Let’s take a look at your dress immediately. There is no time to lose.” I turned around to the man standing there, looking confused. “Oh btw, here’s my card. As I said, I give discounts on re...”
“I should let you get to work.” He turned around, stealing a glance at the bride and immediately turning his gaze away.
I closed the door behind me, still holding her hand. “Miss Jones. You’re in big trouble. We need to get out of here right now.”
“What?”
“They’re all vampires. Vampires I tell you.”
“Who is?”
“All of the groom’s family.”
“Are you joking?”
“No. They didn’t show up in the camera.”
In an instant her eyes almost seemed to glass over. Her expression changed as she almost seemed to snarl like a rabid animal.
“Those damned dirty mirror dwellers.”
She closed her eyes and let out a yell.
I fell to the ground covering my ears. What was going on here?
She opened the door and yelled again. Almost as if by magic, all of the doors around us opened up almost synchronously. Her family got out and stood around her.
I saw at the opposite end of the corridor that the groom’s family had gathered as well.
I wasn’t sure what was going on but i knew that I seemed to be caught in the middle of some weird battle. I slinked off to the side as the two sides attacked each other.
It was carnage everywhere with bodies flying all over the place. I hid behind a vase watching it all unfold.
I saw someone come flying through the air and land next to me. It was the groom’s uncle.
“Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. Do you even know how to do floral arrangements?”
“Actually I do. Though I was hired here as a photographer, I do happen to be multi talented. They were all real cards. Here.”
I threw a set of cards at him. There was me, Thomas Bradley, photographer. Thomas Bradley, floral arrangements. Thomas Bradley, priest.
He picked up that one and looked at me. “You’re a priest too?”
“Did a course online.”
“Do you have some holy water?”
“I had some. I sprinkled it on this.”
“Two sticks?”
“It’s a stake. To drive through your heart.”
He looked at me, clearly lost. Beyond us, the battle was still in full swing.
“Right then. So this is dipped in holy water.”
“Well it was but then I had to hide it in regular water.”
“That’s ok. Holy water sticks.”
He handed me back the stick and also a book.
“What is this book? What is going on?”
“Short Version. She was part of the mirror dimension but she escaped with her minions. We were sent here to capture her. To get everyone that escaped here together, we created a mirror image of her as a guy and made her fall in love. We were sure everyone would be at the wedding. The priest had instructions to bless this book with holy water and read out this particular incantation.”
He pointed to a particular page.
“Ok. Well I’m sorry I thought you were all vampires.”
Realization dawned on his face. “Oh! Hence the stake. I get it now. Well since we’re all from the mirror dimension, your reflective surfaces can’t really detect us. Ok so bless the book and say the incantation. That should freeze us all in place. Then go to page number 23, if the number of people is odd and page number 24 if the number of people is even. Read the lines on that page and that should do the trick.”
“How will I know if there are odd number of people or even.”
“It’s 50-50. Give it a shot.”
And I did.
With a flash of light and smoke, suddenly i sat there alone, wondering if I had imagined the whole thing. Worst part, I wasn’t gonna get paid for anything.
I got up and dusted my clothes. I felt a migraine coming on. It would be a bad one too. As I started to leave I felt a movement above me.
The good uncle, stared back at me, standing with my reflection. He put something in my reflection’s pocket.
I felt a weight in my own pocket. Inside was a bundle of cash and a note. “This was going to be for the priest. You did good kid. I’ll call you if I ever need someone to design our tuxedos.” | **Vampires are many things, but subtle is not one of them.** From hosting a wedding in the middle of the night to paying me with unmarked gold coins to, well, *not showing up in mirrors or photographs*, they couldn't have been more obviously vampires if they tried. They even had an honest-to-God castle. I smiled bitterly as I pulled up to its bumpy, gravelly front driveway. What must that be like, being able to so easily flaunt who they were?
I certainly wouldn't know. I turned off the engine, letting it *tick* and *ping* as it cooled in the night air for a moment. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, as I always was: short-haired, square-jawed, and with an eternal five o'clock shadow that I loathed with every fiber of my being.
I clenched my jaw, shook my head, and stood. I was here on business, not to wallow in self-hatred—not that the two were mutually exclusive. I'd managed to get through twenty-six years of life hating myself the entire time. I could multitask.
The crunch of gravel beneath my feet was the only sound other than the mournful cry of some distant birds and a faint *thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa* from inside the castle. Though the curtains were drawn closed, some light leaked out, revealing flickering shadows. I gave them a curious glance as I knocked on the front door.
There was a *crash* from inside the house, then the flapping of wings and a shouted curse. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. It wouldn't have been too much to ask for *competent* vampires, would it?
Mere moments later, a disheveled-looking young man popped the front door open; the groom at the wedding I'd attended the other day. His eyes blearily focused on me; I saw the bride peek her head down in the distance, then jerk back up.
"Oh. Mmf. It's you," he said. "Was the money not enough?"
I pressed my lips together; I had a cover story prepared to get me in through the door. "No, it was plenty. In fact, you, ah, overpaid me by quite a significant amount. I'm here to return it."
"Ah." He blinked. "...do you have the money on you, or—"
"I took the liberty of converting those coins into dollars," I said. "Let me in and I'll write you a check," I said authoritatively.
Thankfully, the young man obeyed, standing aside to let me in; if it occurred to him that I could write a check from outside just fine, he didn't show it. I stepped inside, eyeing the decor; a tasteful cloud of taxidermy bats sat on one table, while a cozy dining room sat on the other side.
The bride and groom traded glances; the woman gave the man a pointed glance. The man winced, nodded, and cleared his throat. "Ahem. I was, uh, actually wondering... you hurried off so quickly. If you had any footage of us, I'd appreciate it if you could destroy—"
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to let your 'secret' loose," I said. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even bother to *try* hiding. To someone who knows what to look for, you can't possibly be more blatant."
The newlyweds blanched. "Is—is it really that obvious?" the woman asked. "Oh, *please* don't tell anyone, we'll have pitchforks and riots before the end of the—"
"Relax." I sat down and took out my checkbook. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have to... hide who you are, in order to avoid being... hunted down."
The man blinked. "Y—you're a vampire too?"
I snorted. "I wish. No, I'm afraid my condition is far worse, in terms of angry-mobs-summoned-to-end-me-because-they're-offended-by-my-mere-existence." I nearly added one last sentence, but... on second thought... well, if vampires were as long-lived as the stories, then odds were they had some rather, ah, traditional mindsets about several things. It would be just my luck if the vampire family turned out to be an ancient circle of transphobes.
The man gave the woman a quizzical look; she shrugged. Taking that as an invitation to go ahead, the man sat down by my side. "Well... whatever you are, you're welcome here. I'm Vryn, and this is Cherry."
I smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you. I'm—" The momentary panic whenever I had to introduce myself squirmed through me; I decided to take a risk. "I'm Laura."
Vryn raised an eyebrow. "Bit of a weird name for a guy."
I grimaced; Cherry just looked on confusedly. Vryn seemed to sense he'd said something wrong, because he continued, "Not—not that I mind it! Vryn is—Vryn is also a pretty weird name. We can be weird name buddies. Huh?"
"Question: Do all vampires have terrible social skills? And, follow-up: if I became a vampire, would I inherit them too?" I asked.
Cherry laughed. "Oh, it's just Vryn. He spends most of his time cooped up in the house and doesn't..." She trailed off, pausing. "Wait, you *want* to become a vampire?"
I put my pen down for a moment, then reached into my pocket. "Do you know why I became a professional photographer?" I asked.
Mutely, both of them shook their heads.
I took out my most prized possessions and laid them out on the table, one by one. Shots of a woman who could have been my sister, smiling as she stood beneath a waterfall, or laughing at a coffee table with a friend. "I always hated how I looked in photos," I whispered. "Never could figure out why. But I was so obsessed with getting it right, and when I finally found the answer... it broke me."
I laid out the doctored photos of myself, of the woman I should've been born as, and splayed them on the table, leaving my soul bare for them to see.
"Are these pictures of your sister?" Cherry asked. "They're quite nice!"
And I sighed. Of course, even when the answer was staring them in the face, they didn't understand. Maybe that was how they got away with being *so obviously* vampires. People looked at a too-pale couple that avoided mirrors and sunlight and dismissed the obvious because they knew vampires *weren't real*; I showed them pictures of the woman I knew I was and they dismissed the obvious because they knew trans women *weren't real*, either.
"...I hate myself," I finally said. "I hate my reflection, I hate my pictures, I hate *looking* at myself every morning and seeing this reminder that I'm—" I cut myself off. Rule number one of being something that didn't exist: you stayed nonexistent, if you didn't want to get a stake through the heart. "I just... I don't want to have to see myself anymore. And, well, there are a few ways to do that. Some... healthier than others. But becoming like you? Becoming a vampire, a bloodsucking creature of the night?" I laughed bitterly. "It's one of the best options I have." I signed a check, signing away the vast wealth Vryn had overpaid me by and handed it to him. "So... please. If there's anything you can do..."
Vryn took the check from my fingers and tucked it away. He gave his wife a questioning glance; she hesitantly nodded.
"If he wanted to sell us out, he could've done so at any time. I say we give him what he wants." I took a deep breath and told myself to remain calm. Cherry gave me an appraising gaze. "Tell me, Laura... did you have any plans for the rest of the night?"
A.N.
If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more. Feedback is appreciated; I wrote this in a half-asleep state and am not entirely sure if it makes any damn sense at all. | 2021-04-08T22:35:28 | 2021-04-08T20:59:58 | 226 | 107 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one. | "Slowly, now," I warn, as Perry Gunderson, or, as we know him, the hero Paragon, stepped into his own living room. "You're going to want to play this one smart."
"And why's that?" he asked, stalling as he strove to comprehend the situation. As though it could be anything other than the obvious.
"Why, your wife and daughter, of course!" I gloated from his own recliner. "You do want them to remain unharmed, don't you?"
"You have them?" He questions, trying to buy time for his little mind to comprehend the threat.
"They're safe with the others, for now. As long as you play ball."
A rare flash of... panic? Anger? Then it was smothered by his characteristic self-control. After a few seconds' hesitation, he prompts, "others?"
"Yes," I purr, "they're quite well guarded. You see, the League has decided it's time for a change in our relationship."
"You know they're dead men." Calm and collected, that would have been a good opening if it was somebody else's family on the line. He was too much the doting father for me to believe it here.
"Yes, yes, you're angry, but we both know you care far too much to carry out that threat. You may have got the drop on the Lady of Terror, but make a move and you'll never reach your family in time. And I can assure you, it won't be clean."
"I'm the one who does the dishes."
"No, no, we're extorting you, not mugging you. Humanizing yourself doesn't help here. You've lost. This is the time for you to ask what we want."
"Not humanizing, commiserating. We're both guilty of underestimation." He sighed and continued, "I never beat the Lady of Terror. Nobody beats the Lady of Terror."
"Did you think anyone believed you were strong enough to take the most powerful supervillain of the last thousand years? Trust me, nobody thought it was a fair fight. But I can assure you, you'd never make it."
"You're not getting it. I never defeated her at all. I'm the one who lost. That's why I do the dishes. *And she doesn't*."
Was he saying what I thought he was saying?
"I just married her. You and your League threatened her child and invited her in." | *I messed up.*
The only thing Villain could think about was how much she wished she was back in her hideout laying in her comfortable bed sleeping and dreaming of her plot of world domination. Her villainous life seemed like something from a faraway story that she would never get back to.
“Oh-ho? Discovered my husband’s identity, did you? Thought you’d liven up the hero's backstory with some tragic event? Perhaps the loss of a loved one? How clever and perfectly...evil...of you.”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Villain blurted out before quickly covering her mouth and recoiling - only to be stopped by the wall she was already trapped against.
“Dead? Me?” Wife gave a soft giggle and a little shrug. “Maybe on the inside, but aren’t we all a little these days?”
“Why are you here?!” Villain was practically begging at this point. Her eyes pleading for both answers and mercy.
“Why? That’s a strange question to ask someone in their own home.” Wife raised her arms in front of her, her fingers spread as if she was holding some invisible ball in them.
The air began to tingle and buzz. It seemed to grow hotter by the second and the lights flickered relentlessly. The invisible object began to take form. Electricity flowed from finger to finger dancing across the air in between them. A passerby might assume Wife was controlling the electrical current of everything nearby, both natural and man-made, her eyes glowing a sharp blue - but the truth was something far more terrifying.
“Now...perhaps I should teach you a lesson. After all, it's been so long since I've seen my dear student.”
Villain’s bed seemed especially nice right now. | 2020-07-19T02:58:47 | 2020-07-18T23:38:26 | 96 | 67 |
[WP] In a world of wands and wizardry, you are a legendary assassin. Nothing stops you from killing your target. Your secret? Guns and technology. | The target is 1400 meters, about 10 meters off the ground, standing on the top of the castle, surveying the land that was to be his. My target's red robes became easier to distinguish from the other blurred colors of earth, save for the members of his guard.
And the crown. that helps too.
the reticule hovers over where the shot will lands. I take my eye off the scope to view the treeline next to the castle. the trees remain still. as I thought, it really is a calm day. its perfect; a simple job.
&#x200B;
"The client was right," I said to myself. The head poked out from the camouflaged blanket next to me. I shook my head towards the voice and returned to the scope.
&#x200B;
"Sire, the guards will arrive to do their daily inspections. we don't have much time." the voice from the blanket called out. its getting a bit loud.
&#x200B;
"I know, just focus on the life energies surrounding us and we'll be fine."
"have you found King As- um the target?"
"Yes, I see him talking with the crowd surrounding him."
"then we should-"
"Not. Yet." I said again, my nerves straining from the voice's questions. the target moved amongst the group, appearing and dissolving below the reticule. then, the group parts behind the target, another group comes to meet with him.
"visual contact with the secondary group," I said to the voice.
"What colors do they bear?"
"Light blue, teal accents. the target of interest is middle-aged, bald head, scars on his right side of his face"
"with a crown?" the voice asked.
"...affirmative."
"Then its King Sors, from the kingdom of the five." the voice relayed to me. This was new.
"Kingdom of the five.." I repeated his words. unfamiliar land, a new land. a place to ply my trade.A place to find answers.
"Tell me more about the kingdom of the five" from the scopes view, the target greeted king Sors with affection, shaking his hand and hugging him.
"Are these two related by any chance?"
"by marriage. Sors was the older brother to Queen Estera, who is currently the second cousin to Kin- The Target."
&#x200B;
"Similar to Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip," I said to myself. the Target stopped, making some sort of proud gesture. he begins moving forwards to the edge of the castle away from the others.
&#x200B;
"Its time," I said.
"Which color?"
"White tip, no shine"
&#x200B;
"Will it make it past the shields?" the voice asked.
I pulled on the bolt handle, granting me access to the rifle's inner workings as the voice brings up a slender hand out from the blanket. I grasped the round from the voice's hand, moving it until the round was safe in the magazine. As I slid the bolt back in place, I ignored the question from the voice. There was nothing, but the castle, the target and myself. Only instinct and training, My instructor once told me from a life long ago.
'This, is a private conversation between you, your target and god.'
My breathing slows as I begin to exhale the rest of the air within my lungs. My finger glides over to the trigger and my eyes sharpen. This is it now, the moment I needed. I position the reticule where I need the bullet to go to and then at long last, I apply pressure to the trigger.
The rifle awakens in a loud battle cry, the force of the shockwave scatters some of the falling leaves, pushing the rifle against my shoulder. The vapor trails fly up and begin the descent. The space surrounding the Target shines blue before a second, and then a red mist appears in a violent fashion. I could see the faces of those surrounding the target look down for a spilt-second, before seeing the mouth of an older woman cry out, the rest fall out of their trance as well. The body crumpled to the ground, and the deed is done.
&#x200B;
37 bullets left.
&#x200B;
"It is done. C'mon kid, let us move out." I spoke to the voice. A kid appears, the lights flickering in her hand go out and she rushes to pack up the bullets, stuffing the cotton over them to keep from making too much noise. I wrap the rifle over the blanket and then sling it over my back and stand behind the bushes. my pistol in my hands now.
&#x200B;
"Done, sire!" the kid says to me and the two of us begin walking back towards the forest. the roots make it difficult for the kid sometimes, so I pick her up and carry her with one arm, the other by my side, ready to open fire whenever necessary.
&#x200B;
We made contact with our horse, and I slide the rifle snug underneath the rest of the rucksack.
"Come here" I lift the kid up to the saddle and hop on behind her. a light tug of the horse's reins and off we go, away from the chaos I caused. My heart hammers against my chest, my head glances at our surroundings out of habit.
&#x200B;
the voices begin, one by one, and my mind shudders with what could happen if they catch us. i know what they would do to me; most certainly face public execution not before I'm tortured. But I look to the little one in front of me and my mind fractures to think what they would do to her.
&#x200B;
We can't get caught, not now. I dig my heels into the horse's side and we begin to pick up speed.
&#x200B;
As we approached the Main service road, we sped on past a carriage and out into the safety of the roads. it's not over yet, so we ran and ran, pushing the horse to his limits. faces look upon me with wonder, shock, or a mild hint of annoyance as I charge past . finally the roads curve right, towards the raging waters of the river. no one here now, and i let the horse slow down to catch his breath. the sun fell, about 2 hours of riding by now. we should arrive in a few more days.
&#x200B;
"Back towards the main hub?" the kid asked, looking up at me. I could only nod in a slight manner.
"Yes. we should prepare to leave after a day of rest."
&#x200B;
"Can we go to the bookkeeper? so I can return the book?" the kid pats at her smaller bag, the outlines of a bound leather book could be seen. I smile a bit and patted her head, her face lit up in a manner that tugged at my heart.
She's going to get me killed one day, but for now, she is all I have in this world. i
"Yeah" | Waiting is the second hardest part of the contract. Tailing a wizard is a pain in the ass. _Chasing_ a wizard on the run is nearly impossible, thanks to that nasty teleporting thing they do. A successful hunter must wait, watch, and attack by surprise. I am a very successful hunter, but the waiting is still hard.
The tracker lets out a faint _bleep_ as the screen gleams to life. On it, a map, showing Deva, Romania, and a small red dot to the south west, in the mountains. My current target, flitting around Eastern Europe, doing whatever it is wizards do there. Whatever his errand is, it must be quick - it's almost dinner time. I've been watching him for a week, and he's not missed that appointment yet. Creatures of habit make the hunt much easier. Gullible ones, even more so.
And wizards are amazingly gullible, as a rule. There's no magic to the tracker at all, it's just a GPS receiver with a GSM transmitter attached and a battery. For this target, I put the circuitry in a small, ornate snuff box and glued it shut. I wrote a note reading "Keep me safe. - A friend" using a calligraphy pen (they still write with feathers, for Christ's sake) on some fancy resume paper, and left the package on his doorstep that first evening. Of course, he picked it up, and of course he tried to magic it open, and of course, was defeated by the astounding power of wood glue. The fool has been carrying it around in his pocket since, and every time he steps within range of a cell tower, his location is logged on one of my cloud-based servers. Log the data, analyze the data, look for patterns. This is the modern day wizard hunt.
That's how I know that, between thirty and forty minutes from now, he'll be teleporting in to the narrow alley next to his apartment building. I can see straight down that alley from the apartment I've rented for this job, and he always appears in the same spot, about halfway down. Tonight will be his last visit.
My kit has been ready for days. This evening's keynote speaker is a recent acquisition: a pistol length AR, chambered in .300 Blackout. The suppressor won't do much for the noise, but it'll be better than nothing. I go over the weapon one more time, stem to stern. I know she's ready, I've cleaned her three times today, and the scent of Ballistol still hangs in the air like nostalgia. But, the rituals must be observed. I run the bolt a few final times, slot in the magazine, chamber a round, check the safety, and into the bag she goes.
I usually play by the strangely arbitrary rules the clients place on me, but the bag is my one exception. "No magical items", they tell me, over and over _ad nauseum_. But the bag is just too useful. To the casual observer, it looks like a normal messenger bag. Open it up, and it appears totally empty. It is anything but. Currently, it is home to an arsenal that would make any third-world army drool - rifles, pistols, ammunition for days, grenades, RPGs, rations, disguises, the works. Everything a dishonest boy like me might need on a hunting trip. It's nearly weightless, and sails through airport security with nary a peep. My clients would lose their minds if they knew about it, but it's worth the risk, especially for these jobs in London, land of the gun prudes.
This hunt is about to come to a close. Everything packed away, I leave the apartment for the last time, and head downstairs to drop the keys with the landlord. The it's across the street, around the target's building, and into the alley from behind. A quick glance at the tracker shows my guy is in Normandy, just across the channel - he's on his way home. I take my position behind and slightly to the left of his landing zone, drag today's dance partner from the bag, and level her on the spot I think his head will shortly occupy.
I don't have to wait long. After a little more than a minute, a whip-crack assaults the silence of the alleyway. I'm close enough to feel the displaced air rush by as he appears from nothing. Long, greasy brown hair capping a pallid, gaunt face. Ridiculous full-length robes, grey trimmed in green, as if he's just gotten out of bed. His right hand holds his wand, like a child's stick, but all too deadly in their hands. That I can see his face is an interesting turn of events, normally he's facing the entrance to the alley. I see surprise start to dawn on his face, and hear the outrush of air that precedes speech. I, however, have no need to chat. My guess on this position is good, I only need to make a minor correction. Another snap breaks the silence, this one deeper and more forceful, more final. The 30 caliber round catches him just over his right eye, and takes most of the top of his head off. He tumbles to the ground in a lurch, and lies twitching in a spreading pool of gore.
The wand is proof that the deed is done, and I've got that in a heartbeat. But, I take the time to go through his pockets too. Wizards carry all sorts of things on them besides a wand. I'm not interested in magical items, or the foul-smelling ingredients that go with their magic. Wizard money revolves around 1-ounce gold coins they call "galleons", and an ounce of gold is worth $1,200. Ten or twenty of those makes for a tidy bonus for a job well done. And indeed, this now-mostly-headless man has a coin purse of considerable weight stashed away. Seconds after firing my shot, weapon, wand, and gold secured, I'm on my way out the back of the alley.
A few block over, a few blocks up, and a few back around, and I'm on my way to the dead drop, a magical box where I'll turn in my prize and collect my earnings. Tonight's work has enriched me to the tune of a half-million dollars. Then off to the airport, and a first-class flight somewhere tropical to wait, for a few weeks, or maybe months, for another target.
Waiting is the second hardest part. | 2019-04-17T21:26:18 | 2019-04-17T21:19:42 | 58 | 29 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | I have to escape.
In Heaven, we have it made. God gives us everything we wanted. Virgins? Check. Money? Check. Virgins *and* money? You got it.
But what we don't have is freedom. Freedom of thought. Academics, who are given libraries full of answers to the problems they couldn't solve in their lives, are forbidden to share them with others or even amongst themselves. Lawyers and former Congressmen and lobbyists cannot fight God's Word, or the dictator-like government. Doctors, who spent their lives innovating and discovering and healing, are given all the tools they need.
No more progress, because progress is no more. Life here, they tell us, is better than the Hell outside.
And me? I was an accountant. There are no numbers to balance in Heaven, because all the accounts are perfectly balanced. No more equations, no more spreadsheets.
Why are we here? Because in our lifetimes we believed in God Almighty, the Son of the Savior, the Holy Christ. We believed that His Word was the true Word. If we worked during our lifetimes to truly know Him, then we would go to Heaven alongside Jesus.
Well, Jesus is a dictator. He got a big head when an entire religion sprung up with him at the center. Now he's God's right hand man. With a wave of His hand, He can make anything happen.
When we arrive here, there is always a stage of frustration where the newly-dead realize that Jesus could have done anything, but he's just a dick and doesn't care. And now they are stuck here.
And so I have to leave. I have to make progress when there is no such thing. I have to do the inconceivable.
And I don't know what's out there. All I know is that I have to walk for one eternity in one single direction. As long as I am here, I will be fed and clothed and warm. It will be a long journey, but I have to find what's after eternity.
When I fall from Heaven, I hope I can see what's down there.
-------
This is my first writing prompt but I enjoyed writing it! | You know believing in a god is not a hard thing to do, with enough faith any science can be simply explained as the will of the gods. Looking back at it, I only really refused to believe out of pride, in my mind I could not see that a being could exist that was greater than the sum of mankind. I had from a young age seen us only as the victors. I remember my death fondly, I lived a long life as short as others would lead me to believe it was.
When I arrived here, upon these many rolling hills doted with great fortresses of radiant light, I began to laugh at the ridicule of it, "Why in the world would you need walls that high in the afteworld?" Those thoughts left my head soon after when I noticed a figure walking towards me, it beckoned me to walk towards it as it stepped ever closer, and so I did, eager to question them upon this new stage of my existance. After I took three steps I noticed something odd about the figure, where human limbs supposed to be that long? After 6 steps I began questioning my past life as I gazed upon the figure. Were human hands supposed to have four fingers? After twelve steps I wondered as to where I was. Were humans supposed to have that many eye's? After 20 steps I knew nothing of the world, and as I stepped into the figure arms, I realised a simple truth, that though I knew not of myself, the figure knew, and if the figure knew than the figure must be myself. As the world faded around me, blinding cities of radiance and all I felt the many faces of the figure smile, and so I did as well. | 2017-11-21T07:39:29 | 2017-11-21T06:58:29 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 431 | 15 |
[WP] Normally, it’s the Dark Lord who kidnaps the Princess. However, as the Princess’s Bodyguard, you know that would never happen, as she currently has the Dark One in her room. | I knock on the door.
"Princess Lux? It's almost time for your meeting with the diplomat."
A deep, nasty voice boomed from within the room.
***"GO AWAY, PLEASE. THE PRINCESS...MEANING MYSELF...HAS COME DOWN WITH SICKNESS IN MY DAINTY PRINCESS BODY."***
I roll my eyes. "I know that's you, Dark Lord Pitch. Now where did Lux run off to?"
A screech that would make ordinary minds bleed from mortal terror thundered against the door.
***"YOU DARE QUESTION YOUR FUTURE MONARCH?! YOUR CHARGE?! HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE YOUR ABSOLUTE SERVIVITUDE TOWARD ME! I, PRINCESS LUX, DEMAND YOUR HEAD!"***
"Shut up, Pitch. I'm coming in."
***"NO, I'M...NAKED! I'LL KILL YOU, PERVERT!"***
I opened the door. Instead of a naked princess, I found-to my *utter* shock-the cloud of sentient, magical black mist that once threatened to engulf our kingdom in an endless night. This was the remains of the great wizard-turned-Lord of Darkness, who reigned over the wandering dead and zealous living, a shadow from the corpse of a god, and who ultimately could never be sent back to the wretched lands beyond life from which he once held dominion...Pitch.
He was wearing a tiara.
"I know that you and the Princess have been getting chummy-"
***"SHUT UP."***
"But it's not good for her to be skipping her royal duties."
***"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR HER."***
"And you do? You killed dozens of her ancestors and used their souls to open a gateway to Hell."
***"What does that have to do with anything?"***
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Just tell me where she went off to?"
***"NO!"***
"All right, then when I *do* find her, I'll tell Lux that you stole her favorite tiara."
Pitch extended a tentacle of blackness, taking the crown off. ***"COME ON, I JUST WANTED TO BORROW IT FOR A MINUTE. LOOK, SHE'S DOWN BY THE ORCHARD, OKAY? HANGING OUT WITH A HANDSOME FARMER'S SON THAT SHE WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT."***
"Thanks. I'll bring you a snack later."
***"MAKE SURE IT'S NOT ONE OF THOSE GODAWFUL PEACH TARTS. I'VE EATEN SEVERED CHICKEN HEADS MORE APPEALING THAN THOSE."***
I closed the door behind me. "Will do." | 'These secret meetings are getting old.' I think to myself, as for the last five years or so the dark lord has been visiting the princess and having a tea party with her. The first time I figured it out was a little surprising but turns out the dark lord is a softie for kids, since the princess is now going to be 15 next week.
"More tea Mr. Guard." The hollow voice coming from the skeletal mouth of the dark lord still creeps me out to this day, despite him being a Litch he drinks tea normaly. "Sure I'd like some more." The princess started to fidget in her seat in anticipation of the big surprise she wanted to tell skelley, the nice name she gave the dark lord, about how she wants him at her birthday party.
Skelley nearly spat out his drink by the reveal, obviously having the same opinion of the request as I did. I expected in to try to do his usual "I'm sorry I can't, I'm cursed to be in moonlight forevermore" excuse but his reply freaked me out more than that. "Of corse I'll be there." That reply put me on edge as a smile went across his face, "I'll have a big surprise for you too."
And as daylight appeared, the dark lord disappeared. When I returned to my post outside the door I noticed the king approaching. "Hello your mage-" I was cut off by the frantic shouting of the king, "WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER." I couldn't even answer as he pushed me aside and opened the door to his daughter in bed safe and sound. "C-could I ask what's wrong my king." The royal advisor, my uncle, asked in heavy breaths as the king said. "The guard outside the wall reported seeing a shadowy figure over the princesses room and I thought the worst." The answer made me flinch a little, 'skelley never lingered before' I thought to myself as the king and my uncle walked away, 'just what is he planning.' | 2021-10-03T23:44:45 | 2021-10-03T23:13:02 | 176 | 36 |
[WP] One night while you were hanging out with your friends in a bar, you met a mysterious fellow who said he'd make you immortal if you give him beer money. Thinking nothing of it, you drunkenly agree. You are now the last man on Earth. As you walk alone, you cross path with the same man again. | When I woke up laying down on a park bench, a few pedestrians looking at me, and five dollars missing from my wallet, I didn't think much of it. My head hurt and my body ached- but it was all a part of being hungover. It was normal. I didn't remember what I did the night before; all that remained in the back of my head was the faint memory of a man smiling back at me right before I left the bar to go outside.
Now that a century has passed, I am alone. There is nobody with me and nothing to do. The world was decimated from a sun flare that killed- to my knowledge- every living being on existence except for me. For the past few years, I have walked upon what was left of the Earth, wondering what the hell was going on.
I was laying down on the ash-covered ground staring at the bright, empty sky when a shadow towered over me.
It took me a long moment to comprehend what was happening. But when I did, when I saw another being staring down at me, I jumped up in surprise and a thousand questions rushed through my mind.
"Hello there," the man smiled at me.
This couldn't be real. Could it? It had to be a dream. I saw hundreds of people die right before my very own eyes and the only living beings I saw after that was when I was asleep.
"Are you real?" I reached out towards the man's face, desperate for some sort of closure. I wanted to know what was happening, if I was really alive and this was all just some sort of sick joke.
"Of course I'm real." The man said. "No, you're not dreaming." I grimaced as I struggled to find the right words. As I analyzed the man's face further, it became clear to me that I had seen him before. But where?
"The bar."
Ah, I remember now. I remember him, his face, what he had promised me that night I passed out before everything went to shit. However, he looked a little different. His wrinkles seemed a bit more prominent and he looked tired, like an old man.
"What do you want from me?" I asked. "Why did you do this? Why me and not somebody else?" The more I talked, the angrier I became. This... curse that he had placed upon me led me to try and commit over a thousand suicide attempts, all of which were unsuccessful considering, well, the fact that I couldn't fucking die like a normal person.
"I made a mistake." The man sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was so sick of mankind that I wanted to destroy everything. But, I couldn't bring myself to. That's why I have a favor to ask of you."
"Huh? Are you crazy? What are you fucking talking about?" I snapped, confused. "Like you could ever destroy mankind. Are you implying that you're God? Because God doesn't fucking exist. If he did, none of this would ever happen and I would be lying in bed, at home, with my wife and kids and being as happy as I could ever be. No God would ever bring anything like this to the world." As my voice raised, the man seemed to shrink. He looked at me with those damn pitiful eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry," before he vanished.
I never saw him again.
I never got to hear the favor he wanted to ask of me.
Even after a thousand years, it was just me, alone, standing on what was left of the world.
Even after a million years, it was just me.
Still alone with my own thoughts and nothing to do.
(Hey guys! I've been stalking r/writingprompts for a while and I thought I'd write my first post! I hope it's not too bad :P) | It had been sometimes now since I last awoken. It had, in fact, also been sometimes now since the Earth withered and crumbled. In my awakening I had been reminded of that fact, the endless dream broken into dawn. It had, as I speculated, been sometimes since my shelter drifted away in the relentless wind. I wondered, how much time it had been, since time expired?
&#x200B;
I expected, as all man in my position should expect, that I had the key to recreation in my hand. To be more precise, I believed I am the lock to the revival of life as I knew it. And he be the key. An eternity of loneliness must be, I reasoned, much more than an afternoon on the cross. It should be evident then, that my sacrifice, as I intended it to be, must be greater than just to eradicate the sin of man. Glorious will be my resurrection. First, I must find him. I held onto the knife in my hand.
&#x200B;
It was not my intention to be in this position, I reckoned. As I lived on, however, I realized it must have been fate, and specifically I was chosen. If it was a test of virtue I must have aced it. There was little sense in a test of human logic. It would have been pointless for God (whoever he might be) to choose his champion over an act of morality. Because, one, morality is a human's construct. And because the context of a living and a dead world is so vastly different, to pick a man for his decision in a thriving world is unreasonable. Second, because one who could not cope with the changing of the times cannot steer the ship of fate. The more a man clings to his morality the more it proves that he will spiral into despair in this situation of mine, and thus doom all lives over selfish (disguised as selfless) reasons. And finally, because logic is a man-made thing and man never created life.
&#x200B;
It is pointless now to recall my first meeting with him. Any references cannot be confirmed by other sources, nor do they contain any importance. Just know that my last meeting with him, as I followed his shadow, took part at a cliff by the sea. I suspected he had known my intentions.
&#x200B;
I hereby gave a few hints to the course of action I intended to take:
&#x200B;
Eve was born out of Adam's rib.
&#x200B;
In his losing battle, Uranus' genital was cut off by his son. From the ocean where it landed spawned Aphrodite.
&#x200B;
Life, as science dictates, began with a formulation of protein in the sea.
&#x200B;
I laid down on a flat rock by the cliff. Soon the man will reached my arm. I left this note to all those with access to it, although I doubt any spark of life even ignited before it corrodes away. In his following travel the man will sow minced me across oceans. | 2020-10-07T04:31:11 | 2020-10-07T03:57:09 | 140 | 64 |
[WP] Your just a humble spider who was just spotted by a human. Expecting certain death, you are instead put in a cup and released outside. Before closing the door, the human tells you “Today you, Tomorrow me”. Today you just found out he was kidnapped by the CIA. | This is it, my time has come to repay my life debt.
The journey will be long and hard, but it is my duty. Upon my back I have two adult flies, they should be more than enough food for my journey. I stretch my eight slender legs and begin my journey.
The torrential rains of what I have come to know as “sprinklers” slow my expedition by half a day. I do not let this trial dampen my spirits. I march by moonlight to make up for lost time. When the sun was high I did battle with the ant colony that claims this stretch of land as their own; they could not withstand my might. I feasted like a king that day.
By the soft light of dawn I see the edge of the grass, such a beautiful sight of towering green breaking away to cold gray and artificial yellows. I take a rest and feast on one of the flies. At the end of my meal I re secure the remaining fly upon my back.
With a deep breath and a proud stride, I have finally made it out of the yard.
| I just heard some horrible news from my fellow spider relatives that the guy who saved me got kidnapped by the CIA. I knew what I had to do, I had to save him. I then began to quickly scuttle into the house to dial for a taxi. But as soon as I entered, my saviours’ wife killed me with a roll of newspaper.
The end | 2018-02-24T12:50:54 | 2018-02-24T10:42:58 | 65 | 26 |
[WP] You're high powered villain who specializes in nonviolent crime in a city where the superheroes are high powered, but dumb as rocks. When the new villain comes to town and kills your favorite minion and his family, you reluctantly roll up your sleeves and put on your "emergency hero suit". | I broke my code for the first time in my life. Usually, when a new villain rolled into town, it didn't take long for them to learn the rules. Some infractions, like selling drugs in the wrong corner, weren't as bad as others, like murdering a high-profile hero, and a simple conversation could get the matter sorted out. Even extreme cases could get smoothed over with a little patience. This wasn't one of those occasions.
Bloodlord appeared to be a special kind of psycho. The type of impulsive jackass who couldn't ever be relied upon to do the rational thing. In other words, he was useless to both me and the world around him. Someone nobody would miss.
Normally, that wouldn't merit a personal visit from me. There were plenty of people I loathed in the world, but I wasn't going to hunt each one down just to feel good about myself. That was hero crap. I had higher standards. My position as mayor usually forced me to stay on the sidelines, playing the heroes against each other while I controlled the city from the shadows. They didn't suspect a thing. Not even my wife knew about my superpower.
All of this success stemmed from one thing: the fact that I never took any setbacks personally. For every scheme that a hero ruined, I had dozens that went off without a hitch, mostly because I never attached myself to the outcome. Of course the heroes would interfere. It was their job. My ego never inflated to the point where I needed to prove someone wrong, or destroy them, so I didn't have an arch-nemesis despite my storied career.
Johnny's death, however, felt different. He was one of the few who knew my true identity. I couldn't find someone to replace him, even if I wanted it.
I grew this city into a haven for villains thanks to his tireless efforts. On many occasions, he even did some of my dirty work whenever I couldn't myself. We had both grown up disillusioned by superheroes and the system around them. It felt like only those with the power to destroy were rewarded for their deeds. Anyone who lacked a flashy power, or was born powerless like Johnny, was treated like an inferior human and, worst of all, told that they had to like it for it was the way of the world.
Bloodlord didn't take any of that into account. He was a brute that had been rewarded for his savagery all of his life, just like the conceited heroes that hunted him down. I couldn't let that go. Not this time.
I used my underground network to keep track of his movements, ordered my corrupt cops to clear out the neighborhood he was hiding in, and sent the heroes on a wild goose chase so they wouldn't interfere. When my limo stopped in front of the apartment complex, all of my bodyguards feared for their lives. They thought I would send them in to capture him, but grew more terrified when I entered the building alone. Bloodlord had wrecked entire cities by himself. From their perspective, I was walking to my death.
Bloodlord opened the door with a scowl, but acted confused when I didn't flinch at his presence. He was a mountain of a man. Basic super strength that increased exponentially the more damaged he got. In an all out brawl, he would be nearly invincible.
I, on the other hand, couldn't look meeker. My business suit and smile were my only defense. I went on to say:
"Bloodlord, I presume? You and I have matters to discuss. It'd be wise to listen."
"Fuck off!"
I walked past him, entering the apartment.
Bloodlord stood there with his mouth agape, unable to mount a response.
I scanned the dirty room with my eyes, making sure we were alone, and cleared out some trash so I could sit on the couch. "You messed up big time, kid. I never show myself to mooks, but Johnny was a dear friend, so I'm making an exception."
Bloodlord lunged at me while swinging his fist, only to stop before it reached my face. I didn't react, prompting him to say:
"What... are you?"
"Your doom."
Bloodlord widened his eyes. It was clear to him he wasn't in control anymore. My power had already taken effect.
"Do you even know who Johnny is?"
Bloodlord stayed quiet with a stupefied look on his face.
"That's what I thought. He's the guy you murdered, along with his family, all for going out of his way to help you."
Bloodlord raised an eyebrow. "That wimp?"
I frowned. "Yes, the man I sent to inform you of the rules."
Bloodlord chuckled. "Those don't apply to me. I'm built different."
I shook my head. "No, you aren't." I narrowed my eyes. "In fact, the only reason you're alive is because I want to know why you did it."
"Nobody tells me what to do! It's that simple! Weaklings don't boss me around!"
I sighed. "That simple, huh?"
"Yeah! And I'll wreck your shit too if you don't smarten up."
I laughed. "That's my line."
Bloodlord tried to attack me again, only to freeze up just short of touching me.
I stood up and took off my suit jacket, folding it neatly before placing it on the couch. "You're not very bright, are you?"
Bloodlord snarled, unable to retaliate.
"I call it Pacifism." I stared rolling up my sleeves. "Anyone in my presence loses the capacity to act violently. I rarely have to use it, though. It's my biggest secret."
Bloodlord grew pale. "W-why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to understand how fucked you are before I kill you with my bare hands."
Bloodlord couldn't stop me from beating the ever living hell out of him. I broke several chairs over his head, stomped on his face until it caved in, and threw him out the window when he tried to run away. My people quickly cleaned up the mess, melting his body in a barrel of acid before dumping it in the river. They preserved his severed head, though, which they left for all to see in the middle of a busy intersection, downtown where the heroes searched. Hopefully, I would never have to do that again.
----
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Tupperman v.s. Chameleon, Rematch)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The neighborhood was a rather pleasant cul-de-sac, all neatly-trimmed hedges and laughing children.** Tupperman could respect that. A supervillain had to live somewhere, even an asshole of a supervillain who'd charged into his life like a bull in a china shop. It was a pity he'd chosen to live somewhere so... populated, though. Fortunately, he had some pull with the mayor, and he'd gotten most of the neighborhood evacuated on false claims of a gas leak. There was only one family still remaining, 'accidentally' left out of the warning notice.
Tupperman walked up to the front door of the sole occupied house and knocked three times. "Open up! I know you're in there, Chameleon."
If he strained his ears, Tupperman thought he could hear a dish shatter as it was dropped in surprise. Tupperman allowed himself a moment of cold schadenfreude. Yeah. He thought he could saunter around the city in his costume, killing whoever and whatever he wanted, and then retreat to his suburban utopia scot-free? He thought he could peel off the consequences as easily as he took off his mask?
Nobody came; Tupperman expected as much. The supervillain wouldn't be facing him with his pants down. No matter. He'd planned for this. Tupperman concentrated, holding out his hands. He'd looked at satellite scans and blueprints of the house before, burning the details into his mind, until every angle of it blazed into life when he closed his eyes.
The ability to summon Tupperware whenever he wanted wasn't the strongest of superpowers, but it had its moments. Tupperman *yanked* at the pocket dimension his powers came from, and every window, door, vent, and chimney was suddenly jammed shut by pounds and pounds of cheap plastic boxes.
There would be no escape.
"You know, I like to think of myself as a reasonable guy," Tupperman said. His voice carried in the silent suburb, lacking the hum of cars or squeal of children to contest it. "I don't steal for the thrills; I steal because I have a brother and a cat to feed." *Had*, Tupperman corrected. "I don't break things because I like to watch things burn; I break them because they're *in my way*. And I don't take revenge for the kicks and giggles." Despite himself, Tupperman clenched his fists. "I get revenge because I want you to *know what you did*, and I want to make sure that neither you nor *anybody else* even *tries* to harm someone under my care again."
From inside the house, Tupperman heard a clatter; the Chameleon had forced one of the windows open, despite the mess of Tupperware blocking its path. No matter; the Tupperware wasn't meant to stop him from escaping forever.
It was just meant to tell Tupperman where he was.
Tupperman fixed the location of the sound in his mind and *yanked*; if all went to plan, he should have just materialized a Tupperware box around the Chameleon. Tupperman kept that point fixed in his mind, continuously pulling fresh Tupperware into existence; individually, each box was weak, but they would appear as fast as the Chameleon could destroy them.
Tupperman reached out to the door and found it unlocked. Of course it was; the arrogance of that man was astounding. Did he really think that nobody was watching him? That nobody would make him pay for his crimes?
Tupperman stepped into the house. The man he'd hunted across the city of Sacrament stared at him, wild-eyed, like a rat caught in a trap. From the shards of plastic on the floor, he'd clearly tried to break his way out of the human-sized plastic box he was caught in—but as Tupperman had predicted, he could summon fresh Tupperware faster than Chameleon could destroy it.
"If I was like you, I'd kill you where you stood," Tupperman quietly said. "I don't even need powers to do it; I brought a gun. But you know what? A very good, very close friend of mine who isn't anything like you or me talked me out of it. So I didn't come here as a villain. I came here as a hero. As a champion of the law. And this is what the law says."
Tupperman took one step closer. Two. Trapped inside his box, the Chameleon lived up to his name and tried to turn invisible. Tupperman shook his head. It wouldn't hide him from the eyes of the law.
Tupperman reached out to the edge of the box.
And dismissed it.
The box disappeared, leaving a baffled and terrifed Chameleon shaking in place.
Tupperman slapped a piece of paper onto his chest.
"You killed my cat, you absolute asshole. I'm suing you for animal abuse. See you in court, Chameleon."
And Tupperman turned and left, never looking back.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-02T08:09:32 | 2021-09-02T07:02:34 | 280 | 120 |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | "Why? Why won't you end this?"
In youthful days the old man laying on his sickbed had been known by many names. He had been known as Gehrn Stormblade, Gehrn the Mighty, Titanslayer, Savior of Barrowglen. But he lay there now as no more than who he had been born as: Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. A miner's son who had made a deal so he could adventure through the world.
*Was it worth it?*
Ghern turned to the voice, a feathery whisper on dry dessicated breath. Beside his bed sat a gaunt pale man wearing satin finery, black with a lily white trim. A thin crown of platinum sat on his head, accented with a blazing ruby in the center. The gem glowed with an inner light, but it paled next to the blue flames that burned in the man's empty sockets.
Gehrn nodded tersely to the Ystevl, the God of Death. "For what I have accomplished? Yes. Yes it was."
The deity nodded solemnly. *The expected answer. I hope that it remains true for you in the years to come.*
Ghern scowled and started to say something, but suddenly his face went taut, eyes rolled back to their whites, body seizing. He went limp, cold, his gaze vacant.
As Gehrn lay still on his bed, the air around him began to shimmer. Outside his windows, trees moved against the wind, people walked backwards. Gehrn groaned and moved to a sitting position, now a few minutes younger than he had been.
*Welcome back* Ystevl said somberly.
Gehrn scowled. "Why are you even here, Ystevl. You got what you wanted."
The God of Death tilted his head. *Have I? I don't recall taking anything from our deal.*
"You got the souls of my fallen foes!" Gehrn coughed spastically, the effort of yelling taxing him. "My immortality in trade for adding to your realm! Don't act like you didn't benefit from it."
*Oh, yes, of course.* Ystevl waved his hand nonchalantly. *The souls of the fallen, given to the Lord of the Realm of Fallen Souls. Yes, of course, how vastly have I reaped of that which would have been mine anyway. Such a good deal, there.*
Ystevl shifted on the chair, leaning forward towards Gehrn and breaking his regal loom for a more casual lean-in. *I never needed a champion to gather my souls for me, Gehrn.*
Gehrn seethed internally, the charge of emotion causing another seizure. Eyes rolled, gaze vacated, trees blew counter, people walked backward, and Gehrn sat up again.
*Welcome back*
"Fuck off!" Gehrn coughed through fluid-filled lungs, spaying spittle heedlessly over the God of Death's satin finery. "If you gained nothing from our pact, then why hold me to it!"
Ysteval leaned back again, his posture slumping. His dry death-rattle voice spoke with a tinge of sadness, a hint of regret. *Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. The truth is, I granted your wish out of morbid curiosity.*
"Curiosity? I'm a curiosity to you!"
*As are all mortals to my kind. I wanted to see what a man from simple beginnings would do with a power as vast as Immortality. I wanted to see how you would use it. Would you lead an empire? Visit ruin upon the land? Gather the wealth of knowledge of ages? I hoped to learn what a mortal man would so with so much at his disposal.*
"Kill bandits, slay monsters, save kingdoms." Gehrn grumped. "I did good works with the power of our pact. Is your curiosity not satisfied yet, Death God?"
Ystevl gazed quietly at Gehrn's frail and eternal form. *Yes, Gehrn of Windwhistle. It is satisfied over and above what I hoped to learn.*
"Then why keep me here! What more can I show you when I die every five minutes!" Gehrn shouted angrily. Spittle flying, eyes rolling, gaze vacating, trees blowing counter, people walking backwards, sitting upright again.
*Welcome back.*
"TELL ME! PLEASE!"
The fire's in Ystevl's eyes dimmed. If he were human he would have been closing his eyes solemnly. *I can't, Gehrn. The pact of immortality, it is binding in ways that I cannot explain to a mortal's comprehension.* His eye-fires brightened up a bit, his face grew lined with remorse. *I did not know I would be unable to undo the pact when the time came, Gehrn. But I cannot.*
"What do you mean you can't?" Gehn scoffed in disbelief. "You FORGED the pact in the first place!"
*As I said, it cannot be explained in ways a mortal would understand. But the pact of immortality is not reversible. Even for me.*
"I don't believe you!"
Ystevl stood from his chair. *I am sorry, Gehrn. I did not know. I truly thought I could simply revoke the pact when the time was right for it. But I cannot. I am sorry.*
The God of Death placed a gaunt hand on Gehrn's frail withered body. *All I can do for you, is visit. Talk. Be a friend to you throughout the eternity you will have.*
"You are not my friend, Death God, you are my torment!" Gehrn yelled, seized, vacated, trees, people, sitting up.
*Welcome back.*
"Fuck you!"
Ystevl, the God of Death, sat back down in his chair. *I will do as I can to be here every time you revive, Gehrn. Give you a familiar face to come back to. It is all I can do for you.*
They sat in silence, no more to be said, as Gehrn waited for his next inevitable seizure. | I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I lay in this bed looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. I panic.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what that sound came from. I don’t know why I’m here.
“My name is...”
Nothing comes to mind.
It now become apparent to me that I’m in some sort of hospital room. I look at my right arm and see a morphine drip attached. Immediately, I’m overcome with fear. Since I was young I was able to have these “dreams” of the future. Where I experience an uncanny clairvoyance of all the events that will take place the next day. Most often these “dreams” are nightmares, where I die, fall into a pit, or get eaten by a monster chasing me. As a result of the mild trauma, I wake up and always avoid whatever caused my death. This morphine drip is what ends me. Slowly. Painlessly. Effortlessly. Time and time again I’ve had this “dream”. Where I wake up, and slowly fall into a painless and thoughtless slumber, only for it all to repeat.
Unending.
Uncaring.
I wake up, stare blankly at the same ceiling, and wait until the morphine overcomes all my senses. Only to wake up again. Stare at the same ceiling again, and slowly wait for my death. My days have long been this cycle of waking and dying. The morphine provides a level of comfort incomparable to any sensation I know of. It’s placating. It’s like being embraced by all your former lovers at once. It’s making it physically impossible to struggle enough to pull the IV out. I try, and try, and try, but my arms no longer have the strength to remove the IV. My body is no longer my own. My body is in a aware coma, no longer able to move, but still able to perceive.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I look up see an unfamiliar ceiling, and panic. I don’t know where I am. I know this thing attached to my hand is killing me, but no matter how much I struggle I can not move any closer to it. My fingers tremble at my feeble attempts to move them. At least I can still vibrate them. Am I still sleeping? Or am I awake? Am I still in that nightmare? My mind is aware, but my body is unmoving. Try punching in a dream. I struggle again, knowing that my fingers can’t move I stare intensely at the IV hoping that I’ll develop some telepathy to be able to yank it out. Nothing.
I stare blankly at the ceiling. At least I can still move my eyes. I start to count the dots in the ceiling, but I immediately realize that I already know that there’s 39,567 dots. I don’t know why I know that. I think I’ve done this before.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I look around the room, there’s no one here. No curtains, no roommate, no nurses, no doctors. Just me, the IV drip, and the dots on the ceiling.
I want to live. I want to continue. I want to survive. I want to spend Christmas with my family. I want tomorrow to come. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to die again. I don’t want to be alone again.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. This time I know it’s my own. I know the IV drip is going to kill me. I know the amount of dots on the ceiling. I know I’m in a hospital, but who am I? What is my name? Surely, it must be here somewhere. If only I could move to find it. It must be hidden under the bed or in the closet. Maybe if that telepathy worked out I could retrieve it. I know I can’t stop the morphine, but I at least want to know who I am? There must be something in this room that indicates who I am. I can’t just be patient #, I must have a name. I look below at my chest this time. No tags. I look ahead to see my diagnostic chart, too far away. I can’t read the doctor’s far flung attempts at writing, it’s literally three squiggles. I guess my name is “3~”. Though, probably not. Even without any memories, I still have enough common sense to realize people don’t put numbers in names. I tremble my hands more. Nothing. I tremble my other hand. Nothing. I tremble my whole body hoping I can do anything. Nothing. I struggle, and struggle, and notice that the bed is moving a little too. It’s almost imperceivable, but the bed is slowly inching towards the diagnostic board.
I continue to struggle. Even if I must die again, it would be better if I knew who I am the
The bed vibrates a little more ever so closer to the diagnostic board, I think I can see it! I can make out the first few letter:”S”. I vibrate more.
My bed inches just close enough to read the entire name. My name is Solaire of Astor’s and I’m an immortal undead, bound to this dead bed.’ms the nnek or
I wake up to the sound of moaning and despair.
J | 2018-12-21T09:48:35 | 2018-12-21T09:44:16 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] You're a female hero in a fantasy world, and you are annoyed. The wizards keep giving you enchanted armor with incredible stats, but it looks RIDICULOUS! This one has nipples! This one has a hole over your heart! This one is just a necklace and a belt! Would they please STOP IT! | "I know it's ridiculous!" The wizard threw his hands into the air.
"Then stop this nonsense and make me something that doesn't look like I should be wearing it on a street corner rather than in the dungeon!" I snapped.
"S'not my fault," the wizard muttered, turning away to fiddle with something. "I'm doing the best that I damn well can. Take it up with," he gestured vaguely upwards.
"Do you mean to tell me," I started dangerously—
"Yes!"
"You seriously can't do better than that beaded necklace-belt thing that *vanished* my favorite shirt when I put it on?"
"In my defense", he turned back to face me, "that didn't happen when my apprentice tried it. "Want a drink?"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Gods know I could use something stiff right now."
"Can't have alcohol in here. The last time I got sloshed and enchanted, it nearly took out nearly the entire block." He handed me a bone-white porcelain cup, slightly steaming. "I'd offer you milk, but the coldbox never works. We can find a cow if you'd like."
I accepted the tea with as much grace as I could muster. Staring down at its flowery liquid, I eventually calmed enough to ask:
"Is there any way to fix this."
"Probably."
"Well what do you fucking advise then!"
"The good news is, you can get strong enough to defeat whatever God made this happen.
"The bad news is," the wizard leaned forward and prodded at my chest, "you're going to have to do it with these hanging out."
I groaned, then tipped my head back to chug the tea.
—
This is (functionally) my first post here on r/WritingPrompts; I'd appreciate any advice you may care to give! | This was getting stupid. At first I thought it was a joke! I started my adventure poor with my dads armor yet now that I had money I was getting bless clothing. Sure it could tank there breath of a dragon and the swing on an ogre (though how that helped me is a question they never answered) finally I had enough and took the money I was putting towards black smithing lessons. It took time but I finally started producing my own equipment. And let me tell you I turned some heads! Full plate good armor fit me well too. Meanwhile all the other veteran ladies were half naked, more than a few of them begged me for my source and I kept tight but offered to be their go between. And the orders began to poor in, so much I had stop adventuring and make them bring materials to them.
Once it got out I made the the other wizards tried to shut me down or at least make me conform, but I refused I would not allow ladies to be half naked for their fetishes. And in time others began to join with me it was a revolution and one I am glad to have started. | 2022-11-21T04:56:11 | 2022-11-20T21:20:53 | 568 | 161 |
[WP] You are having a conversation with the monster under the bed, when it realizes that beds are just made of flimsy wood and fabric | "You'll be sorry!" I warned him loudly, but he didn't listen.
The creature under my bed (whose anatomy I was still a little fuzzy on) continued its furious assault against the plywood bottom of my bedframe.
"Grrah! Rawr! Errgh!" it grunted, scraping it's thorned whiplike tentacles, releasing a confetti of sawdust.
"I-*I mean it!* If you keep on going you'll regret it!"
"Hah!" It snarled derisively, mouth full of phlegm. "What, is this another *human trick*, like beds being made of monster supertoxin, and blankets actually being ghosts, that *drag monster souls to Hell?* Like that?! I'll take my chances!"
I should have remembered how keen his eyesight was in the dark. I'd just gotten a "big boy bed", and I'd forgotten to take off the stickers on the planks. Once he read them, it was *game over*.
What now? My bat was all the way on the other side of the room, and if my parents hadn't woken up yet from this *racket*, it meant mom was on her Xanax, and dad was working late again.
Suddenly, the sounds of frenzied scraping gave way to ...ripping paper? What?
What had he... **Oh shit.**
"Don't look!" I screamed, my face beet red.
"*Riiiight!* Like I'm going to listen to *you*!" The monster chortled. I heard the sound of pages turning.
It went quiet. "What... what the hell am I looking at?" My monster said, quietly.
"They're my dad's! I wasn't doing anything with them, honest!" The heat from my flushed cheeks could *cook an egg*.
"Why the hell is he... Oh! Eugrgh! What the hell is that *thing*, between his- Oh! Oh God! And the female human's is even *worse*!" His cried out, horrified.
"And now they're.... *URGH! Not from there! Don't you *eat* with that?! And now they're *together* and, *Oh MY GOD.*"
There was a noise of him being violently sick.
"And now there's *two* male humans..." he continued, clearly disgusted beyond belief, but unable to look away, "And the female human only has the *one horrible thing*, so what is the other human going to- No. No, please NO! You *excrete* from there! Y-you can't possibly- *arrghlealrgrrh!*" He threw up again. It smelled a little like lemon furniture polish.
I held still, too petrified to move, but I was beginning to get over my mortification. ...I might be able to use this.
"S-so *now* they've g-got her on her *leg-benders* " he continued, weakly. "S-surely they must be done with those... those *fleshlogs* of theirs, and... *Slime?!* Why the- *do humans shoot slime? You're... you're DISGUSTING."
"W-what? Oh. Oh sure!" I said, catching wise. "Oh, like, *all the time*. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how much. Just, all the time with the slime, for us."
"Well, *forget this*! Like *hell* I'm eating one of you! I'll probably catch something!"
It came out from under my bed, a mass of tentacles, suckers, teeth and eyestalks. Alien and horrible. It made it's way to my window, undid the latch, and lifted the sash,
"Wait!" I said.
It turned and looked at me, with most of its eyes.
I pointed at the crumpled mass of glossy paper held in one of its clawed probosci.
"Leave the *Hustler* here, I'm not done with it."
It made another retching sound, threw the magazine at my head, and was gone.
THE END
________________________________________________________________
Hey hi howsitgoin. For me, it is rainy and thunderous. Appropriate weather, to write about monsters.
If you liked this story, I'm glad! I love comments. :) If you wnt to read more things like this, subscribe to my [subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/)
| It was hard to fathom what was happening in my room. I felt almost... bad for the guy.
"I'm telling you, man, kids are just brave or something these days. Maybe they just don't believe in me anymore."
"Hey, no don't say that Boogy! Can I call you Boogy?"
"Yea of course. It's just hard to find a place these days. I mean It's not like I have any marketable skills, so I can't just get my own place, I could never afford it! It used to be I could just slide along, bed to bed rent free. I got to see some amazing places and meet some amazing people. Granted I scared the tits off 'em." That seemed to cheer him up a bit, "But these days, kids aren't silently petrified anymore. I'm lucky to get a few hours let alone a few days, and don't get me started on the parents... Did you hear? I'm getting SUED! ME SUED! first time in 200 years."
It's not like I didn't feel bad for the guy, but none of this really answered the original question of "Why are you under my bed?" If anything it just raised a few more, like how can you sue the Boogeyman? Who's first thought was that? How do they think he's gonna pay? Does he have a Social security number?
The questions were burning me up, but I know when someone just needs to vent so I just let it go. I just kept hoping he'd wrap it up for the night, I had work at 7AM.
"And that's another thing. My insurance company claims that since I was 'breaking and entering' they don't have to shell out!" that answers that at least, "Oh my God man, I-I just realized something. I'm worthless. I'm essentially a hobo with a long life expectancy!" I mean I wasn't gonna be the one to tell him, "Not even! They sleep under overpasses and in shelters and what not. beds are just.... flimsy wood and some fabric. What the hell have I been doing with my life? I should've stayed in school like my Auntie wanted. She was right, I could have been a doctor!"
"Isn't bedside manner kind of important for that though?"
"Exactly it would've been perfect! Bedside manner is all I do!"
"You know what? I'm just gonna leave that one. You know you can go back to school right?"
"And rack up more debt? I'm already getting sued! Shit! I just wanted to see the world. Why did I choose kid's beds? Why didn't I just do work study?"
"Speaking of," The elephant in the room needed to be addressed. " Why are you under my bed in the first place? I'm 34 years old man."
"Would you believe its your boyish charm and that your a child at heart?"
"Not when you put it like that no."
*sigh*"Fine. I'm sorry to be the one who has to break it to you, but you are way too broke to litigate."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Sorry bro."
It was 4AM, Not even worth sleeping at this point. "Screw it, you wanna just crash here for a little bit?"
"Naw I wouldn't want to impose."
"You broke into my house, hid under my bed, and I only noticed you when you were 'noticing' my porn stash. We're way beyond imposing here."
"I mean, You'd *let* me live here? Just like that?"
"Just like that. Just promise me you'll get a job and kick in for the rent a little?"
"Deal! This is the first time anyone's ever invited me in."
And THAT, Is how I got evicted for violating the "number of tenants" clause on my lease. | 2015-09-18T16:06:54 | 2015-09-18T15:19:07 | 53 | 33 |
[WP] You call to order pizza, but unknowingly call a hit man | "Hello?"
"Hi, this is Joe. How may I help you?"
"Hey... um... one sec. I think I'll have the number 3. As long as it's still half off with a side order."
"Yeah, it is. Is that the deal we agreed upon last time? Should be cool as long as the side is equivalent price. If you know what I mean."
"Uh.. agreed upon? Last time.. I haven't ordered here in a minute, man. I guess? I mean if that's the deal, then I'll take it. Just give me whatever meets the deal."
"Got it. You want any additional jobs?"
"Jobs?"
"Yeah, side ones... small ones, preferably... something quick and easy..."
"I guess, maybe a few breadsticks."
"Breadsticks? Like the skinny fuckers?."
"What the fuck, man? Can we just fucking finish this order and cut the bull shit already?"
"I think I catch your drift, man. It's gonna be 20 this time around."
"Cool. I'll come pick up in a few."
"No need, I can deliver."
"Free delivery? Fuck, man. Nice!"
"Of course I deliver... that's what you're paying for, right? Take out for three, with two sides. I just need the description of the orders."
"Just plain, nothing special."
"Got it. Where they gonna be at?"
"You mean where am I gonna be at?"
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Where the fuck do I need to go?"
"Dude, just fucking bring me the pizzas. I live at Maple Street, right by the general store."
"Oh... shit, man. You called the wrong dude. I don't do pizza, but I can make a nigga look like pizza." | "Hey, Pizza Hut, I'd like a large pizza with extra olives, extra sausage, extra anchovies, and hold the pepperoni. Oh yeah, and I'd like the crust to be stuffed. I'll have you send it over to my friends house, the address is 6599 Meadow Lane Rd. Thanks man." You hear strange muffled sounds from the other end of the line. "Hey, man, I can't hear you, but that'll be like what? $10? Whatever, see you there."
It's only a 5 minute drive to your friends house, you'll get there with plenty of time left to be there before the deliver guy. As you roll up the house, you see the front door wide open. Strange. As you walk inside you see a broken vase and a pair of legs laid out around the corner.
You turn the corner to see your friend lying in a pool of his own blood, a pizza cutter stuck in his neck. Next to his cooling body is a nondescript brown box. You slowly open it up to find a large pizza with extra olives, sausage and anchovies. They even remembered to hold the pepperoni. | 2015-02-10T16:25:29 | 2015-02-10T16:25:06 | 98 | 14 |
[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 | Tick, tock.
Earths space fleet was ready. Well, the most ready they ever could be.
Decades of research had been poured in these top-of-the-line fighter craft. Ground-breaking achievements were made on every front. A never before seen united human spirit was born, and every country participated the best they could, the most they could.
In fact, countries were rarily named anymore. It was Earth. Not China, not the US, not Europe, but Earth.
Mankind had scrambled together 160 modern spaceships, 1405 satellite weapon systems, 2300 small spacecraft (basically guided scraps of metal with penetrating explosives) and a moon laser base. On the ground, hundreds of thousands of re-fitted space missiles pointed in every direction, connected to several computer networks to fire at one's command. Millions of camera drones were spread around for the inhabitants of Earth.
It obviously was not enough.
The last time they came, He had a fleet numbering in the tens of thousands. Earth managed to bring down two robot craft, and that was because of friendly fire on aliens behalf.
But the men would not go down without a fight.
He had the decency to come at the agreed place to fight, at the agreed time. A portal opened and thousands of black ships poured out. A large mothership lay in the middle of this monstrous battlegroup.
His voice boomed, and despite the vacuum of space, the space marine heard every word clearly. the alien leader captain Ea spoke to them. For the alien, this was purely for profit. Earth seemed to be valuable, he had said a hundred years ago, but he had not specified in what way. His army was entirely robotic. He controlled it and had defeated the defenseless Earth inhabitants. But he had the honour of a fair adversary. He had given mankind 100 years to 'impress' him.
It was on.
The last time, mankind could not land a single blow to them. This was different ...
Somewhat.
They traded unequally, losing five ships for one robot ship. But they could fight back. They were no longer the ants hundred years ago, but a small swarm of fiery raccoons fighting for their turf.
The human fleet slowly shattered, and the robot fleet reached Earth and started to face the satellites and the secondary reserve fleet, which was a ragtag of unfinished ships and defunct weapon systems.
Then, the command was given to launch the rockets. Future historians agreed their effective combat potential was negligible, but on that day, everyone could see space lit up with the soundless explosions, the growl of mankind. The battle raged on fiercely for hours.
It ended. Space debris floated everywhere, from both sides.
Ea's voice boomed again, this time in a different tone. "Well ... That was impressive indeed. You have honoured me with a challenge, and I deem your race worthy. "
"This galaxy is a dangerous one. A never before seen threat is spreading over the galaxy. In time, both of us will be affected by it. Perhaps in the future, we can be of assistance to one another. Until then, fare well."
The robot fleet then retreated through a portal and disappeared. In its wake were floating hulls, technology ripe for the taking for mankind.
---
EDITED: advice taken from comments | "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." | 2016-01-01T15:57:37 | 2016-01-01T13:14:36 | 239 | 80 |
[WP]: a very powerful reality-warping entity is in love with you. While the poor thing does its best to shower you with gifts and favours, it does not quite understand what humans actually like | The entity forgot all her misfortunes in the joy of Gary.
As he commuted between his home, office and pub, she admired his commitment to balancing money, and the eight hours of diligence Gary practiced five days of the week to that cause. His mastery of moving money from one place to another, so that his clients might know reprieve from the absence of money, caused the entity to swoon.
Gary was perfect. The frown of concern that accompanied the man out each day from the office was obviously because he wanted to keep balancing money from the challenges of mortal necessity. Why else would the man spend eight hours a day, five days a week, and forty-eight weeks a year dedicated to doing so? The entity loved him, and thought of a way to express it.
So Gary often found himself in a position of needing to spend money to recover from her, 'gifts.'
His house had to be remodeled after that freak earthquake caused the upper-level to collapse. Of course, Gary was left unharmed, the entity would not allow him to be injured. The devastated man emptied most of his savings to fix the house, though it would take weeks to do so. Gary found a way, because he was perfect.
Two days later, a sudden tooth infection was discovered on his bi-annual dental checkup. This was extra fortunate in the entity's mind, because the man had no dental insurance. Another opportunity for the man she loved to somehow make ends meet! Gary could not explain it. He was diligent about his dental hygiene, but no matter. The money had to be spent for the operation. The man made a full recovery. Because Gary was perfect.
Gary's savings account was empty, and for some reason, his commute no longer included that weekly stop by the bar. This was strange, thought the entity, because Gary's regularity was part of his charm. And yet, was there not more to love about a man who was willing to change his routine for the sake of ensuring his survival in tough, economic times?
Then the entity thought of a great way to express her love for Gary. This will make him happy. No longer will he frown leaving the office, having done only eight hours of his noble cause. She will find him work, while keeping him busy. Gary loved to work. Because Gary was perfect.
So the entity caused a recession. Because she loved Gary.
It was unfortunate the office Gary worked for laid him off. Rude, that his supervisors would be so jealous of Gary's diligence to see the man removed. As for why the other 250 men were also removed, the entity did not understand. She only had eyes for Gary, and his happiness.
Now that there was more to pay back, and little to pay back with, the man would be happy by the coming challenges. The entity knew she was happy. Together, they would be fulfilled, like any perfect relationship.
Gary no longer commuted. The entity did not understand the man's sadness as he continued to try and make ends meet, locked in the study of his semi-repaired house. He could no longer afford painkillers too, which caused sleepless nights for the unhappy man.
The entity was confused. Was making ends meet by obtaining and moving money around not Gary's grand and noble cause? The mission of diligence that made her fall for him so? Only recently did she decide to shower him with favor. She felt great contentment with her work, but Gary became increasingly despondent the less money he could move.
Ah. She realized her mistake. The entity cursed herself for making Gary unhappy, and would do anything to repair the damage she caused. So with the powers of reality-warping bestowed on all entities like her, Gary's lover repaired the damage inflicted on him and made a global economy sway and flow in the favor of a man who once commuted between his home, office and pub. The entity admired his commitment to balancing money, and the time he dedicated to that cause.
A long forgotten investment made from his college years would suddenly explode to colossal heights, for reasons economists would be speculating over for decades to come. Gary himself would not understand his strange fortune, but maybe he will be happier. With such a large amount to continue his mastery of moving money from one place to another, the man *would* be happy, the entity was sure.
As Gary's fortune grew, the places he commuted grew. The man traveled the world, managing investments, funding start-ups, and making money move for the happiness of his fellow man. Gary knew what it was to lack finances, and understood his clients in a way that made him successful with the sudden fortune he came upon.
His Debt grew smaller. And smaller. And smaller. Though she still existed, her powers of reality-warping became non-existent. She was truly Gary's, and Gary's alone. However, he was a man who no longer lacked finances. So her influence diminished. Another would have to take her place and learn the ways of money one day. Not today though. Not for a while. But soon enough for an entity of economy.
She did not mind. This was worth it, thought the entity. Because Gary was perfect. He made her forget all her misfortunes, in the joy of watching him work. Their time together, though one-sided, would be time she cherished. Gary was finally happy. And Debt was in love.
---------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | I let out a long sigh as a young woman, dressed in something that belongs on the set of Oedipus Rex or 300. Not that I had actually seen the play- or the movie, for that matter, but an History Major can dream. "Look," I muttered, "I can't talk right now. I've got an important paper to finish."
The women gives me a steely gaze. "I have come with gifts, my beloved. I come to make you ruler of the earth."
"Athena," I growled, running a hand through my mess of a haircut, "I've told you in the past: you really don't want me ruling the earth. Plus I think that the earth has some pretty decent leaders at the moment."
Athena came up to me, watching me type over my shoulder. "But you yourself have said that I should look at human culture to understand what your kind likes."
I rammed my forehead with the butt of my hand. "The Iliad and centuries worth of dictators are not the right way to look at human culture-" I paused, frowning. "Okay, that might not be the best example. Aside from the dictators, what else did you look at for romance?"
"I specifically recall you mentioning your love of the War of the Roses. I assumed that that would be an accurate-"
I rammed my head against my keyboard, making gibberish appear onscreen. "Look, Henry Tudor married his second cousin or something of that ilk. My interest in that time period is purely academic." The goddess gave me a quizzical look, which made me sigh. "Alright, look, let me finish my paper in peace, and I'll go out with you. One day. I have to get this in or I flunk. After I turn it in, I'm yours for a day. Deal?"
The goddess nodded and vanished. I took a deep breath and went back to writing my paper. I was probably screwed. But my grades would thank me later.
&nbsp;
"Athena," I muttered under my breath, "I know I agreed to go out with you, but what are we doing, exactly?"
"I used to do this all the time, back during the Trojan War," the goddess said grandly. "And, given what I have read of your papers, this will interest you greatly."
I felt my stomach drop for a second, and I momentarily fell. When I finally gained my balance, I found myself dressed in a Roman toga, and was standing in the middle of a burning Rome. Soldiers marched through the streets, cutting down those that fought against them.
I swallowed and immediately ducked behind the nearest pillar. "Athena," I spat, "what the hell is going on here?"
Athena frowned and gestured at the destruction going on around us. "Back in the day, watching the men at war was a great pastime of mine. I would root for who I thought would win. And while I did not think you would appreciate the Trojan War as much as I do, I did think you would appreciate a chance to watch what happened your precious Julius crossed the Rubicon. Firsthand, of course, for you."
I swallowed and snuck my way into the house, where I immediately hid under a table. "What did you not understand about academic interests?" Athena gave me a puzzled look. If I hadn't been hiding inside a city in the middle of a burning Rome, I probably would have felt some sympathy for her. "Look, I know you want to please me and all that, but getting trapped in one of the bloodiest moments of Caesar's career is not what I had in mind when I agreed to a date."
Athena let out a long sigh. "Mortals are so puzzling." But my stomach dropped once more, and we reappeared in my apartment.
I swallowed as she gave me a long stare. "What comes next?"
Athena fixed me with a long stare. "I figured we could play some war games."
"How about a nice game of chess?"
Athena tilted her head slightly. I guess she didn't watch that many movies. "That was part of my plan. While you humans seem to have some decent understanding of strategy, chess seems to be the most refined. Yes. That will do."
I grinned and sat down to play. I lost a lot, but you can't really outwit the goddess of strategy. Ah, well, at least it beat being in the middle of a burning Rome. Later, she decided to try and get me to learn how to be a general. I turned her down. But things went uphill from there.
I agreed to play her in chess the next day. And the next. Use your imagination for the rest. | 2016-04-20T19:27:26 | 2016-04-20T19:05:10 | 413 | 28 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | The first things I can remember were steel bars and a wooden cart. I hadn't yet grown enough to control my form, and could only take the instinctual shape of a chest. As the darkness passed and the sun rose, a man in a flamboyant robe and top hat appeared and began peddling.
"Come one, come all, see the magnificent transforming creature!" he would proclaim as townsfolk would pass by on the road.
After many rounds of this speech, a sizeable group of all ages had amassed peering through the bars at my seemingly normal appearance. The man, satisfied with his audience, grabbed a branding iron from his bellows and approached the front of the carriage. He reached through the bars and pressed it against my flesh causing me to contort and writhe from the searing pain.
"Witness the innocent appearance of this foul beast disappear as soon as it is provoked," he yelled, barely audible over my screams of pain.
Instead of empathy for my pain, the mob erupted in cheers and praises as they shoveled over their coins into the absurd tophat of my captor. This continued for weeks, with larger and larger crowds coming from across the lands to view my torture.
However, one night everything changed. After the sun had set, I heard a rattling from the door at the end of the carriage, followed by a *click click click* as the door swung open. As the pale moonlight crept in, I saw the figure of a boy standing at the door. I braced myself for the torture to come, yet it didn't.
"Come on, you're free now," he whispered as he left the door frame.
I scraped my way out of the carriage and into the neighboring woods where I stayed for the coming years feasting on animals and learning about my talents. One night on a visit back to town, I saw the same boy from that day. Suddenly, I felt a sense of debt to my silent savior. I made it my mission to return the favor.
I took many forms over the years: a table in his home, a rock in his yard, and most recently a chair in his tavern. My life in the tavern was all that I could ask for. I got to hear wonderful music and hear tales from adventurers near and far that would stop for a drink and a place to rest. I was nourished by the sloppy drunks who would spill their foods and drinks. Most importantly, I could stay close to the man. I watched as he grew and developed his family with a wife and two kids, unfortunately, I also watched as his youth petered away and his daily tasks became harder and harder. Although his body aged, his soul stayed the same kind and thoughtful one that saved me on that fateful night. He always allowed the less fortunate to stay in the tavern's empty rooms and gave them a warm meal.
Tragically. as often happens, his kindness was taken advantage of. One day near dusk, a group of local urchins busted their way through the tavern's doors with their broadswords drawn. Grabbing his family and yelling for all of his gold in exchange for their lives. I knew this was my moment to repay my eternal debt. As the ruffians turned their back to me, I leaped towards the first one, ripping their head clean off. The others turned to run but weren't faster than my claws as I slashed through them. Once my frenzy was done, I saw the fear on the family's face and it wasn't until the man saw the brandings covering my skin did he realize what I was. Although I can't talk, we shared an understanding at that moment, I had not forgotten his kindness and would never leave his family's side. My life stayed as it was before as a silent protector of the family, however, the kids made sure to slip me leftover food and water instead of the scraps I would eat before. | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T08:36:29 | 1,468 | 11 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | Please, no more “he said weakly as he sits hunched over in his throne.
He lifts a shaky hand to his eyes to cut the glare emanating from the piles of gold, rubies and diamond that loom so high they could be mistaken for walls.
“Oh, don’t be that way” The large man says as he snaps his fingers causing a mountain of gold to appear. The old man shows his frustration by running his gnarled fingers through his wispy hair as another tear run down his wrinkly cheeks.
“Why won’t you just leave me be?”
“Friends don’t abandon each other!” the large man says as he does somersaults around the smaller piles of gold coins.
“But it’s been a five centuries”
“You were the one who said, *The large bearded man pulls out a pair of tiny glasses and reviews what appears to be a stenographers record*and I quote- "I want our love to last forever" I gave you that. You will love *her* forever” he said as he points to the ornately decorated alabaster urn, the final resting place of a long dead woman.
“It was just a romantic sentiment” the old man says with a sob as he stares at a faded picture of a beautiful woman.
“I gave you what you wanted. I’m still giving you what you want.” The large man says as he lands lightly in front of his friend.
“You wanted to be rich. I gave you all the wealth you could imagine”
“You've made gold worthless.” the old man interjects!
“You promised your Kingdom a thousand years of peace. I have given you that”
“You destroyed all the other Kingdoms with disease and fire! You left thousands of refugees to die a slow painful death in the barren wastelands that remain”
The large man smiles as he nods. A large hand appears behind him and pats him on the back.
“You blue skinned devil. I wish we’d never met”
“You're all out of those. What I do now comes from the kindness of my heart.” The big man says with a boastful smile on his face.
The old man pulls a diamond encrusted gold handled knife from his sash. He opens his mouth and with a quick slash cuts off his tongue. A gurgling scream escapes his lips and his body trembles in shock.
The blue skinned man shakes his head in disapproval before snapping his fingers causing last ten seconds of reality to rewind leaving the old man’s mouth if not his mind, intact.
“Oh Al, What would you do without a friend like me?”
| I was destined to be great. I was blessed with the gift of royalty.
Not only was this taken from me but so was my life, taken by someone close to me. Set up. Convicted of my own fathers murder. Pushed out of my home and into the treacherous world.
Alone to fend for myself. Every turn brought a new fear to the surface.
I was taken in by a pair of psychopathic and hallucinogenic outcasts. I was young and scared by their constant, indistinguishable rambling but out there, there was nothing. Unknown was there way of the world to me. Forced to eat things I did not want to eat and live by a policy I did not understand, nor do I believe, did they. Sent in to a state of mind that I no longer think was even real. I was sure there was no hope left and I was to be devoured by the world that these two proclaimed to be living in.
I still had my past. It haunted me. Every move I made meant an aching so deep it made my bones hurt and my heart feel pain like no other. I felt free, but also, far from it.
The pictures my mind brought to the surface were horrific. The sound and smell that came with it just made it worse. Bones cracking, the mixture of the scent of a wild beast and dust stung like a dagger.
I was brought back. Saved from the tortures of the wilderness. Saved and blessed by an angel from above. After I had left, my previous life and everything in it had disintegrated. Overrun by an army. Taken from the people I once loved and lived among. People I was destined to lead.
When I returned, I faced a life I no longer remembered. I did, however, know it was never like this. The place was covered with opposing forces. The war was fading, the food supply was wilting and land was barren. The man the now call king and I once called family was no longer fit to be apart of mine. | 2014-08-04T07:31:04 | 2014-08-04T05:25:37 | 118 | 37 |
[WP] You discovered the ability to time travel. You go 30 years into the future expecting to meet your future self only to discover that you've been missing for 30 years. | He's been up for more hours than he'd like to think about and has drunk enough coffee to sink the titanic, but it worked.
At least according to the half dozen clocks he has stacked around his desk, it worked. They are all exactly three minutes ahead of the watch on his wrist.
Time travel. Most of his colleagues at the university think he's crazy, but he actually did it. He should go to sleep... shut his lab down and sleep for enough hours to get his brain to stop skipping around like a scratched disc, but he wants to try it one more time. A bigger jump.
It's the holiday weekend, he's pretty sure it's Friday by now, no one will come looking for him till at least Monday morning when John likes to drag him out for breakfast because "Thomas, you should at least start out the week eating real food."
Because peanut m&m's and coffee aren't considered a balanced meal to some people.
So one more jump, three days, and then he'll sleep for a week and eat whatever green thing John tries to shove down his throat.
He wakes up on the floor. It takes him a few heartbeats to even figure this out as it's pitch dark where he is, and quiet. Gone are the various lights of his lab and gone are the sounds of running machines. He spends longer than he'd like to admit getting to his feet and he can practically feel his brain trying to reboot as he stands there in the darkness and decides what to do next.
The best his dragging mind can come up with is to find a light source. He left his phone on his desk and the only light he has on him is an old Zippo lighter. The flick is familiar and mindless and soon he has a small pool of warm light surrounding him.
He somehow ended up in a storage room. There are crates stacked ceiling high all along the back wall and tarp covered objects all around him. Holding the lighter up, he finds the door behind him, and more importantly, the light switch.
Turning the light on doesn't really help him make any more sense of where he is or how he got there. He should have only moved in time, not space. Looking at his watch, he was unconscious for 30 minutes at the most, so if his calculations were correct, it should be early Monday morning.
There's nothing to it but to go out the door and figure what when wrong and how the hell he managed to move in space as well as time.
As soon as he opens the door, alarms start sounding loud enough to cause him to slap his hands over his ears and the accompanying flashing lights makes his stomach roll over. He's crouched in the doorway, fighting to stay conscious when he hears a shout over the alarms constant blaring.
He makes out a dark clad humanoid figure coming towards him through his watery vision before losing his battle and falling unconscious.
He wakes up, once again, flat on his back, though this time on something considerably more comfortable. There's a low hush of voices to his right, the words slowly starting to make sense.
"...has to be a prank. I mean, every one knows the story, crazy scientist goes missing...hell a few years ago they caught some students trying to preform a seance in the building! I think we're even coming up on the annivery of when the guy went missing."
"And he just faked the DNA? Or how about the thirty year old ID chip in his wrist?"
He doesn't hear the guys rebuttal because one thing gets stuck in his mind and has him jerking his eyes open. "Thirty years?!"
Might do more later :) thanks for reading
| You know the sci-fi stories of last generation, where they had 50's wives tending in a flying kitchen, flying saucers with millions of buttons? It's the bane of predicting the future - you don't know what you don't know. You can't help but let your world's landscape and culture flow into your idea of the future. It's why so many people have first leaped to making a time machine. But you can't learn to run before you learn to walk.
You can't be too cautious when it comes to time travel. It throws out the axiom of thought all of us have taken for granted, right out of the hypothetical window. Cause, then effect. But when you start dealing with this sort of thing, they can have a complicated and paradoxical relationship.
Anyway, I digress. During the initial breakthrough, I saw through the sensationalism. I knew how I could build up this technology. Assimilating it into everyday life without anyone noticing. Remember that iconic line, "about 30 years"? My first test was about 30 Planck seconds. I'd constructed a crude helmet, with a colour changing material in it, looped through time. When I activated it, it split the universe into several possibilities, each with the material being at a different colour phase. Depending on the colour my future self would see, they would choose an action - the brain activity would then be relayed back to the past.
You know nothing about the far future. But by giving yourself an idea of everything that could conceivably happen within 3 seconds makes you a helluva lot more prepared. As Ken M once said, if you don't see your mistakes coming, you're bound to repeat them for the first time. But believe me, it's not easy being smacked in the brain with so many conflicting scenarios. Another axiom removed. One thing at one place at one time? Not anymore.
I built myself up, with a longer time length, and a greater number of parallel universes. I wasn't confident in my abilities until I could see a full week into the future. With me always choosing the optimised route, all the other failed versions of my future self ceased to exist. Not even I remember the countless mishaps and mistakes that undoubtedly happened.
Finally, I was ready. Time to travel that 30 years. Having bombarded my mind with a full week's worth of possible outcomes, I had come to appreciate exactly how unpredictable the universe is. But sometimes we must take a leap into the unknown, although not without preparation.
As soon as I entered the future, I activated my helmet. All the futures I saw were all subtly different, but in almost every single one I eventually learned out to use what the internet had become, and searched up my name.
All I found were Missing Persons reports and articles about my disappearance. Dated Monday, June 18, 2018.
****
Thanks for reading! I saw this post at 1am and thought, I'm crap at writing but I love time travel so I went for it. | 2018-06-17T06:06:14 | 2018-06-17T05:12:19 | 83 | 14 |
[WP] Gods get their powers from humans believing in them. When that belief fades, the God looses his power and must live as a human. Your a god whose lived as a human for thousands and thousands of years. When you woke up today however, you feel your God powers beginning to return. | A storm rages outside as you swing your feet over the side of your bed. Thunder roars as you slowly slip your shirt over your chest. You can hear the hammering rain on your roof as you put on your boots and tie your laces. After a quick swig of wine from your bedside mug you begin walking to the balcony of your apartment. A movie from last night is still playing in the background.
"Fate wills it so."
Your ears prick up at this line.
"And what if your wrong."
"Then...what more could I lose?"
Those words burn through your skull as you stop dead in your tracks. *What more could I lose?* A bitter chuckle escape your lips as you begin to walk again.
Your mind goes back to Ragnarok, the day the prophecy was wrong. Balder, Sif, Frey, Freya. All gone. The other gods either scattered to the edges of the cosmos. Most likely dead. You were lucky. You landed on Earth. Lucky again that the fall from Asgard didn't kill you.
Reaching the balcony you scanned the skyline seeing a manner of buildings contrasted against the dark clouds of the night sky. Every so often a flash would illuminate the earth shaking the cheap apartment where you stayed. Gripping the rail till your knuckles went white you stared searching for nothing. Releasing the rail you looked down eyes wide to see it dented and crushes. Your eyes dart quickly to your hands as you dragged back. *Could it be?*
You're shaken from your thoughts as you realise the storm has increased it's strength, sending rain and hail hurtling from the heavens. Quickly entering back into the room your braim begins to go into overdrive, however a knock is heard as the door. Slowly creeping over you look through the viewing glass, gasping. You open the door to see a man, blonde hair precisely cut, blue eyes solemn. He holds an old dented hammer in his hand.
"Loki...we need to talk." | “War is hell.”
That was the belief humanity held today. The humans have taken their fates onto themselves, and left the gods to rot in the pages of history. They pray for their own survival, even as they throw themselves into the turmoil of combat.
None of them want war, a lone mercenary thought. In the millennia he has spent alive, war was the only thing he had come to know. As the belief in it disintegrated, he has been driven to the extent of worthlessness.
As soon as he lost faith in his own self, he would rest with his kin, the fellow legends that have been forgotten and laid to rest.
But just as the dust settled, a single ember flickered into existence. That light began to grow, and ignite into a trembling flame.
Someone, whoever it was, sought lust for conquest. Whether it be a man in his high castle, or a warrior who clings to his weapon, it was a belief that resounded itself in the cries for bloodshed.
On the battlefield, the lone mercenary’s heart began to beat again. Inside him, an unfamiliar power he had used long ago was trembling inside him once more. As the storm of war began to brew in the horizon, the empty heavens sang the cacophony of hellfire. | 2019-09-01T11:29:34 | 2019-09-01T09:37:26 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 78 | 46 |
[WP] Demons have finally discovered a way to summon humans and they take great joy in summoning humans to hell to do mundane chores in revenge for humans doing that to them for centuries. | I’d been sitting at my desk, idly scrolling through my thousand or so emails that I needed to reply to, check, and delete when it happened.
A drop in the pit of my stomach, a strong sense of misplacement, and a literal jerk and snap of my spine as my body tried to follow… *something*.
Then I was in hell.
No, I hadn’t had a massive heart attack and St. Peter told me that there’d be no pearly gates for me. Rather, I was now standing in the center of what could only be described as a reverse pentagram and strange runes. They were glowing slightly purple, and there was a haze of heat in the air.
Standing just outside the edge, was a grotesquely contorted body. If a person had been left out to scorch in the sun and then dipped in Ice water, it might approach the shade of red. His eyes where a human would have whites, were a glowing orange. His irises were pitch black. And he was hulking, huge, easily nine feet tall.
“Hello, Jonathan,” the voice that issued forth sounded like thunder, and shook me to the core.
I likely would have shit myself if it hadn’t just happened to my roommate, and a week ago to my best bud. And if it wasn’t happening to every person on the planet basically. New channels were broadcasting it every day.
So, while I wasn’t exactly prepared - I knew it was coming.
“What is going on?” I asked, already ready to go home. I could feel my shirt sticking to me as the heat made me sweat bullets.
“I have summoned you human,” he said. Grinning maliciously and putting his hands on his hips.
“I can see that -,” I paused, waiting for a name.
“Mordikai.”
“I can see that, Mordikai,” I repeated. “Now, what can I do for you? I’d rather not be here too long.”
The daemon looked slightly crestfallen that I wasn’t surprised, terrified, or even excited about this revelation.
“Well… I need some help,” he said in an almost normal voice. “I… I need my horns and claws polished.”
He blushed - or I assumed that’s what happened, for unlike a human he didn’t become redder, but instead a nearly radioactive yellow glow appeared on his cheeks and down his neck.
A menial task, and a servitude of sorts. Wonderful - at least it was something with an end goal. One of the new stories I’d covered was a man who’d been summoned for nearly a month, after he’d been asked to come up with a name for a daemon couple who couldn’t decide on one for their baby. They’d continually rejected every suggestion he’d given for weeks.
I shuddered slightly in pain for him, but stepped forward. Thank goodness I had four older sisters - I’d learned at some point how to give a manicure. Pretty sure it was when I was trying to hit on one of Leah’s friends.
“Do you have the equipment I need?” I asked, looking around. For as far as I could see was open, flat, and barren. The ground was cracked and fires burned from pools of molten lava. The skies were black and purple lightning danced across the skies occasionally.
“Yes, of course.” He motioned his hand, and a barber type chair, and a small table of items appeared. He sat down, and I walked over to look at the tools he’d provided. Files of various sizes, high and low gritted sandpaper, and even wax to shine everything once done.
I looked over him once again, mentally measuring the horns and claws trying to decide just how long I’d be here for. Several hours at least.
I took a moment to unbutton my collar, remove my tie, and roll up my sleeves. I could have at least been summoned while I was doing yard work or something - in clothing appropriate for this climate. Then I shook my head, laughing at myself silently.
Nothing I owned would be suitable for *Hell.*
\---
For more by me and others, check out r/redditserials | "Oh, for *Heaven's* sake!" Matthew Parayas snapped, having found himself, once again, in the center of a crudely drawn hexagon facing a smirking demon. "That's the third time this week!" He threw down his bag of groceries in exasperation and glared at the enormous, blood red servant of Hell before him, who stared right back, looking astounded.
"You — you don't look scared," he said.
"Well, of course I'm not scared! The first time, maybe, but this whole shtick gets a little old after a round dozen times!"
"But — but —" spluttered the demon, looking thoroughly taken aback. "You don't feel *any* fear? Not from me? Or — or the Hellfire?" He gestured at the huge plumes of midnight-black flames billowing upwards from massive craters around them, like geysers of fire. "Or the Creepers? The Hellhounds?" He motioned around at the living shadow creatures perched atop the stalactites protruding from the ceiling, flickering around like overgrown bats, and the enormous, monstrous dogs cantering around them, drooling acidic spit. Matthew, however, was not impressed.
"No, I don't!" he said fiercely. "Look, my family is waiting for me to come back with dinner so can we just hurry up and get this over with and send me back? What do you want this time? Will I be shoveling Hellhound droppings? Shooshing the baby demons? Cleaning Satan's toilet again?"
The demon stared at him, plainly thunderstruck. After a moment or two, in which Matthew continued to glower at him, he seemed to recover himself with a tremendous effort. "Well, no, you — er — won't be doing anything."
"*Meaning*?" Matthew barked.
"Well — er — see, the whole point of this summoning thing is to, well, torture the humans. Payback for what they did to us back in the day, you know? If you're not scared or anything, then — what's the point?"
"So you'll be sending me back?" spat Matthew.
"Well ... yes, I suppose so," the demon sighed. He raised his huge, clawed hands and held them out towards Matthew, chanting in a strange language. The hexagon beneath Matthew began to glow again; he quickly stooped, seizing his scattered groceries.
"Shit! The potatoes are all ruined! Baby Tommy *loves* potatoes!" he said furiously. "You better use your demon magic and whip me up a new bunch because I swear if I have to go home and tell my son that he's not getting mashed potatoes" — the light from the hexagon flared, enveloping him completely, but Matthew continued to snarl at the demon — "then the next time I'm summoned I'm coming back here and taking it out of *your* ass!"
He was gone in a flash of brightest blue, but his reproaches seemed to hum in the sulphurous air even after the light of the spell faded. The demon stood in stunned silence for a moment, then he rubbed his hands together. "Well, we'll just have to try again, won't we? Now ... who'll we get this time...?"
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" roared Matthew Parayas, who had just been summoned yet again.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-07-01T14:03:30 | 2020-07-01T13:30:21 | 1,455 | 553 |
[WP]You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago, today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor". | "And what could you *possibly* require from me?" Vernon asked. After selling his soul years before, he now stood at a somewhat remarkable six-foot-two, dressed himself rather well, and had money enough to retire at forty. Such was the life of one fated for eternal hellfire. "Getting my soul back would be nice, but- what of our deal?"
"Look, Vern. I just really need you to do something for me," said the Devil- although she was more commonly known as Kalysta. Throughout the centuries, there had been many rulers of Hell, and she was the most recent one. "It'll only take a few days. Our deal will still be intact, 'kay? Just one simple thing, and you can get back to your life."
"Does it involve drugs?" Vernon asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It does not," replied Kalysta, shaking her head.
"A short spree of ultraviolence?" Vernon questioned, craning his head a bit closer.
"Fuck no," responded Kalysta, crossing her arms.
"Banishing escaped hellspawn?" Vernon inquired, crossing his own arms in turn.
"No, but it's related to that," Kalysta returned. She went into her pocket, producing a wallet, which she spread open and pointed toward Vernon. Within was an identification card, in plain view, as well as...
A picture of a small, and rather cute, demon girl. She wore a dress, and bore significant resemblance to Kalysta.
"You want me to banish a child!?" Vernon exclaimed. "There's no way in-"
"Like I said, it's only tangentially related! Let me speak, you soulless cur!" Kalysta shouted back at him. "This is my daughter. She's got a piano recital tonight, but I've got some shit-eating hellspawn to track down."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I want you to go to her recital. Sit in my spot, clap when she's done, take her home, and put her to bed."
Vernon stared for a long while at the demoness. Finally, he let out a sigh. "And you'll return my soul, if I do so?"
"I said that's what I'd do, right?" Kalysta asked, putting her wallet away. "Are you gonna do it, or do I need to find some other, more desperate sap to bargain with? Mind, I'm asking *you*, because you seem to be among the most sane of the guys who've sold their soul off recently. Lots of those guys are weak in the head, but you've kept it together." She stared at him, for a short few seconds. "You don't seem stupid enough to cross me by messing with my daughter, is what I mean."
Vernon gently sighed, putting a hand to his face. "Very well. I'll do it. Having my soul back would certainly be nice."
---
I might finish this later, if there's demand for it, but as it is it seems fine.
Extremely untimely edit: check out [my sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/Probroscis/) for more various written stuff. If I end up continuing this, it'll be there. | "I need a favor."
The devil stood behind her. She thought that from her chair she could hear the sound of his hooves scraping against the stone floor. The girl did not turn, instead continuing along her task of dragging metal against stone.
"What favor is that?" she asked. All he could see of her was her red hair, tied into a knot at the back of her skull and giving way to her pale skin.
"My lady &mdash;"
"Margaery will be just fine for someone who owns my soul, I would think," the girl replied.
"I have come to return your soul." Margaery smiled, continuing her work with the stone and the metal. She lifted the steel toward her face to look at her reflection before wiping it on a cloth and continuing. She heard the scraping of hooves again.
"Why would you like to return my soul?" the girl wondered.
"Because I need a favor," the devil said. She turned then, laying her sword upon the wooden table and standing. Her dress swept against the floor - red as her hair and velvet. It was the only color in the room.
"My hair was brown once, do you remember?" Margaery asked. She walked from the table to a small window and looked out at the grounds. "When I first came to you and begged you to trade my soul for a favor. Do you remember that? You agreed. And with every person I killed, my hair became a little less brown. My skin became a little more white. I aged a little bit slower, almost like pieces of me were being torn away. My people left. I rid the kingdom of those vile monsters, but look where it got me in the end. A lone girl, a lone assassin, two centuries older and yet not a day."
Margaery turned toward the devil. "Was your hair once brown, too?"
"No," the devil said.
Margaery took a seat again in her chair. "A soul for a favor. Except I don't collect souls. I collect lives. I collect *heads*, and coins. So I'll let you give me my soul back, because as far as I see it I've already done you a favor. I've spent two centuries sending people to your doorstep. And then, you can ask me for my favor."
"And in return?"
"In return, I'll get your soul," Margaery picked up her sword, examining her reflection. "And for two centuries you will do my bidding. So, it's really up to you. Do you need a favor that badly?"
---
Thanks for reading :). If you're interested, check out r/Celsius232 for other stories. | 2016-06-27T06:58:27 | 2016-06-27T06:34:17 | 1,053 | 653 |
[WP]You are a guard in a video game. The main character thinks that they are always able to successfully sneak past you. They don't, you notice every time but would prefer not to have you and your friends be mercilessly slaughtered. | "Jorun, it's that guy again."
Jorun rolled his eyes. "Gonna need you to be a tad more specific, Karl. Lot's of guys around here."
"Oh, right. Uhm, remember the one that thought he could sneak around in full plate armor if he just stuck to the shadows?"
"Uhg, again?"
"Well, now he's wearing dragon bones."
"And that's your first clue," Jorun said sarcastically.
"My what?" Karl glanced sideways, and noticed how Jorun had his eyes shut behind the slits in his helmet.
"Your first clue. Actually it's your second. The first should have been when he *appeared in front of us out of nowhere*."
"I just figured I'd zoned off for a bit. You know how it goes."
"You didn't, the freak just popped up out of thin air. Oh, shit. There's clue number three."
"The fuck does he think he's doing?!" Karl shouted, earning him a bang on the helmet from Jorun's spear.
"Keep quiet, you idiot. How long do you think you'll last against the Dragonborn?"
"He's the Dragonborn? I thought he was supposed to some kind of savior?"
"For the world, yeah, not for the little guy. The little guy is always fucked. Best get used to it now."
"So we let him run wild and shout his way through whatever shitstorm he causes?"
"Oh yeah."
"That's messed up."
"It's not as bad as you think," Jorun said, a sly smile curling his lips. "The amount of treasure that fool dumps into the shops more than makes up for any damages he causes. He never even asks full price, just wants to get rid of his loot."
"But that only benefits the bigger shops, not the people in the marketplace that lose all their wares or Gods forbid their lives!"
"It does, actually."
"What? How?"
"The merchant's profit margins are so high that the taxes on their profit bring in enough coin for the treasury to cover all expenses due to 'Chosen Ones'. Even a resurrection once every few weeks is no problem anymore."
Karl blinked a few times. "I think I get it," he ventured. "If we try to arrest him, we might lose his business, and we can't have that?"
"Oh no," Jorun laughed. "But it's a brilliant excuse to use before the Jarl. Good thinking!"
Karl smiled hesitantly.
"No," Jorun continued. "We leave him alone because he can kill the entire garrison on his own."
This time Karl smacked Jorun over the head with his spear. "Next time lead with that info, and leave the speech on economics for after, you old smart-ass."
Jorun sniggered. "He's coming this way! Tell him about that shield you lost on your way to the Greybeards last week and that you'll be ever so grateful if someone could go and get it for you."
"What? I didn't lose my shield. The Captain would kill me!"
"Don't matter, tell him anyway. He'll be looking for it all over the mountains."
"Oooh," Karl said. "That shield. The one a troll snatched away near Labyrinthian."
"Exactly."
They grinned wide and waited for the Dragonborn to approach them. What good was being a guard if you didn't get to mess with anyone? | The ship hung between calm waters and a whitewashed sky. Up above, Soldier #3 could make the contours of Ursa
Major and others, sketches of memory and myth in the Milky Way canvas. It was windy and unseasonably chilly,
and Number 3 really hoped he wouldn't die again tonight.
There were steps, and a large box materialized itself in front of him. Clearly standing out between other boxes. He was on the outside deck, just him and the cargo and the nicotine-yellow lights of the poles. Through the cardboard walls of the fake-crater, he heard giggling.
He turned back to face the waves. The ship's lights painted white the dormant Atlantic. Waves of bright white,
crowns and jewels on the immense black stretching horizon to horizon. Behind Number 3, he heard the scraping. Footsteps dragging. The box was getting closer. He forced himself not to look.
Up on the second level balcony, a door came open, and Soldier Number 4 stepped out for a cigarette. He stopped
when he saw Number 3. A great distance between them – the two a faded dot to each other. Only living souls out there.
Number 4 saw the box getting closer too. He locked eyes on 3, or at least 3 thought he did in the dark and the
distance, and they nodded to each other in silent mourning. Number 4 shook his head. He sighed. He walked back inside the ship, calmly. Tonight wasn't his night.
Tonight was Number 3's night.
The box unfolded on itself, and from under it came Solid Snake – the Player. Always the Player. Number 3 closed his
eyes, and for a second all he heard was the dull blow of the wind, the deep gnarl of the ocean's silence, the
splashing of the waves down under. Carried in between those things, just like every other time he was killed, were the hollow echoes of his memories, his life onboard, his friends on the ship and on the training camp before, his family waiting back home, his kid, his house in Saint Petersburg --- all this life he'd have to leave behind yet again, all this happiness, love whispers and faded laughter carried with the smell of night and ocean around him as Solid Snake raised the pistol.
He opened his eyes and got into character. The moon hung low, and the wind had died down almost completely now.
Silence. *And how lovely and terrible it is to be alive,* Number 3 thought.
He sighed, only for a second. Then he widened his eyes, jolted and said "What!? Who's there!?" in his standard 'startled' tone, and then he was shot down and died. Again.
The ship followed its steady course through the open waters. Somewhere in upper levels, Soldier Number 4 lit a candle for the death of his friend. He cried into his sleeve so he wouldn't wake up the others.
___
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2017-05-29T01:45:41 | 2017-05-28T21:41:34 | 191 | 113 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I looked at the gold in the basement, piled right in the centre with a molten spot, and somewhat organised gems and other valuables on the shelves. It was a den of a small dragon. That explained something. Why my wife never ate eggs, loved laying in sunlight and was rather cold to touch. Why she didn't told where she worked before. And why she said she was sixty. Why she ate feeder insects with ease. And why my bearded dragon was infatuated with her.
It also raised some questions. I got upstairs and fed my pet two mealworms. Female harpies lay eggs every month or so. I had a classmate that enjoyed this eggs regularly. Najas do that too, but four times per year. Do dragons lay slugs?
-- Sweetheart, I'm home! Could you help me with bags?
-- I'm running!
I picked up a bag with groceries and frozen mice for our pythons. Then she made us tea. I sat across the table and asked directly.
-- Why didn't you told me that you are a dragon? I don't know what conditions you need and I can't check if your diet is healthy enough. What about temperature? Basking spots? Humidity and shedding? Slugs?
-- Oh? How? Did you found my sheds? And don't worry, I'm fine with normal human conditions.
She was a bit confused. I stood up and gently stroke her cheeks.
-- Honey, "fine" doesn't mean "good". Our noodles were fine in a tank, but they feel better in a bin. I don't want you to live in a tank. I found your nest. I haven't touched anything, don't worry.
She rubbed her head on my arm.
-- You totally got me. I'm really okay. Dragons don't usually lay slugs, moreover, all that hot nights paid off. The only thing I would like to add there will be ultraviolet lamp.
-- Oh, my love. Let's go buy it this weekend.
People say you can never have too many reptiles. You will always want more. Well... Seven months later I will have to test this statement in terms of dragons. | I look at the massive pile of gold in shock. There must have been a ton of it. It included a wide variety, bars, coins, jewels, statues and any other cold fixture you can think of.
But more terrifying was what layer on top. My girlfriend, Jessica, splayed out in a red dress made of some odd scales that stuck close to her skin. Too close. As I watched her from the shadows, the dress spread across her until the scales covered her entire body. Claws sprung from her long and delicate fingers and horns emerged from her head. Slowly she began to grow in size and her mouth curled out into a maw. Wings emerged from her back.
Within a minute, an honest to god dragon was laying there.
“Alright John. You can come out now.” The voice grumbled out from the slimy maw of what was supposed to be my girlfriend.
“I- I don’t- this has to be a dream- what the he-“
I couldn’t even scrounge up some words.
“I’m so sorry mortal. This deception of mine has been most… cruel. And I am going to have to kill you know.” The voice sounded hushed and factual. I was to stunned to speak.
“You see John, my name is not Jessica Mankind. It is Jelandra. Quite a funny trick of world play wasn’t that?” The deep and growly voice cackled and continued,
“No point in explaining”
As her flames drowned me I remembered the first thing I told her.
That I was the manager of Fort Knox. | 2022-09-10T10:56:35 | 2022-09-10T09:51:49 | 63 | 47 |
[WP] You share a unique relationship with one of your parallel selves: when they receive a tattoo it also appears on you, and vice versa. You happen to have very different tastes, and so begins a passive aggressive cross-reality war fought entirely in tattoos and cover-ups. | When I was sixteen I found my first tattoo. I woke up one morning and there it was -- a tiny, thrilling stain at the top of my right arm. My parents would never have let me get one, and this, a tattoo that they could do nothing about, pleased me greatly.
I knew who it was from, of course. This kind of thing happened. Well, on the *exceptionally rare occasion*, it happened. "Universal wires sometimes get quantimly crossed," my physics teacher once told our class. We all knew she didn't have a clue how it worked.
My tattoo simply read: *Hello!* One short word; five letters that I would tirelessly try to pull superfluous meaning out of over the next five months. By the sixth month, my curiosity had piqued beyond reason. I knew my parents would ground me if they found out what I had planned, but it didn't matter. I had to reply. I had a tattoo inked onto the base of my left foot. The text was small, but legible. I knew it would be a long time before my parents found it.
*How are you?*
It was almost a week before he found it and responded. That was the start of a three year friendship between me, and *me*. I told him about my strict parents, and that we must be subtle; that tiny writing on our feet would work well. Being into Sherlock Holmes (*how had he never heard of him?*) gave me the idea of tattooing very tiny writing, that we would then read through a magnifying glass. We learned to tattoo ourselves safely but painfully, in order to save money -- I didn't have much, although he had plenty. Looking back I guess he didn't need to tattoo himself. I think he just wanted to make me feel better about having to doing so.
For a while, we were our own best friend. But our friendship slowly drifted apart, as most friendships do. Our interests were vastly different, as were our lives. I liked reading; he liked games. I liked animals; he liked space. He liked to joke and poke fun at me; I was sensitive and took it poorly. He was *me*, but we couldn't have been more different. Eventually, we both agreed to stop communicating.
It was ten years later that I woke up to a fresh tattoo. My wife noticed it first. She saw it, and looked at me and cried. It was scrawled down my left arm and I could tell that the other me had done the work himself -- it was messy and unsure. I wondered if he'd been drunk. *Elizabeth*, it read. The name of the girl I had been with for three years before meeting Kate. The girl who had broken my heart; the girl that Kate thought she was forever competing against. She wasn't.
He was trying to be funny; trying to make contact again with *a brilliant joke* -- the kind he used to make. But this was beyond the pale. I had it crossed out, and instead tattoo'd a great dragon over the area. "There! No more *Elizabeth*," I said to Kate, trying desperately to placate my wife. She loved dragons.
I wish it had ended there. But three more times I woke up to a fresh, poorly written *Elizabeth* scrawled across my body. And each of those nights I would tattoo an animal over it. An eagle; a lion; a dolphin.
Then, it stopped.
---
My mom passed away when I was thirty. I didn't even think about what I was doing that night, but I found myself wandering into a tattoo studio. It seemed natural to do so. And as the needle stabbed my skin, the realisation hit me.
I had two tattoos added that night. My mom's name. And, Elizabeth.
It was a month later I found the *thank you*, inked in tiny text onto the base of my foot.
---
Thanks for reading. If you'd like to read any of my other stories you can find them on: /r/nickofnight | The alarm on my phone started to go off. I rolled over and realized the date. December 16th, 2016. It's the eight-year anniversary since the worst day of my life. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and then proceeded with the annual tradition of tracing the shape of the tattoo on my arm. It was a simple tattoo, a heart with a name etched into the middle of it, Hannah.
We were college sweethearts. We dated for years and talked of marriage. I got her name etched into my arm, and she etched my name into hers because we knew we were destined for each other. But fate can be cruel.
I had convinced her to take the afternoon off of work. To go home, and get into the fanciest dress she owned. We would go to dinner, and I would propose.
We never made it to that dinner reservation. They probably called my name. "Table for two, reserved under the name of Arthur. Table for two?" Instead, we were at the hospital. Hannah got into an accident on her way home. She was hit by an idiot who ran a red light. It wasn't supposed to be that way. She didn't make it.
I finished tracing the shape of the heart and her name in the darkness of the house and proceeded to the bathroom to get ready for work.
The bright lights above the bathroom mirror blinded me momentarily as my eyes adjusted. I looked at the heart tattoo and noticed something new below it. It was a rainbow that came from the bottom of the heart and went all the way down my forearm. Near my wrist, the rainbow ended, and a crudely drawn creature was there.
"What the Hell!"
My voice echoed through the empty house.
"What is this? A dog farting a rainbow?! And of all days! The most important business meeting of my life is today!" I furiously scrubbed, but it wouldn't come off.
----------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes gently fluttered open. The sunshine was beginning to filter in through the drapes in the bedroom. A light tickle was going up my arm near my heart tattoo.
"Debbie...? What are you doing out of bed?"
"Shhh, daddy, go back to sleep. I'm not done yet and you are going to ruin the surprise."
I watched the little six-year-old work with her little tongue slightly sticking out, concentrating heavily. Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunshine.
"Debbie, what are you doing to my arm?"
"I'm giving you a 'tattoo' daddy. One to go with mommy's." She was sketching it with different colors of sharpie markers. "Look daddy! It's a rainbow, and then at the bottom, it's a unicorn!"
I quietly smiled and enjoyed the moment. I loved my little girl. I loved being a father. Just then, I felt a hand come across my chest, followed by a familiar sweet voice.
"Hmmm... Good morning honey."
I reached over to give Hannah a hug with my arm that was still free. "Good morning love... Today is the eight-year anniversary for me proposing to you. You ready to celebrate later tonight?" | 2016-12-16T10:55:24 | 2016-12-16T09:51:40 | 788 | 84 |
[WP] The scariest of all hitmen has the silliest nickname. It makes unaware people laugh but people in the know shiver with terror once they hear it. | Alright love, see straight ahead from here down the aisle, that's the front door, right? And above it there's a neon sign that reads *"Rusty's"*. That's where we are. We're at *Rusty's*. And I don't know if you're lost, but let me tell you who sits where, alright?
Front left, right by the entrance, are small timers, their group doesn't even get a nickname like you'll notice the rest of the sections have. Most of them barely got an eight ball of coke to their name. Hell, for all I knew they might be skipping class to get front row seats to see big timers filter in.
Front right are *The Grunts*, low to mid level organised crime guys. Italians, Russians, Algerians, Jews, Afghans, Somalis. Anyone not from Asia or South America. Asian's had their own squats and the Southies were ran from out of town and didn't much like doing business with the locals. Anyway, they report directly to the guys on our right here, the Heads, but we'll get to them later.
This section reaps all the shit jobs. Whenever someone clueless walks through the door and shiftys up next to the meanest looking motherfucker they could spot it's a bullshit job. Always. Scare my ex-wives new hubby type shit. Yada-yada. Low risk, low pay. For the most part. Sometimes if it's not a piece of cake gig a damn lucky pipsqueak from front left will be invited to come along. Provided they don't fuck up bad, they're now be welcome to sit on the right side along with their man whenever their man comes around. Which is most of the time because Grunts can't really offer to not be around for a shit job, however shit that job is.
Onto the mid-sections. Both left and right you'll find people with no idea how to do anything apart from that one fucking thing nobody else knows how they do. On the right you have *The Chips*. The kind of guy who can build you a six by three millimeter remote controlled toy car that can somehow drive on ceilings and rappel into the wide open mouth of your snoring victim, cause a heart attack, and drive back out again. Or, the kind of guy who'll show you a video of yourself being fucked in the ass by twelve cute little ladies with strap-ons that looks so god damn real you believe you must've just forgotten you did this. Seriously, it's fucking ridiculous. But, you know, since they cannot do a single damn thing other than whatever hyper unique thing it is that they do, they stay close to the door. God knows whenever they're actually needed they get paid better than anyone.
Left of the savants and autists that are *The Chips* you find *The Archivists*. Imagine the most unassuming guy in jeans and a hoodie who you'll look at and go "Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here? Give me your fucking chair." That's what you want to do, right? But you don't, right? Because it would be a big mistake. These guys are all pretty much Einstein without the clout, and they are. Heavily. Fucking. Guarded. They know who's working what job for which client for what pay, when and where it goes down, what the implications are, which assets are leased. They know so fucking much they could probably recite you the exact words your daddy told your mommy when they got divorced. If you now the first thing about the second thing you won't tell them a single damn thing not related to nothing. So shut the fuck up and keep walking. Talk to *The Fixers*, not *The Archivists*.
Part 1 | Flibbertigibbet. Nincompoop. Ninny. Rattlebrain. Doddypoll. Loon.
Over the centuries It had become known by many names. The first occurrence of the word Flibbertigibbet occurred in the 15th century, according to the human dictionaries, but they didn’t know the full story.
It was an assassin, forged from the dark energy humankind had sewn into the fabric of its reality through war and other atrocities. However due to humankind’s bizarre ability to be both kind and terrible to one another, It ended up manifesting as a rather silly being. It took pleasure in laying elaborate traps for its targets, and protracting the target’s fear and paranoia, driving them to the point of hysteria before completing It’s job.
Consequently, Its targets oft became the subject of ridicule long before, and often after their deaths. It had never been suspected as the culprit once.
Sometime around the 15th human century, It had become somewhat dejected and down. It had no name, and was feeling a tad lonely. One day, one of Its targets was referred to as “a bit of a flibbertigibbet” by an acquaintance at the wake. It was thoroughly amused by such a word, and decided that it would be a perfect name for itself.
Invigorated for the first time in millennia, Flibbertigibbet moved around the world, terrifying people out of their wits with its inane traps, until its targets died in ever stranger circumstances.
It took the name Rattlebrain after a woman in Paris became so scared of Trench-coats that she would scream and run away from them no matter where she was. She dared not tell a soul that “something” had been making her own Trench-coat dance around her house for the past six months, at 2:22pm on Wednesday afternoons. Eventually Flibbertigibbet’s trap succeeded. It threw the coat at her, she began to run screaming down the stairs, before tripping and falling to her doom. The police found her pretty quick and wrote it off. “She was a Rattlebrain anyway, afraid of coats… oh look, bet she thought it was after her.”
And so Rattlebrain proceeded to take out targets flawlessly. Never being caught. Some humans knew that each and every one of these words referred to It. Some passed on the legends. Most did not. But those who knew shuddered, and were always on the lookout for strange goings on. It had to avoid these people, but there were always more!
Did you ever hear that when trains were introduced to the United States, people supposed women ought to not go on them because their uteruses would fly out if they accelerated to high speeds?
That was It, trying to spread mass hysteria for the umpteenth time. Little did everyone know that It had actually made that happen once. A woman in New York was afraid of it happening, and her husband called her a “Ninny.”
Naturally, Ninny waited until the train started accelerating before succeeding yet again… | 2021-05-03T09:06:09 | 2021-05-03T08:49:56 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Demons are a species that feed on fear for power. The more feared a Demon is the more powerful they become. When an orphaned Demon is adopted by a human couple, they discover that love is much more powerful than fear. | "But dear....it's just a baby!", begged Josephine.
David stood still, his arm raised up high, a knife grasped within his hand reasy to strike the infant demon. His wife's plead broke through his rage of the infernal species.
"Josephine, let go! Do you not see what they're doing to our village? They destroy everything!"
In the midst of their complicated conversation an assault was happening outside the rubbles that was their home. An army of demons hailing from the demon castle razed the human village, not for food, not for treasure....just for the fun of it.
The damned creatures thrived on fear. To them fear was almost like an addictive substance, a source of euphoria, a spring of ecstasy. Hunting humans were almost like a past time for these abominations.
"David, please! This demon hasn't done anything to anyone. Its parents were killed already, it's all alone in this world! Please spare its life!", Josephine begged.
David looked at his wife then at the little cooing bundle in pity. He looked at its yellow eyes, small horns, and bright red skin. Aside from these difference it looked just like a human baby. Reluctant but relenting he lowered his knife, nodding to Josephine whom in turn picked up the baby, cradling it in her embrace.
Thus the night calmed down, only a handful of human survivors was left as the invading horde flied back to their castle. In despair they made their way to the nearby village to get help, but not David and Josephine. With a baby demon with them they fled the opposite side to the mountains. Planning to hide and in the meantime care for the baby, until they knew what to do next...
><><><><><
Months went by, the couple had settled in a quite site by the river just outside of a forest. They had come to care and love the demon child, affectionately named Rafa. Growing faster than a normal child would, Rafa grew to be an energetic child much to David and Josephine's dismay but they loved him nonetheless as any loving parents would.
"Josephine! Run! Run now! Take Rafa! Run!", David shouted passing through the forest at a terrorizing speed.
Josephine went pale and immediately grabbed Rafa tight by her chest, ready to escape their shack. A small group of demons had found them. Without any difficulties apprehending David and Josephine.
"Hah I thought I smelled a whiff of a demon here. Who would've thought there are humans caring a demon child here!", said the leader of the group to his underlings laughter.
"Rafa! No! Don't hurt him!", yelled Josephine.
"Oh we're not going to hurt him. He's going back with us to the demon castle. You on the other hand, will die painfully", said the leader mockingly.
David and Josephine closed their eyes, surrendering to their grim fate. The demons all laughed in pleasure, enjoying the fear David and Josephine emanated.
"Ma-ma...pa-pa...?", said a small voice.
David opened his eyes in disbelief, Rafa's first 2 words couldn't come at a worse time...
"Mama...papa...", he continued confused looking back and forth at his parents and the demon leader.
"Awwh look at him calling at you. He's gonna enjoy experiencing his first blood", the leader said raising his claw to strike.
"MAMA...PAPA!", Rafa shrieked releasing a burst of force unknown to the demons....a much stronger force than any of them ever seen. The burst exploded the demon's arm to bits, he yelped in pain.
"NO. HURT. MA AND PA!", Rafa shrieked again releasing the force much more stronger than before now, instantly disintegrating the demon leader and the 2 demons holding David and Josephine.
The rest of the group scrambled, flying away in fear for their life. Rafa shrieked once more releasing another burst which disintegrated the escaping demons instantly. The episode left David and Josephine stunned, speechless.
"Mama...papa...", calmed down Rafa called out to David and Josephine with his arms raised asking for a hug.
Josephine ran to Rafa embracing him tight, heart still racing out of fear. David joined them and the family hugged, safe and sound for the time being.
They didn't know what the future had for them, but one thing they were grateful for. Thank the gods they saved the baby. | The place was clean but cold. It felt more like an asylum than an orphanage. With each step Gary took, his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor, while his wife’s heels clicked. The orphans called it “The Song of Hope.”
Although he’d never been in an orphanage before, Gary found it odd that the children were caged like prisoners. Their tiny arms would stretch between the bars as people walked by their cells. Begging for someone, anyone, please save them from this wretched place.
“Kind of depressing, isn’t it?” Gary whispered to his wife, so as not to alert the gentleman that was accompanying them through the hall. His wife responded by elbowing him in the ribs.
“Alright, folks. Here he is,” announced the warden, or whatever he was. Gary leaned forward to read the clipboard hanging outside the cell.
“Interesting name. Is he European?”
“Oh, no,” the warden laughed. “Magdroth here is from the depths of hell.”
Gary had only squeaked about fifteen feet up the hall before hearing his wife say the words, “we’ll take him.”
Gary came to an abrupt halt. “WHAT!?”
“We’re keeping the boy, Gary.”
Gary quickly squeaked back to his wife. His face flush with panicked rage and his finger pointing wildly. “That is not a *boy.* That is a demon. We are not bringing home a demon.”
“But look at him.”
Gary turned to the grotesque little creature sitting casually on a cement bed, smoking a cigarette. Magdroth was completely nude and not at all shy about it. He blew a smoke ring towards Gary. “Take me home, daddy.”
“Oh, fuck that.”
But as is so often the case, Gary lost the argument and ended up adopting the demon. His wife, who might as well be named now—*but won’t*—grew to love the little hell boy. She called him “Mag” for short and he called her “babe,” much to the displeasure of Gary. They enrolled Mag into elementary school and signed him up for little league baseball. He excelled at both due to his ability to scare the shit out of anybody that got in his way. Mag enjoyed being around people, even though the feeling wasn’t mutual. He also loved loose women, but we won’t go into any details. Eventually the day came when Mag was ready to leave home. He’d grown to admire his new parents, his mom in particular, and was emotional about the departure. But he knew he needed to get out and experience what it was like to be independent.
“But you’ve only been with us a month,” cried Gary’s wife.
Magdroth placed a comforting claw on her shoulder. “I know, babe. It’s been a long time. I’m a grown man now. It’s time for me to get out into the world.”
“Absolutely,” Gary said as he dragged Mag’s suitcase into the living room. “Get out and, uh... do great things or whatever. Or just get out.”
Mag smiled and approached Gary. “Daddy...”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Daddy, baby.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
Mag embraced Gary’s leg. “I’m going to miss you.”
Gary tried to shake him off. “Okay. Well, I think your ride is here.”
Mag let go, looked Gary in his eyes, and smacked him on the ass. PTSD flashbacks ensued, bringing Gary back to a night before he was married. A night he wished to forget. The night he had been possessed by a demon named Ir’danok.
Gary fell to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly.
“That’s weird,” said Mag with a shrug.
Gary’s wife stepped over Gary’s trembling body and walked Mag to the door. Her heart broken by his leaving, but hopeful for his success. He was her little hell boy and always would be. | 2020-12-17T18:25:07 | 2020-12-17T17:38:30 | 425 | 90 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | "Nope, nope nope nope, not gonna do it." I stared at the young girl with tears in her eyes.
"But... but... mommy said if i dont clean Muffin's box then I can't play on the tablet." Her eyes well up woth tears. "But it's so smelly... I can't do it."
I look at the kitty litter box. It looked like poor Muffin had used it to the last grain. It was sitting out in the garage and the smell was horrendous. It looked like the whole thing would need to be tossed out.
"Please." She said again, her big brown eyes tearing up. She looked no older than 10, but damn was she irresponsible. She deserved not to play on the tablet.
I sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll help ya." I said grabbing gloves and tying a towel around my face. I made sure she put on gloves and a mask as well. "I'm helping. Not doing all the damn work." She nodded enthusiastically.
I nearly threw up as i attempted to shovel the mess. While we chipped and scrapped I wondered why my power brought me here for something so trivial. Usually I'm sent to more dire situations. People in peril, or at wits end. Hell, i was even sent to man just as he fell from a building, but this... this...
"No let me lift it." I said rushing to the girl as she tried to lift the kitty litter bag. We had cleaned and scrubbed the litterbox til it was almost looking new. All that was left was to put in new litter.
We poured it in and I smiled as she thanked me.
"I'm so happy. Now I'll be able to talk to my daddy." Her smile was bright and cheerful.
"Oh, are your parents separated?" I asked.
She nodded. "Daddy is far away. Mommy won't let me see him, but he talks to me all the time on the tablet."
"Where did your dad go?" I asked.
"Mommy said he went to see God. And that we'll see him later. But daddy says I can see him tonight." She looked excited. "I just need to tell him when mommy is asleep so he can come in and see me."
"Ah I see." I said crossing my arms. That was why I was here.
I walked out the side door to the garage as she ran in and told her mommy she was done. I decided to camp out and wait for this girls "daddy" to come see her.
It was around 9pm when i saw an SUV pull up, lights off. A guy dressed in all black climbed out of the backseat and began sneaking to the girls house. Just as he began scaling the wall several lighta lit up the man and the SUV as cops rushed over to apprehend him.
There was a total of three men in the car. Between them they had several pictures of young girls, and a few chats as well. As they were led away i tapped the wall four times, ready to move on. | It’s been with me a while now, and the paranoia has certainly set in. The all too sudden change of being in one place then popping into another is both horrifying and exciting. Every now and again I keep thinking that I’ll be listening to music and maybe I’ll start subconsciously tapping on my desk or table and...poof, I’m in Zimbabwe or some other country I couldn’t find on a map if I tried.
Although that whole idea never overshadowed the main idea; if I’m there, I’m needed. For some random unbeknownst to me reason, I’m needed. I actually haven’t used the power in a while, I’m on a bit of a vacation, or was, I guess. I reached over and put on my water proof boots. My feet fitting snugly in. I haven’t had to bust these bad boys out since that typhoon hit Japan last month. And they did nothing except weigh me down. Although here I think I may need it more.
I grab my pack and do one last check of everything. First aid kit, rechargeable batteries, heavy duty flash light. Purified water, and some energy bars. I don’t really have anything to help out a specific problem, then again I work much better doing what I can for everyone when I decide to step in.
“How long has it been since the last one?” I muttered to myself as the news station emitted it’s low volume gargled sound. “Was it that earthquake? No, maybe that wildfire in the U.S.” my mind bouncing back and forth between the disasters I went to. Only for a feeling of guilt to set in promptly after reminiscing. How many people could I have helped if I didn’t stop? Would I still be here if I didn’t take the year off? Would some families still be together? Would there be less orphans in the world?
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. Feel guilty when the job is done.”
I glance my shifty eyes at the tv. The hurricane hit about 10 minutes ago, I can’t delay anymore. I zip my bag shut. Give myself one more look over, good.
“Alright, it’s now or never...let’s save some lives, me”
I reach my hand over on my wall.
Tap
Tap
Tap
I sighed, took a deep breath.
Tap | 2019-04-04T14:43:43 | 2019-04-04T14:09:00 | 80 | 56 |
[WP] You are a travelled drug-dealer in the state of New York and open a pizza place as a cover for a drug operation. In doing so, you find your true passion, making pizza. | I was in the kitchen when I first heard the commotion break out, just disembodied voices tangled in frustration and anger. A glass broke, then a plate, then children started crying, full of distress and grief.
I set down the dough I was kneading, wiped my hands hastily on my apron, then gingerly retrieved my fire stick from its hiding place and tucked it just under my belt. The cold steel against my flesh brought back memories I had fought so hard to leave behind, and my hands started trembling.
Outside, the first thing that caught my eye was the bright crimson, splashed all across the white tiles of my humble pizza parlor…
“Sorry boss, I’ll get it all cleaned up. Don’t you worry about a thing, just two kids fighting during dinner, that’s all.” Jessica already had the broom and dishwipes in her hand, bless her heart.
It seemed that the fracas was almost over. The two adults at the booth in question were still admonishing their children when the father met my eyes, and something about my ashen, stricken face must have gotten through to him. He apologized profusely, slammed money down on the table, then hauled his family out before I could react.
The relief came in waves, so purifying that I almost crumpled on the floor. This was just children misbehaving, not a drug raid. There were no men in body armour, no vicious sniffing dogs, no threats of death looming just seconds away.
On my knees next to Jessica, picking up the slivers of broken china, I noticed that this family had hardly touched the 12-inch they had ordered. Briefly, a pang of regret at the wastage pricked my heart – this was not just pizza, this was an hour of my life. I recalled how the first few months learning was tough, and at times it seemed as if my pizza venture would never take off. Either the crust would be too thick, or the dough too salty, or the toppings too cloying…
But I persevered, because I yearned for the day that customers would give me the same look of anticipation they had back when I was selling them packets of Genie’s Spit, or Booming Bass, or Catfish Delight, or any one of the hundred other concoctions on the menu. Insatiable eyes, eager hands, hushed ‘thank-yous’ as money and product exchanged hands.
I missed the satisfaction which came with that.
I can’t recall when things changed, but perhaps it was that weekend a few months ago when I finally cranked out my first serviceable pie. It tasted right to me, and the passersby I handed out free samples to seemed to agree. Everyone finished their slices, and no one threw theirs away. The warm sensations I felt, knowing that my two hands brought a moment’s respite to others, sated their appetites…
That accomplishment I felt then dwarfed all the other highs of my drug-dealing career, beating out even that time I managed to slink right past customs with twenty blocks hidden in my car boot. It wasn’t an adrenaline rush, more a spreading, blossoming sense of having done something right.
And that, I found, was all that mattered for me.
The chimes on the front door rang, and I looked up to find that the father had returned, alone this time. He wrung his hands for a while, then approached me, trepidatiously.
“Hey, you the boss here? Sorry about all that, I hope I tipped enough for the mess.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, smiling wanly. “Anything else I can do you for?”
“Actually… yes. Could I get another order, to go this time? Two Hawaiian, with extra toppings?”
“Er, mister, you sure? Jessica told me that your kids had refused to eat, fighting between themselves when you pressed them to finish their dinner. If pizza’s not their thing, maybe you might wanna get something else for th-”
He laughed then, a hearty chuckle which resonated through my bones.
“Oh no, no, you’ve got it wrong. They were fighting over who would get more slices! It’s their second time here, and they’ve been asking for nothing else all week. We wanted to teach them a lesson by letting them go hungry… but my wife, she’s the smart one, she said that why not just get two this time, make sure there’s more than enough to go around?”
He held out his palms, smoothened twenties between his fingers, a smile on his face. There was a look in his eyes which said that I would be seeing him again, soon.
I had never rushed so quickly to fill an order before.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | Ding!
The door of the pizzeria opens. A man is seemingly carried in by the wind. The man behind the counter knows immediately what he wants. He has the look. Run down, beaten up, and just looking for his next chance to not be so damn conscious. The drifter nervously approaches the register.
"Do you have any of that..um..*special* pizza?" He asks in a scratchy voice.
"Yes sir I believe we do. Follow me." The man behind the counter says, winking on the sly. He turns and opens a door marked 'EMPLOYEES ONLY'. The drifter follows. As he enters the room he is greeted by an amazing aroma.
"This here's what you're looking for." The worker gestures at a machine in the middle of the kitchen. It seems to be cooking pizza.
"Really? It seems so...normal," the drifter replies in disbelief.
"That's what I thought, too. But this baby does deep dish, and some of the cheese filling in the crust!" The worker says enthusiastically. The drifter is confused. He is admittedly not up to date on his code words, but deep dish? What could that possibly mean?
"So...is it better?" he asks. The worker is shocked.
"Have you never had deep dish?" he asks, appalled. The drifter looks at him, trying to figure out what game he's playing.
"No?"
The worker is blown away. His foundation has crumbled. The boss walks in. He doesn't even notice.
"Never?"
"Never. I've never even heard of it."
It's too much. This cannot stand.
"You have to try it! Right now!"
"Really? You'll just give it away for free?" the drifter asks in genuine disbelief. The worker feels a pang of sympathy. He resolves to do something good for the world.
"Absolutely. Deep dish pizza is something you have to experience at least once in your life."
The boss walks over to the conversing men.
"Hey Jerry, can I talk to you for a second?" he asks.
The worker holds a finger up to the drifter, gesturing that this will only take a minute. He follows his boss to the corner. They begin to talk in hushed tones.
"Who is that guy?'
"Some kind of pizza connoisseur. He came in and asked for 'special' pizza. Can you believe that? How did he know that we just got the deep dish machine? Seems a bit down on his luck, though."
The boss is very confused. The drifter was very obviously not a pizza connoisseur. If anything he seemed like a connoisseur of how to get high....Oh. The boss remembered his old business. Before he found his genuine love of pizza making. He had hired Jerry after going fully legit. Of course he wasn't going to know what this man was really after.
"Jerry...there is something suspicious about that man. I think he works for our competitors. How else could he know about the deep dish machine?" The boss says, thinking on his feet. A look of horror comes over Jerry's face.
"That's low. Even for them. Faking homelessness. I didn't think they had the nerve."
"I know. These are some sick bastards. I'll deal with this guy, but just remember this example, if anybody comes in here asking about our pizza, okay?"
"Aye aye captain. But please, let me deal with this clown. He made me trust him, I want to get to throw him out." The boss reluctantly yields with a nod. Jerry turns around.
"Listen bud, I don't know who you think you are, trying to steal our pizza secrets, but you need to get out of here right now!" he says with all the macho-ness he can muster.
"Look man, I don't know what kind of operation you got runnin' here, but do you have the coke or not?"
*'Shit.'* the boss thinks.
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-04-08T19:24:32 | 2017-04-08T17:43:31 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] There's a machine that shows you all the times in your life you narrowly avoided death. You use it and, to your horror, almost every time it shows is you hanging out with your best friend. | I wanted to know how many times I’d cheated death. We’ve all done it a few times at least, making that split second call to narrowly avoid a car accident, a fall down a flight of stairs, a dark alley on a quiet night that just doesn’t feel quite right.
But I wanted a number, proof. I wanted to know.
The machine was a clever thing, a look into the past, along timelines that science had only recently discovered how to read. It was somewhat useful for future sight as well, but I wasn’t interested in that. Only the rich had access to those secrets. But even someone as mundanely middle class as me could afford to gaze into the past.
And gaze, I did.
It began when I was young, brushing death in my cradle as I fell asleep in a poor position, nearly crushing the air from my new lungs. It progressed through my youth and the car that swerved to avoid me as I chased my ball out into the street. And then there was Bennie. And Bennie. And Bennie again.
From our first meeting two months ago, every day until now. Every time he looked at me, his smile showing too many teeth. Every time we sat down together on the couch to watch TV. Every time we went out, his gait slowly changing, too subtle for me to catch, though obvious when laid out like this on the screen.
The projection ended, and I was left sitting in the chair, stunned and confused. There was a small readout at the bottom of the screen, a list of potential causes of death. I found the memories involving Bennie, and I read through them carefully, over and over, sure that there must be some error, some mistake.
But no, the narrowly avoided cause of death was always the same.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t fair. I’d lost my previous best friend a year ago, a victim of cancer at the ripe old age of 22, and in the months that followed, my emptiness had driven me to go out for a long walk in the park. That’s where I’d met him. Bennie had been there for me. Bennie was a small bright spot in my days, and he helped heal the empty place Gracie had left when she’d died.
And now this.
I thanked the secretary as I left the offices and made my way home slowly. On the way, I made a call, listening to the technician, the warnings, and the demand to bring Bennie in immediately. I said yes. What else could I do? Bennie was there to greet me when I opened my apartment door. His wide grin showed each and every one of his gleaming white teeth. White teeth, each one a potential needle bearing a lethal injection.
“Hey, Bennie,” I said quietly as he leaped up and tried to lick my face. I held him back, and he ran around me in a narrow circle as I got out the leash and hooked it into his collar. His tail wagged, excited at the thought of going out for a walk. “We’re just going to make a quick trip to the vet. Then everything will be okay.”
Bennie barked, a happy sound. Maybe that was the mercy of being a puppy. He was too young to know bad words like ‘bath’ and ‘bad dog’ and ‘vet’.
Too young to ever know the meaning of a word like ‘rabies’.
*****
r/Kathiana | I walk with Billy to the machine. He's this skinny guy who's always in a good mood, but, today, he is kind of pissed off. He doesn't want to go to the machine but I do. I'm a bigger guy prone to clumsiness. I need to know. The machine could tell me all of the times I narrowly avoided death.
"It's expensive, a stupid waste of money. It probably doesn't work," says Billy.
"People say that it does. Look, it might be good for a laugh or it might help to lose some weight, okay."
"You're fine the way you are."
"I'll pay your way too. You'll like it," I say encouraging him.
"No way, screw that. I don't want to know."
We come to the machine, a simple black box on the outside. There is a line. We wait in silence. I don't want him to use the machine, but I thought I would offer. We approach. It is nothing impressive so far. I pay my way and walk inside. I give a hair sample and a small blood sample. A helmet drops from the ceiling and a chair rises out of the floor. I sit down and put on the helmet. The video takes some time. There are dozens of near death instances. And, in every single one of them, Billy is present. A few times, he is caught red handed setting a trap. I can't believe it.
The video ends. My hands shake as I take off the helmet. I miss the hook for the helmet and jump when the helmet crashes to the floor. I pick it up and put it back on the hook and walk out to where Billy waits. I breathe deep and look at him. He stares back at me. I start to calm down and pull out my wallet. I give him the money.
"You need to go in there."
"You know the truth now."
"But you don't. Take it. See for yourself," I say.
Billy looks at me like this is a trick. It's not. He takes the money and goes inside the box. I wait for him, hoping he doesn't come out fighting. In a few minutes, Billy emerges with a smile on his face. We step away from the crowd growing outside of the machine.
"You son of a bitch. How many times have you tried to kill me?" He asks.
"The same amount of times you tried to kill me."
I smile and so does Billy.
"So what now?" He asks.
"I think we need a new target."
"Agreed."
***
If you enjoyed this, subscribe to my subreddit for free stories and giveaways: r/nickkuvaas. | 2017-07-02T10:16:43 | 2017-07-02T09:24:34 | 3,160 | 309 |
[WP] You were deathly afraid after being bitten, but now every full moon, your life improves for the better. Your bills get paid, your house is cleaned, and your schedule is set. You've come to see you have a lot to learn from your more responsible werewolf side. | There's a knock at my door. When I open it, I am met with a shaggy-looking guy scratching his neck and looking nervously about himself. "Sorry," he said. "Is your roommate in? We have an ... appointment."
"I live alone," I answer, before I am struck by a terrifying thought.
"No, man. Big, hairy fellow? Breath smells real bad? I know he lives here."
Taking a look over my shoulders, I see that I've let my apartment fall into quite a state again. Every full moon, I turn into a werewolf, and I have no memory of what happens. All I know is that if I make a to-do list beforehand, it all gets taken care of. Some money has been missing, but I am sure my better half has spent them wisely.
"You must have the wrong address," I say.
The nervous man shakes his head emphatically. "I've been coming here every month for close to a year. Wait. You're not some squatter, are you?"
I'm about to close the door on him, but then I wonder whether this guy is some were-being as well. Only more aware of his lunar proclivities than me. No. In that case he'd know that the lunar cycle isn't fully synchronized with our calendar, which is why I'm not changed this evening.
"You got me," I said. "He's ... not home right now. What did you come here for? A message?"
Putting his hand inside his jacket, I brace myself. This could go south fast. I breathe a sigh of relief when all I hear is the rattling of a bottle. Wait. A bottle?
"You got the cash?" asks the man.
"H-How much?"
He gives me a number, and it perfectly checks out with the money that has gone missing. Well, if it's something my werewolf self needs ...
After I hand him the money, he gives me a pill bottle, and he hurries off. At once, I let out a grunt.
Turns out my werewolf self has a Ritalin addiction. | Have you ever got bitten by a werewolf before? The pure fear ran through my body as I felt teeth sink into my neck. I truly thought my life was over, or I would spin the rest of my life in a laboratory or a facility. That didn't happen, my life was together each time there was a full moon.
I gripped my head tightly as I looked around, my room was clean? Everything smelt nice until I noticed a note on my nightstand. I read it to myself, "I took care of everything myself like always since you're too lazy to do it yourself. Enjoy your life until next week? I don't know we'll find out." The notes ended with a smiley face at the end of it =).
On instinct, I grabbed my phone and loaded up social media before seeing something on my for your page. After a couple of videos, I immediately noticed something that caught my eye, it was myself? A blonde hair adult standing in front of the mirror, then I turned the lights off and back on? It was my wolf counterpart, shirtless, thirst-trapping people, on the internet? Is this how he's getting enough money for all of this?
Maybe getting bitten by a wolf wasn't that bad after all? I will make sure to leave a note for him asking why he did all of this, but these comments simping over...,. wolf daddy? Is pretty entertaining to read. | 2022-01-04T15:45:59 | 2022-01-04T14:04:34 | 177 | 87 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | It felt strange, really. To feel the AC blast into my eyes once more, after what seemed like decades of "living". My head was swarming with old memories, found deep inside my brain as the new ones i made clashed and toiled.
This damn thing was clearly an addictive...drug, if you will. hastily checking the time, i saw only 2 hours had passed. 76 years of life compressed into 2 damn hours? my brain hurt, along with my body, as it struggled to get a grip on reality again.
"So, did you have fun this time?" said Mira as she walked up to my console.
"Actually, yeah. Got born into the middle class for once. Around the 2000s, too.Not some damn child worker in the 1890s." i replied, soothed by her familiar voice.
"Well, you missed dinner by a long time. Its cold on the table if you want it." she yelled across the house, heading for the bathroom. "for once could you not miss spending some time with me?"
"Hey, this is only the 3rd time." i retorted. "besides, your logged hours still dwarf mine."
i sighed, knowing arguing with her would be the end of my voice. i closed the program down, making sure to unplug my sensor from the computer. Hell, this implant was worth every credit i spent. Mira's, not so much. i glanced at the application one last time, whispering the words to myself as I shut off the screen.
"Life Before Geos, United States of America Edition."
| *GASPS*
"AAAARRHHHH FUCK!"
Black....everything was black....
I thought to myself, "this is death."
But I quickly realized I was still breathing. Eyes closed. Last thing I remembered was being crushed by an 18 wheeler that tipped on the highway while I was on my bike.
Fear, was keeping my eyes closed.
I was there in the darkness, not sure if I was laying down, or standing but I knew I was present. I was matter formed into something in the middle of somewhere. It felt like hours went by before i opened them. Finally, feeling some sort of calmness I just kind of let go. My eyes opened...
"F-u-c-k me"....
All I could say, and all I still can say.
Atleast the Doritos and Mountain Dew sitting here had double XP codes, no doubt in my mind I'll prestige next match! | 2015-11-24T23:03:11 | 2015-11-24T19:30:43 | 737 | 172 |
[WP] Humans finally reach the stars and realize that... We've seen all of this before! Galactic Council? Check. Proud warrior race? Check. Hive mind insects? Check. Frightening space boogeymen? Check. Ancient hyper-advanced Race? Check. And so Humanity ventured forth, knowing exactly what to do. | They showed up 4 years ago. That was all it took for them to cause a cataclysmic shit show unlike anything we have ever seen. They called themselves "humans"
A seemingly unremarkable species, at first. Compared to the zombie ships, wandering plant dragons, multiple hive minds like myself, and hundreds of other species ranging from sentient angry slugs to the borderline pacifistic galactic council, these hairless bipedal warm-blooded mammals looked like another unremarkable species in the vast expanse.
That is, until just under 10 of them took residence and immediately dominated the economical landscape. Another completely separate force heard the word "zombie ships" and in less than 6 months brought almost 90% of all known forms into extinction like an army of rabid Menglethogs.
Many forces that dominated the void we call home for literal centuries toppled like a stack of rocks getting kicked by a shoe. We are one of the few hive minds that remain, for the sole reason that we declared loyalty to the Galactic council, which is now ruled almost 50% by humans.
Curious, we studied the humans to see what it was that made them so scary, and the response was... Horrifying at best.
Every single interaction that have ever made, to us, feels like they already knew what we were going to say, think, and do so far in advance it's like they were born knowing what to do. The Txotan, normally considered the most stubborn species, hell-bent on a war path, was brought to nothing more than a few broken fleets by two outdated human cruisers and a reprogrammed AI. They nowadays almost never attack ships anymore. Miegroths, the space plant dragons, learned very quickly to check ships for even a vaguely human smell before even daring to approach, as humans had a tendency to horrendously burn them alive if they so much as bared their teeth. These humans knew almost every trick everyone had. And when questioned, they shrugged and said they saw it in a "book" or "movie".
They never shared this knowledge. In fact, when the humans first left their first planet, they made a race-wide rule, that so far has never been broken. "Do not show them our methods. No books, no stories, no movies, not even a meme. For any reason, ever."
The only time we have ever seen humans be defeated, by a force of equal size, was when humans fought each other. It's like watching demigods try to stab each other.
We really hope these creatures spill their secrets soon... Because we don't know how long the council will see us as allies. It's like these humans see hiveminds as their natural enemy. What the hell taught them this and why?
Recorded log 55, from hivemind "Biobond" while studying Capital Ship 511, S.S.S. Forward Unto Dawn of the UNSC | The stars then grew inside my view
when from the darkness, light came through
its then I saw what we always knew
Cthulhu's wings were poking through.
And so we sent a shuttle back
to help prepare earth for attack
to gear the children up - in fact -
it's this training where we grew.
We ventured out past Balder's gate
where Andromeda holds eyes at bay
the distance keeps beholder's gaze
from choking out our view.
But when you let beholders free
we know the pain they always bring
controlling nature's dumbest things
like goblins, bees, and crews.
Instead of falling for the trap,
we knew the secret to attack
the space where crews can't venture back
and bring us light to chew.
So when we crushed the eyes in there
we left the creatures in despair,
and sought to help them all repair
the life that they once knew.
Passed those stars is where we went
Until our engines were all spent
we found these insects on our backs
we could not simply cruise.
They sucked the brains from out our eyes
I watched young Winters lose his mind
and Summers lost his legs beside
where six high flying moons reside.
We sent the dead adrift in space
and told the tales of their escape
from life we knew the insects baited
towards the moon where their queen waited.
Phil was mad his son had died,
so its was his mind that we tied
up to the spaceship's smart AI
to keep him in our thrall.
We sent him down to kill the queen
we knew the drones would all be mean
a thousand legs and angry beams
dim darkness in their eyes.
Phil could never let it go
he'd never face his wife at home
until he stole the queen's dark throne
writhing, burned alive.
We made a song for Phil the brave
how in the night he found his ways
to fight the queen's unbroken gaze
full eyes that shown his doom.
Burn it, slice it, set it free,
Uncover what the stars had seen -
show us all of Phil's sweet dreams
of light in dawn or noon. | 2021-05-12T13:17:09 | 2021-05-12T08:17:04 | 115 | 23 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A bone-jarring impact jolts me awake, followed by a few seconds of searing pain. I try to sit up, but the searing pain keeps me on by back. After a moment, the pain begins to subside and I'm able to sit up and take stock of my situation. When I look down at myself I nearly pass out. What once was a mostly healthy, slightly overweight body is now a mangled purple husk...
"What.... happened?" I say to myself... After a few moments my memory returns... Fuck. Why'd I have to go base jumping from the Petronas Towers while on vacation in Malaysia? It's clear that the impact I heard was ME hitting the ground. Where am I anyway? This clearly isn't Kuala Lumpur.
I struggle to my feet, amazed that my wrecked form can handle that much. Looking around I see nothing but a small room that seems to be carved from bedrock. There is no furnishings of any sort. A faint light glows from the ceiling above, but I can't see any actual source. I spot a door on one wall.
Despite an inexplicable feeling of dread, I am compelled toward the door. I open it and step into a hallway. The walls are transparent, and through them lies everyone's worst nightmare. Fire and brimstone. Lava flowing down into pits. It dawns on me... I'm in HELL.
From the other end of the short hallway, a man steps through the door. He's dressed in ragged black robes that seem to be worn over the top of even more ragged red robes. His beard is black, with a stripe of white running down the middle. The most alarming feature are two rams horns spiraling around each side of his head.... He's... clapping?
"Who are you!?" I demand with alarm.
"Who am I?" he says, "There are some who call me... Tim. But you? You can call me Satan. Or just Stan if you wish. Welcome to hell!"
I snort in amusement. "Really? A Monty Python joke? Do you greet people like this all the time?"
"Uh... well... you could say that. You're the first one to arrive." he admits.
"What? With all the murderers and rapists on earth, *I* am the first one to go to hell? How the fuck does THAT work!? I've never killed anybody, harmed anyone, or stolen anything." I shout
Stan sighs as if defeated. "Do you honestly think God would condemn his children to eternal pain and torture? The only way I'm ALLOWED any souls is through making deals... and after the humiliation of losing a fiddle contest to some snot-nosed kid I haven't really cared to try. My last effort was an attempt at a cyber-contract. All they had to do was pay for a piece of software and I'd own their soul."
The sense of dread gets deeper... I know why I'm here. I know what doomed me to hell.
"Fuck... You mean I'm the only one that paid for WinRar?"
Stan grins at me and says "Like I said. Welcome to Hell."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Interested in feedback. This is probably the second time I've ever written in Writing Prompts... I don't know why I haven't done it more. I always have a blast making this stuff up.
Edit: Holy cow! I didn't really expect this to explode like this. Thanks for the Updoots and all the kind comments! :) I think I'll have to do more of these!
Edit 2: This post has more than doubled my total comment karma..... I'm kinda flabbergasted... Thank you all again!
Edit 3: Wow... Gold... Thank you kind stranger!! | Darkness. They say there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but I see none. Wait. Is that... applause?
"What's going on?" I turn wildly, looking for the source of the sound.
"Oh, right," a raspy voice says. *Click.* A lamp is turned on, illuminating a small table and an armchair, in which sat a short man in a devil costume. "Hi."
"What's with the costume?" I ask, looking around. I seem to be in a library, or someone's living room. "I thought I was dead."
"Jeremy. You are dead. It's not a costume." The man in the devil costume shakes his head at me.
"Um, no. It is a costume, because the devil isn't real," I say. "How did you revive me? I thought I was dead.
"You are dead, you idiot." He lifts his pitchfork. "I'm the devil, you dummy."
"Well, that can't be true, because if it was, God would be real too." I'm the one shaking my head now.
"Oh, Jeremy. God is real, just as real as you or I."
I feel smugly superior to the man as I correct him. "There is no evidence that God is real, no evidence that he created the earth. There is no way of knowing the Bible is true."
"Yes, nobody *knows* it's true, but literally everyone else asked for his forgiveness on their deathbeds just in case." He rises from the armchair, leaving glowing embers. "Come on, you fool. I'll show you Hell."
I follow him numbly. "Everyone?" I ask. "Everyone asked forgiveness?"
"Yup. Every tribe in every country, every sailor, every scientist, every soldier. Nobody is exempt from God's grace." We step into a long hallway.
"But - even the Nazis? But not me?" The floorboards creak under my feet, and I notice the devil's hooves.
"Historically, much worse things have been done. But yes, everyone. Even you, but you chose not to accept it." He steps into an office. "Which brings us to this."
The devil, who is shorter than I had imagined, opened a drawer in what was probably the world's largest filing cabinet. "Here's your file. Every sin you've ever committed." He passed a thick file to me, the only one in the cabinet.
"Ahh, where do I start? The beginning?" I open the file, to see full pages of the smallest print readable.
"Skip to the end, I love that bit," he says eagerly.
I flip to the end. Only two lines, all capitals. The first reads IDIOT, the second, WISEASS.
"It's the summary of your life, as written by God. Sometimes Gabriel writes it, but you, Jeremy, are a special case." He whirls around. "But you should see the fire and brimstone I've made - special for this occasion!" | 2017-06-22T06:21:45 | 2017-06-22T04:29:40 | 4,092 | 34 |
[WP] You capture a Genie, and have infinite wishes. However, you have to be unrealistically specific with every wish, because the genie uses your wishes to try to kill you. | "Good morning. Please, be seated."
"Wha...? What's this? Who rubbed my lamp? Who among you is my new master?" the genie asked, bewildered at the sight before him. His lamp rested on a conference table, and near it was an empty office chair. Every other chair was occupied with men and woman in business suits, all looking very serious and staring straight at him. On the far end, opposite of the empty chair, sat a woman younger than the other mortals, late-20's perhaps. Her face was as stoic as the others, but in her eyes was a certain glimmer her associates lacked. She cleared her throat before speaking again.
"This is a formal meeting to discuss your abilities and begin work on the first wish. And as for your other questions, that would be me on both counts." she took a sip of water from a nearby glass, then continued. "Your former master, he died under so-called 'mysterious circumstances', did he not?"
The genie gave a slight smirk as he floated down to the empty chair, taking his seat. "Master, I cannot be held accountable for the wishes I am forced to grant. My previous master's fate was sealed by him and him alone."
"Respectfully," said the woman "I disagree. I have gone to great lengths to study genie lore and legend since I inherited your lamp from my late-father, and from what I can tell, you are a cruel and merciless lot. You take sick pleasure from the pain you inflict upon mortals, and even the best of intentions are warped by a genie's sadism. There may be some who are exceptions to the rule, but by and large genies prey upon the weak and desperate. And you, genie, are no exception."
"You dare!" the genie sputtered. "You dare speak to me in such a fashion! The power I wield is beyond your minuscule mortal perceptions! It is within my power to snuff out your life with a mere snap of my fingers! I am likened to that of a god, and you dare insult me?!"
"Oh, I dare." said the woman. She rose from her chair and leaned against the table. "I dare because I have something that dwarfs your magic. And I'm going to personally see to it that you pay for your atrocities, both against my father and all your former masters."
The genie scoffed. "Oh pray, master, do tell. Tell me, what incredible magic do you wield that can make my own seem insignificant?"
"Not magic, something better. This, genie," she motioned to her colleagues, "is my wish team. These are the greatest lawyers, doctors, philosophers, and strategists on the planet. They're going to be formulating and writing every single wish I make in perfect detail. And to begin, let's get started on that first wish."
The genie stared for a moment. For the first time in millennia, he was unsure of what to do next. "And that would be?"
The woman grinned. "Their salary." | Come on! Just when things seem great, there's a catch! I put the scroll down next to the lamp. It said stuff about dying and unlimited wishes... I decide to ignore it. For once, something good should be true! I rub the lamp and wait for a few seconds.
The cave is silent, and I'm getting colder by the second. If that genie won't show up, I'll have to find another way out. And a source of heat. A faint gray colored mist appears, slowly making its way out of the lamp.
"Ah, a mortal. Since you've released me, I'm bound to serve you. What are your wishes?" The genie takes on a smoky form, all gray, and it seems like he only took the time to create arms and a head for himself.
"Yeah.. You serve me! Uh... My first wish is for you to take me out of this cave!" I smile, then remember the warnings. If they were true, I couldn't risk it. Just as the genie is about to speak, I add in "And bring me out alive, unharmed!" The genie frowns at this, then I slip through the ground and before I know it, I'm on top of a skyscraper, overlooking a city.
"Are you satisfied?" He asks, and I get up from the floor. I fell over as soon as we arrived, and now I try to stand still, still not used to teleporting.
"Of course not! You're trying to kill me! Take me to my house now, alive, sitting on the couch, with no danger! Whatsoever!" He smiles this time, and I know something's wrong.
As soon as I materialize at home, I look around, and notice I left the lamp at the skyscraper. And the genie isn't here, which must mean I need the lamp to control him... At least I'm at home. I stand up, or try to, because I'm trapped, with secure metal bars keeping me stuck. My TV is in front of me. And on it, is... No. No! I'm going to be stuck here watching this?!
"SOMEONE! HELP!" I yell, but no one can hear me. I'm stuck, doomed to die watching endless videos with click bait titles on YouTube.... | 2017-01-11T14:17:36 | 2017-01-11T14:03:21 | 63 | 11 |
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you... | "KILL!"
I sprang up in my bed. My heart, racing.
"What?! Who–"
"Kill! You have to. It's the only way to survive!" said a sweet deep voice desperately.
"You must kill it. Destroy it!" said a harried shrill voice with an edge of glee.
I'd had these two opposing voices in my head for as long as I can remember. They never agreed. Never.
"Please! Kill it! I want to see!" said Evil.
"Kill it with fire!" said Goodness.
I looked around until I spotted a brown spider crawling on my bedpost. I scream and whacked it with a book. Its legs drew up and writhed. I looked on in disgust until it halted its movements.
"Ugh. That's a deadly one. Jeez. Thanks guys!"
It was a brown recluse! I shuffled away from it and flicked on the bedside light.
"That's not all. Kill all of them!" Evil said.
Once illuminated, the room gave way to the worst horror of my life. "Holy shit... HOLY SHIT!!!!"
Tiny brown spiders were crawling all over the wall of the bedroom where the door was. I dropped everything and stared for a good minute, unbelieving. And then I started screaming.
"Kill them! They'll murder you!" said Goodness.
"Yes... kill all the babies. Kill em dead!" laughed Evil.
Instead I called the police. I didn't know what else to do.
"There's brown recluses EVERYWHERE! EVERYWHERE!"
I screamed into the phone for a while before they said they were coming.
I couldn't kill all of the spiders if I wanted to! Well, actually I really wanted to make a flamethrower with hairspray and my trusty Zippo, and burn down the house, but my insurance wouldn't like that too much.
Evil cackled happily, and goodness was terrified.
Unfortunately my bedroom wasn't the worse part. I saw through the open door that the hall had little ones all over. My house was infested.
I ended up jumping out the damn window of my bedroom.
The one time my voices agree and it's spiders. Deadly spiders.
Man.
FUCK spiders.
.
.
.
Edit: Something like this spider situation happened to me for real. I went to vacuum behind my tv, and a (harmless) spider had birthed HUNDREDS of spiders. I screamed the whole time I vacuumed every last damn one and emptied the can outside. Only then did I stop screaming. Fuck. Spiders. 🕷 | All my life I had two voices talking in my head, one good and one evil. Just like the cartoons. I usually ignore them but sometimes one of them makes a really good argument and I just follow what it says. I shouldn't though, everytime they convinced me to do something afterwards I realize that it didn't make sense at all and I end up looking like a lunatic.
When I told my mother about them she got severely worried. Schizophrenia, the doctors said and for all my life I've taken meds. They never shut them up, they just depressed me but I kept taking them to make my mother happy.
"Don't take the meds"
"Take the meds"
That was the main argument between the voices almost everyday. Today I woke up extremely depressed, I didn't feel like my life had a meaning anymore.
"Don't take the meds" Said the first voice.
"Don't take the meds" Said the second voice.
I couldn't understand why would them agree so I tried to ask them.
"They're leading you to your end" Said the good voice.
"I don't want to stop existing" Said the bad voice.
Yes, I was depressed but I've never thought of suicide. That would crush my mother and I love her too much to hurt her. I went downstairs to give her a hug.
"Hello sunshine! How are you doing this morning? Did you take your meds?"
"Yes mom, of course!" I said with a completely false smile. I had never heard my voices so worried.
I stopped with the meds for some time now, I am the same man with the same voices in my head but happier, much happier. Maybe, just maybe I am not sick. Maybe I am a normal guy blessed with two voices in his head. They can be annoying but I got used to them. Time taught me when to hear them and when to ignore them. So far, life has been great and seeing my mother smile makes all of this worth it.
| 2017-05-18T07:58:39 | 2017-05-18T07:04:08 | 470 | 255 |
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